


All Our Yesterdays

by Kitsunebi_UK



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, ESP, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Kind of Non-period-typical Homophobia, Knights - Freeform, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magical Realism, Medieval England, Medieval Food Porn, Middle English, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Romance, Science Fiction, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Sub Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-07-27 10:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 179
Words: 1,018,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsunebi_UK/pseuds/Kitsunebi_UK
Summary: York, England, 2120: Yuuri Katsuki is a dime-a-dozen techie, spending his days doing routine repairs at the university. He hangs out with his friend Phichit, goes for a drink, watches holograms. It’s an existence – but is it a life?Crowood Castle, Yorkshire, 1392: As the son of a baron, Sir Victor Nikiforov makes judgements where lives hang in the balance. As a knight, he must sometimes end them. It’s what he was born to do – but what of the heavy burden on his soul? Death is all too commonplace, while life and love remain elusive.When a brilliant scientist goes rogue, journeying to the Middle Ages with the world’s first time machine, Yuuri is stunned to be called on as the last hope of preventing her from changing history. After an abrupt departure, he lands at Crowood Castle disguised as an enemy of the Nikiforovs, Sir Justin le Savage – and will need to act the part if he is to survive. It’s a tall order for someone who can barely tell the back end of a horse from the front. But if Ailis, in her own disguise, discovers who he is, his mission will end in a blaze of laser-gun fire. He must not give his real identity away, even to the beguiling knight he’s falling in love with…





	1. The Mission (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> **Updates every Friday**
> 
> This story is not a WIP - it's complete and edited. I will be releasing it in 22 multi-chapter instalments. 
> 
> And it's a slow burn; I wouldn't have it any other way. Pining, sex, angst, fluff, adventure - it's all here. With knights in shining armour and a castle, time machines and laser guns. And Yuuri and Victor's love at the heart of it all, as always.
> 
> This is intended to be my third and final Victuuri epic fic, as I will next be turning my thoughts to a series of books designed for publication. Writing these fics has given me the confidence to go for it, and the feedback I’ve received from readers has been invaluable. I may end up owing a new creative career to you and your encouragement and support, and it’s moving to be able to say that. 
> 
> So, begin the journey with me! Once upon a time, there was Sir Victor. And his Yuuri will always find him, even if it means travelling 728 years into the past . . . 
> 
> _Contributors_  
This story is dedicated to [Themayflynans](https://themayflynans.tumblr.com/), who has been the most enthusiastic, stalwart and empathetic editor a writer could wish for - and so much more. During a series of debilitating health crises, personal problems, and all the usual writer's complaints and insecurities that I've piled on her doorstep, she has been a rock. I love this creation that can now see the light of day after over a year of hard work for both of us. Thank you for holding me through it all, Sarah. This one's for you. <3 
> 
> Thanks also to the incomparable [Sheepskeleton](https://sheepskeleton-art.tumblr.com/) for bringing these characters and settings to life in beautiful, sumptuous detail in her illustrations. It has been magic collaborating with her, and I am in awe of her work.
> 
> I was delighted to receive the assistance of talented medievalist and scholar [Adrianners](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/), who translated some of my writing into the Middle English spoken by Victor and Yuuri and others and thus added a whole new dimension to this story. On top of this, she also translated some Japanese, and even a few words of Latin and medieval French. She has written a [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html) which will receive live updates in tandem with the instalments here on AO3. Modern English translations will appear at the end of each relevant chapter. I believe this story must be rather unique in containing an extensive smut scene that makes heavy use of Middle English. Enjoy, dear readers! 
> 
>   
_(refrain)_  
_To everything (turn, turn, turn)_  
_There is a season (turn, turn, turn)_  
_And a time to every purpose under heaven_  
  
_A time to be born, a time to die_  
_A time to plant, a time to reap_  
_A time to kill, a time to heal_  
_A time to laugh, a time to weep_  
  
_(refrain)_
> 
> _A time to build up, a time to break down_  
_A time to dance, a time to mourn_  
_A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together_  
  
_(refrain)_
> 
> _A time of love, a time of hate_  
_A time of war, a time of peace_  
_A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing_
> 
> _(refrain)_
> 
> _A time to gain, a time to lose_  
_A time to rend, a time to sew_  
_A time for love, a time for hate_  
_A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late_
> 
>   
[_Turn, Turn, Turn by The Byrds_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4ga_M5Zdn4)  
_Lyrics by Pete Seeger, based on the Book of Ecclesiastes (Chapter 3)_

**November, 2120**

**York, England**

No. Not a cave. He hated caves.

Dark, slimy crap lurked inside them. Crap that’d frazz you and then kill you.

Yuuri didn’t need to think too hard about the last time he’d done this to remember that being killed was a pain in the arse.

Was he actually supposed to go _in_?

He tethered his mount, Lady, to a tree and sidled across the grassy swath of ground in front of the dark yawning maw that led down into the bowels of the earth, longsword poised in readiness in his right hand. To top everything off, it was dusk and it was raining, the heavy drops pinging off his helm. He would have difficulty seeing in the gloom, but even if he had a torch, it would be too damp to light. For a moment he thought about fetching his shield, though that would restrict his movement. The plate mail should protect him well enough. He hoped.

Through the constant shushing of rain came clicking noises from the darkness ahead – and a series of inhuman squeaks that set his heart racing. He lowered his visor and held his sword in front of him with both hands, dreading what was coming; knowing it inevitably would.

The shadows in the aperture shifted, black within black. Then a pinprick of sickly yellow light, like a candle flame choked by soot. And another. And another. Until a whole cluster shone. They shifted forward. More clicks. Another squeak. Yuuri tightened his grip on the hilt, telling himself to be grounded; to keep his muscles loose and ready.

With a deafening screech, the creature leapt out of its lair. Yuuri cried out and instinctively thrust his sword up at its belly. It went in deep, evoking another ululation from the black horror. It must have a hundred eyes, all focused on him. Giant fangs nipped, while its hairy segmented body and spindly legs twisted. It flailed until it was free, and lunged forward for another strike.

Yuuri was ready. He parried the busy fangs, managing to spear a couple of the eyes as well, eliciting high-pitched shrieks. Clenching his jaw, he swung his sword in an arc and chopped off a leg – but then it was upon him again, attempting to smother him with its soft, loathsome weight.

He vaguely recalled what he was supposed to do to finish the thing off for good, once he was this close to it. Gasping for breath, he managed to reach a hand into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a glass vial, whose contents he splashed onto the putrid flesh pressing down upon him.

How did it go…? Jesus, he could barely think. “_Lux in tenebris_,” he forced out against the disgusting mass. A white flash was quickly followed by a sound like a large glass bowl being struck; it rang through the air, lingering. A final terrible shriek rent the air; a shudder…and finally a death-rattle before the thing lay inert, like a lump of clay.

Yuuri gave an almighty heave, and the creature rolled limply onto its side, its eyes shut and remaining legs drooping, black claws on the ends slick with rain. As he raised himself to a kneeling position on the sodden ground, fighting off an enduring wave of disgust, he looked up at the sky to see the clouds suddenly pulling away and a bright yellow evening sun dispelling the grey shadows. The rays glowed on his armour, though his white and red tabard dripped.

A smooth, commanding male voice called down, “Arise, Sir Yuuri, champion swordsman of England.”

Standing, his blood calming, Yuuri huffed at the ridiculousness of it all. He wasn’t one of those thrill-seekers who got special permission to have the settings changed to hyper-real, but he’d still been frightened – annoyingly so, because he thought he’d remembered to ban creeping monsters like this. At least he’d set the gore to zero; there was no yellow ooze on his blade.

For a boss battle, he guessed he hadn’t done too badly. It was supposed to have been hard. He hadn’t lost his touch, then. But shit, he might end up with nightmares about this for the next several nights now, pain and death jerking him awake in a cold sweat. It had been years since he’d played this game, and he’d always taken care in the past to make doubly sure that anything triggering for him wouldn’t turn up. Well, too late now.

Sheathing his sword, he raised his visor to get a better look at what he’d just killed. Giant spider, obviously. Looking at it now, all he could think was, _How unoriginal. _Then, as he watched, the carcase began to fade until it disappeared altogether, leaving a glittering blue gem the size of an apricot on the grass. Yuuri picked it up, admired its pretty inner fire for a moment, then tucked it into the pouch on his belt and returned to untether Lady. She was a camelard mount, which didn’t fly, unfortunately; but he’d have to be at Level 40 before he could get something with wings. And that wasn’t going to happen. This was purely a nostalgia trip.

“Let’s get this to its rightful owner, huh?” he said to her. But a glint from behind the nearby tree caught his eye, and he wondered how he could have forgotten to scout the area before leaving; it used to be second nature. Venturing away from Lady once more, he discovered a Potion of Full Healing glowing white in a crystal vial and took it. Within the cave mouth, in the dying light of the day, he found an unlocked wooden chest with a hundred gold coins in a small leather sack and an Amulet of Strength. He placed them in a bag on Lady’s back, then swung himself up and headed off toward the nearby village of Winterborough.

As a teenager, he used to love exploring the seemingly endless vistas here; different landscapes, seasons, villages and cities, monsters and treasures. At twenty-four, it wasn’t that many years in his past, but somehow it seemed a lifetime ago. Immersion had moved on to more realistic scenarios. You could kill within it more realistically, too, if you wanted to. Yuuri didn’t. He’d always made sure he fixed the settings so that he wouldn’t be given humans as targets, even though he was laughed at when people found out. _It’s just a game, _they’d say. _What’s fun about killing a person, even in a game?_ he’d counter, and they usually struggled to articulate an answer. 

_There’s enough death in actual life without that added to it. Real heroes don’t kill people and mix it up with honour._

But they killed giant spiders, apparently. And as primitive as the tech was, it gave Yuuri a decent workout. Having watched a holo-film with elves and wizards the previous evening, he’d been wondering what it would feel like to revisit _Swords and Sorcery_, after the struggle it’d been to actually let it go. He thought he was pretty good with a blade. The skills and fitness he’d developed from all his time in this place were real, even if the rest of it wasn’t. Like being comfortable on his mount when in real life he’d probably get a foot caught in the stirrup or fall out of the saddle.

As Lady took him down the forest path through the deepening evening, he decided the sensory illusion still worked well, considering the vintage of the game. Immersion had been cutting-edge tech when it was first released. Like many other things, it operated at a low hypnotic level, making it seem to the player that what they were experiencing was real, even to the point of picking up objects and using them. Yuuri knew he wasn’t riding a horse/camel hybrid anywhere. He wasn’t wearing armour, hadn’t been stabbing a monster with a sword, hadn’t collected any treasure to take away. Wasn’t any kind of champion. What he _was _doing was moving around in a large gaming room at the gym in his ward, because if he tried this in his little flat, he was sure to bump into a piece of furniture or a wall. But if he thought too hard, it would begin to spoil the illusion; and since he’d decided to play, he might as well make the best of it.

The trees thinned out, revealing gold-lit fields of wheat and barley. Rosy-cheeked peasants clad in bright clothes, with white aprons and caps, were finishing their work for the day, waving at him as he passed. There were never any old people or children to be seen, but well, you couldn’t expect this to be too sophisticated. The buildings, as he entered the village, were remarkably like each other as well, wattle-and-daub with thatched roofs, the main difference being that some were longer or had an extra storey, and lights were burning inside a few, mainly taverns. All the shops had prettily painted wooden signs swinging outside. He found Ye Olde Traveller’s Rest, where he knew he was supposed to go, tethered Lady outside, and pulled at the iron-latched wooden door, which swung open with a creak.

Though crowded and stuffy, the inside of the tavern was clean and brightly lit with torches bracketed on the walls and a merrily dancing fire. More rosy-cheeked peasants sat at wooden tables, drinking ale from pewter tankards, laughing and singing and smoking pipes. Buxom young women bustled about with trays of drinks, their bosoms bulging out of low-cut white blouses reined in by tight corsets. Yuuri’s eyes lingered on a serving – was there a word for a male wench? – in tight tan trousers and a nicely fitted jerkin, or whatever those tops were called. It was all just a bit of eye candy, though; this wasn’t the type of game where you could sneak away with a character for a tryst. Not that Yuuri would have been interested in trying. Immersion games were too close to reality, which meant he got just as tongue-tied and awkward with people he knew didn’t even exist, and that took the embarrassment up a notch that was dangerously close to pathetic.

He scanned the room until he spotted a man concealed by a dark brown cloak sitting on a chair in a corner, peering out warily at the revellers. Yuuri approached him, attracting his attention as he drew near. “Are you Deckard Coyne?” he asked the man, who gave a start at Yuuri’s words.

“Who art thou, that wishes to know?” he said a voice similar to the one from the sky that had announced Yuuri as the champion swordsman of England.

“I thought you might want this,” Yuuri replied, taking the blue gem out and placing it in the palm of his hand for the man to observe.

He stared in shock at the gem, then slowly stood, throwing his cloak off in dramatic fashion. And lo! (Yuuri added by way of silent narration), underneath was the raiment of a king, plate armour shining in the firelight, a gilded crown resting on his brow. He took the gem from Yuuri’s palm and drew a glittering silver sword. The room fell silent, its occupants gazing at him in wonder.

“Behold!” the man exclaimed. Yuuri took a step back so that he wasn’t blocking anyone’s view, and folded his arms across the metal plate and wet tabard covering his chest. “No longer am I Deckard Coyne, the wanderer. You look upon Anwyl, rightful King of Ethnaria. This gem – ” He took hold of it and held it up for all to see. “ – hath restored my strength and vigour. Therefore, along with this worthy knight – ” He gestured to Yuuri. “ – and other stouthearted followers, I shall commence preparations to march on Elgar the Unwieldy, usurper of the Sceptre of Ethnaria, and regain the throne!”

The room erupted in cheers.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Yuuri muttered, mentally flicking a switch.

Anwyl and the tavern disappeared. Yuuri was standing in an empty black room with flat, even white lighting from above. No longer the rain-drenched hero of Ethnaria, he took a moment to regroup, becoming aware of the soft material of his own athletic clothing – black long-sleeved top, tracksuit trousers and white trainers. Then he trotted over to the metal door, which slid open in front of him. No matter how many times he played these games, coming out of them always felt somehow like waking from a dream.

He passed a series of doors that led to private workout rooms – little enclaves of Immersion that offered environments for running, cross-country skiing, rowing, and even swimming, which had been the latest innovation thanks to quantum superconductor tech. Phichit understood how such things worked. Yuuri could fix them when they went wrong, though the actual theory behind them eluded him. Anyway, he’d always preferred something that gave the illusion of going on an adventure, rather than exercising in a specialised program. Something that took him out of himself for a while; that could make him believe he had a real purpose and was achieving it.

_Swords and Sorcery_ didn’t do that for him anymore, though that was probably for the best. Strange how the same thing could look so different when viewed from the eyes of an older person. All right, he’d always credited the game with being a little naff. He’d just been mistaken about the true scale of its naffness.

He stopped at his locker to take out his black coat; it hung down to his calves, and he did up the middle buttons to keep it fastened. Should still be protection enough in the cool weather. Climate control had announced a dry week with steady temperatures ten degrees or so above freezing, and occasional rain overnight. They weren’t in total control of the weather, of course, or even anywhere near it; but they could usually be pretty accurate about the upcoming mix of their efforts at doing so, combined with the might of nature that would invariably break through. As he exited the gym, a yellow sun lingered on the western horizon and a gentle breeze blew, and he got the feeling that the climatologists were winning the battle today.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Yuuri made his way down the path, passing other pedestrians and houses of various vintages, from red-brick Victorian terraces to individual prefab units stacked on top of each other like cells in a honeycomb. Space in cities like this was at a premium, despite the fact that streets which had been wide enough to accommodate ground-based motorised traffic were now largely given over to pedestrians and cyclists. The skies were enough of a menace now, Yuuri had decided, that he preferred to get a little extra exercise by walking when he could; because despite the existence of air traffic control, people tended to treat it as unwanted and unneeded advice, like the safety warnings on new tech that no one ever read. There was something comforting about being anchored to the ground while a panoply of cars, buses and hoverboards buzzed and zigzagged and beeped at each other overhead. As long as none of them dropped anything that landed on you.

Eventually he arrived at the complex that contained his flat, a square three-storey edifice with a large courtyard in the middle, which residents referred to as the quad. As he approached, the pale, smooth travertine stone of the long walls gleamed underneath street lamps that warded off the gathering dark. The main door slid open to admit him, and at the other end of the short entry corridor lay the grass and trees in the courtyard, illuminated by artfully placed lighting that almost but not quite mimicked natural sunlight.

Yuuri carried on ahead, hands still in his pockets, paying little attention to the enclaves of activity around him. Children running around a small playground, jumping on a trampoline and spinning on a merry-go-round; they could delight themselves for hours in a zero-G room at the gym, but somehow seemed to have as much fun on old standbys like these. Someone sitting on a stone bench with a cushion, staring blankly ahead at the trees in front of them, no doubt reading or watching something on the Cloud. A group of three middle-aged women in tunics and baggy trousers performing tai chi. They’d asked Yuuri once if he’d be willing to join them; he wondered if it had been because he was Japanese, and many people in this country seemed to assume that meant he was somehow learned in the mysterious Ways of the East that in their minds were an agglomeration of the different cultures which existed in that general area of the world. Never mind that he’d been living in York since he was five. He’d politely declined.

“Hey, Yuuri,” said a young man in a tan coat who crossed in front of him.

“Hey, Gaz,” Yuuri replied, not missing a beat as he arrived at the far end of the quad and entered a stone hall identical to the one through which he’d passed minutes before. His feet instinctively guided him to Number Four, the door slid open, and he went inside.

When Mari called, he was grilling miso-glazed chicken thighs for dinner, having decided to take the trouble to cook in order to treat himself to food that he could chew and taste. He almost hadn’t heard the beep over the clattering of the pans in the kitchenette, and resolved to take his wristband off and open up the box containing the qubit processor when he was at work the next day; as irritating and dull a task as it was, it was about time he looked into what was wrong with the volume control. The BCI, or brain-computer interface, ought to respond to any command he gave it, but it seemed to have been developing a stubborn will of its own lately. And that wasn’t good, because it was his main connection to the Cloud.

“Hey, little bro.”

“Hey,” he said as he stirred the contents of a small pan that were filling the flat with the aroma of stewing apples, cinnamon, cloves and vanilla. Enjoying the scent was almost better than eating the food. 

“What’s playing?”

“I’m cooking dinner.”

She laughed. “You like making things complicated, don’t you?”

“You never complained when I made meals for us both,” he replied distractedly, pulling a bunch of asparagus spears from the fridge and chopping them while the steamer boiled. “And besides, you can cook up a storm yourself when you want to; don’t deny it.”

“But it’s like making your own clothes. It takes a lot of time, and it’s more expensive than just buying your meals in. Or taking a nutri-pill.”

“Time isn’t usually something I’m short on. And I don’t care if it’s more expensive. Anyway, you always said that cooking for someone else is a sign of love, so call it self-care. Taste buds need a workout sometimes.” He tipped the asparagus into a container and placed it on top of the steamer, then grabbed the tongs to turn the chicken over.

There was a pause, then Mari said, “Haven’t heard from you in a while. What’ve you been doing besides working and cooking?”

“Well, I went and had a game of _Swords and Sorcery _today.” But as soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.

“You what?” came the predictable response. “Yuuri, you promised – ”

“That was a long time ago,” he said, stirring the apples again. “I hadn’t played it in years. It was just for old times’ sake.”

“Yuuri…”

His blood pressure spiked. That motherly tone she took on; it still could do that to him. “I quit before it finished, anyway. It’s silly. I don’t know what I ever saw in it in the first place.” Though that wasn’t entirely true, of course, and they were both aware of it.

She sighed, and Yuuri felt like doing the same, in relief, knowing it signalled a change of topic. “Anyway, I just wanted to say the spa isn’t very busy right now. You should come visit. When was the last time you had a holiday?”

The spa she ran in the countryside with Sharon. It was nice there. Relaxing. But…“What would I do with a holiday? I don’t need them. You can imagine you’re visiting anywhere in the world with Immersion, you know? Someplace that’s full of tourists. The Louvre in front of the _Mona Lisa _or something; you can have it all to yourself. And the Egyptian pyramids, if you want. Climb them, go inside. I don’t see any point in the expense of going to see the real thing, just to get stuck in crowds and bad weather, do you?”

“That’s still what you think, huh?”

“Sure, why not?” He pulled the grill pan out and sat it on top of the cutting board, the chicken thighs sizzling. 

“I think it’s different if you’ve got someone with you.” There was a pause while Yuuri put the thighs on a plate, then spooned some apples and asparagus next to them. “I hope – ”

“Look – someone’s at the door,” he lied, “and my food’s ready. Gotta go. But speak soon.”

“Yeah, OK. Bye, bro.”

Yuuri picked up the plate, sat down at the two-person wooden table next to the window that looked out onto the quad through its net curtain, and stared at the food. Mari meant well, and he knew she cared, but he could do without the lectures and the probing. When would he find something worthwhile to do? Get a boyfriend? Get a life?

He was ticking along just fine, thank you very much.

He might not feel like visiting Mari’s spa at the moment, but going for a dip appealed. After dinner, he swam a couple of miles in the pool at the gym, then returned to his flat and watched a few shows on the Cloud. Maybe he could call Phichit and find out what he was up to, he thought afterward. But he’d probably be disturbing him in the middle of something. The possibility of venturing into the courtyard to see if there was anyone to talk to flashed through his mind, but he immediately dismissed it. He wasn’t in the mood for that, either.

Yuuri watched another show, then pulled his pyjamas on and brushed his teeth, having showered at the pool. Then was disconcerted to discover he’d left some highly personal things on his bedside table – a bottle of lube and the sex toy he’d bought on the Cloud the other day that sounded intriguing at the time, but hadn’t done much for him and had kind of hurt. Maybe there was a knack to it. He’d gone back and read the instructions carefully, then browsed forums until he felt he’d seen more than enough information about what other people were doing with it, or claiming to do. At least the cleaning robot hadn’t come today.

But then, as he swept the items up and placed them inside the table drawer, he wondered why he was feeling embarrassed by the hypothetical reaction of a machine. At worst, it wouldn’t have known what to do with the stuff and would’ve disposed of it. Which, Yuuri thought, was probably what he was going to end up doing himself anyway, to the useless toy, at least. The lube was different, even if he’d become more accepting of the inevitability that it was going to be for the pleasure of one instead of two. For someone like himself who often didn’t know what to say to people, it would probably be a hell of a long time before anyone wanted to get into bed with him, if indeed it ever happened at all.

Once under the sheets, he read the news, then stared at the ceiling. It was hard to fall asleep this early. Well, early for him. His natural inclination was to be a night owl. In his quest to find things to do earlier, maybe he should’ve gone next door and asked Mrs. Wells if she’d needed any help. She was ninety-four and could barely walk, and had fallen in her flat a week ago; he’d found out when he’d seen young members of a care team coming and going. But she could order everything she needed from the Cloud, and the robots still came to service her flat. Yuuri had brought home-cooked food over to share with her on occasion, though he often second-guessed himself these days before he went, having quickly learned that elderly English people didn’t always appreciate spicy foreign foods. He hadn’t thought she’d much care for miso-glazed chicken, either.

His brain wanted to keep ruminating rather than sleep, it seemed. His wristband could entrain his brainwaves to the perfect pattern for dozing off, but the problem with that was you had to let yourself fall asleep with it on, which went against all the rules of Cloud safety, with good reason. You never knew who might try to hack into your device. Removing malware at the university was a regular part of his job. He took the wristband off and put it in the drawer, then lay back to stare at the ceiling again.

It was silly, he knew, but his thoughts drifted to Mick and Yan, the couple from his favourite show which had ended last month, _Double Trouble_, about a couple of mismatched roommates who ended up falling for each other. He’d never been that fond of sitcoms, but the supportive love they’d developed seemed unusually deep for a Cloud show, all the more so because of the circumstances in which they were embroiled week after week. Yuuri imagined now that he was Mick, with Yan lying next to him, holding him – blond, ripped, almost intimidating in his looks, though surprisingly sensitive inside. He wondered if he’d ever actually meet someone like that, then gave a silent laugh and decided imagination would have to be second-best. Yan was crazy about Mick and didn’t judge him, even if he got angry with him on plenty of occasions. Such people surely didn’t even exist.

Yuuri could practically feel the arms around him, the other man nuzzling into his neck, sending tingles down his body. The warmth on his cheek of a pair of lips, brushing…

…and then he was opening his eyes to watery light filtering through the white curtain across his window.

Fuck. He hadn’t set his alarm.


	2. Chapter 2

**November, 1392**

**Crowood Castle, Yorkshire, England**

Her eyes opened upon the still, dim shadows of the bedroom. Dying coals glowed faintly orange out of grey ash in the grate; their warmth fell short of the corners of the room. Almost invariably, it would be about one a.m., though she would check out of curiosity.

She slipped from underneath the covers and padded softly, barefoot, fetched a bronze key from a leather purse hanging on the side of a chair, and unlocked a dark wooden cabinet. From an interior drawer she pulled out a long Tang-style tunic, a pair of baggy trousers, and comfortable leather shoes. These she quietly donned while trying not to shiver, along with a pair of socks, and then added a heavy fur-trimmed cape. At least now she would be warm and comfortable. And as unobtrusive as a shadow, clad all in black.

Removing an bronze disc from a hook near the window, she pulled open a wooden shutter just enough to view the silvered castle grounds in the moonlight, made some simple calculations, and decided that it was indeed about an hour after midnight. Perhaps she ought to have brought a wristwatch with her. But hardly anyone used them where she came from, and she’d correctly guessed that there would be little need of one here, as time itself seemed to flow at a different pace; a slower, more contemplative one in tune with the sun and the moon and the seasons. That was something she knew a fair bit about.

It was irksome waking up in the middle of the night like this, though. They went to bed early here, especially at this time of year, and slept until dawn. Once she’d fallen into step, her body had begun to come awake for an hour or two in the middle of most nights. At first she’d taken to wandering the castle to pass the time, but well, a new-ish stone castle at night wasn’t all that different from the old ones she was familiar with, and there were plenty of ghost stories about those. Not that she believed in such things. Fortunately, the man who lay next to her usually slept like a stone, so this time was her own, to use as she wished.

The disc glinted in the moonlight. They called it an astrolabe. It had its uses, though the chief one in her opinion was that it looked like a juke piece of steampunk. She could imagine versions of this gizz adorning tophats, corsets, capes, the lot. Maybe, if she remained here long enough, she could start a collection, like a magpie. They would be her beautiful shiny things to keep.

There was no movement outside. A cold, clear night under the ancient stars of the high Middle Ages. This place was primitive and ridiculous, but beautiful too, at times like this. And she could have done far worse for herself here, given the uncertain parameters into which she’d entered. When she’d left the lab, she’d never intended to stay at her destination; it had taken some time to swallow the bitter pill of being stranded here. But for a woman who had grown up a virtual slave – she’d spent much of her life denying that had been the case, but she’d accepted the fact now – and had little education at first; had been desperate enough to marry a man twice her age just to get away, and had ended up facing the worst humanity had to offer as he dragged her around the disease-ridden filth of that region…yes, this even rivalled the hallowed halls of Cambridge at times. Not a bad place to be, all in all.

She’d been wondering how she could take advantage of her superior knowledge and skills and tech here, though there had been no reason to hurry. She could be the most patient person when necessary. And then finally yesterday there’d been an announcement that had dropped into her lap everything she could possibly have wanted, and more. Or would, if she planned and prepared well. 

Maybe she could start now, by doing some of that relocation work which would be so difficult in the daytime; the moon was bright enough to see by, and most people who awoke in the middle of the night would stay in their rooms and keep the shutters closed against the cold, so she was more or less guaranteed secrecy. But just in case she was spotted, she would need to be wearing a hat, or there would be questions. Before who she even was, they would want to know why an “older” (because thirty-two was well into old-maid territory here) woman was out and about with her hair revealed. And short hair at that. She wouldn’t be hiding behind her projection, of course, which would be recognised; she would be going out as herself. Her modern clothes, though strange to this time, would just about blend in.

But her lab equipment was a different story. And she’d been nervous about keeping it locked in her bedroom. A determined person could break into the cabinet even without the key; these locks wouldn’t be difficult to pick. She needed somewhere safer to put her tech. And she could do with a place where she could work unobserved. It seemed tonight would be her moving-in opportunity; she was ready.

She donned a black hat with cloth hanging down the back and sides tapering to two ties, which she draped across the front of her neck in the popular chaperon style, and eyed the contents of the cabinet. Her other modern clothes could stay here, concealed. But she’d packed the rest of her things in two large canvas sacks tied up with rope. With the help of a small pen-light from the little toolkit she kept stashed in a pocket of her tunic, she removed the sacks, locked the cabinet, then slung one sack over each shoulder. It was a makeshift way of going about things, but it would do. She slunk out of the room and down the hall.

The shadows closed in as she walked, and moonlight shone through glazed windows, pooling on the wooden floors. She hadn’t got in touch with Ian on her com for a while, she realised, but now was hardly the time to do so if she wanted to stay in his good books. His timeline was running parallel to her own, that was the beauty of it – and the genius, too, she didn’t mind adding – so it was one-something a.m. where he was, as well. That meant he wouldn’t take kindly to being awakened just now unless it was an emergency.

And maybe not even then. Especially since she’d arrived here, she’d begun to wonder what she’d ever seen in him. To her surprise, she thought she rather preferred the men here. They weren’t _all _savages. In fact, they were the same in this time period as in any other, according to one cardinal rule – they all had their brains between their legs. It was a weakness that could be exploited.

Eventually she arrived at the room which was her destination, shifted the mat concealing the trapdoor, and opened it, peering down at a flight of roughly hewn stone stairs that led into darkness. It was inconvenient having to do this, _and _in the middle of the night, but there was no better way into or out of the castle when the portcullis was closed. With her pen-light held between her teeth, she carefully felt her way down each step until she was at the earthen bottom; then she put her sacks down, went back up to close the trapdoor, and returned to resume her trek. She’d known of the existence of this passage for a while, but this was her first foray into it.

She hoped that whoever had dug this out had been good enough engineers that the walls weren’t in danger of collapsing, with the castle coming down on her head. Weird spiderwebby growths were brushing the top of her hat; she could feel them, and shuddered.

_Honestly, Ailis. You courageously become the first human being to jump into the timestream, as your own test subject – and you’re cringing because a spiderweb brushed you?_

_Woman up._

She trudged onward, eventually reaching a barred wooden door. Upon opening it, she discovered she was concealed behind clumps of bushes against a hill. The stables were bathed in the moonlight further down and not far away. Soon she would be there, furtively packing up her horse, nobody the wiser. She’d had her eye on an old cottage in the woods for a while, and no one seemed to be using it.

That was going to change as of tonight. 

* * *

**December, 2120**

**York, England**

Yuuri forced himself out of bed. Monday morning. It took a cold shower and a cup of strong coffee to jerk his eyes the rest of the way open. He’d meant to get up earlier and cook himself something nice for breakfast, but now it was too late, and he’d have to take the usual capsules. Opening a cupboard, he found a couple of nutri-pills rattling around in a mostly empty glass jar, which he swallowed with some water; he made a mental note to put more on order with the NHS later. 

He supposed he ought to make some kind of effort with his appearance. The mirror that spanned the vanity in the bathroom reflected back at him a young man with somewhat unruly dark brown hair and brown eyes, wearing a mid-thigh-length ivory tunic, baggy navy-blue trousers, and a black waistcoat with swirls of maroon embroidery; all pretty standard office fare. He tried doing some of the buttons up on the waistcoat, then decided it was probably better to leave it hanging open. If he went to the university without his face on – that was how they phrased it – they’d probably think he was hungover or something. He pulled open a drawer of rolling, clattering glass tubes of face paint and chose a single one, electric blue. With a few delicate swirls and spirals at the corners of his eyes, he decided he was done; then he hurried out of the bathroom, shrugged on his coat, and left the flat.

“Oh, _there _you are,” said Mrs. Wells. She was standing in her doorway in a thick blue robe and fluffy white slippers, and gave him a smile.

“I was, um, just…” Urgency warred with feelings of duty and guilt. He needed to get to work, but there was no excuse for being rude.

“I don’t suppose you could pop in for a moment, duck, and do one or two things for me? They wouldn’t take long. Only, Vera won’t be coming round til gone nine, and – ”

“Yeah, OK. Sure. What do you need?”

It turned out that she needed the bag of sugar fetching down from the top shelf in the cabinet, where the delivery robot had put it when it should have been programmed to avoid placing anything above a certain height; and she’d spilled a mug of tea on the floor and her knees were too sore for her to bend down and clean it up. It took Yuuri three minutes to do these things, and thirteen to brew a new pot of tea and share a cup with her.

“I do appreciate the help, and I’m sorry to be a bother,” Mrs. Wells said between sips.

“You’re not – ”

“It’s not often I can’t do these things for myself. Just a bad day today, is all.”

Yuuri nodded. “I’m sure – ”

“You know,” she continued, eyeing him, “it was just the women wearing make-up when I was young. Now it’s the lads too. That’s some fancy stuff you’ve got on.”

“Glad you like it.” He gulped down the rest of his tea and put the cup in the sink.

“Really, Yuuri. Thanks for your help. I guess I’ve made you late for work.”

“No,” he said, deciding the warm smile she was giving him made it worthwhile, “I’m going to take the hoverboard today.”

Never mind that he had to dash back into his flat to find the BCI earpiece to operate it, and he couldn’t remember where he’d put it since the last time he’d used it. Trying to fly a hoverboard during the rush hour often felt like standing downhill from an oncoming boulder, expecting to be able to bring it to a halt with a touch of your hands; it was going to have its way with you and leave you broken. There were two sides to the argument: one that said air traffic control should simply be given automatic override of all vehicles for their own safety, and one that said people had the right to pilot their own vehicles where and how they wanted, with the understanding that there would be punishments for breaking the rules. What was needed, apparently, was more incentive to abide by them, rather than the nanny state taking over.

However, all Yuuri wanted was to not have to risk getting killed when he went up in the air. For years when he was younger, he’d avoided going on flying vehicles completely, gradually getting over his own fear of them with the help of Mari, who had not been that keen herself but knew what a handicap it was not to be able to use them. Yuuri found himself agreeing, because without his hoverboard he was going to be late for work.

Eventually he’d found the earpiece, hooked it around his ear, pulled his meter-wide hoverboard out of dusty storage in the closet, shoved his feet into the magnetised metal clamps that held them in place on the silver disc, and rose up into the air.

Actually…he had to admit, it was ting. The wind whipped at his hair and blew his coat so that it flapped behind him. It also bit his fingers, and he pulled on a pair of black gloves that had been stashed in a pocket.

And suddenly a whoosh of silver metal flew past him, close enough to touch, rising into the air, horn blaring. “Wha’ the bleedin’ ’ell’s playin’, tha daft get?” a voice shouted, and a hand shot out of the window with its middle finger raised.

“_You’re _the daft git,” Yuuri muttered, scanning his immediate surroundings to make sure he was clear of any other vehicles. Mari said people were really nice in the countryside where she lived. This was what you got in the city. Not that it was even a very big one. From being of national importance in Roman, Viking and medieval times, it was now…a tourist attraction, he supposed. A scenic one, though. And the University of York, to which he was now drawing close, was one of the best in the country in many fields of research.

Managing to avoid any more near misses, Yuuri landed on the roof of the engineering building, his heart doing a happy little swoop in the process. Maybe he ought to have a taxi drop him somewhere in the Dales, and he’d be able to fly through the air to his heart’s content without too much fear of accidents. Though plain old-fashioned hiking with his own two feet, being that close to the land and catching the scents of bracken and heather and moist earth, feeling his way across slippery rocks and soft peat…maybe even a hoverboard couldn’t beat that.

He tucked the disc under his arm and approached the door to the stairs, which opened for him. Soon he was inside his little office, only five minutes late, with another cup of coffee as consolation for a hectic morning. Sunlight glittered against metal cases and chips and boards and tools. Yuuri leaned back in his chair, calling up the tasks for the day in his visual field. Nothing hugely exciting. In fact, he was picked that the president of the university was requesting _again _that he make repairs to her car. She kept forgetting that vehicles weren’t part of his remit; other people specialised in those, while he kept everything in the buildings running smoothly. It also appeared that the projector was on the blink in one of the lecture halls – though at a glance, he could see that nothing was scheduled to take place in there til after lunch break. There’d been complaints about a vending machine in the canteen getting stuck. And Professor Crispino’s connection to the Cloud was dropping at random times, which meant he was kicking up a fuss because he couldn’t send, post, or access any data. Yuuri had fixed that before, and reckoned that if he took better care of his tech, rather than spilling his yerba mate all over it, it might help.

But none of this was urgent. He put some Yu Wu tracks on in the background for atmosphere and removed his wristband, holding a quantum screwdriver over the back until it popped off. Then he switched to a laser pen and began to probe the workings inside, pulling over a cherry-red diagnostic machine that he thought looked a little like an espresso maker. It showed schematics of the tiny components, and he began checking through them for faults.

The door com beeped, and Phichit’s voice came through, slightly tinny: “Hey Yuuri, it’s me. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Yuuri replied, not looking up from his work as he heard the door hiss open and shut. He didn’t have a spare chair; it wasn’t often he got visitors in here who did anything other than drop off tech to be repaired, and Phichit knew he was always welcome to clear a space on the desk and hoist his butt up. But Yuuri sensed he was hovering behind him, and finally put the laser pen down to turn around and gaze at his friend. He was wearing tan trousers, a long white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pine-green waistcoat, and had green and gold swirls painted around the corners of his eyes, spilling down to his cheekbones, which complemented his brown skin and eyes. Three years younger than Yuuri, and originally from Thailand, Phichit was a brilliant grad student who assisted a physics professor at the university. He was usually in an upbeat mood when Yuuri saw him in the morning, but today his eyes were lowered, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.

“Phichit?”

“Sorry, um…” He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and fished out a wristband, then held it out to Yuuri, who took it and examined it. He tried to switch it on manually via a button on the side, but nothing happened. “It belongs to Celestino. You know, Professor Cialdini.”

“And it’s knackered,” Yuuri observed.

“Yeah. He was hoping you could fix it.”

“I’ll try.” He laid the piece of tech on his desk and looked back at Phichit. “Sit down first,” he invited him. “I’ll make us some tea.”

“No…it’s OK. But thanks. I’ve just…been spending a lot of time with Celestino over at the lab lately. It can get kind of demanding.”

“What’ve you been up to, then? A project?”

“Oh, nothing very exciting.” Phichit toed the carpet with his trainer.

“Must be more exciting than fixing BCIs and replacing burned-out semiconductors,” Yuuri said, aiming for lightness in his tone. They’d known each other for…it must be three years now; and he couldn’t recall having ever seen him so glum. But before he could say anything else, Phichit spoke again.

“Maybe. But being able to fix that stuff is pretty handy. Me, I have a lot of ideas, but they’re stuck in my head.”

“You impressed Professor Cialdini enough for him to ask you to come here and work with him. At your age, too.”

“Well, I was happy about it. London isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.”

Yuuri picked up the professor’s wristband from the desk and turned it over in his hand, then popped the back off. Whatever was bothering Phichit, he was being cagey about it. Yuuri hoped he’d be willing to talk, but he didn’t think it would be wise to try to pry it out of him. He couldn’t begin to guess, either. Phichit didn’t currently have a boyfriend or girlfriend that he was aware of, and he got along well with his family, he’d said, going home to visit them a few times a year and talking with them via holo-link. He seemed to love the work he did with Celestino, too.

“I wish I was as good as you are with tech,” Phichit commented, watching as Yuuri moved his own wristband out of the way and began a diagnostic of the professor’s with the laser pen. “Maybe I’d invent something amazing.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “You’re a _quantum physicist_, Phichit. People like you invent the stuff I fix.” He looked up. “In fact, wasn’t it that qubit processor whose design you improved which got Celestino’s attention?”

Phichit shrugged, and then a smile crept across his face. “Yeah, well, I guess so.”

“There you go, then.” The diagnostic flagged up a problem with a component he happened to have a spare for, and he took a little box out of a drawer and unpackaged it. “And maybe _I _should’ve invented something by now, anyway.” He used the screwdriver to levitate the tiny piece of metal out of its packaging and into place in the wristband. “Maybe I’d feel like I finally achieved something.”

Phichit came to stand next to him and watched. “What you do is already important. People know you’re there to put things right when they cock up.”

Yuuri smiled as he gently pressed the back on and examined the readout on the little screen, which looked healthy. Then he handed the wristband to Phichit, who pocketed it. “Or they complain to me when they go wrong, as if it’s my fault all the time.” But if he wanted to find out what was eating at Phichit, this wasn’t the way to go about it. Suddenly he had an idea. It wasn’t his scene exactly, but maybe it would cheer up his friend and draw him out a little more. He’d put up with it for that. “You know, I can’t remember the last time we went out somewhere for the evening. If you’re not busy later, there’s usually a folk-rock band playing at The Eagle in town on a Monday night. Fancy going? Their beer’s pretty good, from what I remember.”

Phichit’s eyes widened. “You, go to a pub?”

Yuuri smirked. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Well, how can I say no to that?”

“Meet you there at seven?”

This was more like the Phichit Yuuri was used to. “You’re on,” he said.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a while since Yuuri had had a good reason to visit the middle of York. The ancient city was enclosed by medieval grey stone walls with Roman foundations that were still largely intact and could be walked upon. They formed an imposing dark edifice against the night sky as Yuuri approached Walmgate Bar from the southeast, passing through the tall Gothic archway and into a grey stone passageway illuminated by white street lamps. Of all the gates through the walls, this was the most fairytale-like, Yuuri supposed: a crenellated rectangle with an almost twee double-turreted tower at the end in which the original portcullis still remained, though he’d never seen it closed. It was easy to imagine armoured guards lurking above with spears, or possibly bows and arrows, shouting, “Hark, who goes there?”

Once inside the walls, his breath puffing out in a mist through the chill of the evening, he was on more modern-looking roads, though dotted around were reminders of the city’s long, rich history. Illuminated on a hill to the west was Clifford’s Tower, the largest remaining part of the great castle that once stood there; and immediately to its north, a holographic-cum-living history museum about the Viking era which he and Phichit had enjoyed visiting together one afternoon.

The pub Yuuri sought was at the other end of The Shambles, where they were soon walking. Like most of the heart of the city, this street had been here since the Middle Ages and probably long before, its geography unchanged, ancient wattle-and-daub and wooden buildings leaning toward each other across the narrow shadowed way. Nearby, above the clustered rooftops, rose the tall towers of the minster fringed with Gothic stone tracery that looked like delicate lace under its night-time illumination; the grand medieval cathedral had been the seat of the Archbishop of York, the only other high ecclesiastical authority in the country outside of the Archbishop of Canterbury’s jurisdiction.

Not that it mattered anymore; long gone were the days when the church could tell people what to do and expect to be listened to. It was a bit of a misnomer to call the minster medieval as well, because Yuuri knew there was a museum underneath that displayed the original Roman foundations of the building in which the coronation of the Emperor Constantine had taken place. He remembered that much from school history lessons and trips. What he couldn’t remember was what daily life along these streets had been like, though it was easy enough to imagine peasants and merchants bustling along. Especially religious, too, he assumed, since at one point there had been forty-something parish churches here. The ones that remained, barring a handful, had been converted into flats and offices, though you wouldn’t know it from the original facades.

It was unusual to be able to walk along The Shambles without bumping elbows with throngs of tourists, but all the shops were shut now and it was fairly quiet. He briefly wondered what kinds of shops had been here six hundred or so years ago, before the artisanal bakeries and chocolatiers, fudge and ice-cream makers, knickknack nooks and upmarket restaurants. Maybe it hadn’t been so different; there could still have been people baking and selling bread. Places where travellers could go for a meal. They didn’t have chocolate yet, did they? That had to have come after the Middle Ages. Was sugar rotting their teeth back then? His head full of a hodgepodge of history lessons, _Swords and Sorcery_ and pure imagination, Yuuri decided to give up the speculation for now and look forward to a pint of bitter with Phichit. And a merry old tune, if the band was any good.

He took a turn onto Low Petergate. The Eagle was there, with a corresponding painted wooden sign hanging from a pole outside depicting the eponymous ravening bird of prey with claws extended. Across the street was a closed shop selling Viking-style amour, and next to that a red-brick building proclaiming itself the York Victorian Museum of Costume. Yuuri was again struck by the idea that his moment of “now” was a tiny speck in the great sweep of time. Even the Roman remains here were recent, compared to the relics in other places not far away of people who had lived thousands of years ago – hill forts and round towers, barrows and chambered tombs, stone circles and rock carvings. 

He wondered if he’d ever possess such knowledge of the history of his own people. Or, rather, his family’s people. He spoke Japanese, but if he ever went there, he’d be as much a tourist as anyone inside this pub.

Pulling open the old door, he was greeted by light and warmth. A wood fire blazed in a large arched brick hearth. Perhaps half of the dark wooden tables were occupied, and the low hum of conversation was occasionally punctuated by a laugh or a chair scraping across the stone-flagged floor. There weren’t many pubs around these days, most having been converted into restaurants or cannabis bars, though there was a good choice of them in the area, all trying to be “authentic” in their own way, whatever that meant. This one sold traditionally brewed ales and booked a lot of musicians who played folksy types of songs or instruments. There was no sign of those yet, but Yuuri spotted Phichit at a table near the fireplace and went over to join him.

“Hey,” Yuuri said, draping his coat across the back of his chair. In front of Phichit sat a mostly full glass pint of chestnut-coloured beer on a soggy cardboard mat, its sides glazed with condensation. “Nice and toasty over here.” He checked the time in his visual field; he’d finished repairing his own wristband shortly after he’d seen to Professor Cialdini’s. It wasn’t quite seven. “Have you been waiting long?”

“I got here early and had a pasty. You know, it’s been ages since I’ve been to a pub. I forgot how atmospheric it is in the winter.”

“Well this one, maybe. Want me to get you anything at the bar?”

Phichit grabbed the handle of his pint and took a sip, ivory foam forming a little moustache above his lip before he licked it off. Yuuri smiled and went over to choose for himself, decided on something labelled Baz’s Bonce Blower, and soon returned with his own glass pint. Phichit was sloshing his beer around and eyeing it.

“This English stuff is heavy. You couldn’t drink it on a hot summer’s day.”

“I guess you’d want lager, then. They’ve got that too, if you’d like some.”

“Nah, it’s OK. You gonna try your drink?”

Yuuri’s gaze dropped to his pint, whose contents were dark brown and heavy-looking, as Phichit had said. Its name didn’t suggest anything other than a quirky marketing ploy, the same one that many of these artisanal ales used. He took a mouthful and swallowed.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered with a cough, his eyes widening, and Phichit laughed. Yuuri joined in. “This stuff’s fucking strong. It’s like wine or something. Shit. I’ve got a whole pint of it.”

“_I _should’ve chosen that one. Oh well. It’ll help you relax. Cheers, Yuuri.”

It did help him relax. The room felt very warm indeed after a while. He unbuttoned his tunic halfway down and leaned back in his chair, a pleasant buzz circulating around his system. His mind was unusually quiet, as if it were gently wrapped in cotton. Pint glass now empty, he watched a musical quartet assemble across the room with a violin, guitar, flute and bodhrán. It was good listening to real instruments played by real people. AI could just about get the _sound_, but not the _style_.

Then he reeled his brain back in. He’d brought Phichit here for a reason. So far they hadn’t done much other than talk shop, and about _Double Trouble_, which Phichit liked too, and about Phichit’s pet hamsters. You’d hardly think they were friends of several years’ standing. Yuuri decided to take a stab again at something a little deeper.

“So this project you’re working on with Professor Cialdini…Celestino. Want to tell me a little more about it? Sounds like hard work.”

“Uh…why don’t I get us some more drinks? What would you like?”

Yuuri blinked. “Um, OK. How about a shandy?”

“You’re going from super-strong ale to that?” Phichit laughed.

“Well, yeah.” Yuuri pinged his empty pint glass. “Tomorrow’s a work day. I don’t want to turn up in the morning feeling like shit. I already do in the morning anyway, when I haven’t even been drinking.”

“OK.” Phichit disappeared to the bar. Yuuri watched the musicians move some tables out of the way and start tuning their instruments. He couldn’t work out what kind of look they were aiming for, if any. The men were dressed in bluejeans, tweed coats and shirts, though one had a cream-coloured waitcoat, and another wore a broad-brimmed cloth hat that looked like something Oliver Cromwell might fancy. The woman had waist-length blond hair and a bright kaftan down to her ankles, with a pair of sandals. She was the one with the flute.

Phichit returned with the drinks; it looked like he’d got them both the same thing. Yuuri sat up straighter, took a sip of the lager-and-lemonade mixture, and thanked him. It was more refreshing than the ale had been and went down easy.

“I know you keep asking, and I appreciate it,” Phichit said, picking up the thread of their conversation. “But I couldn’t tell you what was going on if I wanted to. I’m not allowed to tell anyone about it. I’m really sorry, Yuuri.”

“Is it confidential, or classified or something?” Yuuri had no idea of the scale of research that went on in the physics department. For all he knew, they might be developing things for the government or MI8.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Phichit said with a little laugh. Then he sipped his drink.

Yuuri hazarded another guess. “You’re not worried about losing your job or anything – ?”

“Nah. Though…” He looked back at the bar. “…for the next round, maybe I ought to have a shot of something. Or some of that Baz’s whatsit you tried. It might help me put it out of my mind. For a while. Nothing catastrophic. Yesterday was just a really bad day. Anyway, Celestino knows. We’re working on it.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow._ Jesus, Phichit. What’s going on?_ he wanted to ask, but he was still sober enough to hold his tongue.

The notes of the violin suddenly flowed through the room, and the ambient chatter quietened. The woman sang, her voice soft like the wind through grass.

_Within the fire and out upon the sea_  
_Crazy Man Michael was walking_  
_ He met with a raven with eyes black as coals_  
_ And shortly they were a-talking_  
_ Your future, your future I would tell to you_  
_ Your future you often have asked me_  
_ Your true love will die by your own right hand_  
_ And crazy man Michael will cursèd be_

They hadn’t introduced themselves, but Yuuri could see from an old-fashioned paper poster tacked to a wooden post nearby that they were called the Gypsy Davies. And from the sound of the lyrics, it was typical folksy stuff, a song either plucked from the misty past or written in that style. They were good, though. And the woman’s voice…it got into your bones somehow. He sat silently, his arms resting on the table, and sipped his drink and listened, while Phichit did the same.

_Michael he ranted and Michael he raved_  
_And beat at the four winds with his fists-o_  
_ He laughed and he cried, he shouted and he swore_  
_ For his mad mind had trapped him with a kiss-o_  
_ You speak with an evil, you speak with a hate_  
_ You speak for the devil that haunts me_  
_ For is she not the fairest in all the broad land_  
_ Your sorcerer’s words are to taunt me _

It was getting a little too “hey nonny nonny” for Yuuri’s liking, but it had a melancholy sound that moved his heart nevertheless. The strumming guitar wove with the woman’s, voice low with the gravity of the words.

_He took out his dagger of fire and of steel_  
_And struck down the raven through the heart-o_  
_ The bird fluttered long and the sky it did spin_  
_ And the cold earth did wonder and startle_  
_ O where is the raven that I struck down dead_  
_ And here did lie on the ground-o_  
_ I see but my true love with a wound so red_  
_ Where her lover’s heart it did pound-o_

The music swelled and then died, and the room erupted into claps, Yuuri and Phichit joining in. The next song, a bouncy instrumental, didn’t have the same poignant feel to it. “I wonder how authentic they really are,” Yuuri mused. “I think the auth…authen…” That was the drink getting to him, he reckoned. “Whether the bodhrán is a real ancient instrument is dis…argued about.”

Phichit shrugged. “Does it matter? I kinda like it.”

“I guess not. Just, you know, it makes me think of things like _Swords and Sorcery_. That was supposed to feel auth…entic too. When it came out. But I don’t know how much – ”

“What’s _Swords and Sorcery_?”

“You know, that game.” Yuuri took a sip of his shandy.

“What game? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned it.”

“Did I not?” Yuuri tried to remember. That was right; he hadn’t wanted to admit he’d played it. “Fantasy Immersion game.” He chuckled and drank more shandy. “You wouldn’t believe how naff it is, Phichit. What did I ever see in it?”

Phichit smiled at him and sipped his own drink. “That kind of thing used to be pretty popular before the space-travel scenarios got trendy.”

“I spent a lot of time faffing about in it, though. A _lot_. Mari finally banned me from it. We had…some rows. Though I always knew she meant well. But seriously, it was like going through withdrawal, not visiting it anymore.” He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “King of Ethnaria…Elgar the Unwieldy…champion swordsman of England…bloody hell.” More shandy. “Well, I grew up, I like to think.”

“Those games can be really compelling,” Phichit said, looking at him thoughtfully. “A lot of people are like that with them. You have to admit, they can be more fun than real life.”

Yuuri rested his head in a hand and looked silently at Phichit. Too close to the mark. And speaking of marks. “I wanted to be an archer at first,” he said, deciding to carry on now he’d started. “’Cause you can do stuff like stand on a hill a safe distance away and fire endless arrows. When you trap the monster in a cell or something first, it’s ting. But there was a problem with that.”

“There was?”

“Yeah. I’m rubbish with a bow and arrow, and _Swords and Sorcery _doesn’t help you along with that like other games I’ve played. So I had to do something else.” He took another sip. “I ended up being a fighter. Boring, I know. But when you’re a magic-user, nine times out of ten you get killed before you can get your level up because you’re just a jack wandering around in a robe.”

“Wow, Yuuri. Sounds like you really were into this.”

“It’s pretty standard stuff. Haven’t you ever played fantasy Immersion?”

“Never thought about it.” Phichit glanced at his drink, then guzzled the rest of it down. “I like games where you race cars and things. But after the past several weeks…you couldn’t _pay _me to set foot in a fantasy game.” When Yuuri opened his mouth to question him about this, he quickly added, “So what was it like being a fighter?”

Yuuri lowered his eyes and huffed again. His elbows rested on the table while he clasped his hands together, and he leaned his head against them. With his lips being pushed out of place in the process, on top of the alcohol, most of his words were slurred. “I was trying to be the opposite of what I am. Brave, strong. A hero. Not some jack who sits in the corner ’cause he’s too afraid to talk to people. Or doesn’t know what to say. Or something. Anxious.” He unclasped his hands and slid a finger idly across his beer mat. “You can’t be anxious when a dragon’s coming at you. You’ll just get twatted.”

Phichit laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. You’re being too hard on yourself, though, I think – ”

“No, I’m not.” Yuuri ran his finger up the cool frosty side of his glass, wondering why he was doing it. And how he’d got immersed in this entire conversation. _Ha-ha._ “Anyway, I toned the realism down even more, because I never wanted to fight people. Just monsters. Not even the scariest kind, because those give me nightmares. Zombies and spiders and shit. But I’ll tell you what.” He held a finger up to make his point. “I always got a good workout from it. _And _I got pretty good with a sword. For what it’s worth.”

“You did?” Phichit said, sitting up straight and suddenly looking keenly interested.

“Well, yeah. I used it enough. In the game. But there was a re-enactment group near the university one weekend and a jack there let me try his sword. And you know what? I wasn’t half bad. We did some sparring. So…” He sighed and finished his drink, bemused by the excitement on Phichit’s face. His blathering couldn’t be that fascinating, surely. He’d gone into this hoping to get Phichit to talk, but instead was spilling his guts out about things he was sure he’d never meant to. At least an appropriate violin was playing in the background. “It was all pretty childish, I guess.” He wrinkled his brow as Phichit continued to stare. “What?” 

“But, Yuuri – why didn’t you ever mention this before?”

“I wasn’t exactly proud of it. For a while there, it was all I ever wanted to do. I didn’t even want to go to school. You feel like you’re accomplishing something, with all that stuff you’re doing in the game, but it’s just a game, at the end of the day. Real life is out there, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Phichit’s eyes were wide and sparkling. “You’ve given me an idea. Though…” He settled back down in his chair, suddenly seeming to reconsider. Yuuri wished he’d stop staring. “Well, it’s a lot to ask. I don’t know if – ”

“What is?”

Phichit’s gaze was intent now. “Gimme a little time and I’ll get back to you on it. I need to talk to Celestino.”

“About what?”

“Look, um, this project I’m working on with him – it’s pretty urgent. Can I…if I give you some information, will you read it tonight?”

“I thought this was secret or something?”

“Just…I can’t promise what Celestino will say, but I think I can get permission to tell you more tomorrow. For now, all I can do is ask you to read a file on a certain person. If you’re willing.”

Yuuri shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” A moment later, his wristband told him the file had been received.

“Go home and have a look, Yuuri.” Phichit leaned forward. “This woman…she could end up being the most important person in history, for all the wrong reasons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Crazy Man Michael” by Fairport Convention will be a thread throughout this story – you can listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFxf8DJb42k), and find the lyrics [here](https://genius.com/Fairport-convention-crazy-man-michael-lyrics).


	4. Chapter 4

Yuuri wasn’t been able to get more out of Phichit than that, though he tried, perhaps losing a bit of tact in the hope of understanding his portentous comment. Phichit just repeated that he had to talk to Celestino first, and Yuuri should read the file. They remained at the pub a while longer, listening to the band, both having decided they’d drunk enough for the night. The flickering yellow flames and the warmth of the fire were soothing, as was the music, the notes of the violin flowing in a slow treacle that blended with the wood and the hearth, the alcohol and the good-natured crowd, almost lulling Yuuri off to sleep. The applause for the final song jarred him back to consciousness, and he and Phichit parted ways, the latter taking a flying taxi to the opposite side of York, where he shared a flat with two students from the university.

Yuuri walked back the way he’d come, tempted briefly as he passed the dark ancient buildings along The Shambles to think there might be something here to justify the ghost walks that came through every night. The cold air went a long way toward sobering him up, and the strong cup of coffee he brewed when he got to his flat helped too. He soon felt in a mindset to have a look at the information Phichit had sent him, and sat down on the sofa in the living room to do so, cradling the warm mug.

The file was holographic, so he turned out the lights and instructed his wristband to project it above the coffee table. A long white screen with black text appeared; there were several pleasant-sounding voices that would read it to him if he chose, but he wanted to do it himself, silently, at his own pace. And next to the text screen, doll-sized and brightly illuminated as if in a film, was a three-dimensional woman called, apparently, Dr. Ailis Marr.

Yuuri examined the hologram carefully. While the figure itself was immobile, he rotated it with mental commands in order to get a full view. Late 20s or early 30s, he reckoned. Average height and build. Cropped black hair, pale complexion. Striking green eyes that seemed to reflect an incisive mind, shining out of deep sockets. Sharp cheekbones and a slightly jutting chin, giving the impression of stubbornness, or that she had something she wanted to prove. She was dressed in black, in the long plain tunic and baggy trousers that were popular, along with open-toed black sandals. There was no paint on her face – it was usually discouraged in these ID-type pictures, so that the features were more readily identifiable – but she wore bright red lipstick and had matching painted fingernails. Yuuri didn’t think he was seeing anything much out of the ordinary, apart from someone who had a bit of a chip on her shoulder, maybe; she didn’t look like she’d be open to a friendly conversation.

Curious to discover what was so important about her, he began to read the file. The text was synced with his eye movements, and the hologram altered to three-dimensional moving picture clips of whichever section he was reading.

The first sentence seemed to go with the initial hologram he’d examined. _Dr. Ailis Marr, late of Cambridge University,_ it said. _Electronics and physics expert, and eccentric genius._

Eccentric genius? Yuuri wondered what the unknown author’s definition of “eccentric” was, exactly. She didn’t look like a stereotypical mad scientist. Come to think of it, maybe nobody actually did outside of books and films.

_Known to have lived most of her life on Surga with her mother, _it continued, _in the house of a wealthy British expat family; her father, Dr. Anthony Marr, an Irish botanist, died when she was young._ Matched with this was a low-resolution still photograph, perhaps taken by a simple old-fashioned aircam, showing Ailis as a young child posing outdoors next to a man with features similar to her own. Then a wedding photograph of an adult Ailis, though apparently only seventeen, with a man who looked twice her age. Dr. Brian Sanderson, a British epidemiologist. They’d travelled throughout Surga on his studies, but four years later he died of an unknown disease.

Yuuri paused and sipped at his coffee. He felt he could relate to her in some respects. But there was nothing that hinted yet about the importance Phichit attached to her. And what was this about her husband dying from an unknown disease? How was that possible? He did a quick Cloud search for Surga, which he thought he ought to recognise but couldn’t quite place, and discovered it was an archipelago named after its main island, located 1200 kilometers southwest of Sumatra in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

Scanning the info page, Yuuri soon recalled the context in which he’d heard of it before: it was one of the few remote outposts in the world where a scattering of super-wealthy individuals, most of them with finances that had survived intact through the Water Wars of the 2070s and been passed down through their families, had fled to escape international law that would demand they pay taxes and possibly answer for crimes. Working for them, and populating Surga and the surrounding islands, were the poor from places where people still lived in such circumstances, having risked whatever they had left to go there in the hope of a few crumbs from the table. It made Yuuri’s stomach turn, and he wondered what kind of life Ailis had lived and what she’d seen, or if she’d been sheltered from it all in the expats’ house.

The islands were tropical and extremely isolated, with nanobot coverage of less than eighty percent, which made them prone to fostering diseases new to science; that would explain the epidemiologist husband. Dr. Sanderson, being British, would have had nanobots injected into his blood shortly after birth, programmed with the DNA profiles of all known diseases, and regularly updated with information on new pathogens; the boost the microscopic robots gave to the immune system had been one of the great discoveries of the century. But if the doctor made a living from studying diseases, it was plausible that he’d come across a deadly new one before more nanobots could be programmed for it and injected into his system. Had Ailis caught the same disease, then? And if so, had she survived?

Yes to both questions, according to the file. She’d received a life-saving injection of updated nanobots just in time. At which point she moved to the UK, where she studied electronics and physics at Cambridge University, achieving a doctorate degree in four years and proving to be “one of the most promising scientists of her generation”.

_Why haven’t I ever heard of her, then?_ Yuuri mused, watching a silent moving hologram of her lecturing at what was probably Cambridge, though little of the room and nothing of the audience was in view. He finished his coffee, put the empty mug on the table, and began to read the final paragraph of text. It said she’d disappeared from public life three years ago. Yuuri felt surprised at first that no one seemed to know where she’d gone; but then if she were a genius gizwiz, as Phichit liked to call techies, then she would probably know how to avoid surveillance and leave a clean trail so she couldn’t be traced. No known friends or relatives. She hadn’t confided in any colleagues at the university, either.

Yuuri brushed his lips with his fingers in thought as he read on. Now _this _was interesting. Before she’d disappeared, she claimed she’d been pioneering a field she called temporal physics, based on a new force of nature that existed beyond the ordinary dimensions of time and space. She’d written a paper that had outlined her ideas but had not contained any actual research. It was theoretically possible, she said, to build devices which tapped into the energy of that new force and could achieve things – in the areas of communications and travel, for example – that went beyond the boundaries of what had heretofore been believed possible.

If what she said were true, however, it would’ve been worldwide news. Yuuri thought it sounded more like the ravings of an unbalanced mind. Was that what had happened – had she had some kind of breakdown? And was that why she’d disappeared?

The remaining text confirmed that there appeared to be no evidence for her claims. To further obscure the issue, on the rare occasions she’d shown notes and equations to her colleagues, they hadn’t been able to make any sense of them. In the last article she was known to have written, a short piece for a Cloud quantum physics journal, she’d said she was determined to develop her ideas further, and would stun the world with them one day.

“Yeah, right,” Yuuri muttered with a little shake of his head.

She hadn’t left anything behind at Cambridge, at the university or in her flat. She’d simply resigned her post and vanished.

“Three years ago. So why is this suddenly so relevant now?”

She could end up being the most important person in history, for all the wrong reasons, Phichit had told him. A genius scientist and a bit of loose cannon, from the look of things.

Could there be any truth in the claims she’d made? Had she gone somewhere to do exactly what she’d promised – develop her ideas until she was ready to reveal them to the world? Or was she mentally ill? Both, or something else entirely? Why couldn’t Phichit tell him more?

_Dr. Ailis Marr, who are you? _Yuuri wondered he stared at her luminous holographic form, her expression solemn, eyes keen, as if she were the keeper of important secrets. _Where did you go, and what have you been doing? And why is Phichit, of all people, interested in you? _Though the quantum physics angle suggested a reason, however nebulous.

The hologram, oblivious to his scrutiny, continued to speak silently to the unseen audience in front of her.

* * *

“Thanks for bringing Yuuri here, Phichit,” Professor Celestino Cialdini said as the door to his office slid open. He was leaning back in a large leather chair behind a polished dark wooden desk, hands folded with fingers interlinked, a posture Yuuri had often seen teachers take with students when they wanted to look calm and in charge. The grave expression on his face, though, was a little at odds with it. At odds, as well, with an appearance that seemed more fitting for a stage performer: long, thick dark brown hair gathered in a ponytail down his back, bushy eyebrows, billowing white shirt, maroon waistcoat with gold buttons. Red, yellow and orange face paint around his eyes, suggesting tiny curling flames. A pair of sideburns crept down his face, and watery light green eyes regarded him steadily. Yuuri knew he was in his 40s, though he looked younger. There was a faint trace of an Italian accent in his voice.

As Yuuri stepped inside with Phichit, his eyes strayed to the office wall to his left; he couldn’t help it. It was made entirely of glass, separating the ordinary wood-panelled room from a tropical greenhouse that must belong to the botany department. Sunlight glowed on huge green banana-tree leaves, trumpet-like vanilla orchids, bright bird of paradise flowers that he suspected might have been the inspiration for the flame design of Celestino’s face paint, spiky cycads, and myriad other kinds of plants he didn’t recognise. Droplets of water trailed slowly down the leaves and plopped lazily onto the moist wood-chip paths.

“Please, have a seat, both of you,” the professor invited them with an outstretched hand, and Yuuri and Phichit sat down next to each other in black-cushioned chairs. As Celestino regarded him, Yuuri decided that the “calm professor” and “stage performer” personas he’d ascribed to him didn’t quite fit, after all. He seemed more like a minister comforting the family of the dead. Yuuri wondered what Phichit knew, and what he hadn’t been telling him; what secrets these two shared.

“Phichit told you why I asked to see you?” the professor said.

“He, ah, gave me a file about someone called Dr. Ailis Marr and asked me to read it.” Yuuri paused and glanced at Phichit, who was quietly gazing back at him. “Which I did. He told me earlier this morning that he’d spoken to you, and you had a…a proposition for me? I can’t say I understand – ”

“Allow me to explain, then. So you’re familiar with Dr. Marr’s background.”

“In a basic way, I suppose so, yes.”

“We don’t have a great deal of information about her. But it’s felt that the death of her husband and her own near-miss might have left her with undiagnosed mental health issues, if they weren’t already present.”

“I’m no psychologist, but I’d say that sounds like a possibility.” _Tell me why I’m here,_ Yuuri added silently.

“All right. Well, no one knew where she’d gone or what she’d been doing since her disappearance from Cambridge three years ago, as you’ll be aware. But I can pick up the story now.” He took a deep breath. “At the beginning of last month, I was approached by Caroline Rhys, one of our lab assistants. She told me her son had been kicking a football with a friend in an old alleyway in Crowood, and it went through a window that was partially sunk under the street level – ”

“Professor,” Phichit interrupted; Yuuri had seen him fidgeting in his chair since they’d sat down. “I don’t mean to be rude, but does that matter right now? I can tell Yuuri about it later. We need to get to the time-travel stuff – ”

Yuuri hardly had a chance to react before Celestino interrupted Phichit in turn. “What else do you think I’m going to talk about? The weather?”

“Time travel,” Yuuri echoed. He’d be tempted to think this was an elaborate joke or prank, apart from the fact that he knew Phichit was in earnest. “There…there’s no such thing.” He gave an incredulous little laugh.

“All right,” the professor said with a sigh. “Phichit, you can explain in detail at a more appropriate time, then.” He turned back to Yuuri. “Let’s just say that the two boys accidentally discovered something very interesting – a seemingly abandoned basement lab. And Phichit and I went to investigate. Whoever had been using it had left some curious items there. A very modern portable generator. Tool kits. Several tablets containing encrypted information. Computers that we’re familiar enough with, though again none of the information in them was comprehensible. And other things that were more…unusual.”

“Someone just left it all lying around in there? But this was…” Yuuri thought for a moment. “…the beginning of last month, you said. Do you know if anyone came back – ”

“You’re getting ahead of me there, Yuuri,” the professor answered. “In fact, we believe only two people are involved, and I can tell you something about them both, if you’re willing to listen.”

Yuuri reminded himself to be patient, and nodded.

“I think it could take a great deal of time before any of the information contained in the tech can be decrypted,” the professor continued. “If the encryption was done by Ailis herself, who knows what a mind of that calibre might have come up with – the layers, the varieties of permutations…”

“What made you think it was her?” Yuuri couldn’t help asking.

“Oh, we know it was,” Phichit jumped in to add. “Because – ”

“Why don’t we take this step by step,” Celestino said to him with the ghost of a smile and a nod. “Maybe Yuuri should see what we brought back from this lab.” He opened a drawer next to him and took out a shining gold-coloured sphere the size of an orange. As he placed it in his palm and handed it across the desk, Yuuri saw that the only marking on it was a rectangular screen, about four by two centimeters. He took it in his own hand and glanced enquiringly at Phichit, who nodded. Then he gently touched the screen with his index finger and it lit up, revealing a simple display of zeroes, with a single black icon to the side in the shape of an hourglass.

“Don’t touch the hourglass,” the professor said quickly. “That’s how you program it. Though it also works via BCI.”

Yuuri examined the sphere. Hard, cold metal. It was pretty, apparently made of solid unblemished gold, though that was clearly not the case because it was as light as a cork. He’d never seen anything like it. No seams were visible anywhere.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Just put it on the table for a moment,” Celestino said with a gesture. “There’s more to show you.”

The bottom was slightly flat, Yuuri noticed, so that it could sit upright, though it would also be easy to send it rolling with a flick. He did as he’d been asked, deciding that despite the sombre mood in the room, the professor was something of a showman and had no intention of revealing his hand all at once. This time he extracted a tiny black cylinder, again placing it in his hand and holding it out to Yuuri. When he picked it up and held it to the light, he could feel its smooth softness between his fingers, and thought he could hazard a guess as to what it was.

“Translator?” he said, and the professor nodded. But there was nothing unusual about that. It was cutting-edge tech, and the only thing preventing people from buying it, apart from a steep price tag, was the fact that it was separate from the wristband because it operated in a way that wasn’t yet compatible with it, and so people were still mostly using the Cloud translator which dubbed or subtitled whatever you were hearing.

This new device was light years ahead of it, though. Once in your ear, quantum levitation prevented it from moving any further inward; it didn’t even touch the skin, so sounds were not noticeably muffled. The miniature components inside the foamy shell, operating via BCI, would be programmed with whatever languages the user required, though they came as standard with the most frequently spoken ones in the world. It worked by using constant low-level hypnosis to make you think you were hearing the other person’s voice and seeing their mouth speak your own language, while you believed you were speaking it to them, even though you were actually speaking theirs. Yuuri found it disconcerting just how deeply it must sync with the brain to be able to achieve this, but the device was easily inserted and removed with no ill effects; he’d used one himself a few times at the university.

“My guess is you’re thinking there’s nothing unusual about it,” the professor said, and Yuuri’s gaze flicked up to meet his. “That’s what I thought at first. Several of these were in a box at the lab. But when I put one in my ear and brought up the menu of what it contained…well, let’s just say I was surprised.”

“Oh?”

Phichit said, “Ancient languages. Besides the usual modern ones. Middle English, Anglo-Norman, medieval Russian, Latin and Parisian French.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh and stared at the translator, then looked back at the professor. “Who would you speak these with?”

“Good question,” Celestino replied, taking the device back and placing it on the desk next to the sphere. “I tried it out with some of the professors in the history and languages departments, and they said the translations were accurate. Though no one here speaks medieval Parisian French with a great deal of confidence, and we have no medieval Russian speakers at all.”

“What a surprise,” Yuuri said with a small smile. “Anyway, I can’t agree to anything until you’ve made it clear to me what it is you’re asking me to do. A disappearing Cambridge professor, a mysterious tech lab, these gadgets on your desk – it doesn’t make sense.”

“You can see how _we_ felt at first,” Celestino said, taking one more item out of the drawer and giving it to him. It was a black wristband, similar to what most people wore to access the Cloud. The small box in which the tech was enclosed was of a slightly different shape, and had buttons on the side, as well as a cluster of tiny holes that Yuuri guessed might be for audio input and output. It didn’t seem logical or practical, though, because the Cloud connection worked by digitising brainwaves; it must have been a hundred years since people had regularly used tech that had depended on soundwaves.

“Is this some kind of antique?” he asked.

“Far from it,” the professor answered. “And don’t press any of those buttons,” he added urgently when he saw Yuuri’s fingers lingering over them.

He handed the wristband back, no longer able to contain his annoyance. “Dr. Cialdini – ”

“Celestino.”

“Celestino. If you wanted to make me curious, I am. I’d really like to know what you think all this tech is for, how it’s connected to the lab you found and Dr. Marr, and…” He added dubiously, “And time travel, supposedly, as you said. And what exactly you want me to do for you.”

“I’m getting to that. But these three pieces of tech were important for you to see, because Ailis took identical versions with her where she went, so far as we can gather.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “Where she went?” _You’re not going to tell me she went travelling in time…are you?_

“Please, Yuuri, just listen and it’ll start adding up soon,” Phichit said. When Yuuri looked at him, he saw earnestness in his wide brown eyes. And concern. More than anything else, he wanted to know what had been troubling his friend so deeply, regardless of whatever it was Celestino wanted from him. He glanced over again at the serene tropical leaves on the other side of the wall, some of them as big as umbrellas, and took a calming breath.

“This particular device had been left in clear view on one of the tables,” Celestino told him. “And like you were doing just now, I picked it up and examined the buttons.”

_Buttons were meant for pressing, _Yuuri thought wryly. _Even a quantum physicist with an unidentified piece of tech isn’t immune to the temptation, it seems. In fact, maybe it’d have a pretty strong appeal._

“I wanted to try to find out what it was and how it worked,” Celestino continued. “I tapped the black box and was able to call up a BCI interface, like you would with an ordinary wristband. It said something about projections. But I also had my finger over the buttons, and must’ve pressed one. Ailis seems to be fond of providing manual overrides in case the BCI goes wrong, like any good techie…”

“You pressed a button, and – ?” Yuuri urged him.

Celestino raised an eyebrow, seeming to enjoy Yuuri’s anticipation. “I made voice contact through the device. A woman answered, thinking at first that I was someone called Ian. She asked me where I’d been. When I spoke, she knew right away that I was someone else, and we took a moment to establish who was who.” He leaned back in his chair and flexed his fingers. “She told me she was Dr. Ailis Marr, and was angry that I was in her lab. Ian should’ve set the alarms, she said, and she went so far as to accuse Phichit and me of breaking and entering. I said the place had been discovered by accident, and put it to her that she wasn’t the rightful owner, so she had no grounds for accusing us of criminal activity. She didn’t have an immediate answer to that…Actually, perhaps it would be better just to play the conversation back to you. I discovered later that the device records them.”

He pressed a button, and Yuuri leaned forward to listen. The sound quality was about what you’d expect from a small piece of tech like this, but the voices were sharp and clear enough to be easily understood. The beginning of the conversation ran as Celestino had described it. Yuuri tried to form an idea of what Ailis was like, but it was difficult, as she was brusque and suspicious.

The voices in the recording conferred. A red and white butterfly flapped past the vanilla orchid as Yuuri listened. Ailis was muttering to herself about Ian, who seemed to have done a runner and left the tech in the lab without turning the alarms on. It was his com, as she called it, that Celestino was using, and she wasn’t happy about it.

“Leave my inventions alone,” she told him. “They don’t belong to you. You wouldn’t understand them.”

Celestino had settled into a conversational tone in the recording, similar to the way he’d been talking to Yuuri. There was a touch of arrogance in it that was grating. “The Cloud doesn’t appear to contain any information about you,” he said to her. “How is that? Who are you?”

“I already said,” came the clipped response. “Dr. Ailis Marr. I was working at Cambridge University but left to pursue my private line of work.” She huffed. “They didn’t believe a word. I thought I’d go away and prove what a bunch of ignorant pillocks they are. One of the most learned institutions in the world, and they’re struggling to add one and one, and laugh me out of the room when I try to tell them it’s two.”

Yuuri gave Phichit an incredulous glance. He shrugged as if to say, _Tell me about it. This is what we’re dealing with here._

“Have you been in York all this time, then?” Celestino asked on the recording. The village of Crowood wasn’t technically part of York, of course, but it was as near as made no odds.

“A friend of a friend of a friend – don’t bother trying to trace who, because you never will – told me about that old basement hidden away, and I managed to get a key. It was far enough away from Cambridge that I figured no one would bother me there. But things have a way of going pear-shaped, it seems,” she muttered. “First Ian, now you. I’m getting a female assistant next time.”

The strange, unpredictable things she uttered, Yuuri thought. He could see why there’d been speculation about the state of her mental health. But where was she while they’d been talking to her? He was about to ask Celestino when she offered an answer of a kind.

“How would you describe your line of work?” Celestino enquired.

“Temporal physics.”

There was a pause. “I’ve…heard that term in science fiction – ”

“Good. Then you’ll know what it means.”

Another pause. “I thought I understood it to mean time travel, but – ”

“Yes.”

Celestino coughed. “Are you saying you’ve been researching…time travel?”

“Yes. Your intelligence astounds me, Doctor – who did you say you were? And what are you a doctor of, exactly?”

“My name’s Celestino. My assistant Phichit and I are quantum physicists.”

“Oh,” came the quiet response. “Well. It’s not every day a quantum physicist bumbles by accident into my lab, I have to say.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“You won’t mind if I get you to prove to my satisfaction that you _are _indeed a quantum physicist?”

There was a pause before Celestino replied, “I don’t understand why it’s necessary.”

“Careful, Doctor. I’m starting to feel suspicious.”

Celestino agreed to her request, and the next couple of minutes were taken up with him, and on occasion Phichit, responding to technical-sounding questions that Yuuri struggled to understand, involving such concepts as wave function collapse, the Plank constant, and the helicity of photons. They confidently answered them all, and Yuuri flashed an admiring smile at his friend. Phichit gave him a quick, proud smile back.

The change in Ailis’s tone was surprisingly abrupt. “It looks like my luck is in today, then. For the first time, the _first time _in my _life_, I’m talking to people who might have some comprehension of what I’ve done, and take me seriously. If you think you feel up to trying.”

“What you’ve done?” came Phichit’s voice on the com.

“What do you think the tech’s for that you’re looking at – without permission, though I’m willing to overlook that for now – in my lab? The device you’re using to talk with me this very minute?”

“It’s a communicator,” Celestino replied.

“What a burden, to be such a misunderstood pioneer of science. Unfortunately I can’t be there in person to demonstrate to you how everything works. Believe me, I’d love to. I’d have an educated _and_ receptive audience for once, even if it’d only be you two.”

“Where are you, exactly?”

Ailis laughed. “Celestino – I like your name; you sound like a football player, or some Renaissance painter – you’re speaking to the world’s first time traveller, on her very first journey.”

A long pause; then, “I see.”

“My tech works. And do you know how I know? Because I’m talking to you from November, 1392. It’s the Middle Ages here, Celestino, and the weather’s fine.”

Here and now, in the office, Celestino pushed a button and paused the playback. Yuuri stared at him.

“I know what you must be thinking,” Phichit said. “That she’s a headcase.”

Yuuri said in bafflement, “You can’t honestly believe she was talking to you from, what is it…728 years in the past? That’s cracked.” He looked at Celestino. “You don’t believe it, do you?” Glancing again at the tech on the desk, he said, “Is that what she claims this stuff does – sends you travelling through time?”

“Bear with me, Yuuri.” Celestino pressed the button on the com.

In the recording, he had clearly decided to humour Ailis, commenting that she’d done something truly extraordinary and inviting her to tell him about it. Obviously keen on the idea of talking to an interested fellow scientist from her own time, she enthusiastically acceded.

She’d gone into the past as her own experimental subject, she said. There was an element of randomness, it seemed, to where she’d physically arrived, though it wasn’t far from where she’d started. That part needed some refining, she admitted.

“You should see it here, Celestino,” she said with a sigh. “Ye oldie England. It’s like the world’s biggest living history museum, complete with the world’s most convincing actors. They work so hard – in the fields, over hot fires, fetching buckets of water from icy rivers. They’ll even die of plague in front of you, complete with authentic symptoms.”

She seemed to be aiming for a coolly ironic tone with the last sentence, Yuuri thought, but the pitch of her voice went up a notch, too.

Before Celestino could reply, she went on, “How did I accomplish this marvel, you ask? Did you see my time-travel spheres? They contain a component I call a temporal stabiliser. It enables travel through the timestream. I was developing it while I was still at Cambridge, but wanted to devote all my time to it. That’s why I left, with a healthy savings account to see me through until I was ready to announce my discovery to the world.

“Now.” Her tone shifted to that of a professor giving a lecture. “Time travel. Or, should I say, time swapping. Because what happens, in order to balance the timestreams, is you trade places in time with someone else. I wrote a program that chooses someone you’re compatible with, and they’re pulled from your destination and deposited, if that’s the correct term, where you originally were.”

“You aren’t able to get their permission first?” Celestino asked her, obviously playing along.

“No.”

“So who have you swapped places with, and where are they?”

A pause. “I could easily give you the answer to that. But I think I’d have to trust you a little more first. We’re only just getting to know each other, don’t you think?”

“Are they safe?”

“I believe I’m the one leading this conversation. To get back to what I was saying, that com of mine you’re using, Celestino…I think I might be prouder of that than the time-travel sphere itself. I don’t believe you’re aware of the true genius in it.”

Yuuri scratched at his temple, watching water drip from a banana leaf while he listened to her claims about what the com could do, and marvelling at her ability to both brag and come up with believable-sounding nonsense. But then he thought about her background, and her complaints about how no one had taken her seriously. It seemed to be an accepted fact that she had a fine mind, or once did, and he felt sorry for her. 

Not only did the com link with a second one at the point of origin so that two people could communicate, as they were doing now, she said, but it also locked onto the person the traveller was swapping with during the brief moment they were both in the timestream, and captured a kind of temporal snapshot of them. The com would then be able to use low-level hypnosis to “project” the image of that person onto you, so that anyone who saw or spoke to you would believe you were them. It would mean that not only did you bump some unsuspecting innocent person out of their own place in time, but you could take on their identity as well.

Yuuri forced himself to listen as Ailis went into the specifics of this. You could make small alterations to the projection via BCI, she said. Change the appearance of the clothes while you wore anything you liked, or nothing at all. Give your projection a shave and a haircut. But it also allowed whatever aspects of reality through that you wanted. The actual clothes you were wearing. The fact that you were wet or dry, shivering or sweating. And she’d discovered it was a resounding success. She had short hair, she said, but everyone there believed it was long, and _felt _it as long. Unless they attempted something a little more complicated, like running a comb through it; the illusion wouldn’t quite stretch to that. It wasn’t exactly a worry, she conceded.

“Yuuri,” Phichit said quietly, “are you listening?”

He looked over at his friend. “Yeah, sure. But is this important to know?”

“Yes, it is,” Celestino said, having paused the recording again. More loudly, he added, “Because everything she’s saying is absolutely true.”

Yuuri goggled at him.

“Right down to the last detail, as far as we can tell.”

“You – you’re serious?”

“_Maledizione_ – of course I am.”

“Travelling in time, swapping places…really?” Yuuri’s throat hitched. But the answer was plain to see on their faces. “Who did she swap with? Where – ”

“You did hear me ask her that, didn’t you?”

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair. “Doct – Celestino, how do you know it’s true? Everything she said could’ve been made up.”

“We’ll get to that shortly. Is this going to have your full attention now?”

Yuuri glanced at Phichit, who was looking down, then swallowed and nodded, wanting solid proof that his whole world hadn’t suddenly gone mad, with Celestino and Phichit being part of it.

“Good,” Celestino said firmly, lifting his finger to play the recording again. Before he touched the button, however, Phichit spoke up.

“Should you tell him, or should I?”

“Tell me what?” Yuuri asked.

“I…” Celestino frowned. “This is where…I have to admit I didn’t choose my words very well.” He sighed. “How do you deal with someone like her? I said what I thought was best. We needed to try to find out what she was up to.”

“You’d better let him hear it,” Phichit said.

Celestino pressed the button. On the recording, Ailis started to ask some difficult questions. The pleased and proud sound in her voice began to fade, and the suspicion it had initially possessed returned. The tech they’d found there in her lab – had they done anything with it? What were they planning to do? She’d prefer it very much if they left it alone. Once she returned, she would happily show them and the rest of the world how it worked.

“Surely if all of this is true,” he said to her, “one of these spheres would enable a person to travel in time. It’s a very tempting idea.”

“That’s _mine_, Celestino. Not yours to play with.”

“I wouldn’t mind being a time tourist. Nor would many people I know. But surely I’d have to be careful what I did, so that I didn’t accidentally change the course of history. Can I ask if you’ve taken such precautions yourself? Or if any of your tech works as a guarantee that it won’t happen?”

Ailis laughed. “I didn’t come here just to throw a spanner in the works, but these people are simpletons in a barbaric age. I have power and knowledge. Why should I worry about changing history? Maybe I could even make it better.”

“What if you did something to prevent yourself from being born? Or – ”

“Maybe I could do it _deliberately_, just to find out what happened. Or maybe I could do it to _you_, to shut you up.”

There was a silence, and the growing tension between the two of them was almost palpable. “What if I tried to pay you a visit, to see that everything you’re saying is true?” Celestino asked quietly. “Would it be possible – ”

“I thought you believed me,” Ailis said angrily. “And no, you can’t come here. _No one _comes here to bother me, you understand? This is my private journey, for me and me alone, and I call the shots.”

The volatility in her words caused Yuuri to shift uncomfortably in his chair. And had she been serious about her willingness to meddle with events in the past?

“But you’re a scientist,” Celestino said in a placating tone. “Surely you don’t accept claims without proof yourself. For all I know, you could be communicating with us from anywhere here in the present. How can I believe you’ve travelled back in time unless someone else is able to replicate your experiment?”

After a pause, she answered, “You really are just like all the rest of them, aren’t you? I let myself be blinded by hope for a minute, and it was foolish of me.” There was a huff followed by a quick bitter laugh. “So my tech isn’t enough to convince you? I’m tempted to end this conversation now, Celestino. You might not be aware I have more important things to do here. I’m not concerned about proving what I’m saying to yet another closed-minded scientist – one I’ve never even met or heard of. If you don’t believe me, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.” Another pause. “However…if you did get your proof that my tech worked, would it be enough to keep you from using or dismantling it in case you got your fingers burned? We wouldn’t want anyone suddenly disappearing and being eaten by a dinosaur or shot by an alien.” She chuckled. “Though that might be a better way for you to learn to take it seriously, come to think of it.”

“Convince me,” Celestino said simply.

“Fine,” she replied, the relish of a challenge in her voice. Then another pause as she seemed to be thinking. “I’ll leave something at Crowood Castle for you to find; I’ll make sure I put it somewhere in the ruins that are still standing in your time. Keep Ian’s com for now – I’m sure you will anyway, no matter what I say – and I’ll tell you tomorrow where to go look.”

Celestino paused the com again. “So what happened?” Yuuri asked him, still struggling to make himself believe all of this was real.

“She got back to us in the morning, as she promised. Phichit and I went with an archaeologist, who brought some tools. She would’ve asked to see documentation of how we suddenly knew about the location of an artefact, so I told her it was a secret project I was working on, and fortunately being an old colleague, she was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. Don’t ask me why I went through with it myself, Yuuri, because like you, I was inclined to think Ailis’s story was pure nonsense. But there was no denying the existence of that strange tech, and that the woman is a genius. I needed to go see this hiding place for myself, though she didn’t say what she’d left there.

“The instructions we were given took us to a particular stone in the kitchen wall. Eve, the archaeologist, knows the castle well, and said it was one of the oldest areas. When she inspected the mortar around the stone, she said she’d stake her reputation on it being original and untouched for hundreds of years. We had to wait a bit while she contacted the Historical Preservation Society and got permission to pry the stone out as we’d been told to do.” He stopped and stared at Yuuri.

Talking to this man was an exercise in patience, Yuuri decided. “And?”

Another desk drawer was opened, and Celestino removed an old-looking grey metal box about the size of a casserole dish. It was a little warped and weathered, but remained in a rectangular shape with its lid intact. He took a pair of white cloth gloves from the same drawer and pulled them on.

“This lead container was what we found,” he said. “Eve insisted we should wait to open it until we were under controlled conditions here at the university. But I got her to agree to do it in my office; I didn’t want anyone else in the archaeology department to find out and start asking awkward questions.”

Yuuri leaned forward and watched with keen interest as Celestino gently prised the lid off the box and set it aside. And he couldn’t resist gasping at what he saw. Nestled inside was a yellow-paged tome with a crumbling leather cover…and a skull missing its jawbone.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

“I must admit to feeling rather shocked myself,” Celestino said as he carefully lifted the book up and placed it on the desk. Yuuri was eyeing the dark-socketed skull, but Celestino seemed to want him to examine the book first, and opened it to a random page.

Yuuri knew of the existence of illuminated manuscripts, but had never seen a real one. It emitted an odour of decaying leather but looked to be in good condition, despite the years it had ostensibly been sitting behind the kitchen stone. The text was in Latin, he guessed, and every stroke of every letter had been painted by hand. The first one at the top took up almost a third of the whole page, and was embellished with an amazing palette of colours and mesmerising geometric designs. Roses of different hues on winding green vines circled around the margins. This page alone was a work of art.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Celestino said, taking in the expression on his face. “Eve was delighted, I can tell you. She keeps asking me when she can have it back to preserve and show her colleagues, but I’m not ready for this information to get out yet. You haven’t seen the most interesting part, though – look here.” He shut the book, then opened the cover to the first two pages. There was Latin text on the right, and an illustration of Mary and baby Jesus on the left. Underneath the picture, on the vellum or parchment or whatever material it was, yellowed with age, was written in black ink in a style that looked modern but seemed to be trying to achieve a historical feel – possibly even a darkly humorous one:

_This Holy Worke Is Hereby Dedicated to Celestino and Phichit. Two Worthy Men of York. With a Reminder that Death never Loseth its Sting. Ailis Marr, Yeare of Our Lord 1392._

“Eve was able to perform some tests,” Celestino said as Yuuri stared at the words, feeling his skin creep. “She said the ink in the, er, dedication dates to the 1390s and the book itself to the 1370s. But this…” He lifted up the skull briefly, and Yuuri flinched. “…is about fifty years older than the ink, you’ll be happy to hear. Eve pointed out traces of beeswax on top of it,” he added, indicating with a gloved finger. “She said it’s likely a candle sat there. Gruesome, eh?” He carefully replaced the skull and book in the box, put the lid on, and returned it to the drawer along with the gloves. “As for how Ailis got her hands on such a treasure, I looked around the castle ruins while I was there and saw it’d had a library. I can imagine her sitting and laughing while the aristocrats who owned the place scrambled to try to discover where their book had gone.”

Yuuri held a hand against his mouth, the vacant stare of the skull lingering in his mind. He could understand now, especially with Eve the archaeologist’s help, why Celestino had decided to believe that Ailis’s claims to have travelled back in time were genuine. He knew it would take a while for his gut feelings to synchronise with what his mind had just learned…but he couldn’t see any other explanation for the evidence, either. And yet all he seemed able to do was sit in stunned silence.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Phichit said.

Yuuri gave a mirthless laugh and shook his head. “Jesus.” 

“There’s more,” Celestino said eventually, and Yuuri braced himself inwardly.

What followed was another series of explanations from the professor along with clips of a new conversation with Ailis. He and Phichit were here in the office when they contacted her the second time. She didn’t answer straight away, but eventually greeted them and said she was willing to talk, especially once they told her they’d found the box she’d left and enquired about the skull.

“I didn’t kill anyone, if that’s what you were wondering,” she said with a touch of amusement. “I took it from one of the rooms in the castle. They’re morbid that way here. But I thought it might get a certain idea across. That I’d rather you didn’t try to interfere with what I’m doing. I can always find a fresh one to leave for you somewhere else.”

Yuuri shuddered. It sounded like she might well be capable of it.

In the recording, Celestino asked her how long she’d been in the year 1392. When had she left the lab? Not long ago, she answered. Relatively speaking. Since October. They lit bonfires and did all kinds of strange things on All Hallows’ Eve; he should’ve seen. She added that she was pleased to hear he finally believed her. He tried to persuade her to return to her own time by using flattery, which Yuuri had to agree might work on many people with an inflated sense of self-importance; but his own instinct was that she was intelligent enough to see through such simple tactics and even feel patronised by them. This could indeed be the greatest invention the world had ever seen, Celestino said. He asked her to come back and show everyone how it worked. She laughed and said she couldn’t if she wanted to; the temporal stabiliser had been damaged beyond repair. She’d brought a spare along, but it had been damaged too; it must have been the interaction with the timestream. So she was stuck unless she could find another way back.

“It would of course be possible for me to be yanked back to 2120, like a rebounding elastic band, if the woman I swapped places with was killed,” she said. “I’ve been wondering if it’d have to come to that.”

“Jesus,” Yuuri said again.

When Celestino expressed a similar sentiment in the recording, Ailis said these things were sadly necessary sometimes. Seemingly in more of a garrulous mood after the finding of the metal box and its contents, she claimed Ian had treated the woman well and even given her a translator programmed with languages used the Middle Ages so she could speak with them, Ian in person and Ailis over the com. But Ian, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, had got careless one day, and she’d escaped. Ailis refused to reveal the identity of the missing woman to Celestino and confessed she didn’t know where Ian was either, because they’d had an argument shortly afterward and that was when he’d gone off in a snit. She hadn’t heard from him since.

“Pear-shaped, like I said,” was her clipped comment. “He obviously left all my tech behind for you to find. Just because I said I liked it here and thought I might stay, when I might not have much choice about that anyway. ‘All this time I’ve been helping you,’ he moaned at me, ‘and for what?’ Honestly, there’s no pleasing some people. You would’ve thought he’d realise he was in a privileged position, helping the world’s first time traveller.”

She challenged Celestino to find him, claiming it would be impossible because she and her assistant were experts at avoiding detection. Then she speculated about what she might be able to achieve where she was. “I brought some interesting things with me, Celestino,” she said almost playfully. “The laser guns are the best. I haven’t harmed anyone yet, and I don’t intend to…well, not for a while. I could, though, if I wanted to. Imagine what a person could do with just one of those in the Middle Ages. Imagine having the power to change history. I could assassinate the king and fry his knights in their armour before they could raise a sword or shoot an arrow. It’d be like an Immersion game, only better.”

Yuuri barely registered Celestino pausing the recording again. His heart was racing, and he’d slumped back in his chair, his hand over his mouth again, eyes wide. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening. Had happened 728 years ago, or was going to happen in the past – how could you even _think _about it without tying your brain in knots? What had she done? What might she do? Could she have already made some change that none of them were aware of, because they thought it was part of the natural course of events? What would it feel like if such a change occurred right this second? 

“Oh my God,” he whispered as a shiver passed through him.

“I know,” Phichit murmured. “That’s what we thought, too.”

“Tell me that your archaeologist friend could’ve made a mistake,” he said, his eyes on Celestino. “The age of the writing in that book is the only solid piece of evidence we have that Ailis Marr really travelled back in time, isn’t it?”

Phichit stared at the floor, and Celestino frowned. “Eve said she had no doubt the ink was genuine. The tests they have nowadays can be accurate almost to the year and the very place the ink was made, she said. But no, that’s not the only piece of evidence.”

“What’s the rest?”

“I’ll get to that.”

Yuuri bit back a retort. “So what have you been doing since this happened? Have you found more information about Dr. Marr and this Ian person? Does anyone know who he is? What about the woman she swapped places with? Has anyone been in the news claiming to be from the Middle Ages, speaking whatever version of the language they used back then? Saying she’d been held prisoner here and got away? Those would be big clues, I would’ve thought.”

Celestino sighed, but his eyes glinted with what might have been annoyance. “You’d know if anyone like that had been in the news, wouldn’t you?”

Still groping for possibilities, Yuuri’s mind went to a darker place. “Maybe she’s been through the mental healthcare system. She was claiming to be from the year 1392 and they thought she was mad.”

“Don’t think that possibility didn’t occur to us either,” Celestino replied. “I’m afraid the answers are no, all round. Government intelligence has been looking, and I don’t suppose Phichit and I are likely to do better than them. No mysterious woman from the past, no Ian. And Ailis was right – she does seem to be a master at hiding her trail. The only information that appears to exist on her is gathered in the file you read, which was compiled from interviews with people at Cambridge who knew her, and photos and holograms they possessed. Aside from that, the only evidence she ever existed is the papers she’s published. Even Cambridge’s own databanks have been scrubbed. No one’s been able to trace her mother, if she’s even still alive. She has no other known relatives. And as for Ian, all we know about him is what Ailis has told us.”

“If the woman she swapped with could be found,” Yuuri mused, “you’d at least know whose identity she’s taken in 1392. If that’s really where she went. I’m still finding that hard to completely believe. But if so, then how else would you track her down, especially if she’s so good at evading detection?”

“You don’t have to tell me, Yuuri. The problem is, we’d have no record of her, would we? She basically would’ve appeared here a couple of months ago with no tech on her, and the cleanest data trail any adult has probably ever had. Ailis said they’d given her a translator, so I doubt she’d be attempting to speak in Middle English to anyone. It’s likely they gave her modern clothes as well.” He sighed again. “All we can do is keep searching. We’re not exactly prepared to release a general press statement asking the public to keep an eye out for an escaped time traveller.”

“She must be frightened out of her mind, whoever she is.”

“Very likely.”

Yuuri glanced at the com the professor still held. “Let’s hear the rest, then.”

“That was the end, more or less. Ailis was very uncooperative. Her final comments were along the lines of it not mattering whether we found Ian or the woman she’d swapped with, because the only way she’d be able to return to the present was for that woman to die. She told me I was welcome to try to make it happen, then said this was the last conversation she wanted to have with me or anyone else connected with me. The rest, as they say, was silence.” He sat and looked at Yuuri, seemingly waiting for a reaction.

_I don’t know what you want from me. What you’re expecting me to agree to do. _“If this is all true, it’s a big problem,” he said.

“I thought the English were good at understatements. Seems perhaps the Japanese are even better.”

Yuuri felt a stab of irritation. “How else would you describe it? ‘Imagine having the power to change the course of history,’ she said. And she does. So how can she be stopped? You’ve already spoken to her, and she doesn’t want to listen. Short of sending someone after her…” His voice trailed off as he realised the import of his words. His heart skipped a beat, and he stared at Celestino, who raised an eyebrow. “You…those…” He swallowed and looked at the tech on the desk. The translator. The com, which Celestino had laid back down. The shiny gold sphere. “You haven’t tried to use those, have you? Do they…” And again his voice trailed off.

“Can we even begin to understand how these devices work?” Celestino said quietly. “No. Ailis has made them impervious, somehow, to scanning tech. We can’t see what’s inside without taking them apart. And we wouldn’t even be able to do _that _without lasering into them and potentially ruining them. Do you see any way of opening that sphere, for example? Apart from prising the screen off and most likely damaging it in the process? This isn’t someone who’s a bit cleverer than other people, Yuuri. She might well be the most innovative scientific mind the human race has ever produced. We can’t even decode her notes, let alone her tech. And while we’re flailing like this, she could wreak havoc at any moment.”

He fell silent as Yuuri stood and walked over to the glass wall, feeling a strange desire to stroke the leaves on the other side. With the barrier between them, how could he be certain _they _were even real? With his arms folded across his chest, he watched drops of condensation form trails through the patches of mist; strange to watch, while he stood here cool and dry.

“You said you had more evidence that she’d travelled back in time,” he said, continuing to stare ahead into the little slice of tropical jungle that seemed so out of place in this cold, dark northern land. “I’m going to ask again – what is it?”

“I told you we don’t understand how the devices work,” came Celestino’s voice from behind him, still quiet; and again Yuuri was reminded of the minister comforting the family of the dead. “We wouldn’t know how to take them apart or build new ones. But they’re easy to _use_, Yuuri. And we have.”

Yuuri spun around to face him and was met with sombre expressions as both Celestino and Phichit gazed back. “You can’t mean…” he whispered.

Celestino nodded. “We found three spheres in the lab. This – ” He indicated the one sitting on the desk. “ – is the last of the three. We’ve sent two scientists into the past after her.”

“And – ?” Yuuri asked, the word forcing itself through a dry throat.

“They’re both dead.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Yuuri…”

“No. I’m not hungry.”

The two of them were in Yuuri’s office at the university, having taken a lunch-time break. Yuuri had offered Phichit the chair, but his friend insisted he was fine to sit on the desk. Yuuri looked like he needed something more comfortable, he’d said. He himself had known these things for a while, and Yuuri was having to take them all in and process them in one great heap.

“Actually, I’m not hungry either,” Phichit sighed. “Have you got any nutri-pills?”

“Uh…” Yuuri searched distractedly through a drawer and pulled out a bottle that was about a third full. “We could wash them down with some tea.”

“Yeah, OK.”

“I don’t have a drinks-maker or anything flash in here. Just teabags.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter.”

Yuuri went through the tea-making ritual with hardly a thought, dropping the bags in empty mugs, filling them with hot water from the tap, then adding sugar and milk from a small fridge. His mind felt strangely blank. Even more so than after the Baz’s Bonce Blower of the night before. It was having difficulty getting past two things Celestino had said: _They’re both dead_; and earlier, via Phichit: _He has a proposition for you._

They swallowed the pills. Yuuri looked out the first-storey window at ordinary people going about their ordinary lives on the paths below and in the air, in vehicles and on hoverboards. With no idea that a woman had travelled back in time with a laser gun and a mind to use it. And that two people had gone after her and would never return. It couldn’t be possible. It couldn’t. But it had happened anyway.

The office was silent for a minute, apart from gentle sipping noises and the faint chirp of birds outside. It was unusual for Phichit to sit pensively like this, though Yuuri now felt he understood the reason why. He decided it might be a good conversation starter if he asked him more about how the lab had been found; it was something he’d been curious about when Celestino had mentioned it, though at the time he’d been glad that Phichit had prompted the professor to get to the heart of the matter. And fortunately, Phichit seemed keen to explain.

Caroline, the lab assistant, had known Celestino for some time, he said; and given the strange tech that her son and his friend had glimpsed inside, she seemed to think he would know what to do, so had gone to him before the police. He, in turn, did some research on the Cloud, discovering that it had been vacant for years and was in the custody of the county council, though they didn’t seem to have any immediate plans for it.

“So we decided to go have a look,” Phichit stated.

“You…what?” Yuuri said, sitting up straight and putting his empty mug down on his desk. “But didn’t you think it could be dangerous? What if criminals were using it, or someone with a gun?”

“It’s OK, Yuuri,” Phichit said reassuringly. “It was in the middle of the day and there wasn’t anyone around, we checked. I _wanted _to go, when I heard Caroline telling Celestino about it. It was just for a quick reccy. We couldn’t get through the old-fashioned locked door, so we pulled the rest of the glass out of the broken window and let ourselves in that way. We had electric lights with us. Funny thing was, even though you could tell it was once the basement for the building up above it, there was only one internal door, and it was bricked off. When we went back out into the alley, we found a loose board on one of the ground-floor windows and moved it aside to peek in, but the place was empty and full of dust from what we could tell. Maybe someone was coming in to use the lab, we thought, but they weren’t actually living there.”

“Probably a good thing,” Yuuri mused as he watched Phichit finish his tea and put his own mug down on the desk. “From what we know now, if Ailis and this Ian person had been there, they might not have wanted to let you leave.”

“You don’t know the half of it yet,” Phichit muttered.

“I guess not. So how did it happen – the two scientists…?”

Phichit blinked. “I think Celestino wants to tell you himself.”

There was a pause. Then Yuuri asked him, “Their deaths – is that what’s been upsetting you?”

After heaving a shaky sigh, Phichit nodded. “The second one died yesterday.”

“_Yesterday?_” Yuuri repeated. “Then it must’ve been in the night or the early morning, because when you came to my office – ”

“Yeah. Though do you even call it yesterday when it really happened all those years ago? It’s so confusing. And I’m a quantum physicist. We’re supposed to eat ‘confusing’ for breakfast.” He managed a weak smile.

“And you still came in to work?”

“I wanted to. I wanted to see Celestino. Who else was there to talk about this?”

“Maybe the government who ought to be sorting this out somehow, instead of you two on your own?”

“I know Celestino’s talked to some important people. I’ve seen some in the office. But Ailis is, like, the only authority in this field, you know? Nobody else understands any of this stuff. I think MI8, or whoever it is, reckon that quantum physicists have about the best chance of putting everything right.” He lowered his voice. “I’m not positive about this, but I think they’re hoping someone can go back in time and help her fix her tech or build something new that’ll bring her back. Then they want her to join them. Or something. Like…” His voice broke and he took another sip of tea. “Like that’d really work. All you have to do is listen to her and you’ll know it’s a stupid idea. I think she’d shoot you as soon as she found out who you were.”

“Is that what happened to the two scientists Celestino sent?”

Phichit’s eyes darted around the room. “He told me – ”

“Yeah, I know. He told you not to tell me anything else.”

“I didn’t even have much to do with them,” Phichit said in a lowered voice. “Dr. Quincey and Dr. Croft. Celestino was their main contact over the com; I just covered for him a few times. They kept it really official, even with him, I think. You know, just reporting in, usually to say they were OK but hadn’t found anything yet.” He shifted on the desk. “But you know, Yuuri, it was enough. I tried to help them both, and now…” He sniffed.

“I had no idea,” Yuuri said quietly. “It must’ve been horrible. But are you really asking me to become dead ‘scientist’ number three?” _He’s going to tell me I’ve got it wrong, _he found himself wildly hoping. _That they just want me to assist them because I’ve got tech skills; to study these strange devices of Dr. Marr’s and try to understand them…which is why they’re willing to use all three spheres they found in the lab in desperate attempts to send people into the past to stop her. Yeah, sure._

Phichit didn’t answer right away, appearing to think about what he ought to say. The fact that he didn’t deny it outright was all the information Yuuri needed.

_I can say no. No one can force me to do this. How can they possibly think I’d want to…that I’d actually be able to…Jesus. _He took a deep breath. “Phichit…”

“Yuuri – let me just ask. Why, when you said the word ‘scientist’ just now, did you make it sound like you were being sarcastic or something?”

“Because I’m not a scientist,” Yuuri said simply.

“_I _think of you as one. You’re brilliant with tech.”

“That makes me a techie.” He wondered why they were debating something so inconsequential.

“You’re always doing yourself down.” Phichit gazed at him intently from his perch on the desk. “The last thing I want is for you to get hurt. You’re my friend. A _good _friend. But I told Celestino about you because I really think you could succeed where the other two scientists, um, didn’t.”

Yuuri stared back in surprise. “How? I shouldn’t have to give you a list; you know me. I get anxious. I’m rubbish in social situations. I’m nothing but a dime-a-dozen techie.”

“Is that really how you see yourself? You’re the…the nicest person I’ve ever met.” Before Yuuri could respond, he went on, “You _care_ about people. I think you have a lot to offer, if you could just…I don’t know, find your way.” He seemed to be hitting his stride now. “I know you’ve got problems, but well, everybody does. Did I mention you’re clever, too? You can figure things out.” He paused and lowered his voice. “We need somebody like you. Me and Celestino. Don’t get me wrong, Celestino’s brilliant, but I think even he feels out of his depth with this, though he won’t say so.”

Yuuri didn’t tell him he was stating the obvious, but he was also touched by the unexpected compliments. He briefly considered whether Phichit was trying to butter him up so that he’d agree to do what Celestino wanted, but was annoyed with himself for thinking such a thing. His friend might be young and not exactly tactful at times, but Yuuri knew he was absolutely honest. If he said something, he meant it.

And yet…was it enough to persuade him to risk his life? Then he remembered the damage to the temporal stabilisers, and realised that if he did agree to travel back in time, and it actually worked, it could very well be a one-way trip.

_Am I willing to live the rest of my life in the Middle Ages? Oh my God._

What did he even know about 1392? Who had been king? Didn’t most everyone live in dirt and grime, wear roughly spun drab clothes, and never bathe unless they were nobles – and maybe not even then? Gruel for breakfast, turnips for dinner, fighting off famine and disease day after day, while they were meant to piously thank God for it? The opposite, basically, of how that era was presented in Immersion games like _Swords and Sorcery_. He supposed it couldn’t have been as extreme as that. After all, those beautiful old buildings in the middle of the city must’ve been inhabited by someone. But still…

That might be the life that awaited him. If he lived at all. If Ailis, or the attempted journey itself, didn’t kill him first.

He realised Phichit was waiting for a response, giving him time to consider his words. “I’m flattered,” he said, “but I can’t understand how you, never mind Celestino, could ask me to do this. Since when does one good friend ask another to go on a potential suicide mission?”

Phichit’s eyes opened wide. “No way, Yuuri. Don’t think of it like that. I told you, I…I believe in you. We’ve only got one more person left to send, and then Ailis…well, she’ll know she can do whatever she wants, and then what? We wake up with King Edward the Twentieth ruling over us, or – or some fascist dictator, and think it’s just normal? God, Yuuri, what are we going to do?” There was a panicked note in his voice. “Maybe you could see yourself as – I don’t know, a time cop. The first one.”

Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat. This really was ludicrous. “A _time _cop? Phichit, I’ve had _zero _training. Would you just pick some random jack off the street to do a cop’s job?” He hadn’t raised his voice – he wasn’t angry – but it needed to be said. “Besides, technically I’d be the third, not the first. And look at how well it worked out for the other two.”

Phichit was chewing his lip while he listened, then he sighed, staring down at his fingers in his lap. “It’s totally up to you, Yuuri,” he said in a small voice. “I already feel bad for asking you. Like I s-said…” He gave a quick sniff. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” And then he burst into tears. 

* * *

Twenty-one. He was only twenty-one. And to have had this burden placed on his shoulders for even a short amount of time…Yuuri knew it wasn’t logical, but that struck him more deeply than all the esoteric talk about time travel. His young friend who had recently experienced the deaths of two people and felt desperate enough, and had enough faith, to ask him to take the next and last chance.

That counted for something. But Yuuri wasn’t finished with his questions for Celestino yet; and after another cup of tea, some emergency chocolate-chip Hobnob biscuits and a bit of time for Phichit to reapply his smeared face paint, they were ready to return to his office.

The professor appeared not to have moved when they arrived, though the aroma of hamburger lingered in the air. The greenery on the other side of the glass still dripped and glowed, but the sun had swung further overhead and the shadow of the building was beginning to creep into the bright, foggy jungle. Phichit sat down, but Yuuri crossed the room to the greenhouse wall and folded his arms across his chest as he had before, solemnly meeting Celestino’s gaze. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps his feelings of annoyance and shows of cool composure were just those – shows – because they were forming a barrier to keep his growing horror at bay: at what he’d discovered throughout the course of the morning, and at what he was seriously considering doing with his life. That eyeless skull still flickered in his brain like an after-image, and he willed it away by staring at the bright bird of paradise flowers. When he felt more grounded, he turned back to Celestino.

“Phichit told me the second scientist only died yesterday.”

“That’s right. In a manner of speaking, depending on which timescale you use – ”

“I’m not bothered about that right now. I’m concerned about two deaths. And you want me to follow in their footsteps.”

“That’s what I’ve been hoping you’d be willing to do, Yuuri, yes.”

_You’ve got a nerve. You don’t even know me. At least Phichit apologised for asking me to risk my life. _

Before Yuuri could reply, Celestino continued, “Phichit thinks very highly of you. He says you’re sensible, clever, trustworthy, discreet. I was tempted to think he might be over-egging the pudding, as they say, with such a glowing list of praises. But now that I’ve met you, I’m inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Yuuri managed to stop himself from letting out a laugh. No doubt it had been meant as a compliment. Instead of discussing his own supposed merits any further, however, he wanted to get down to business with some questions that had presented themselves to him over the lunch break, while he’d been thinking about the logistics – whatever they might be – of time travel. “Did you think of sending anyone into the recent past, to prevent Ailis from travelling through time in the first place?” he asked.

Phichit and Celestino exchanged a glance, and the latter answered, “We did think of that, yes. But we knew we’d risk creating a paradox, and we had no idea what the consequences would be. Two versions of one person alive at the same time.”

Yuuri considered this with a frisson of apprehension, decided he had a point, and moved on to his next question. “You can program these spheres, presumably? Why didn’t you program one of them to take the person to, say, a moment before Ailis arrived in the past herself, so they’d be there waiting for her?”

Celestino’s mouth twitched in what might have been frustration. “Don’t think it didn’t occur to me. But all these spheres seem to be in some kind of…harmony, synchrony, whatever you want to call it. We couldn’t program any of them for a time and date earlier than another sphere had been programmed for. If you understood the tech, my guess is you might be able to find a way around it, unless it’d be breaking some kind of temporal law. We know almost nothing about this, Yuuri, and believe me, it pains me to say it.” After a pause, he added, “I suspect these unknown temporal laws might have more influence than what’s immediately apparent. For example, once we sent people into the past ourselves, we always found the times of day were synchronised when we talked over the com. I also suspect that if you’ve spent a week in the past, you’d return a week after the moment you left. Like I said, maybe it’s possible to override all of these things – but if so, does Ailis even know how? Who can say?”

Yuuri felt his head begin to spin and decided he’d had enough of trying to understand temporal physics for now. There were other, simpler, things he also needed to know. “What happened to the people who presumably arrived here from the past when you sent the scientists? Are they still here?”

“I believe it works the way Ailis said, like the snap of an elastic band,” Celestino replied. “When each scientist died, their counterpart disappeared. I can’t speak personally for the second one, but we know the first unfortunately met with a grim fate soon after he arrived back in his own time. I’ll explain in a moment.” The expression on his face softened, and Yuuri thought he saw a capacity for kindness there that had been elusive up to now.

“While they were here, though,” Phichit jumped in to say, “we tried hard to look after them. We gave them some of the translators from Ailis’s lab. Celestino arranged for them to talk to some historians and linguists here at the university. But they needed a place to stay, and we knew they must feel really put out and confused, so we sent them to the living history museum. It’s one of those where they try to live like the people did back then, twenty-four hours a day. So our visitors kind of fit right in.”

Yuuri smiled and then chuckled, imagining it. “Really?”

“Really.” Phichit seemed to brighten as he recalled. “Though actually, it was Dr. Morgan Fay’s idea; she’s the university’s senior medievalist. I think it was a good one, too.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment. “They both had hard lives where they came from, from what they told us, and said they liked it here, even if it was kind of strange. I mean, obviously the people who run the museum weren’t getting everything spot on, though I think our lot enjoyed helping to put some things right. One of them was a fourteen-year-old boy. We were…” He glanced darkly at Celestino. “We’d actually been making plans to send him to school, before…you know.” He looked down at the floor.

_Before he met with a grim fate, _Yuuri finished for him silently. The poor hapless lad. How much had he actually understood of what had occurred? And how many more innocent people were in line to be killed because of Ailis’s tinkering with things that should have been left alone?

_Careful, Yuuri Katsuki. You’re forming some definite opinions. They might just guide your actions._

“Yuuri…” Celestino leaned forward, his arms on the desk. “…I can tell you more about what happened to the two scientists – if you think this is something you’d consider doing. Travelling to the past, like they did. But I also need to know if you’re planning to rule it out entirely. I’ve already spent a great deal of time passing information on to you – time that will have been wasted if – ”

“I understand,” Yuuri said. “I…well, I can’t deny it’s confusing, and disturbing, and…and a lot of other things.” He added more quietly, “But I’m not ready to say no yet.”

Celestino nodded and invited him to sit down. As he did, he thought he saw relief in Phichit’s eyes.

Fortunately, the professor explained, Ailis had left spares of every device in her lab. He could only guess why – to conduct experiments with, to have at hand because something was lost or malfunctioned, to be used on future travels perhaps by a companion. At any rate, as Yuuri was aware, two of the three spheres they’d found had now been used. The scientists had been kitted out with Ailis’s translators and coms, and all of the tech had worked – apart from the continuing problem of the spheres providing only a one-way journey due to the component failure after travelling in time.

“I asked them to go because of their intelligence and skills, and because I knew and trusted them,” Celestino explained.

_And because they were willing to give up what they had here, and risk getting killed. _Yuuri wasn’t sure whether to read into that a noble sense of purpose in an attempt to keep the world as they knew it safe, or a willingness to leave a painful or empty life…or possibly both. He didn’t want to speculate at the moment what might apply to him.

Celestino brought up a hologram similar to the doll-like one of Ailis Marr Yuuri had examined the night before, which slowly rotated a few centimeters above the desk. It was a slightly built black man of middle age with dark brown hair and a bald spot, wearing a white lab coat and black trousers and shoes. There was something familiar about him; Yuuri was sure he’d seen him at the university.

“Dr. Walter Quincey,” Celestino said. “He was a physics professor here.”

“That’s it,” Yuuri muttered, gazing at the hologram. “I’ve fixed tech for him a couple of times. But he went on sabbatical, according to the newsletter, I think. _This _was what he was doing instead?”

“Yes. We weren’t sure where it was best to send him from, so we tried here at the university, and equipped him with the most cutting-edge tools we knew of, and a laser gun, should he need it.”

“And…what happened?”

Celestino stared at the hologram and was silent for a moment, as if remembering. Yuuri wondered if it was a shadow of grief he saw momentarily pass across his face. “He swapped with the fourteen-year-old boy I mentioned. Arthur Farmer, the son of a peasant on the Crowood Castle estate. He was very disorientated at first, as you might imagine. But we gave him a translator and they looked after him at the museum. I visited a few times; he was a nice lad. And before you ask, yes I questioned him about anything unusual he might have seen before he arrived here, but he was out in the fields most days and rarely visited the castle, so if he ever came across Ailis in whatever identity she was projecting with her com, I doubt he would’ve realised.

“Walt also settled in where he was,” Celestino continued. “In order to take on Arthur’s identity, he had to work long hours in the fields.” Something like fondness shone in his eyes. “But he never complained. He checked in regularly with me and gave me reports that were, unfortunately, negative; though if he’d had more time…”

“How long _was _he there?” Yuuri asked.

“About three weeks. He was able to tell me that the castle was owned by a Russian noble family called the Nikiforovs; the lord was a friend of the king’s father, from what Walt could gather. It was easier for him to ask questions around the local towns and estates, because not being an actual inhabitant of the castle, he said he had to ask the porter to admit him, and he needed to have a good reason for being there. He succeeded on a few occasions, though I’m sorry to say he never found any clues – until the last time, because…well, that was the encounter with Ailis.”

“Where he was killed.”

“Yes,” Celestino replied curtly, his eyes not leaving the hologram. His voice quietened as he went on, “He was only supposed to be taking farm produce to the kitchen, but he managed to sneak away to look around the castle. I don’t think there was any rhyme or reason to what he was doing; perhaps he thought he might come across something that caught his eye. He mentioned seeing the great hall for the first time, and he was looking for a way to go upstairs, when…in a corridor…a few whispered words, that’s all it took.”

It was the first time Yuuri had seen him lose a bit of his composure, though it was quickly back in place. “A whisper?”

Celestino shook his head. “What possessed him to contact me over the com at that moment, I’ll never know. His check-ins were usually very official, almost military-style. I think he might simply have been in awe of the beauty he’d just seen in the hall and wanting to tell me about it. His last words were…” He cut himself off. “Well, the com recorded that conversation too. I don’t think it’s essential for you to listen to it, since I told you what happened, but if you want to borrow this – keeping it absolutely safe at all times, mind you – you can do it in your own time. I’d rather not hear it again.” He held the com over the desk. “The last moments of the life of Dr. Walter Quincey, deceased; and shortly after he reappeared in the past, Arthur Farmer…deceased.”

Yuuri stared at Celestino’s solemn face, and his heart lurched. Eventually he reached out a tentative hand that shook slightly and took the com, then glanced at Phichit, who’d been quietly following the conversation. “Have you listened to this?” Phichit simply nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Yuuri put the com in his waistcoat pocket, wondering if he’d be able to find the courage to do so himself.

“Call up the BCI in that and it’s self-explanatory,” Celestino said. “The menu for the projection won’t do anything, though, until – ”

“The com takes a snapshot in the timestream while you’re travelling,” Yuuri finished for him. “I remember.” He paused. “I’m sorry about Dr. Quincey. And Arthur.” He noted with a glance that the shadows in the greenhouse were deepening as the sun dipped and faded. “And the second scientist…”

“Dr. Helen Croft. I doubt you’ll have heard of her. Another physics professor; I worked with her years back at Queen Mary University in London.”

The hologram of Dr. Quincey disappeared, and a woman took his place who seemed to be in her 50s, with red hair in a bun, a lot of freckles, and clear blue eyes. Average height and build, typical office clothes. Neither of these people, Yuuri realised, looked like they’d be comfortable doing anything strenuous outdoors, let alone wielding a sword or shooting a gun. Though he could easily imagine them studying tech in a lab.

“She was trustworthy and bright, like Walt,” Celestino told him. “She had the expertise to fix things if they went wrong. And she also had a touch of ESP. I thought maybe it would give her an edge. Enable her to catch people’s thoughts, maybe. She could also short out electrical equipment with it. That seemed a definite advantage if Ailis pulled a gun on her.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, taken aback. “I’ve never met anyone who had it.” It had been decades since the ability had been scientifically verified and studied, yet little information was available; some said the government had decided the general public wasn’t ready for it, and kept it under wraps. There were special communities that claimed to welcome people with ESP talents, but what went on there wasn’t common knowledge. It was more usual for someone to possess a modest ability to sense thoughts, feelings, or moods, and it tended to run in families. Not Yuuri’s own. “Did…did it help her?” he asked. Though the obvious answer was no.

“We never got a proper chance to find out. She was only there for a week before she fell ill. In another week she was dead.”

“What? How?” Yuuri asked in sudden alarm. But then he remembered what he’d been thinking about just last night. Who had it been…? Ailis’s husband, that was it. He’d died of an unknown disease – something the nanobots in his blood hadn’t recognised and therefore couldn’t help his immune system to fight off. It appeared that there were unknown pathogens in medieval York as well.

When he shared these thoughts with Celestino, the professor said they’d been trying to learn from every venture into the past. Dr. Croft had been sent with items Dr. Quincey hadn’t brought with him, such as toothpaste and painkillers. He intended to do better still with Yuuri, if he agreed to go, by giving him new nanobots and the tech to use them if he needed to.

“Whose place in the past did Dr. Croft take?” Yuuri asked, raking a hand back through his hair distractedly.

“We decided to send her from the basement lab this time, which was presumably the point of origin for Ailis; and as we hoped, she ended up in the castle. She traded places with a laundress there; a young woman called Ethelfrith. If she has…had…a surname, we never worked out what it was. Long blonde hair, nice girl, if a little scatty. They said she was quite a chatterbox at the living history museum. Though again, when I spoke to her, she didn’t seem to think there’d been anything amiss at the castle; no indication she’d come across Ailis or anything belonging to her.”

“And she disappeared as soon as Dr. Croft died – yesterday?”

“Helen told me over her com that she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. That’s not a conversation I’d even suggest listening to, as Ailis wasn’t there, and there’s nothing else for us to learn. Though I promised I’d share it with her family.”

Yuuri’s throat hitched. He was beginning to feel a part of the grieving himself, even though he hadn’t known these people.

“Ethelfrith vanished right in front of the lady she was talking to at the museum,” Phichit said. “That’s what they told us. She had about a second to react to the shock and reach a hand out like she was trying to hold on to something before she was pulled away, and then…” He shrugged. “Gone.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said quietly. “I’m sorry.” Though perhaps there was a hope that Ethelfrith the laundress had arrived back in the past unharmed. Unsure of what else he could say, he turned back to Celestino. “I guess Dr. Croft didn’t have much of a chance to uncover any clues.”

“It’s clear Ailis doesn’t want to be found,” he replied flatly. “We know she’s good at covering her tracks, with tech or in more conventional ways. But when she tried to use her ESP to focus on Ailis’s mind – they were only stabs in the dark, she said – she got the impression that she was content, as far as someone can be who’s mentally unbalanced.”

Yuuri considered this. “Meaning, if what she was picking up was accurate, that Ailis probably hasn’t been working in the fields all day like Arthur, or doing anything else you’d call drudgery.”

“That isn’t to say she’s not a servant,” Celestino was quick to add. “We need to be careful about making assumptions. Women who were well off in times past had other women to look after them, didn’t they? Perhaps she spends a lot of her time doing hair or choosing dresses. Or she could be part of a merchant’s family. Maybe she’s designing clothes, or maybe she likes cooking; who knows?”

Yuuri nodded. “Or maybe hard work doesn’t bother her, if she had troubles here she felt she was escaping from. Yeah…it’s not much to go on.”

“Helen was a talented woman. It was a waste.”

Celestino said nothing further, and Yuuri stood once more and walked over to the glass wall. All of the plants were now in grey shadow. A flying car passed high over the roof of the greenhouse. “Why me?” he said eventually, turning to face the professor again. “Out of everyone else you could ask, to take the last sphere? Why don’t you get an MI8 operative or something?”

“Because you have tech knowledge, Yuuri; you’re someone who stands a chance of being able to deal with Ailis’s intelligence and inventions. Not only that, but when Phichit told me about you last night, he said you were able to fight with a sword. You could defend yourself if you needed to, if you didn’t have your gun or you didn’t want anyone to see you using it.” 

Of all the absurd reasons. “He told you that was in Immersion, right?” he said with a small laugh. “I don’t know where to begin. The monsters I fought weren’t real. The skills I learned weren’t with a real sword. My muscles aren’t as developed as they were, either. And a sword’s gonna be a hell of a lot of help if someone’s pointing a laser gun at me.”

“It still gives you more of an advantage than Walt and Helen had.” He went on to tell Yuuri about an incident that had involved Walt in a pub, or whatever they’d been called back then, when he’d been attempting to gather information and had been attacked by a drunk who’d drawn a sword on him. “If the man hadn’t been removed from the building for disorderly behaviour, Walt would’ve been in serious trouble. But if he’d had your skill…”

Yuuri sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve never been in that situation, not in real life. It’s not one you’re likely to come across.”

A long silence settled on the room while each of them fell into their own thoughts. Yuuri got the impression that Celestino and Phichit were preparing to hear him announce his refusal, after all the questions he’d asked and the scepticism he’d made no effort to conceal. Phichit’s expression showed anxious worry, he thought, while Celestino’s was neutral; though in the middle of the fiery face paint, his eyes seemed to have paled even further, as if they were losing hope along with their tinge of colour. 

He turned them to Yuuri now. “I won’t delude you about your chances of returning here, to your own time,” he said. “But if you succeeded, and you did come back, the university would ensure you were well provided for in all your years to come.”

It sounded like a spectacular bribe, but it didn’t speak to him. Not like Phichit in tears. Or a young teen taken from his home and robbed of his simple life. Two scientists who had taken great risks and paid the ultimate price. A woman from the distant past, perhaps wandering the streets of York in fear and confusion, lost and alone…and a world being held at the gunpoint of a madwoman.

And they thought _he_, Yuuri Katsuki, had any chance of putting these things right?

He swallowed and then returned Celestino’s gaze. “I…I think you ought to know that I get…anxious sometimes,” he confessed, not wanting to share something so personal with this man but feeling it was necessary. “Knowing that I’d be carrying so much responsibility…it doesn’t help. Whatever faith you have in me, I don’t think I can say I have it in myself.”

“Yuuri, we’ll give you as much support as you want,” Phichit added fervently.

“That – that’s good of you,” Yuuri replied. “But I’m not sure how much it’d help. I mean, you won’t be there with me; just here, talking to me.”

“Is that so bad?” his friend insisted. “The other two scientists, they never said much. It doesn’t have to be like that, though. We’d make sure you never felt alone. You could talk into your com anytime. We could look up information for you. Try to advise you. We’d be right here, whenever you needed us.” He looked at Celestino, who was regarding him silently. “Wouldn’t we?”

“Of course,” he replied; though Yuuri suspected he didn’t relish being on twenty-four-hour standby and was hoping Phichit’s offer wouldn’t be taken too literally. And while he appreciated it, he wondered how much assistance they would in actual fact be able to give him. He imagined contacting them to check in once in a while or to pass information on, nothing more. Ailis herself seemed to be getting on fine without the one contact she seemed to have in the present, Ian.

“I know this is a difficult decision,” Celestino said. “And it’s been landed on you very suddenly. But I believe you have all the information you need now. I’m not asking this of you lightly, Yuuri, and I don’t expect you to answer without having had time to consider. Though if we parted ways now, I hope you’d be prepared to give me an answer by the morning.”

A dart of trepidation shot through Yuuri’s chest, but he pressed his lips together and nodded. “I know it’s urgent. I…yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll go think.”

He took in a variety of expressions on Phichit’s face in quick succession. Relief. Concern. Fear. And, in the end, resignation, for the time being at least.

They said their goodbyes, and as Yuuri left the room, the image of the late Dr. Helen Croft, still shining just over Celestino’s desk, lingered in his mind’s eye.


	6. Chapter 6

Yuuri attempted to go about his normal tasks for the remainder of the day, to steady his shaken nerves and allow everything he’d been told to sink in. But he knew it was no use.

His conversations with Celestino and Phichit kept plaguing him. While he was replacing the copper self-sustaining energy coil in a cleaning robot. Removing the dust from a holographic projector. Installing a new qubit processor for someone whose department had bought them an upgrade. Such mundane jobs had suddenly gained an appeal they’d never previously had. They were certainly preferable to dodging laser-gun fire, or trying to take on someone else’s identity from another time.

He was up to his elbows in metal components on someone’s desk in the music department, listening to the distant echo down the hall of some kind of old-fashioned stringed instrument being played, when he realised what a risk – what a very _big _risk – the identity swap could really be.

_I wrote a program that chooses someone you’re compatible with, _Ailis had said on the recording. But what did that mean? Seemingly someone of your own gender. Was that all? Dr. Quincey had swapped with a fourteen-year-old boy. If he himself went back in time, might he swap with someone even younger? Or a frail old man?

_Or someone who makes a living by working on the roofs of cathedrals, with no safety equipment. A…a criminal, even. Someone in a prison, or a dungeon. I could be here one minute, and chained to the wall in some dark, dank place the next._

A wave of nausea swept through him. The lilting melody from the hall almost seemed like it was taunting him.

_What if I swapped with someone who had a wife? I’d have to…_

Could he _do _that? Even if he preferred women over men, which was not the case. And would the image projector…no, he didn’t want to finish the thought. 

“Fuck this for a game of soldiers,” he said aloud, grabbing up his toolkit and striding out of the room.

But when he was alone in his flat, sitting on the sofa with the com in his hands, he made himself search again for his resolve. While he dithered, who knew what Ailis was up to? An hour of his time here was an hour of hers there, if he’d understood Celestino correctly. An hour that was lost forever, because the time-travel sphere wouldn’t take anyone back to it. An hour in which she could carry out any of her threats.

Was listening to the deaths of Dr. Quincey and Arthur going to help him find the courage he needed? He doubted it. In fact, this was likely to be worse than staring at the skull Ailis had left for Celestino and Phichit to find in the castle’s ancient kitchen.

Yuuri sighed and stared at the com. He ought to find out what the recording contained. Either that, or accept that this…mission was beyond him, and tell Celestino in no uncertain terms.

_And let him, and Phichit, down when they seem to believe I can do this. God only knows why they think so._

He mentally brought up the device’s BCI menu, ignored what it said about projections, and chose a recording labelled “Deaths of Dr. Walter Quincey and Arthur Farmer”. The conversation began with the type of formal-sounding check-in Phichit had described. Dr. Quincey went on to explain how he’d gained entry to the castle and passed through the great hall, which he said had been like the most beautiful exhibit in a museum, or Immersion brought to life in astounding detail. For someone who’d reportedly been curt in his communications, this seemed like quite a departure. No wonder Celestino had said the doctor seemed to be swept up in awe of it. Maybe it had been the first proper look he’d even had of the main rooms in the castle.

“I’m just making my way down a corridor right now,” Dr. Quincey told Celestino in hushed tones. “Perhaps if I can find some stairs, I might be able to access some of the private rooms and have a look round. I hope I’ll have a chance to visit the great hall again, to be honest with you. It isn’t anything like what I’d been led to expect in history classes at school. You should see it, Celestino…”

Yuuri wasn’t sure how sensitive the microphone in the com was, but it was good enough to pick up the subtle creaks as the doctor walked across a wood-planked floor. Wait – that was odd. Surely one person didn’t make that much noise on their own.

There was a gasp and a woman’s voice from further away. Yuuri recognised it from the recordings in Celestino’s office, and a shiver passed through him.

“That was you talking to someone in the future, wasn’t it? Did he send you to spy on me? Make me go back? _Kill _me?”

“You,” Dr. Quincey gasped.

“I thought so. You came here with my tech. Using my com.” She sounded furious.

“S-She’s here, Celestino! Ailis is – ”

Yuuri heard the unmistakable high whine of a laser gun firing. The recording cut off and a moment later Ailis returned; Yuuri assumed the sound was now coming over her own com.

“Celestino,” she hissed. “_La kampret woy asu__._ That’s what they’d say in that hellhole where I grew up. You’ve forced me to kill two people, this man and this boy he obviously swapped places with. The kid appeared here after I fried your agent. I’ve never killed anyone until this very moment. Do you hear me?” The outrage in her voice was plain. “They saw who I was. I couldn’t let them tell. If you _dare _send anyone else after me with my own tech, then after I deal with them and get back to the future, I will find you, rip off your testicles, and stuff them down your throat. Before I fry _you_ and your little assistant. Now, I’m going to have to clean up this mess. There’s not much left of either of these two, and I’d rather they weren’t found like this.” She practically spat out her parting words: “I don’t expect to hear from you again – _bajingan_.” And with a click, the recording ended. 

Yuuri mechanically looked on the Cloud to find the meaning of what she’d said to Celestino after the gunfire. It was Indonesian for _Damn it, fuck you._ He didn’t bother to look up the other word; there was no need. As his heart hammered and his throat hitched, his gaze fell blankly on the com in his hands.

_She did that to them._

_She could do it to me._

_Celestino wanted me to know what I was getting into._

The room was quiet, the curtains across the window drawn and still. Yuuri considered calling Phichit, but what would they talk about that hadn’t already been said? His only companion was the decision hanging over his head. He wondered if Dr. Croft, the second scientist, had listened to the recording, too. If so, what had influenced her to agree to travel to the past anyway? Whatever internal reserves she’d drawn upon, Yuuri was doubtful he had them, especially after listening to…to that.

_But I saw desperation in their eyes. Phichit’s – and Celestino’s, though he tried the whole time to hide it. I’m their last hope. Not just them. If Ailis does something terrible, the world as we all know it might cease to exist._

_I could do some good, for once. For a lot of people._

_What am I thinking? I’m not made for such important tasks. I’d fuck them up. At the first sign of trouble, I’d panic and run away._

_Wouldn’t I?_

He let out a shaky sigh, and a tear slipped down a cheek. How could he possibly choose?

Eventually placing the com on the coffee table, he approached the little wooden butsudan that sat on a shelf. Its doors were open, and a white tea candle burned steadily inside. He stared quietly at the framed photograph propped behind it. If he agreed to this mad suicidal task, he would no longer be here to tend this. And he’d have to let Mari know.

“You’d tell me I was the world’s biggest idiot if I said I was thinking of saying yes to Celestino, wouldn’t you?” He ran a slow, gentle finger over the glass enclosed by the frame. A frozen moment of himself, age nine; Mari, age fourteen; and his parents, Hiroko and Toshiya…gone these last eleven years. 

It was the photo – or, rather, what it made him remember – that in the end guided him to make up his mind. 

* * *

Red-tiled roofs and Victorian terrace houses in winding rows. Fields enclosed by skeletal hedgerows, their leaves long shed, populated by herds of sheep that looked from above like scattered grains of rice. The River Ouse, grey in the flat light from an overcast sky, meandering around clusters of trees as it streamed away from the city. Eco-houses with round earth-coloured domes, built into hills or fashioned from mud or cob, many with thatched roofs, like residences here would have been hundreds of years ago.

_Maybe it won’t look so different in 1392,_ Yuuri mused, looking down through the window at the serene view below, a conurbation mixed with countrified areas. He supposed the main difference would be that there had been a much smaller population at that time, and instead of suburban sprawl interspersed with greenery, there would have been a sprinkling of isolated villages separated by wilder land. The flying driverless taxi was zooming high above it now, taking him to Crowood. He never felt comfortable in these things, but they were practical. A quick nip into the sky and he’d be there.

Too soon. But then, a journey of an hour or even a day would feel the same, he was sure. Though he knew it was absurd to want to put off what he’d agreed to do.

He’d spent a grand total of one day preparing, part of it with Dr. Morgan Fay, iron-haired professor of medieval studies. She’d escorted him to a gym on the campus that had apparently been reserved just for them, as no one else came in while they were there. While it was full of manual apparatus such as mats, pommel horses, balance beams, nets and racquets, and balls of myriad kinds, he’d quickly discovered that it contained mod cons as well.

“Phichit Chulanont says you’re good with a sword.” There was a challenge in her voice. “I thought you might want a chance to practise. Want to try me, or would you rather have an Immersion opponent?”

“I’ve played Immersion enough times,” he answered. “It’s useful, but it isn’t real. You want to…spar with me?”

Her blue eyes twinkled. She looked to be in her fifties, fit and spry. Her hair was twisted and clipped at the back of her head, and like Yuuri, she wore black athletic wear with no face paint, since she’d informed him they would be doing some exercising. “I told you, I’m a member of a re-enactment group. I can put on a good show for tourists, and tell you the difference between a falchion and a scimitar, but I can also wield a blade.” She smiled. “Maybe I’m not as strong as you, but I have some good moves.”

Yuuri knew he couldn’t attack this person in any earnest way, even in sparring fashion; he figured he’d be able to knock her down with one well-aimed blow. But he had no desire to face another imaginary opponent in Immersion, either, so he nodded.

“Let’s get ready, then,” Dr. Fay said. There were a couple of cardboard boxes on the floor next to her; they’d been here when Yuuri had entered, and he had no idea what they contained. But he found out now. Leather armour, for a start. She picked up a breastplate and handed it to him. He’d never closely examined armour even in Immersion; it simply appeared on him, or he’d find it in a chest or on a deceased opponent and it would magically be added to his inventory. Dr. Fay’s seemed almost new, and had a distinctive smell mixed with whatever oil had been rubbed into it.

“I don’t think I’ll need to wear this for sparring,” he said.

“Just in case of accidents,” the professor explained, taking out another breastplate and pulling it over her head, then fastening ties on either side. “It also gets you used to wearing it while using a weapon. It can feel quite different from not having any armour on at all.” She took a leather belt with a scabbard and handed it to him. “You can adjust the straps and so forth on these. Make sure they fit you well, because they’ll be yours to wear when you go back in time.”

Celestino had told him that Dr. Fay had been fully briefed on Ailis and her inventions, and as the only other person at the university besides himself and Phichit with that knowledge, had helped Dr. Quincey and Dr. Croft to prepare before they’d departed. She’d been doing the same for Yuuri while they’d walked to the gym, though he didn’t think she’d told him anything he hadn’t already read in history books or learned at school. He wasn’t sure how much he’d actually needed to know anyway about the Blackfriars, the Guild of Merchant Taylors, or so-called sumptuary laws that dictated which clothes people from different socioeconomic classes were allowed to wear, but he filed the information away nevertheless.

Before they’d left her office, however, she’d given him something that would no doubt prove very useful: a bag of genuine coins from the time, worn-looking but clean and shining. They belonged to the university, she’d said, and the archaeology department thought they were only on loan to her, but Yuuri had her leave to use them as he saw fit; the idea had only occurred to her after the other two scientists had gone, and she hoped it would give his mission a better chance of success. He hoped so, too, even if they would be no guard against laser guns or mysterious diseases.

“I’m meant to wear all this when I go?” he said, now strapping on a pair of arm guards the way he’d watched her attach her own.

“I thought you might want to. But it’s up to you. It obviously won’t stop gunfire, but it’s protection in case someone attacks you.”

“Does this mean the storybook knights in shining armour didn’t appear until later?”

“No, plate mail had been around for a while, though it was expensive. It’s just heavy when you’re not used to it. From what I understand, if you need to _look _like you’re wearing plate, you can have your com project it into your image.”

“As long as no one tries to test it by running me through with a sword.”

“Well, let’s see what you can do now.” She opened a second cardboard box and lifted up a glittering silver sword, which she handed to him. “_En garde, _Yuuri.”

They’d sparred until both of them were sweating. Yuuri had held back, allowing her to win a few times, though he respected her speed and determination. He knew she was right about the show they were putting on for a hypothetical audience. How effective it would be against a real fighter from 1392, however…well, he hoped he’d never have to find out.

“You’re good,” he breathed when they were finished. “I’m surprised Celestino didn’t ask you to go instead of me or one of the other scientists.”

“_Scientist _being the operative word,” she said as she began removing her armour and replacing it in the box. She’d set one aside solely for Yuuri, to contain his armour and belt and sword. “I don’t have any more knowledge about tech than the average person.” Then she stood up straight and met his eyes. “Besides, as much as I want to see the Middle Ages for real…I’d also want to come back home.”

The day hadn’t ended with Dr. Fay. Phichit had asked Yuuri if he’d wanted to visit the Yorkshire Museum in the heart of the city, and he’d agreed, more to spend some time with his friend than because he had any desire to view old coins, armour, swords, or gold and jewels. He knew he might not be seeing most of those things where he was headed anyway, if the livelihoods of his predecessors were anything to go by. Maybe his bag of coins would prevent him from falling on times that were too hard, though he didn’t know how far their purchasing power would go, and he’d got the impression that Dr. Fay hadn’t been sure either.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna be seeing these things for real,” Phichit said quietly as they sat on a bench, their eyes lingering over the medieval exhibits in glass cases, and a glowing stained-glass window with rainbow-coloured panes and intricate paintings of what appeared to be saints. They had haloes, at any rate.

“We _are_ seeing them for real,” he said, unable to hide a touch of amusement.

Phichit turned to look at him. “You know what I mean. Like, when they were first made. Brand new.”

“Right now, I’d settle for just looking at them in a museum.” After a pause, he continued, “Phichit, I…I don’t know if the faith you and Celestino have in me is justified. And if I survive somehow, I still might never come back.” The words, spoken aloud, wrenched him inside, and tears momentarily sprang to his eyes, but he blinked them back. “I’ll do my best, though.”

“I’ll help you as much as I can,” Phichit said earnestly.

“I know.”

“I’ll miss you, Yuuri. But we can talk over the com. If Celestino lets me. He’d better, though, or…or he can find another assistant.” He sniffed.

This time a tear escaped down Yuuri’s cheek, and he leaned over and hugged his friend. “Thank you.” He couldn’t help thinking it was the last time they’d see each other, barring Yuuri’s exodus from the basement lab the following day.

And now that the day had come. As the taxi neared its destination, Yuuri discovered he felt curiously numb inside, as if the difficulty of processing it all, when everything around him seemed so normal, was too much for his brain to deal with.

Maybe he could hope there’d be something interesting waiting for him in 1392, if the sphere worked and he actually made it there.

* * *

The windows to Ailis’s lab were boarded over, including the broken one that must have served as the initial entry point. Celestino explained that he’d obtained a key from the council as he unlocked the door and led Yuuri and Phichit down small flight of concrete stairs to a room with a stone-flagged floor, brick walls and cobwebbed rafters. A portable lamp threw a yellow circle of light in the middle when he switched it on. Two wooden tables were the only furniture, on which Celestino put the boxes of kit Yuuri would be taking with him.

He said he thought this would be the best time of day to depart, since everyone in 1392 ought to be concentrating on their daily tasks. Yuuri had taken his word for it, though the wait throughout the morning had been difficult; he hadn’t even been able to make himself swallow a handful of nutri-pills. And now that he was here, where Ailis had been working, his heart started to race as he considered what he was about to do.

Celestino had advised him to dress comfortably, so he’d put on his black athletic wear and white trainers, along with his calf-length black coat; he’d wanted to bring his warmer blue parka, but wasn’t sure the leather armour would fit over it. He’d already fastened a leather belt around his waist to which a matching leather purse was attached, containing the coins Dr. Fay had given him. The idea was to wear whatever he needed to take with him, and when he found a safe place to store it, he could do so; in the meantime, if the com projection worked as it should when he arrived, he wouldn’t look like the bizarre packhorse he was shaping up to be. He hadn’t even donned the large backpack Celestino had brought for him yet.

“The other scientists didn’t have armour,” Phichit mused as he opened a box on the table and held a shining piece of leather up in the light.

“No,” Celestino said, “and we’re putting that right with Yuuri. We’re going to make sure he has the best chance yet of success.”

Phichit took the arm guard out of the box, laid it on the table, and removed the sword belt next. “Yuuri, this stuff is so juke,” he enthused. “I can’t believe you’ll be wearing it.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t send either of the scientists with swords,” Yuuri said as Celestino began unpacking the backpack.

“The laser guns are superior weapons; I didn’t think at the time that they’d need anything else.”

“This is the Middle Ages we’re talking about. Didn’t everyone walk around with a sword? Like cowboys with guns?”

“Maybe.” Yuuri recognised Ailis’s tech as Celestino pulled the items out. “My mistake was not realising that if other people are around, then shooting a laser gun, even if it’s only on stun, might give away the fact that you’re not from round these parts, I suppose you could say.” He turned to Yuuri, his gaze intense. “Whatever you do, you mustn’t let her know you’re there. Not as Yuuri, not as anyone. She might not even know we sent Dr. Croft, since she died of illness…though there would’ve been the problem of the body, of course.”

_Jesus. _“I know,” he said. “The last thing I want is for her to be on her guard, or go looking for me.” _I guess she’d be trying to find out who I ripped out of their own life and swapped places with…just like I’ll be doing when I look for her. _He wondered if he might be able to apologise to his counterpart over the com, or if that would make matters worse. Better, perhaps, to just accept the fact that he was about to do something very unexpected to someone, whether they liked it or not. A wave of nausea swept through him, and he was glad he hadn’t eaten anything all day.

“Well,” Celestino said, “if you’ll remove the items from the bag you brought here yourself, we can take stock of your inventory and have a last-minute think about anything else you might need. There are shops outside on the main road that one of us could visit if necessary.”

Yuuri unsnapped the fastenings on his satchel and began unpacking. Ordinarily he’d use the BCI in his Cloud wristband to make all the compartments open instantly, but he’d left it at home. Where he was going, there’d be no Cloud to connect to.

Celestino had told him to bring plenty of toothpaste and painkillers. Yuuri hoped neither of his predecessors had had some kind of awful dental crisis that had caused the two items to be recommended together, but he hadn’t wanted to ask. Naturally he’d also brought with him a toothbrush, comb, razor, shaving foam, soap, deodorant, and other personal grooming products he felt sure medieval people never would have come across. Maybe he would be giving himself difficulties by having to find a place to store these things out of sight, but he didn’t want to imagine being without them.

“Yuuri,” Phichit said, “have you got your toolkit?”

He smiled and patted the pocket of his coat. “All set.” If – _when_, he corrected himself – he found Ailis’s tech, it was likely he would have no more clue how it worked than the items of hers he was already bringing with him, but that wouldn’t stop him from examining it and trying to prise out whatever secrets it would give up.

“You look ting, like a secret policeman or something.”

“These are just my normal clothes,” Yuuri said with a small smile. As if white trainers could ever be described as ting. Maybe on a professional athlete. “Wait til I’m wearing leather armour over it all. I’ll look like someone out of one of those dystopian films. Or just a pillock in a lot of mismatched gear.”

Celestino handed him a translator, and he inserted it in his ear. “Is it working? Can you understand me?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri replied. “You’re speaking English.”

“No, I’m speaking Italian. And to me it looks and sounds like _you’re _speaking Italian. I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Next he picked up a com and handed it over. Yuuri had returned the one he had borrowed that had recorded the deaths of Dr. Quincey and Arthur, which was currently the only direct contact Celestino and Phichit had with Ailis. He assumed it would be possible to reprogram the way the coms connected to each other, but the technique wasn’t obvious, and they hadn’t wanted to risk making mistakes.

“These two seem to be linked; I checked last night, but let’s make sure,” Celestino said as Yuuri fastened the strap around his wrist. “You call up the BCI menu to contact the other com, and if there’s a call coming over yours, the menu will pop up for you.”

Yuuri followed his instructions. “Um, testing,” he said, holding his wrist near his mouth to ensure the little microphone caught his voice. A tinny version of it came through another com on the table next to Celestino. “I hope you have all these gadgets labelled so you don’t forget what’s linked with what.”

“Let me worry about that. Now – ”

“There was something I wanted to say before we went any further. A request.”

Celestino and Phichit both looked at him.

“I want Phichit to be my main contact over the com. If…” He turned to his friend. “If he’s OK with that.”

“Yuuri – ” Phichit began brightly, but Celestino cut him off.

“That wasn’t the plan,” he said, his brow knitted. “I’ve always been the main contact.”

Yuuri had expected an argument, but Phichit’s enthusiasm was enough of an incentive to keep pushing. “You aren’t any more of an authority in this situation than he is. No one actually understands this stuff apart from Ailis, and we don’t know how much of it she even understands herself.” When Celestino began to reply, he added, “I’m the one who’s going to be risking my life, or getting stuck in the Middle Ages for however long.” _Assuming I go to the right time and place. Well, I _have _to assume, or I’m going to jump in a taxi and go straight to work and pretend none of this ever happened. _He swallowed and forced himself to sound calm. “I think that gives me the right to ask this one simple thing, don’t you?”

Phichit had been smiling all the while. Celestino continued to stare at Yuuri, apparently deliberating; then he nodded. “All right, we can do that.”

Yuuri touched the tiny end of the translator lodged in his ear, then examined the com strapped to his wrist. “Won’t people see I’m wearing these?”

“It wasn’t a problem for Walt or Helen,” Celestino replied. “They’re not part of the projected image you take on. Yuuri, about the com – be especially careful when and where you speak into it. Remember – ”

“Dr. Quincey. I know. I could hardly forget.”

“Exactly.” He turned to the items on the table. “Looks to me like you thought hard about what to take with you. It goes without saying that you’ll have to hide it all, because any of them could give away – ”

“I know.”

Celestino paused and nodded. “Let’s go over some of these other items, then. Two laser guns. A spare, just in case.”

They were flattish ovals about twice the size of an egg, with simple buttons and an opening in the front where the beam would shoot out. Yuuri felt his throat constrict as he wondered whether he’d be able to bring himself to kill with one. 

“Two settings, stun and kill. Self-explanatory.”

Yuuri was about to say that Dr. Fay should’ve used these for sparring – or perhaps more appropriately, target practice – instead of swords, but held his tongue. He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to use one, and firing it would’ve felt too much like a warm-up for that eventuality. Then his gaze was drawn to a small black fabric case, which Celestino opened to reveal something that looked like a medical kit.

“All the basic things you need are here if you get a minor injury,” he explained. “Cauterising lasers for open wounds, alcohol, sterile dressing and so on. But the most important things are these.” He lowered his voice. “This is cutting-edge science, Yuuri. But I looked into it once Helen…once she got ill. If only I’d known it existed, I could’ve sent this kit with her.” His finger hovered over each item he identified. The first was a small red cube. “DNA analyser. You put samples in from these.” He indicated a small transparent box of needle-like objects. “Self-sterilising injectors. Either use them to take a blood sample – there are several tubes here that they’ll attach to – or to inject nanobots. This – ” Next he indicated a larger tube that contained a clear liquid. “ – is your nanobots in solution. A few go a long way. This is enough to treat hundreds of people.”

Yuuri bent over to take a closer look. “I thought these didn’t exist outside of medical facilities,” he said in wonder.

“They’re designing them to be portable now. In order to prevent the deaths of people like Ailis’s father, or Helen. What you do if you get ill from something the nanobots in your blood don’t recognise is this. Take a blood sample and feed it into the DNA analyser. It should be able to decode the DNA of the pathogen. Transfer the information to the nanobots in the solution via BCI. Then inject a tiny amount of the solution into your blood.”

“These nanobots – they’re already programmed with all the diseases known to science?” Celestino nodded. “Then they’d be able to cure people, wouldn’t they? In the Middle Ages.”

“Ah. Don’t start making yourself out to be a miracle doctor, Yuuri, however much you might like to. If people start getting better from diseases that no cure existed for – which I suppose was almost all of them, back then – Ailis will be on to you. You can’t do it. At the very least, you’re tinkering with time, keeping people alive who would otherwise have died.”

Yuuri folded his arms. “We’re tinkering with time _now _when we help people who would otherwise die. If I didn’t help, what would that make me? If I stood back and watched them suffer?”

Celestino sighed. “Someone who’s focused on the greater good. You’re the last person with a chance of stopping Ailis, who could cause even more trouble than a bacterium or virus. That has to be your top priority. And I don’t believe that curing people now is the same as curing people in the past. We don’t understand the rules behind all this, Yuuri. It’s why we’re going after Ailis in the first place.”

The sick feeling returned to Yuuri’s stomach. And he wasn’t certain yet that the ethical debate about these nanobots was over, not to his satisfaction.

“Yuuri,” Phichit said, “I know it’s gonna be hard. But you can depend on me. Day or night. I’ll be here for you, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said quietly.

“Does Mari know?”

He nodded. “I told her I was going on a trip for work. But…” He turned to look at Celestino. “…if I’m gone a long time, or stuck there, I think she ought to be told the truth. She wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

“Let’s take that as it comes, shall we,” Celestino said, picking up the time-travel sphere from the table and staring at the screen on top, then handing it to him. “See if you can call up the BCI.”

“Is that better than tapping the screen?” He was dimly aware of faint noises in the alleyway outside, but reminded himself that he’d seen Celestino lock the door after they’d come in.

“You can do either. When you go, though, it would be best to put it in the purse with the coins on your belt, so it’s not in plain sight.”

Yuuri paused to think. “I’ve got the menu up now.”

“Right. Helen…Dr. Croft…died fifty-four hours ago. So it should be fifty-four hours after her death when you arrive. It wouldn’t let me program it for an earlier time, but that was only to be expected after what we’ve learned about this tech.”

Yuuri read aloud what he saw in his visual field. “Point of origin: 9.12.2120. Destination: 9.12.1392. Simple.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“How do I actually go?”

“When you’re ready, you mentally activate the hourglass symbol.”

“Wha…oh yeah, in the corner.”

“Good. Any final questions before we get your armour and backpack on?”

Yuuri thought for a moment. “What are you planning to do when my, um, counterpart turns up?”

“We have more translators. Phichit and I will talk with him and take him to the university or the living history museum, whichever seems suitable, depending on what state he’s in when he arrives.”

_What state he’s in? _Yuuri felt a wave of guilt for what he was about to do, but batted it aside and tried frantically to think of anything else he might have forgotten. “Will you tell Mrs. Wells where I’ve gone, too?” he said to Phichit. “My neighbour at Number Three. Well, just that I’ve gone. I don’t want her calling the police or anything when she hasn’t seen me in a while.”

“Sure, Yuuri. But don’t forget, we’ll be talking as soon as you get to the past. It’ll hardly feel like you’ve gone anywhere.”

_I doubt that._ A quiet click came from the door at the top of the stairs. Yuuri glanced in its direction, but saw nothing untoward. Perhaps he would put the armour on next and adjust the straps and ties so that they were looser, since he was wearing a coat.

“Right, Yuuri, let’s – ”

Celestino never finished the sentence.

There was another click at the door, and this time it swung open. Silhouetted against a white sky was a dark-haired man in a long coat.

“What the _hell_ – ?” he called out. “Who the ruddy hell are _you_, and what’re you doing here?”

He turned his head and looked at the sphere Yuuri was holding, then whipped a laser gun from his pocket and aimed it at the three of them.

“I came here to get Ailis’s com, and what do I find?” He brandished the gun at Yuuri. “Put that sphere down now. You’re not going anywhere with it.”

“Are you Ian?” Yuuri asked, trying to sound unfazed, though his shaking voice gave him away.

“That’s right. Put the bloody thing down on that table _now_, before I – ”

“Before you what? Fire at me, and you destroy the sphere.” _Maybe,_ he added silently. _I wouldn’t know._

“_I’ll _show you what, ya bleedin’ cocky prat.” He switched his aim to the table between Celestino and Yuuri and fired, the backpack and items near it instantly vapourising.

“_Yuuri – go!_” Phichit shouted as he grabbed the remaining laser gun. With desperation in his eyes, he aimed it at Ian, who aimed back. “_Go!_”

Before he realised what he was doing, Yuuri touched the hourglass icon, then remembered to shove the sphere into his purse…

…as the room spun and blurred, like a sponge dragging across a wet oil painting. Shouts and clatters stretched out, long and low, until they faded entirely.

A flash, and a wrench, as if a hand was reaching inside him and yanking every sinew. Then a roar, while Yuuri was suspended in some bright, diffuse glowing medium. He tried to open his mouth to cry out, but his body had gone numb; the only sound that ceaseless, penetrating roar like an oncoming train. Everywhere, in everything. The bloodstream of the cosmos.

Another wrench – as if he’d been tossed into the air…

…to land with a jarring thud on the grassy earth.

Shouts. The clang of metal. Realising he’d been squeezing his eyes shut, he opened them.

An angel of wrath towered over him as he lay on his back – bright blue eyes blazing cold fury, white-blond hair flying, dazzling silver surrounding him like an aura.

With a yell, he stabbed a longsword straight at Yuuri’s neck.


	7. In Days of Old When Knights Were Bold (Part 2)

Instinct seized Yuuri just as surely as the timestream had, and he jerked to the side, rolling away while he tried to cry out, though nothing but a whimper escaped his throat. Twisting back around, he saw the tip of the sword lodged in the ground where he’d lain seconds before. 

Was he still in the timestream? This couldn’t be real; it was impossibly beautiful and terrible all at once. Sunlight glittered on the man’s sword – it had to be a man; it couldn’t be an angel, could it? – as he yanked it free of the ground, hair and metal casing aglow. He was bright and light and –

– _deadly_. Yuuri sprung to his feet to dodge another cut from the sword.

_Fuck. Fuck. What do I do?_

His eyes alit on a second sword lying on the ground nearby as if it had been dropped there. He dived to his knees and grabbed it, spinning back around to find that relentless shining man coming at him with murder glinting in his eyes.

Yuuri seized the naked blade, holding the sword upside down like a hammer and parrying the attacking weapon with a loud _clang_ that shook through his body. Undeterred, the man swung his sword around in a silver flash. His metal-clad body was like a curtain of rain in a shaft of sunlight, dazzling and never still for a moment.

_Run. _

Yuuri dashed forward – then realised there was nowhere to go.

He was in an arena encircled by white walls draped with blue banners depicting a gold lion standing on its hind legs. Men and women wearing costumes from the Middle Ages sat in the stands, watching.

_Not costumes. _

Yuuri ran anyway. Those spectators were the source of the shouts he’d heard. But laughs and jeers were carrying to him now, as if the performance had suddenly soured.

“Coward!” Yuuri heard from behind him; the clear, ringing voice of his attacker. “Turn and fight! You _wanted _this – come here and take it!” 

Now that he’d put some distance between them, Yuuri noticed his threading heart, the sweat on his brow despite the winter breeze, his quivering legs. Turning to face the man, who was stalking toward him with his sword raised, he knew he couldn’t hurt him even to save his own life. Who was he? Why were they in this arena? What right did either of them have to harm each other? Maybe he should say something. But what? Was Ailis here, watching? Would she realise he had no idea who he was supposed to be?

He turned and made another sprint toward the wall, intending to vault over it if he could; but a burly bald man in a white shirt and hose hustled toward him from the stands, reached over, and gave him a push. “Eh, not so savage now, are you?” he called in a broad Scottish accent. “Cunt-bit shit-arsed mongrel. Get back out there.” There was a chorus of laughs as Yuuri fell rear-first onto the ground, the sword flying out of his hand.

His attacker was instantly upon him. Gauntleted hands shoved him to the ground with a clatter, and he was lying on his back again, staring up at those ice-clear eyes. A sword was raised above him – the angel of wrath poised to deal a death blow.

“Don’t kill me,” Yuuri choked out. “Please…”

“You’ve changed your tune,” the man said scornfully. “You wanted to kill me. You didn’t care if I killed you, or so it seemed. You don’t like it when death is staring you in the face, though, do you?” He raised his sword higher.

_Jesus Christ, I’m going to die. _“Please…good sir knight,” Yuuri croaked. “I regret what I said earlier. I didn’t think.” He swallowed. “Spare me, I’m begging you.”

The hard look in the man’s eyes melted somewhat, but his sword remained steady. He set his lips firmly, then shouted, “Do you yield?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said immediately, raising a hand as if to ward off a blow.

The man looked toward the audience in the stands, and Yuuri did the same. A regal older man with layers of dark furs and an ermine-trimmed conical hat held out a fist, knuckles facing upward. All eyes were upon him as he seemed to consider, then turned his hand and gave a thumb-up gesture, which was greeted with a mixture of cheers and groans.

The sword over Yuuri’s head was lowered, and the cloud of anger on the man’s face lifted as his shoulders slumped. His armour, now that Yuuri had the opportunity to take a more careful look, was a beautiful silver shell clinging to his frame, which was tall and muscular but also athletic, built more for grace and speed than strength. And his face…Yuuri couldn’t look away. Lovely and sad. His pale hair was long in front, parted on the right so that his fringe permanently hung over his left eye; but it tapered on the sides, where the short, fine strands hugged his neck.

_I’m staring. This man almost killed me. He might change his mind and do it anyway._

“I’m…thank you,” he said on a shaky breath.

The man glared at him as if he were a recalcitrant child. “You’ve dishonoured yourself and your family. I hope that’s punishment enough. Though I doubt you’ll learn from it.” Then he stood with a clattering noise, sheathed his sword, and walked toward the wooden barrier, where a gate was opened for him to pass through; and he was gone.

Yuuri slowly sat up, staring after him. He focused on his breathing as his heart slowed to a more sedate, though hardly normal, pace. The ground under him wasn’t as hard as it had felt when all of his weight had landed on it. As was usual in the winter, it was somewhat springy with moisture; a sparse covering of green grass plus his coat seemed to have stopped his rear from getting wet.

_My coat. _That wasn’t what he saw when he looked down. He saw…plate armour, though it was worn and a bit dented. Gauntlets over his hands. A leather belt with an empty scabbard strapped around his waist. The oddest thing of all was that when he moved, there was a similar clatter to what he’d heard from the other knight, but there was no corresponding weight on his body. He felt…God yes – when he _thought _about it, when he concentrated, he could feel his athletic wear, his trainers, his coat; and when he focused his gaze, he could see a shadow of them there, his armour becoming transparent. The hypnotic effect of the projector; it had to be. If he could catch a glimpse of the reality, he thought with a jolt, could others do the same? But Celestino and Phichit had never mentioned Dr. Quincey or Dr. Croft having a problem with it. Maybe it was because _he _was the one looking, at himself.

_I wonder what my face is like. I wonder who I am._

_A…A knight,_ he realised belatedly, resting his eyes from their intense stare and seeing the plate armour return to solidity. _Holy fucking shit, I’m a knight._

“Here, master, give me your hand and I’ll help you up. I’m a squire, and they’ve asked me to attend to you.”

Yuuri saw he’d been joined by a man who looked about eighteen, with placid deep blue eyes and short sandy brown hair mostly hidden by a close-fitting maroon cloth cap with dangling straps that looked like they were meant to be tied under the chin; a sparse beard with a little goatee and a ghost of a moustache peeked out. He was clad in tan hose, leather boots, and a thigh-length sky-blue tunic cinched at the waist by a sword belt. A cape of what looked like thick coarse wool, held in place below his throat with a gold clasp, hung to his knees.

“I…” Yuuri looked around. The stands were almost completely empty now, apart from a few people in little groups, laughing and chatting to each other. Apparently the entertainment was over, and he guessed that he’d lost. Not that it had exactly been a fair fight. He stood, ignoring the squire’s proffered hand, and walked to where his sword lay. As he picked it up, however, he realised he had nowhere to put it; there was no sheath attached to his belt. When he looked down at his waist, he _saw _one, but it wasn’t actually there, and a real sword was not going to hover in the air at his side. He decided he’d simply have to carry it for now.

There were so many things to think about, to make sure he got right, so that none of these people would know him for who he was. How would he ever manage it?

“Are you all right?” the squire asked, looking puzzled. “Are you injured?”

“No,” Yuuri replied quickly. “No, I’m fine.”

_Whoever I swapped places with in time – this knight – must still be alive in 2120, or I would’ve been pulled straight back there myself, wouldn’t I?_

He desperately hoped so, because maybe it meant Phichit and Celestino were still alive, too. Though no BCI menu from his com had popped up to inform him of a call from either of them. He had to find out what had happened. But he couldn’t safely use his com until he was alone. He’d be taking no risks, not after what had happened to Dr. Quincey.

_Oh my God, all those things I was going to bring with me. Everything Celestino packed. The nanobots, in case I got sick. The armour. The laser guns, for fuck’s sake. _

His stomach and heart lurched at the same time.

_I’m defenceless. Apart from this ridiculous sword I’m going to be carrying around with me. As if I’d be perfectly capable of using it against a real-life knight. As if I’d have to kill people with it, like presumably the jack I swapped with was trying to do. Jesus…_

An image of the tall, shining blond man flashed into his mind, and Yuuri was even more certain now that he never wanted to hurt him. He didn’t want to hurt _anyone_, of course, but…

_But what? _He didn’t have an answer to that. He didn’t even know the man from Adam.

_Ailis has laser guns. A sword’s no good against those, either. But then, the other two scientists had them and they died anyway._

“Would you like me to fetch the physician, master?” the squire asked with a bewildered little grin. “Forgive my saying so, but you look like you’re away with the fairies. Perhaps he could examine you and determine whether – ”

A medieval physician? Holy hell, no. “That won’t be necessary,” he cut him off. “I didn’t catch your name…?”

“Emil Nekola,” he said with a quick little bow. “At your service.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re to stay here. Your servants are being sent back to your father’s castle.”

_My father’s castle? _

“You’ll be given all the comforts you’re used to here, as far as they can be arranged. I know it isn’t ideal, but…well, if you come with me, I’ll take you to the castle and show you to your room.” He paused. “I’m also meant to tell you that you’re not a prisoner, but if you make any threats or try to harm anyone, your life will be forfeit.” He nodded toward the wooden gate through the wall of the arena. “Shall we go, then?”

Trying and failing to make sense of what was going on and Emil’s part in it, not to mention his own, Yuuri remained by his side as they passed through the gate. “Why are you calling me ‘master’ if you’re a squire here at this castle?” he asked.

“Ah, well. Seeing as how you survived the duel, I’m officially _your_ new squire.” Emil smiled. He had a friendly look about him, but Yuuri sensed a continuing undercurrent of confusion and possibly trepidation. He didn’t think it was any great leap in logic to assume it was because Emil might not _want _to be his squire. That hadn’t been any great display of skill he’d put on just now. The blond knight had told him he was in dishonour. It only made sense. He’d tried to run away. He was sure Emil hadn’t been impressed, either.

_Put yourself in my situation and see what it’s like,_ _Emil._ _I’m lucky I’m still alive._

He reminded himself to behave as much like a medieval knight as he could, whatever that entailed, since it was obviously the identity of his projection; he’d have to learn quickly. Ailis would in all probability be a woman here, which meant he had no good reason to suspect she was posing as Emil, but that didn’t mean rumours couldn’t be spread. If he drew attention to himself by not knowing things that people here would consider simple and basic…

_Why the hell didn’t Dr. Fay better prepare me for this? But maybe she didn’t know a whole lot herself. 728 years is a long time ago._

_I might have to trust Emil, starting now, if I’m going to survive here._

None of these thoughts were comforting. He had to find a chance to talk to Phichit over his com.

“I’ve had experience,” Emil said, and Yuuri wondered at first what he meant. That was it; he’d told him he was going to be his new squire, but he’d been been lost in thought again. Emil must have taken it as disapproval. 

They had walked around to the back of the stands, and there, towering on a hill behind a small wood, was a grey stone castle. Crowood Castle, no longer a crumbling ruin but new and whole, with blue and gold banners flying on tops of crenellated turrets. The ribbon of the River Ouse sparkled in the distance. Around the fortification were patchwork fields dotted with sheep, and the spire of a Norman church dominated clusters of thatched roofs. Yuuri realised his mouth was hanging open.

“I thought for sure you’d been here before,” Emil said, looking at him curiously.

“Um…” _Talk to him, before he starts to think there’s something wrong with you. Well, he already thought that a while back. _“Do I need a squire?” he said, deciding too late that it was a stupid question.

However, as they began to walk toward the castle, Emil seemed unperturbed. Yuuri wondered how far the easygoing attitude actually went. He understood enough to know that he was now tied to this castle rather than his father’s, whatever that signified. Because he’d lost the fight; the duel. And if he misbehaved – which he assumed meant trying to escape – he could be killed. Would Emil do that? Maybe; this was a bloodthirsty age, after all. He shuddered inside, then reassured himself that Crowood Castle was where he wanted to be anyway, because that was where Ailis most probably was.

“Every knight needs a squire,” Emil answered with a little laugh, as if it should be obvious. “And I’m a squire without a knight. So…” He shrugged as his voice trailed off.

Yuuri realised his hands were cold. He had modern gloves in his pocket, but didn’t want Emil to see him putting them on. He wasn’t sure what the projector would or wouldn’t show, but at a guess it would be an odd-looking display. As they walked, he continued to grip the hilt of his sword, his hand going increasingly numb as the breeze chilled it.

“That, uh…that makes sense,” he said.

“I _did _serve a knight, about a year ago. Sir Duncan Fitzwarren of Haltwhistle. He got drunk and fell from the turret of the garrison and died.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. Emil didn’t miss a stride, and he wasn’t sure if his companion was trying to hide whatever feelings he had about it, or whether he genuinely didn’t care. “That’s, um…that’s…”

“It was sad. Not really the honourable end he was hoping for.”

“I guess not…”

“I’ve been training and serving here ever since, hoping I’d get the chance to be squire to another knight.” He glanced at Yuuri, who thought he saw an expression of disappointed resignation on his face for a moment as they began to skirt around the woods.

“Um…that’s fine,” Yuuri replied, hoping to put Emil at his ease but feeling that everything coming out of his mouth was an awkward tangle. “Look, do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Ask away.”

They strode through months-old damp leaves at the edge of the trees, following a path that was little more than a cutting through grass, bracken and other things Yuuri couldn’t identify. Perhaps to avoid the main one, which his eyes now picked out to the right. It was rutted and muddy.

“Why was that knight trying to kill me?”

Emil’s eyes widened, and he appeared to be trying to think what to say.

Yuuri added quickly, “I – I wasn’t being completely honest when I told you I hadn’t been hurt. Because it was embarrassing. I was hit on the head, and it seems to have given me amnesia.” Then he caught himself; _amnesia_ was surely not a word that existed in the Middle Ages. Would the translator be able to handle it? How else could he explain?

But Emil appeared to understand without any difficulty. “Really? They should’ve allowed you to wear a helm. I didn’t see it happen, I have to confess, but I wasn’t watching the entire time.”

“Emil,” Yuuri said more insistently, “please. I don’t know who that knight was, or what was happening. I don’t even know who _I _am.”

The squire let out a breath. “Indeed? Well, you’re aware that this is his family’s castle, are you not? Up ahead, where we’re going.” When Yuuri looked at him blankly, he added, “Baron and Lady Nikiforov. Good King Edward – ” He kicked more leaves nonchalantly as they went along. “ – God rest his soul, gave the baron lands here for his deeds in battle alongside his son, Edward the Black Prince, in France some years back. I think they’d already been living in England for a while, run out of the eastern country where they lived for assisting with some rebellion or other that went wrong, and they were taken in by friends here. So the stories say. I don’t know much about it myself; I don’t have dealings with the lord and lady, and Sir Victor doesn’t talk much about his family. Not since two years ago, anyway, when his – ”

“That’s his name? That’s who I was fighting?”

“Yes. Sir Victor Nikiforov. He’s one of the best knights in the kingdom.” He huffed an amused laugh. “I never realised taking on squire’s duties would involve explaining all this, but it’s interesting.” He laughed again, and Yuuri didn’t know whether to be comforted or disconcerted.

“So why was I, um, fighting him? ”

“To try to prevent your family’s lands from being taken by the Nikiforovs.” Emil shrugged. “Which wasn’t going to happen, however optimistic you might’ve been, because Sir Victor has to be having a very bad day for anyone to beat him.” He opened a pouch on his belt, took out a handful of what looked like nuts, and popped them in his mouth as he walked, the bare branches of trees falling away behind him, replaced by rolling green hills with a blue sky and puffy white clouds. He glanced over at Yuuri, then took out another handful of nuts, which he offered to him. Yuuri accepted them; they looked like hazelnuts and walnuts. Tasted like it, too, he discovered. A surprisingly rich flavour that made the same thing he’d eaten in his own time seem bland.

“I thought it was more common for people to send armies to seize lands,” he said as he ate.

“Instead of armies or sieges, the noble families in this area send their champions to fight each other. Fewer lives lost that way. You didn’t remember that either?”

Yuuri just looked at him blankly again. Then he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye – something lingering in the woods behind them.

“It’s all right,” Emil said, following his gaze. “I should’ve said. But it seemed like the fight was taken out of you after…everything, so I didn’t see any reason to alarm you.”

“Alarm me?”

“You can ignore them. They’ve been following at a distance. In case…” He shrugged. “…well, you do have a reputation, you know. Or maybe you don’t, if you’ve forgotten. But if you decided you wanted to escape, or fight me, they’re prepared to stop you.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said in a small voice. “So there are guards behind us?”

“You don’t need to worry about them. Anyway, like I was saying. you’d lost the fight, but refused to yield. You said you’d rather die first. If you don’t mind my saying, sir, it’s a miracle you weren’t killed. Though trying to run away like that…it’s not a commonly used tactic. It took some guts.”

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether Emil was being genuine or sarcastic.

“Actually,” Emil said as they approached a sizeable stream, its pleasant trickle carrying through the cold air, “are you sure you don’t want a physician for this amnesia? It appears to be serious.”

“It won’t help,” Yuuri answered, in no doubt about that fact, even if he were genuinely ill. “I…I think I just need to give it time, and it’ll heal. But I’m going to insist – _order_, even – do you, erm, take orders?”

“From you, master? Well, yes.”

Loath as he was to treat anyone like a servant or inferior, this was too important to do otherwise, Yuuri decided. “All right, then. I order you not to tell anyone that I’ve lost my memory. It could be catastrophic if certain people found out.”

Emil nodded. “I understand. They won’t go easy on you as it is, I’m afraid, after you tried to kill the baron’s son, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to make it any harder on yourself. You can count on my discretion, sir.”

“Thank you.” Though the rest of his words sent a shiver of apprehension through him. “So the nobleman who gave the thumb-up – that was Sir Victor’s father, the baron, deciding whether or not to let me live?”

Emil wrinkled his brow. “Do you not know? I suppose not. You do seem to have forgotten a great deal, I have to say, sir. Yes, the person officiating the duel can do that. They usually allow the defeated party to live. After the way your own fight ended, though…” He shot another dubious glance at Yuuri. “If you don’t mind my saying, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the lord had made a different decision. I suppose he’d rather have the extra knight in the garrison.” 

_How practical of him. _Yuuri thought back to the scene in the arena. The man sitting at the front of the audience in all those furs had seemed formidable. The woman next to him, also in furs, with white headgear that made her look like a nun, had appeared…bored, maybe. Certainly disinterested. The two of them had been surrounded by a dozen or so richly dressed men and women of similar appearance, most of them with head coverings of some kind. The rest of the audience had been – merchants? Peasants? He wasn’t sure, but he remembered getting the impression that they were, on the whole, disappointed that the baron had ordered Sir Victor to spare his life. Hardly better than gladiatorial combat in a colosseum, then. He felt sick.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he noticed they were now on the edge of the stream. It was wide but not deep. In the summer it would probably be pleasant to wade in. But why were they standing here? There was no way across. Then Emil begin to pick out a route using naturally outcropping rocks as stepping stones.

“Isn’t there a bridge somewhere?” Yuuri asked.

“Further away along the main path. This way is more direct. You’re not averse to getting your sabatons a little wet, are you, sir?” Emil laughed. “Just do as I do, and follow me. You don’t want to give the men behind us the impression that – ”

Sabatons? What were those? “I’m coming,” Yuuri said quickly, splashing in behind him. To his pleasant surprise, Emil had chosen a good route, and the water had not gone far enough up his trainers to get inside them. It occurred to him that the clothes of this time, like the tall thick leather boots Emil was wearing, might be useful for tasks like this. He didn’t fancy wading through mud in his white trainers, and he’d already decided his coat wouldn’t be ideal protection from the icy wind that blew here. There wasn’t any snow that he could see, but the temperature felt like it was hovering around freezing. He was still waving his cold metal sword as he hopped across slick stones, his hand almost completely numb now.

Soon he joined Emil on the other side, and they followed the path as it began to climb a hill. There was a scattering of what looked like outbuildings here; long, low wooden structures, some with men and women in simple woollen clothes going back and forth like bees around a hive, carrying sacks and buckets, or leading cows or horses. It reminded Yuuri of the living history museum, and his mind wandered to his counterpart in the future, the knight who had declared he would die before he yielded the fight.

“Emil, I’ve got some more questions, and I need them answering before we get to the castle,” he said.

“I understand, master.”

Now that Emil believed he had amnesia, hopefully his first question wouldn’t sound so strange. Who was he? The answer he was given was Sir Justin le Savage of Stanebeck, the only son of Baron Courtenay, lord of a minor fiefdom. _Le Savage? _he thought dazedly. But then he remembered what the swearing Scotsman had said to him: _Not so savage now, are you? _

He learned, as he and Emil walked up the hill, that the fiefdom had been absorbed into the Nikiforovs’ estate, now that he’d lost the duel. His “family” would not be well pleased with him, despite the fact that no one had realistically expected him to be able to best Sir Victor on the field. Emil tried to console him by telling him the Courtenays would be allowed to maintain their former estate and stay in their castle, as long as they acknowledged Baron Nikiforov as their lord and paid whatever taxes he dictated. As for him, Crowood Castle was his home now, and he would be expected to serve the noble family as one of their knights.

He could see why the real Justin would be upset by this, but it could be worse, he thought. No battles, no armies, no deaths. A quick, clean takeover. If Sir Victor was their tool for acquiring land and riches, it was understandable that they were the dominant family here. Perhaps the other families had complied in order to avoid bloodshed themselves, and possibly having to face an attacking force that could wipe them out, hoping instead that Sir Victor might have one of those rare bad days and lose to their own champion. He felt a stab of outrage at the greed and cruelty that must drive this family to seize all these possessions from others, because it was no different to thievery. The rich exploiting the less rich, from time immemorial. At least the worst of such things lay in the past, in his time. Apart from places like Surga.

“Sounds like this Sir Victor must be the terror of the land,” he commented. Which was ironic, because the first time he’d heard the name, he’d been reminded of his beloved Vicchan, the poodle that had been in his family for years. 

“Oh, no, sir. A more fair and courteous knight would be hard to find.” When Emil saw the surprise on Yuuri’s face, he added with a little laugh, “He wasn’t like that with you just now, but then he had good reason, wouldn’t you say?”

Yuuri was about to reply when he realised he’d need to watch his step, as he’d narrowly avoided sinking his foot into a huge pile of horse manure. There were other piles around, plus muddy ruts dug into the soft grassy earth, and places where many feet had churned the whole mess up. Evidently he and Emil weren’t the only ones in the habit of approaching the castle from this direction.

“By the way, sir, if you desire more training here,” Emil said, glancing at him, “there’s no shortage of that. Abelard will put you right, I’m sure.”

“Abelard,” Yuuri echoed.

“They also want you to have new armour befitting your status as a knight of the Nikiforovs. Though you’ll have to pay for it yourself, I’m afraid. Anyway, I’ll help you see to that tomorrow, don’t you worry, sir.”

Well that would take care of the problem that he didn’t actually _have _any armour in the first place, Yuuri thought, which was something his story about amnesia wouldn’t be able to explain away. But – pay for it? Would the coins in his purse cover the cost? Would he have any left afterward? How would he get more money here? They didn’t pay knights a monthly salary, did they? And this flipping sword he was still carrying…his hand felt like ice. He shifted it to his left hand.

“Why don’t you leave that with me, sir,” Emil suggested, pulling on a thick pair of what looked like lamb’s-wool gloves from a pocket of his cape and then holding a hand out. “It’s perhaps better that way. We don’t want anyone to think you mean them any harm.”

“Um, sure.” He gave the weapon over, then asked, “I suppose it should be obvious where I got this nickname of ‘le Savage’?”

“Do you not remember anything at all, sir?” He shook his head. “I apologise – you must think me impudent – but truly, I’m amazed. Well, to be honest, you have a reputation for being…quick-tempered. I don’t have firsthand experience of it as such, but I have to say, you don’t strike me as being that kind of fellow. Perhaps you need enough drink in you first, eh?” He gave Yuuri another quick glance, with a brief smile.

Between picking his way through the muck and reflecting angrily on how the loss of a duel could mean the loss of a family’s son and lands, Yuuri didn’t immediately notice when they’d crested the hill. They were on a flat expanse of higher land, and when he turned to look, he could see they’d traversed a dip between this and another hill where the arena was, the white-painted stands clearly visible through the trees, with the stream and the muddy main road ribboning below.

But it was the grey stone edifice in front of him to which his attention quickly returned. The gatehouse seemed to have been designed to impress and intimidate; it might be equal to the height of seven or eight people from its foundations to the topmost battlement, and was flanked by two tall protruding towers that, like the turrets, contained intermittent dark, narrow windows that were little more than slits. Between the towers stretched a wall with a decorative stone arch and two more of the narrow windows, and below this, at the height of perhaps two people, was a pointed arch with a raised portcullis.

Yuuri picked out a couple of men with metal helmets and bows walking along the battlement above, while standing next to the entrance was, Yuuri guessed, a guard on one side and a porter on the other. The guard stood still and quiet, watching them approach with a hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword; there was a lion on the front of his tabard that matched the banners at the arena, presumably the Nikiforovs’ coat of arms. The porter was an older man in a yellow tunic and grey hose, and from his belt, along with the seemingly ubiquitous sword, hung large sets of thick iron keys. 

“Hail, Harry,” Emil greeted the guard, who nodded back.

“Who’s this you’ve got with you, eh, Emil?” Harry asked, looking Yuuri up and down. “Ah yes, I remember now. Last time you were here, you came in like a peacock and went out like a rum, saucy sort of fellow. Effing and blinding about something or other. I think you’d had a fair bit to drink. Our Julius was spoiling for a fight with you, and it took several men to pull you both away from each other, and him being but a lad…” He snickered. Yuuri simply stared.

“You ought to remember some courtesy, Alfric,” Emil said. “He’s with us now. Sir Justin, meet Alfric our porter. He’ll know to let you back and forth through the gate from now on.”

“Sir,” Alfric said with a slight nod, though his keen grey eyes still seemed to offer a kind of challenge. Yuuri realised he’d have some work to do to earn respect here, after the way his counterpart seemed to have been behaving.

_And how exactly am I supposed to do that? I’m no knight. _The other men appeared to be waiting for a response from him, however, so he returned Alfric’s gaze and said, “Pleased to meet you.”

“I need to get him to the garrison,” Emil explained, gesturing for Yuuri to follow him. “See you later.”

“Shave a bollock, cock,” Alfric said as they passed by. It seemed to be a friendly comment aimed at Emil, who gave a little wave.

As they walked through the short dark stone passageway, Emil said, “You’re very polite, sir. ‘Pleased to meet you’, indeed.”

“What should I have said?”

“I just thought someone like yourself might be a little less deferential with the servants.”

“He’s a servant?”

“He’s a porter,” Emil replied, as if this ought to be explanation enough. “Porters and guards aren’t, shall we say, of an equal status to knights. That blow to your head appears to have addled your brains, sir. I do hope you’ll feel more like yourself soon. Though perhaps not,” he added with a chuckle. “You seem a decent fellow, if I may make so bold, and it would be a shame for you to go back to…well, never mind. Ah, here we are.”

As they exited the passage, Yuuri’s eyes readjusted to the bright blue sky, though shadows were lengthening as the sun dipped behind the castle. And what he saw caused him to stop and stare, something he thought he could easily fall into a regular habit of doing here. They were facing a spacious courtyard with two wide cobblestone paths that crossed in the middle, cutting the expanse into four neat grassy squares. Yuuri had been to many castle ruins with his parents and Mari when he was young, but the quiet crumbling moss-covered stone hadn’t prepared him for this vision of a huge intact fortress with several storeys, pitched roofs with wooden shingles, smoke curling out of numerous large stone chimneys…

And the people. Men in tunics and trousers – or were they hose? It was hard to tell – all colours of the rainbow. Most of them wearing those cloth caps with strings, or hats of various kinds, and leather shoes with exaggerated points at the toes. Women in heavy dresses that flowed almost to the ground, cloaks fastened around their throats. Many had those head coverings that reminded Yuuri of nuns – wimples, was that what they were called? – wrapped around their head so that only their face showed. Others wore thick twisted cloths that reminded him of turbans. A few young women had long hair streaming freely behind them as they bustled about, but they seemed to be the exceptions.

_B__ustling _was the right word, because almost nothing here was still. At a guess, most of these people were servants rather than members of the noble family, judging from their lack of ostentation, and the activities in which they were engaged. Horses with carts stood near archways while goods went to and fro – barrels, armfuls of folded clothing and sheets, piles of straw, stacks of chopped wood, large buckets of water that required two people to carry them, full sacks of goodness knew what carried on shoulders, baskets of food – loaves of bread, bunches of what might have been herbs, stacks of pasties and pies, and many more things Yuuri didn’t recognise from a distance. He thought he could guess where the main kitchen might be, because that was where the majority of the people seemed to be congregating, and it was also the source of the most smoke roiling up into the sky. Other more subtle scents underpinned it: the damp earth of the grassy courtyard, manure, something slight and lingering reminiscent of body odour mixed with a delicate flowery fragrance. Yuuri looked around and noticed a neat bunch of dried lavender tied with string tucked unobtrusively into a stone crevice.

Someone nudged him from behind while exiting the gatehouse passage, a man about his own age with a strange yellow hood from which a tail-like piece of cloth hung at the back, lightly draped over his shoulders to dangle onto his chest. Yuuri had thought only jesters wore such things, but this was no jester, not unless they also wore sword belts and carried dead fish on strings. The man paused to glance at Yuuri and Emil as he strode over to the presumed kitchen and went inside.

“You seem amazed,” Emil observed. “Is it so different from the Courtenays’ castle? Ah, perhaps you don’t remember that, either?”

“No,” Yuuri said under his breath, continuing to watch the activity in front of him.

“Dear me. Well, the garrison where you’ll be staying is this way. There are two other knights besides yourself and Sir Victor. Each is attended by a squire, of course. We all share the garrison with the men-at-arms and guards who are stationed around the castle and accompany the lord and the household staff when they travel. Well, all of us apart from Sir Victor, who, being the lord’s son, has quite an elegant room of his own elsewhere.” He paused and smiled. “I hope I’m not insulting your intelligence with information like this, sir, but just in case you don’t remember…”

“No, I appreciate it,” Yuuri replied as Emil turned and led the way to a large door in the turret to the left of the gatehouse. Like most of the other doors in the courtyard, it was a single piece of heavy dark brown wood, curving to a pointed arch at the top, with ironwork hasps fashioned into delicate curls. Emil depressed the latch with his thumb and pushed the door open, then shut it once they were inside.

Yuuri found himself in a white-plastered room with a grey stone-flagged floor and large fireplace. He took in the shuttered window, tables and chairs, and corridors branching off to the left and right, as well as an iron candelabra in the corner that looked like something out of a vampire film. None of the candles were lit, and the only light in the room came from the dying fire and thin cracks around the shutters.

“You don’t keep it this dark in here all the time, do you?” he asked.

“Most of us are away in the daytime, unless we want to eat a meal here,” Emil replied. “If a group of us are going to stay for a while, we’d stoke the fire, light the candles, and maybe open the shutters, though the windows do lose a lot of heat.” He added, “You room is just over here, sir, round the corner. You have your own, as befits your rank, though I don’t suppose it’s as good as what you’re used to. I apologise for that, but under the circumstances it seems a mercy you’re still alive, so…”

Footsteps echoed from an archway which opened onto a spiral stairway, and a teenaged boy emerged. He wore a bushy brown fur cape and matching hat that gave his body bulk it otherwise lacked, and his blond hair looked like it had been trimmed around an overturned bowl. Green eyes flitted over Emil and came to rest on Yuuri, sparking.

“_You._” He drew his sword from underneath his cape. Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“There now,” Emil said, waving Yuuri’s sword as if to emphasise his words. “He’s not even armed, look. And you must learn how to get on with him, because he’ll be living here from now on.”

“Whoever decided that was an idiot.” He jabbed his sword. “You saw how he tried to fight the master and refused to yield.” Another jab. “He should’ve killed you, you cankered pig.”

Yuuri’s jaw dropped, though he quickly closed it while Emil said more firmly, “Remember yourself, Julius. Would your master approve of such behaviour? We have to get on with each other.”

“Tell that to Abelard and Sir Charles.” He sheathed his sword, whirled around, and made a show of storming out the door.

The only noise was the quiet clink of the embers in the grate; then Yuuri coughed. “I guess that was one of the other squires.”

Emil’s look was almost pitying this time. “Julius, Sir Victor’s squire. The one you had a scrap with last time you were here. Nothing to worry yourself about, but you traded insults, and he has a long memory. Ah, unlike – ”

“I know. Unlike me.”

“If you’ve forgotten, you should probably also know he’s more formidable than he looks. He’s the most skilled squire, for his age, that any of us have ever seen.”

Yuuri found this difficult to believe, but was willing to take Emil’s word for it. _Great. Sir Victor and his squire both hate me, and want to cut me to ribbons. _

Emil showed him into a short hallway to the left with more white-plastered walls and high unshuttered windows that admitted the fading daylight, then opened the door to a modest room that was similar to the others: white walls, a shuttered window, a fire burning in the grate. The floor, however, was covered in wooden boards.

“I’ll take your armour off for you,” Emil said, as if this were routine.

“No,” Yuuri said abruptly. At the look of confusion on Emil’s face, he added, “Uh, thanks, I’ll manage on my own.”

“It’s a normal task for a squire, sir. Though, well, I can understand – you’ve had to dismiss your own staff from your service here. This will take some getting used to.”

“It will,” Yuuri quickly said, “but not because of that. I don’t mean to offend you – ” 

Emil huffed a laugh. “Your politeness with servants is unusual, I have to say. Have your sword back, sir.” He handed it over.

“There’s nothing wrong with being civil to people,” Yuuri remarked, disliking the implication in his words. Aristocrats in this country had lorded it over people for hundreds of years; although feudalism was dead in modern times, antiquated titles such as prince and duke and “sir” had limped on, having only been officially abolished fairly recently, though some old families still insisted on making it known that “noble blood” ran in their veins.

“I’d heartily agree to that,” Emil said with a smile. “I need to go see to a few things, sir, and will have to leave you for a while, but I’ll return before long. You can get settled in, have a wash or a rest, just as you please. The garderobe is further down the hall, through a door on the right.”

Garderobe. Castle toilet. Yuuri had no immediate desire to experience that particular adventure yet, but he thanked Emil, who made a little bow and left the room, closing the door behind him. Yuuri saw an iron key protruding from the lock. He turned it and put it in a coat pocket, then immediately attempted to bring up the BCI menu on his com.

Nothing happened.

With a racing heart, he tapped at the little black box fastened to his wrist. Still no response. He kept trying to mentally or manually connect for another minute, without success. His projection was clearly working, and he could bring a menu up for that, but not for the communicator.

“Phichit,” he said into the tiny holes where the speaker was. “Phichit, can you hear me? Are you there?”

But it was like trying to talk to the wall. Leaning back against the door, he took this in, his heart still hammering at his ribcage.

_I have no help here. I’m on my own._

He swallowed, and tears momentarily sprang to his eyes, but he blinked them back.

_OK. I can do this anyway, without them._

_Why the hell didn’t I test the com before I took it with me?_

_Because I assumed Celestino had._

_Is he even still alive? Is Phichit?_

He felt sick. Some small, frightened part of him wanted to go home. But home was 728 years away…and he was unlikely to ever see it again.

“Fuck,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of families sending champions to duel each other for ownership of their estates is fictional, though I wouldn’t be surprised if it actually happened on a few occasions, since it means neither party would lose more than one fighting man. In a time when the country had recently been decimated by plague, young men who were fit to fight would have been an even more valuable asset.
> 
> Crowood Castle in this story is patterned on Bodiam Castle near the southeast coast of England. There is no moat like the real place has (which would have made access in and around it a bit tricky), but it’s in an excellent defensive position on top of a hill.


	8. Chapter 8

_I think you ought to know that I get…anxious sometimes._

Yuuri recalled his words in Celestino’s office. A proffered warning. _I told you about it. You listened; you heard. I can’t believe you still wanted me to go through with this mission, or whatever you want to call it._

He continued to focus on his breathing. Deep and even, in and out. Finally slowing.

The wooden floor was hard underneath his rear, and his coat was rucked up between his back and the door from when he’d slid down. It had been the easiest thing at the time. Going further into the room and lying down on the bed in the corner was too much like acknowledging the reality of it all. He would just…stay here while the panic washed over him.

The wave had crested and receded, leaving him limp but aware, especially of the fact that there was nothing to do apart from stand up and face the situation. Whether or not Phichit or Celestino could contact him – whether or not they were even alive – was, he told himself, beside the point, no matter how he felt about it. He was their last chance to find Ailis and prevent her from doing something terrible. Added, of course, to what he knew she’d already done. Taking the lives of two people. That might be nothing compared to whatever she was planning.

Had he already seen her in the time he’d been here? Had she seen him?

_Breathe._

He fingered the iron key in his pocket. Heavy, solid. There was something both earthy and romantic about it, he thought. The craftsmanship that had gone into the spirals at its tip, as well as the hinges on the door; inspiration and effort and beauty that bore no resemblance to the electric sliding metal doors of his own time.

_Not everything about this place is bad._

_Get the fuck up, Yuuri Katsuki, and do what you came here to do. People are depending on you. You’re not going to let them down._

He stood slowly, smoothing his coat. Fine. This was going to be the new normal for him, then; these surroundings. It could be a lot worse. He wasn’t a peasant who had to spend hours working the land every day. Or a cook spending a similar amount of time sweating over a hot fire. It seemed he didn’t have a wife or children. He wasn’t a prisoner in a dungeon like he’d feared, or someone ill in a medieval hospital, or a rat-catcher.

He was a knight. And that meant he might have to –

_No. I’m not thinking of that right now. One step at a time. Get settled in. Find out everything I need to know from Emil._

He looked more closely at the room. It reminded him of a mock-up behind a rope at a museum. _“Knight’s bedroom, garrison.”_ Again, like the ironmongery, not so bad. Clean, at first glance; on the spartan side, but that was fine. Someone who lived in this time period probably had no reason or opportunity to gather a lot of clutter.

The fireplace was comprised of light-coloured dressed stone blocks, with a wooden mantelpiece on which stood a couple of thick candles in different stages of having been burned and melted. Walking over, Yuuri examined the cast-iron fire guard on the small stone hearth: two posts with scrollwork between them like a decoration from a large gate, and hot to the touch. Wrapping his coat around his hands, he picked it up and moved it aside, then took two split logs from a neat stack in a tall wicker basket and tossed them onto the fire, appreciating the light and heat from the leap of flames.

Light. These dim rooms could do with it. Crossing to the window and kneeling on the seat fashioned into the depth of the wall there, he unfastened the hasp and pulled the shutters open to reveal a spacious rectangular window with stone mullions and small leaded panes. The glass was clear, but thick and a little warped. He could see the courtyard well enough, however, and catch the sound of conversations, the jangle of horses in harness, the rumble of wooden wheels across cobblestones. A cold draught drifted down, and Yuuri could understand now why they kept the windows shuttered at this time of year; but the fuel he’d just added to the fire ensured that the chill in the room was not too bitter. It was significantly brighter now too, but the sun was quickly sinking, and the shadows deepening.

He walked to the bed in the corner, stood on a mat made of rushes or something similar woven together, and pressed down on the mattress. It felt like it was stuffed with straw, and there were a couple of pillows that might have feathers in them. They and the mattress had clean white coverings, and a thick brown woollen blanket had been folded at the corner. At the foot of the bed was a wooden table with a drawer on top of which were a large white ceramic pitcher and basin decorated with pink motifs showing peasants stacking grain into bundles, and a burnished silver cup. There was also a white cloth that might have been intended as a flannel.

Maybe this was what Emil had meant when he’d said he was welcome to have a wash; the pitcher was full of water. But Yuuri had never seen someone use one of these. Was this what would have to pass instead of a bath?

He knew that no one would describe him as vain, but one thing he valued was being clean. The strong hot jets of a shower after a long day were one of life’s pleasures. It was tempting to promise himself that he’d jump into the River Ouse, no matter how cold it was, if he had to. Or the stream they’d crossed on the way here. But a bath in icy water…he shivered thinking about it.

The only other items of furniture were a tall cabinet and a chest with another iron key stuck in the lock. When Yuuri opened it, he discovered it was empty. Either of these would be good for storing clothes, if he had anything other than what he was wearing. And next to the door, hung on a piece of string from a large nail in the wall, was another bunch of lavender and other herbs similar to the one he’d spotted near the gatehouse. Moving closer, he detected a sweet flowery scent. Perhaps these were the medieval version of air fresheners.

Taking in the remainder of the room, he noticed simple wooden shelves and odd little empty niches; maybe lit candles were supposed to go in them. And something more useful than everything else at the moment: a long rectangular mirror with a shining golden gilt frame hanging on the wall. Yuuri moved to stand in front of it, and gasped.

He couldn’t help it. This was what everyone had been seeing since he’d arrived: Sir Justin le Savage Courtenay. A man of about Yuuri’s age, but vastly different in appearance, with shimmering shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair, eyes of a deep ultramarine hue, pink cheeks dusted with light brown freckles, and a generous goatee that had the appearance of having been waxed. Underneath the pomposity of the hair, he might be handsome, though it was difficult to tell. Yuuri ran his hand along his chin; the mirror showed his fingers moving across the little beard. He initially felt the prickle of whiskers, but then it disappeared. The same happened with the tresses of hair. And when he peered intensely at the vision at the mirror, it seemed to fade, like fog clearing, to give him a glimpse of his real self underneath. Yet when he glanced away and then brought his gaze back, there was Justin again.

The armour he’d already seen on his own body, or the illusion of it. And here was the first real test of the projector. He couldn’t go around with plate mail on all the time; Emil had expected him to want to take it off when they’d entered the room. Ailis had said that minor alterations could be made; presumably, whoever and wherever she was, she regularly made them herself. He brought up the BCI menu and discovered there was an option for adjustments. The com seemed to pick up on his thoughts from there, and the armour disappeared, revealing the clothing Justin must have been wearing underneath.

A parti-coloured button-down mid-thigh-length red and green tunic – honestly? The top was split into two squares of different colours which were reversed below his belt, and the long sleeves sported both colours as well. Underneath he saw what he thought at first were thick tan trousers, but when he shifted in front of the mirror, he caught a glimpse of…underwear? Looking more carefully, it seemed he had baggy white drawers on, or appeared to, with the trousers being in actuality a pair of separate woollen tubes, each of which was tied somewhere underneath the tunic to hold it up. Was this normal? He’d have to make sure he didn’t bend over and flash somebody.

Topping it all off were brown leather shoes with exaggerated long points at the toes. He’d seen men in the courtyard wearing similar things. And when he thought about it, he recalled viewing numerous marble effigies of medieval knights in cathedrals with pointy metal toes; the fashion had obviously even been transferred to armour. It was a ridiculous getup, he thought, folding his arms and shaking his head, his image copying him. But it would have to do for now. 

_What would Phichit think, I wonder._

_I wish I knew if he was OK._

He still had his toolkit in a pocket. But did he have any business trying to use it on the com? The projector seemed to be working as it should. If he tinkered, it was possible he would make matters worse; and then without his identity as Justin, and his own Japanese features…had anyone in medieval England ever _seen _a Japanese person? He thought it unlikely. For all he knew, they would decide he was a sorcerer and burn him at the stake. So no; as much as he wanted to make contact with people in his own time and discover what had happened when he’d gone, he judged that attempting to repair this piece of tech he knew almost nothing about was too risky. And then he felt a surge of grief again at having lost his link with home, and people who might have been able to help him.

_I’m not going to have another anxiety attack. One is too many._

His hand brushed against the leather purse attached to his real belt. After staring at Justin in the mirror, he’d almost forgotten he was wearing it. Presumably it wouldn’t be a good idea to carry it around with him everywhere, especially as it contained the time-travel sphere.

_The sphere – maybe there’s a chance it isn’t broken like Ailis’s was. Maybe it’ll be able to take me back to 2120 when I’m ready._

He opened the purse and withdrew it. But it was immediately obvious that something was wrong. The screen was blank, and he was unable to bring up a BCI menu. It seemed there was a general problem with the tech, then. It had been worth investigating, though, and he figured it would be best to keep it here in his room – but where? If Ailis ever suspected another person had been sent to find her, she might come looking for him. The chest, even though it could be locked with a key, seemed too obvious.

He went to the corner where Emil had stood his sword, picked it up, and used the sharp point to prise at the floorboards. There was one near the bed that was a little loose, and between his sword and his toolkit, he soon had it pulled up to reveal a small recess between the top layer of boards and another underneath. He removed the purse containing the coins and the time-travel sphere and put them inside, then replaced the floorboard.

With no sign yet of Emil, he returned to the window seat and watched the courtyard while there was still enough light to see by. Major deliveries seemed to have ended for the day, but there was steady activity still. Occasionally he picked up snatches of conversations. Most were about provisions, though others were the type of gossip that tended to interest people from time immemorial. Someone’s son had been apprenticed to a fletcher. A friend had returned on St. Osmund’s Day from a long journey. Yuuri squinted into the gathering darkness outside the window, almost able to imagine he was back in modern times, a tourist on holiday in a twee old-style inn. How long was Emil likely to be? Should he light a candle?

A knock on the door made him jump. His initial instinct was to say “come in”, but for all he knew, it was some enemy Justin had made wanting to take care of unfinished business; he had clearly not been well liked. “Who is it?” he asked, ready to grab the sword, which he’d put back in the corner.

“It’s Emil, master.”

“Oh. Come in.”

“If you don’t mind opening the door for me, I’m a bit encumbered.”

Yuuri got up to do so, and there was Emil with a metal lantern containing a lit candle, a blue ceramic carafe tucked under the opposite arm, and two metal cups that matched the one next to the pitcher and basin. “Oh, you already have a cup, I see. That’s good. Is your room to your liking?” he asked as he placed the lantern on the mantel.

“Um, it’s fine.” Yuuri watched him put the cups on the table next to the bed and fill them with liquid from the carafe.

“I wangled a bit of Mistress Shaw’s special brew,” Emil said, handing Yuuri a cup while he himself took the other. “You’re in luck. To your health, sir.” He raised the vessel, then swigged from it and sighed in contentment.

Having been given little choice, Yuuri brought the cold metal to his lips and took a sip. It tasted like watery, malty bread. Not bad, actually, for weak beer. “Thank you,” he said, drinking more, and suddenly realising he was hungry and thirsty. He polished off the rest of the cupful.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Emil said. “More?”

They each had another cup, which emptied the carafe. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to bring you this again for a while, sir, but I’ll make sure I find you a good fruity wine at supper.” Emil went over to close and fasten the shutters to the window, then took the empty cups.

“You’ll be fetching drinks at supper?”

“Naturally. Ah, you’ve forgotten?”

“Emil, I hardly remember anything,” Yuuri said quietly.

“Squires serve their knights at supper. It’s considered an honour.”

“When do you get to eat, if you’re serving me the whole time?”

“I eat with the others who serve the meal. We go to the kitchen and either eat there or bring something back here to the garrison.” He gave a small laugh. “We do quite well out of it, really. Now, if you’d care to accompany me to the great hall, I’ll point a few things out as we go. As well as I can, anyway, with it being dark. Oh – do you not have a hat or a cloak, sir? No, I suppose you don’t; you didn’t bring anything like that with you. I meant to tell you earlier that before your servants were dismissed, one of them was asked to forward your possessions here. I told him they were urgently needed, and he said he could possibly have them here for you tonight. It seems they started packing as soon as you left the castle, in anticipation of the result of the duel.”

“Right, well…can I not skip the hat and cloak just for now?”

“You’ll want the cloak for warmth, sir. And you’ll be underdressed without a hat. It would be an insult to the lord.”

_Because I don’t have a hat on?_ “Emil, why am I meeting with the lord?”

Another confused smile. “You’re not. Not really. We’re going to supper.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll be keeping me on my toes with this amnesia business,” Emil laughed. “Let’s be on our way, shall we?”

Yuuri was fairly sure he could make the projector give the illusion that he had a hat and cloak, but not while Emil was watching him. The squire asked him to carry the lantern while he took the carafe and empty cups, and they were soon back in the ground-floor turret room. Crossing to the far wall, Emil opened the door of what turned out to be a large closet containing lanterns, candles, pitchers, cups, plates, brooms, mops, buckets, and plenty of firewood.

“A useful room for when you need something,” Emil said, stepping inside and rooting around in a corner. “Ah yes, I thought so. You can borrow these.” He took out a brown fur cloak and a cylindrical brown felt hat. Yuuri’s nose told him they hadn’t been washed since they’d last been worn and sweated in, and he wanted to recoil.

“I’ll, um…I’ll just have the hat for now,” he said, taking it from Emil.

“Won’t you be cold?”

_I’m already wearing a coat. _“I’ll be fine.”

Emil looked at him, then chuckled as he replaced the cloak. “You’re like Sir Victor, then. Impervious to the cold, it seems.”

_That_ certainly wasn’t true. “I guess he’s used to it, if he’s from the east.”

“Oh, no, sir, that’s only the lord and lady. Sir Victor was born here. But their blood runs in his veins, of course.” He tilted his head toward the main door. “Shall we go?”

Yuuri followed him outside, wincing as he pulled the objectionable hat over his head. There was nothing wrong with how it looked, as such. But putting it on felt like donning a footballer’s kit after they’d played a long game. A week ago. If going bare-headed hadn’t meant offending the lord of the castle, he wouldn’t have touched it.

“You’ll be able to see better in daylight,” Emil said as they entered the courtyard, surrounded by the yellow glow from the lantern Yuuri carried. “But I might as well point a few things out as we go. On the other side of the gatehouse, there, is the chapel.”

Yuuri could just make it out in the twilight. A dark archway there opened onto a set of stone steps that disappeared down into darkness.

“Will you want to join the noble family and the household staff for mass in the mornings, sir? Some of the knights and guards go, some don’t. Well, when I say the noble family, Sir Victor doesn’t go, but…”

“Do you?”

“It depends on how much praying I need to do. If I’ve got a duel coming up, I’ll be praying five times a day,” he laughed.

“Well, you don’t need to worry about me. I won’t be getting up at the crack of dawn to go to mass.” He suddenly recalled what he’d been doing that very morning. Drinking coffee in his flat. Distractedly playing holograms of the daily news. Showering, shaving; he’d even gone for a jog around the city to try to get his mind off things.

“The solar, where the lord and lady’s rooms are, is upstairs a little further along,” Emil continued. “Sir Victor, being a knight, visits the garrison quite often, so it’s more convenient for him to have his chambers near us; they’re between our turret and the gatehouse. If we can cut across the courtyard, I need to leave our drinking things in the kitchen, and then we’ll go to the great hall for supper.”

Emil led the way to the main archway on the opposite side of the courtyard from the gatehouse, where Yuuri had observed supplies being taken earlier. To the left was the largest window in the castle, mullioned in rows and columns with many panes of leaded glass, some tinged with colour at the top. Candle flames danced inside.

“If you’ll wait a moment, sir,” Emil said, “I won’t be long.” With that, he strode to the turret to their right and went inside, and soon Yuuri saw him through the windows in the kitchen. There seemed to be a distinction between servants, pink-cheeked and sweaty in simple lightweight clothes, and those like Emil who were more richly dressed, coming in to collect food and drink to serve. Yuuri observed more than one shirtless man, and was no longer in any doubt that these strange leg-tubes were normal attire. They didn’t seem to have a scrap of self-consciousness about the voluminous drawers they were wearing, which were clearly on display between the separate trouser parts, attached to some kind of rope belt. Surprisingly, he could imagine the getup being alluring in the right context.

A warm aromatic draught floated out of the windows, laden with onions and garlic, rosemary and thyme, cinnamon and cumin. Vinegar. Frying fish. Yuuri was inhaling deeply when Emil emerged and joined him. “I had no idea people ate all these things here,” he said, almost forgetting himself in the moment. _He just thinks I have amnesia. I have to be careful what I say._

“Really? What do they eat at the Courtenays’ castle, then?”

“Um…well, not this kind of variety. With all the spices.”

“Really?” Emil repeated. “No wonder you have such a reputation for being distempered. Begging your pardon, sir. But spices are said to contribute a great deal to balance in body and mind.” He smiled and titled his head toward the entrance to the great hall. “Come see for yourself.” As they walked, he added, “Though I have to say, it’s a long month. I already miss meat. I don’t know about you, but we’re all tired of fish come Christmas Day.”

“Why’s that? Are they that fond of fish here?”

“Rather, I should say, or we’d be dining on vegetable pottage for over three weeks.”

“Why don’t they serve meat?”

Emil gave him an incredulous look. “Are you sure you don’t want to see a physician? You’ve forgotten about the fasting rules?”

“I…guess I have,” Yuuri muttered as they neared the archway next to the huge window.

Emil let out a breath. “You amaze me, sir, since you must have been used to it from when you were a babe. We fast throughout the whole of Advent. Well, they call it fasting, though what it amounts to is the cooks being creative with the foods we’re allowed to eat.”

“Fish but no meat.”

“No animal products. Dairy or eggs. But we do all right. I think the noble families hereabouts miss hunting the most, though they still do a little, because the meat can be smoked, salted, brined and so on. It gives us good provision for the rest of the winter. Ah, here we are. You’ll need to go in front of me, sir, as you’re the master. Just blow the candle out in the lantern and leave it on the table there with the others as we go in.”

Yuuri did so, then walked through the arch with him – and gaped as the solemn grey stone of the chill hallway opened onto a grand room bursting with colour, conversation, the clink and clang of plates and cups and armour, and a profusion of interweaving aromas – freshly baked bread and body odour, woodsmoke and fried fish. A real medieval meal.

He blinked, taking it all in. The room itself was a marvel – long and high, with massive beams overhead and white walls covered in weapons, shields, and tapestries depicting scenes of hunting, battles and feasts; a sky-blue horizontal stripe with a gold fleur-de-lis pattern ran their length near the ceiling. The floor was covered in a black and white chequerboard pattern featuring larger red, blue and yellow tiles with designs such as flowers, fish, crossed keys, and trefoils. To the left, overlooking the courtyard, was the enormous window, its panes dark with night; while on the opposite side of the room was a gigantic fireplace with a triangular hood fashioned of light grey stone carved with geometric designs and decorated at the corners with statues of noblemen and women. A massive fire within threw warmth into the room, though most of the soft illumination came from the dancing flames of candles in a huge iron chandelier on a black chain, and candelabras in the corners.

But it was the people here who interested Yuuri the most. The tables, covered with floor-length white linen cloths, stretched the length of the hall on both sides, the diners sitting on benches with their backs facing the wall, grouped in pairs. A pattern could quickly be discerned, with more humbly dressed diners near the entrance, and people in richly embroidered clothing and elegant hats at the opposite end. There, forming the end of the horseshoe of tables, was a shorter one on a raised dais. A huge banner with what Yuuri now identified as the Nikiforov coat of arms, a sky-blue shield with a roaring gold lion on its hind legs, hung on the wall behind. The baron sat in an ornately carved throne-like chair, with his lady on one side and Sir Victor on the other.

Yuuri had only seen the knight through panic-filled eyes before, and was caught by this different vision of him, relaxing at a meal without his gleaming armour. A soft black cloth cap similar to a beret was perched on his head, standing higher on one side to display a gold ornament, and tilted jauntily to one ear. The flowing fringe Yuuri remembered must be tucked underneath, as those clear blue eyes gazed out unimpeded. He wore a form-fitting green tunic with a row of gold buttons down the front and a high black collar, over which was an elaborate gold livery collar with black and red oval jewels. But while his father sat stiffly, issuing orders to servants, dark eyes forbidding, Sir Victor was…princely, without having to try; someone to be approached rather than feared. His long white fingers encircled an elegant goblet while he spoke with a man in a blue confection of a garment next to him, who, although strikingly handsome, was nothing like his ethereal neighbour.

Emil tugged at Yuuri’s sleeve. “If we linger here, all eyes will be upon us,” he said in a low voice, “and that’s perhaps not a good idea at the moment, after…” He paused. “Well, it’s perhaps better for you not to be too _obvious_ at the moment.”

Yuuri simply nodded and allowed himself to be escorted to the table with the fireplace behind it, where he was shown a place about two thirds down the length of the hall. Maybe that meant his rank was higher than that of two thirds of the castle personnel. It was beginning to appear as if social status was of great importance to these people. Yet he knew he would have to come to terms with it if he were going to give the impression of being a genuine knight.

_As if that’s likely to happen._

_But it has to…or everything will be lost._

The thought made him shudder inwardly as he sat down on the bench. He was at the end of it, with a small gap between this table and the next. A blond man perhaps a few years older than himself was on his left. Like the young squire Julius, he had a bowl-style haircut, but his tresses were ruffled rakishly. Or maybe it was just the effect of the flat cloth cap he wore, which pushed the hairs down so they poked out to the side a little. He had olive eyes and a ghost of a goatee, and wore a tan tunic under a regal flowing navy-blue cape; the red and green patches that comprised Yuuri’s own tunic seemed clownish by comparison.

“Is everything all right, sir?” Emil asked him, and he nodded, though the true answer to that question was more complicated. “You’ll remember Sir Christophe Giacometti, I’m sure. I’ll just go get your drink, and your first course will be brought out soon.” With a quick little bow, he disappeared into the queue of servants moving down the hall.

Yuuri felt the eyes of the other man upon him, and turned.

“Justin,” the man said in polite acknowledgement.

“Uh…Sir Christophe.”

“It’s Chris, unless I’m back home in Normandy. Even to you.”

Yuuri nodded. Unsure of what to say, and knowing it was important not to give Chris the impression he had amnesia as well, he fell silent as he looked around the room again. A boy in a red tunic and yellow conical hat with a large basket hooked over an arm was moving down the tables, placing a thick piece of bread in front of each pair of diners. Yuuri eyed his and Chris’s when it came: a hollowed-out oval loaf. He touched it and discovered it was hard, obviously stale. Were they meant to eat this? he wondered nervously; but no one else appeared to be doing anything with theirs, so he sat and waited.

“We don’t stand much on ceremony here. We fighting men.”

“Sorry?” Yuuri said, turning to look at Chris.

“None of the ‘sir’. Which means the other knights won’t call you ‘sir’, either. I hope you’re all right with that.” He paused. “Because if you’re not, there’s no shortage of people here who’d be willing to take you down a peg. Another one, that is.”

“If they don’t want to call me ‘sir’, that’s fine by me,” Yuuri said evenly, staring at the stale hollow bread.

“You might do well to call Victor ‘sir’ for a while, though, if you want my advice. Combine it with some grovelling, and maybe you’ll eventually get on his good side. Luckily, he’s not the type to hold a grudge.”

“That’s him over there, isn’t it?” Yuuri said, looking toward the table on the dais.

“Yes, the same man you wanted to kill earlier. Not that you stood a chance. But if you did, you would’ve had me to answer to next, and Sir Charles, and a host of other people. I wonder what thoughts were in your head.”

His words were blunt, but his tone seemed more curious than harsh, which was perhaps as much as Yuuri had any right to expect just now. Before he could answer, however, two more servants came to the table, as colourfully garbed and hatted as everyone else. One of them carried a large pitcher and the other a bowl sloshing with water, both made of a silver metal. Chris held his hands out, and Yuuri watched as water was poured over them from the pitcher; he rubbed them together underneath the stream, which splashed into the bowl, held below to catch it. The pitcher-bearer gave him a white towel to dry himself with, and the pair shifted to perform the same ritual with Yuuri, who copied what Chris had done. When the servants moved on to the next table, he sniffed his hands; they smelled faintly of lemon.

It was beginning to look as though people in his own time were wrong about the lack of hygiene in the Middle Ages. There was no denying the repulsiveness of the hat Yuuri was wearing, which he intended to remove at the earliest opportunity and replace with an illusory one via his projector; but Emil had not been objectionable in close quarters, and there was nothing offensive about Chris, either. If they hadn’t washed themselves or their clothes in weeks, the olfactory evidence surely would have been obvious.

He took in the place setting in front of himself and Chris. These strange pieces of bread. The people at the table on the dais each had a shining plate instead. His goblet, pewter perhaps, stood empty with a metal spoon next to it. No fork or knife.

A servant brought a round loaf of bread and placed it on the table, and another brought a small metal bowl filled with water and rose petals. Yuuri wondered if he was supposed to pull pieces off the loaf, since there were no knives. Then another bowl was brought to them, full of an aromatic liquid with chunks of something white in it. Yuuri recognised the scents of ginger, cinnamon and fish.

“Where are those squires of ours, eh?” Chris said, pulling a knife from his belt and using it to hew at the loaf. “Shall I cut a bit for you?”

Yuuri eyed the bread. It looked fresher than the hollow thing in front of him. “I prefer brown – do they have that here? But sure, thank you.”

Chris looked at him as if he’d just made a joke, then picked the loaf up and cut a hunk for him, which he handed over. “You’re welcome to go dine with the scullery maids, they’ll give you some rye I’m sure,” he chuckled.

Of course. The upper classes had white bread; he’d forgotten. He watched Chris take several spoonfuls of the fish and drop them into the hollow of the stale loaf.

“Not keen, then?” he said.

“Uh…what is it?”

“At a guess, I’d say lampreys baked in vinegar and spices. One of the favourites here. I think it’s quite good, myself. Though I could do with something to wash it down with. I wish Philip would get his arse over here with the wine.” He picked up a chunk of fish with his fingers, then looked at Yuuri again before putting it in his mouth. “That’s my squire. And also, my hands are clean. Are you going to try some or not?”

Lampreys were eels, weren’t they? Yuuri had never eaten eel in his life. And he was pretty sure a medieval castle kitchen was never going to receive a five-star hygiene rating. But if it was a choice between this and starving, he’d have to get used to it.

Overcoming the instinct to look for a fork, he picked up a chunk of lamprey, put it in his mouth and chewed. Just then, Emil and another young man arrived, each carrying an earthenware jug, and proceeded to fill the goblets with wine.

“How goes it with you, then, master?” Emil asked as he stood next to Yuuri at the end of the table.

Yuuri had taken a moment to consider the taste of what he was eating. It was rich and tender, reminiscent of beef or pork but not very flavoursome on its own. The vinegar had a sweet tang to it, and the spices were warm and delicate. Realising he was thinking like a restaurant critic, he nevertheless had to concede it was quite good.

While Chris was questioning his squire about where he’d been, Yuuri leaned over and whispered to Emil, “I need some help. Are we supposed to eat this stale bread that Chris has put the food in?”

Emil began to laugh, then seemed to recall Yuuri’s predicament and whispered back, “It’s a trencher. It’s like your plate. Don’t try to eat it; a servant will take it away at the end of the meal and give it to the poor. You should have some of the wine I brought, sir. It’s hypocras.” When Yuuri’s brow clouded, he added, “Spiced red wine. It’s good that you remember how to eat and drink, sir.”

Yuuri pressed his lips together and didn’t answer. Emil was poking fun, and perhaps squires weren’t supposed to do that. Or maybe they were; maybe their masters expected them to say things to amuse them.

_We are not amused, _Yuuri thought wryly.

Emil poured some wine into his goblet. “Anything else you’d like to ask me, sir?” he whispered near his ear.

Yuuri thought, then replied, “Am I supposed to have a knife? Chris used one to cut the bread.”

“You don’t have a knife?” Emil asked incredulously. “But everyone carries a knife, even women and children.”

“I’m sure it’s very handy,” Yuuri said, trying not to betray his growing frustration. “But no, I don’t.”

“I’ll go find you one.” Emil put the wine jug down on the table and hurried off.

“What did you say to make him do that?” Chris asked. He’d finished speaking with his squire, who was standing back against the wall, holding a wine jug and a white cloth like a Victorian butler, though his bright clothing and conical hat made him look anything but.

“I forgot something back in my room,” Yuuri said. He wondered how he should start a conversation with this man, and felt the sickly weight of inadequacy that usually pressed down on him in social situations. It was hard enough in his own time. What did people make small talk about in 1392? The grain harvest? But this was a knight, not a farmer. How many men he’d butchered in battle, then? Yuuri realised he was losing his appetite.

“You don’t have a lot to say,” Chris observed, eating more lamprey. “Different from the last time you were here. No one could silence you before you’d driven Julius to distraction. And a few other men, if I recall correctly. Maybe you just need enough drink in you first.” He laughed and sipped his wine.

Hearing Emil’s previous words repeated by Chris evoked a spike of annoyance in Yuuri at his counterpart, Justin. Did he have any friends, or had he just agitated people wherever he went?

“Is that Julius there?” he asked, looking at the table on the dais. “How old is he?”

“Yes, he’ll be serving Victor. And he’s fifteen. A bit young for the likes of you to pick a fight with, I’d say, but I’d bet a roll of the dice on him chopping a limb off you before you got close. He’s very good.”

“So I’ve heard,” Yuuri murmured as a group of men in hose and women in gowns set up wooden chairs in the middle of the room and started to tune musical instruments. There were some stringed varieties, and a drum and harp that fit on the players’ laps. Yuuri’s eyes strayed over to Julius, assiduously filling Sir Victor’s cup and saying something that evoked a grin, before stepping back out of the way.

If no one had told him otherwise, Yuuri might have assumed at first glance that Julius was a girl; though with the severe bowl-style haircut and men’s clothing, along with the possibility that he was only beginning puberty, it would have been hard to be sure either way. Yuuri tried to imagine him as a sombre knight in armour and struggled to do so; he appeared to wear a permanently disgruntled look unless he was serving his master, when his admiration was obvious.

If Sir Justin’s reputation was in the mud, Sir Victor’s seemed to soar to the heights of the clouds. Yuuri found it difficult to reconcile with the wrathful warrior who’d tried to stab him in the throat, scion of a family that had subdued all its neighbours and stolen their most prized possessions. On top of that, there was no sign of smugness or arrogance in his expression; no anger. Just that strange veil of quiet sadness Yuuri seemed to sense when the duel had ended, though he wondered if it was his imagination.

“Do you want to have a sop of this, sir, before I take it away?”

Realising he must have been staring, Yuuri came back to himself and looked blankly at the red-haired serving girl standing on the other side of the table. _What’s a sop? A sop of what?_

Chris picked up his piece of bread, about half of which remained, dipped it in the lamprey bowl so that it soaked up a good amount of liquid, and then bit into it contentedly while the girl picked up the bowl, bowed, and went on her way. Yuuri’s brow wrinkled for a moment; he’d eaten a grand total of one piece of fish. He wondered if that was the end of the meal, apart from the rest of the loaf of bread. Would they have butter here to spread on it? But then, he didn’t have a knife. And Emil had said they didn’t eat animal products during Advent.

“Maybe you’ll like the next course better,” Chris said, drinking more wine. Yuuri realised he hadn’t tasted his own yet, and took a sip. It had been mulled with spices; he could taste cloves, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg. And it was sweetened. The wine itself was weak, but the concoction felt like an ideal accompaniment to a meal on a winter’s night, along with the hauntingly evocative music that was now softly lilting through the air, obviously meant as a background to eating and conversation rather than a centrepiece.

The roaring fire nearby might even have lulled him to sleep; he was warm in his modern coat but didn’t dare take it off while eyes were upon him. In fact, if he were on holiday, he’d be enjoying himself. But one of a dozen thoughts about his current situation could easily shatter that illusion. He drank his wine and tried to push them aside, though they kept circling around his consciousness, looking for a way in.

Was Ailis here? His eyes alit briefly on every woman in the room, including those helping to serve the meal. There would be others working in the kitchen and probably elsewhere. She could be any one of them…or none at all. While Celestino had thought it likely she lived in the castle, there was no guarantee the assumption was correct.

“A knife for you, sir.” Emil was back at the side of the table, and laid the implement next to the trencher.

“Lost it, did you?” Chris said with an amused little grin.

“Mid-course refreshment?” Emil said to them both, holding out a small ceramic bowl. He looked at Yuuri. “Candied ginger. A digestive.”

Yuuri and Chris both took a few pieces. It was pungent, hot and sweet. Chris gestured to Philip for more wine, and Yuuri leaned over to whisper to Emil again.

“Thanks for the knife.”

“I’m happy to be of service, sir.”

Yuuri wished Emil didn’t have to speak to him like that; it was going to take some getting used to. When Chris gestured for Philip to attend him, Yuuri leaned over once more and whispered, “Is there anything else you can tell me about dining here? I don’t want anyone to think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Emil stroked his goatee in thought, then said, “You may know these things already, but well, it’s bad manners to eat everything in a dish. People will think you’re a glutton. Make use of the bowls to wash your fingers.” He indicated the one filled with water and rose petals. “Be courteous in sharing with your neighbour. Um…” He thought some more. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Don’t fart or belch, don’t – ”

“All right,” Yuuri cut him off. “It sounds like manners haven’t changed much. Um, I mean they’re no different from what they are at my father’s castle.”

Emil’s face brightened. “I’m pleased you remember, sir.”

Yuuri dipped his fingers into the rosewater just as a group of servants entered the hall bearing platters which they brought to the diners near the far end, while others carried bowls and baskets. This must be the main course, then. A boy set a platter in front of him and Chris, then bowed and scurried off.

“What the f – ” Yuuri stopped himself before he offended anyone’s ears. Some animal had been skinned and roasted and put on the platter. Along with a tail that had been replaced behind it, to give the illusion it hadn’t been cut off. Long and flat. Yuuri had never seen a real beaver, but he thought that might be what he was looking at. It was surrounded by baked apples stuffed with dried fruits and nuts. Another servant placed a dish containing a thick green porridge or paste next to it.

“Ah, splendid,” Chris said, cutting a small piece from the beaver and eating it off the tip of his knife. “Philip, will you go see if they have some jance or cameline sauce for dipping?”

“I’ve asked them to fetch it for you, sir,” the young man replied.

“You know me too well.” He began to prise apart an apple, then picked up his spoon, pausing to look at Yuuri. “Are you feeling well? Don’t you want some?”

“I thought, um, that animal products weren’t allowed during Lent – but this is beaver, right?”

“It is, sir,” Emil replied, “but as it begins its life in the water, and it has a fish-like tail, the Church classifies it as fish.”

Yuuri forced himself to contain a snort; he was still trying not to goggle at the tail. “Do you always have…fancy dishes like this with a meal?”

“Have you not had beaver before?” Chris chuckled. “Is Castle Courtenay not well provided for? Though actually, it’s unusual for Fernand, the head cook, to go to this degree of ostentation with the tail – don’t you think, Philip?”

“The Nikiforovs have never usually gone in for it, I have to say,” his squire replied.

Chris scooped up a spoonful of crumbling, steaming apple and dried fruit running with honey, savoured it for a moment, and then said, “There’ll be a reason for it. Word has it that Fernand is trying out different dishes for the king’s visit.”

Yuuri gave a start, almost knocking his goblet over. “The king of England? He’s coming _here_?”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “You hadn’t heard?”

“When?”

“June of next year,” Emil said. “We’re all looking forward to it, of course, but it will mean a lot of work – and expense for the noble family – to prepare for.”

The vestiges of Yuuri’s appetite evaporated, though he’d barely eaten all day. He swallowed, suddenly feeling very alone in the midst of all these people and their epicurean pleasures.

The king was coming. In six months’ time.

Ailis wouldn’t have to travel anywhere if she wanted to wreak havoc. She’d be able to do it right here.

_Phichit_, _I really need to tell you this. Are you there? Are you even alive?_

He blinked back a tear and told Emil to pour him more wine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor’s livery collar looks something like [this](https://sapphireandsage.com/collections/medieval/products/edward-jeweled-renaissance-collar-of-office-1).
> 
> And welcome to the medieval food porn! Everything edible that’s mentioned is based on research, including the Church’s instructions on what and what not to eat during Advent. While the internet is full of info, I also made use of two food books for this fic. _The Art of Cookery in the Middle Ages_ by Terence Scully (2005) is on the academic side, but fascinating, going into topics like how foods were balanced according to the humours, subtleties (which will come up on a number of occasions in this story), and customs and manners at the table. _To the King’s Taste: Richard II’s Book of Feasts and Recipes Adapted for Modern Cooking_ by Lorna J. Sass (1975) is exactly what it says on the cover – a modern version of _The Forme of Cury_ (Manner of Cookery), written in about 1390 at the request of Richard II; it contains both Middle English recipes and their rather more precise modern versions. Unfortunately no longer in print, it can easily be found secondhand on internet sites at a very reasonable price.


	9. Chapter 9

_He looks like he’s had a bucket of cold water thrown over him to douse his fire. Maybe he’ll learn a lesson. I won’t get my hopes up, though._

Victor absently took a small piece of lemon tart and brought it to his mouth, surreptitiously keeping an eye on their newest addition to the castle while pretending to be interested in the leaf motifs engraved on his silver plate. He wasn’t fond of a dessert pastry made with lard instead of butter, and he wasn’t sure what the bulk of the fruit mixture consisted of without eggs or cream, but it was passable; there was a pleasant bite and sweetness to it. He took a sip of wine, filtering out Tyler’s commentary on the previous day’s hunt. After all this time, it appeared he hadn’t realised that Victor didn’t care for the sort of affair he was describing, which was more of an entertaining pageant for the participants than anything requiring true skill. But then, Victor thought, maybe it was his own fault for never having told him so. Wasn’t that the case? It was difficult to remember.

He decided it was the silly waxed beard that bothered him the most about the man he’d been slanting glances at. His father had insisted the garrison needed another knight, because no one had replaced Duncan. The men Victor defeated in duels, who had been compelled to serve here at the castle, often wanted to return to their family estates when it was allowed. Perhaps the same would happen with Justin; they would tolerate him for a while and then he would go.

Good riddance, too. Victor had encountered him before on several occasions, though only in passing; it had been enough, however, to give the impression of someone who was arrogant, impulsive, and irritating. And Victor considered himself to be a tolerant person. Occasionally his own squire could display those same qualities, but Justin was twenty-four, just four years younger than himself, and ought to have learned better by now. He was clearly the type of man who picked a fight for its own sake, and nowhere had that been more obvious than in the arena today, when he’d insisted on being slaughtered rather than yielding. If anything angered Victor, it was pointless death – especially when he was the one expected to deliver it. Everyone ended up having to yield to him; there was no dishonour in that. If Victor had been forced to kill the foolish fellow, his family’s estate would still have been ceded to the Nikiforovs. It was Andrei’s way, and no matter how many times Victor debated the matter with him, his father was not to be swayed.

He took another bite of lemon tart. The lilting notes of the harp seemed a fitting comical-sounding accompaniment to the mildly bewildered look on Justin’s face. It was strange and perplexing, as was the way he had tried to run away from the arena during the duel, like the Devil himself had licked a flame of terror through his frame. If Justin le Savage was anything, he was no coward; or so Victor had thought.

They’d seated him next to Christophe tonight. Victor knew the expression on the Norman knight’s face, as if he’d eaten something distasteful and was suppressing his full reaction for the sake of propriety. He chuckled quietly; he didn’t envy him.

“Your head cook surpasses himself with every meal lately, Victor,” Tyler said as he drank more wine. Victor couldn’t decide if the voluminous folds of blue material on his head and body were foppish or fetching, or both. “It’s delightful to come here.” He sought to hold Victor’s gaze with his dark eyes.

Victor ate more tart and glanced back over to the curiosity that was Justin. “Indeed,” he muttered. He found it difficult to read the face underneath the pompous whiskers, and then wondered why he was bothering to try. Perhaps because there was something of a mystery here. Victor often passed moments during these long meals by studying people in the hall, as the diversion it provided was frequently of more interest than the conversation of his neighbour, whoever that happened to be. Most of them dripped honeyed words, hoping to gain his favour. He could do it too, when he wanted. It meant little.

Sir Justin le Savage. After what had happened in the arena, such a one as this might be expected to put on a display of belligerence or bravado, insisting no one had the right to hold him here or tell him what to do. The fact that numerous knights and guards would quickly prove him wrong would be immaterial to him; it was the show of defiance that was important. Or if he felt sufficiently cowed after nearly receiving Victor’s sword in his neck, he would predictably be sitting at the table in quiet distemper, eyes burning with shame and frustration.

Instead, however, his whole manner was subdued, and he was looking around the room as if he’d never seen a great hall before. He – _Oh, _Victor thought with a quirk at the side of his mouth as Justin’s eyes met his. Only for a moment, before they were quickly lowered…demurely, almost. _That _was interesting. He continued to look down as he sipped from his goblet. There was a stillness, a deliberation to Justin’s movements. A degree of humility unusual to see in any knight, let alone this one. 

Something didn’t fit. But perhaps he was reading too much into the situation. It was possible the man had been so deeply embarrassed that he had finally learned the error of his ways – though the ludicrousness of the idea almost made Victor guffaw. Leopards did not change their spots.

Then he reminded himself that Justin had nearly forced him to take his life today, and the tiny smile on his lips faded, replaced with a renewed surge of outrage.

“Have I said something to offend you?”

Victor turned to Tyler, who was sitting with his elbows on the table, his sleeves falling into pools around them to reveal two shapely arms loosely grasping his golden goblet. It was an artful pose, though the questioning tone of his voice was genuine enough.

Tyler had been visiting for a week with his father, the Duke of Halbrook, along with their considerable retinue of staff and servants. Victor had known him since they were teens, though they usually hadn’t seen each other more than once or twice a year since they’d grown older and become more involved with their families’ estates. With the obvious exception of Alex, Tyler was the only person in the north who had been known to rival Victor’s skills as a knight; he was a good sparring partner who kept Victor on his toes.

Occasionally they shared a bed during their visits as well; they were attracted to each other, and it was diverting of an evening. Victor was increasingly glad, however, that they were never together for more than a few days at a time, because Tyler’s conversation had begun to feel dry and tiresome of late. And while he’d been struggling to work out for himself over the past week what this meant and what he himself really wanted, he’d watched Tyler’s manner change from familiar and friendly to something more distant and pointed. Victor suspected it was because they hadn’t shared a bed yet during this visit, and Tyler and his family were leaving in the morning.

“Offend?” Victor echoed, toying with his goblet, the rubies in it glinting in the candlelight. “No, of course not.”

“Perhaps you’d feel more a part of the hunt if you got a hawk or a falcon, like other men of your station. Why do you refuse to have one, Victor?” He sighed, and Victor felt his gaze upon him. “How regal it would make you look.”

“That’s not a concern of mine,” Victor replied, running an idle finger around the lip of his goblet. “I have no desire to watch one creature tear another to shreds.”

“But you do hunt, don’t you? I know you do.”

Victor looked at him. “Cleanly and fairly, yes.”

After a pause, Tyler said, “We’ve both been so busy since I arrived. But…it’s been a week.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’d almost think my longtime friend was avoiding me.” As he drank from his goblet, he watched Victor, who saw a spark of heat in his grey eyes. “I’ve missed you.” He took a small piece of lemon tart and slowly brought it to his lips, then pushed it into his mouth, hooding his eyes.

Victor stared, feeling his body begin to respond. It _had _been a while since he’d shared a bed with anyone, and Tyler was good at this. They both had needs, and there was surely no harm in it, after all.

He drew out a silence between them, then finally slipped his neighbour a coy smile, and knew his message had been received.

* * *

Flames crackled low in the grate. There were no chairs in here; Yuuri was sitting on the straw mattress of his bed, tucked into the corner, a pillow at his back, the brown woollen blanket draped over himself up to his chin. It was coarse but warm. He’d lit one of the thick cream-coloured candles from the mantel and stood it in a niche in the wall next to him. It would have been more suitable for a church or a romantic dinner, however, than illuminating a room. The shadows of night continued to lie thick in the rafters and corners.

His stomach rumbled. It had been difficult to shove any crumbs of food into his mouth after receiving the news that the king would be coming to Crowood Castle. He felt certain Ailis would be waiting in anticipation. Simply shooting him with a laser gun didn’t seem her style; she would no doubt be planning something more sophisticated. He _had _to find out what it was. Would she be lying low while she waited, or did she fully intend to get up to other kinds of mischief in the meantime?

_How do I even start? How do I find her?_

He would have to think carefully before he acted. If he tried to search any rooms for evidence – of what, he wasn’t certain, and which might or might not exist – he could be caught, and there would be questions. He didn’t dare confide his secret to anyone; telling Emil he had amnesia had been bad enough, though necessary. And when he did speak to people, whether it was to get information from them or just to pass the time of day, he would have to make sure he did not arouse any suspicion. He knew his performance as Justin since he’d arrived had been less than masterful, and hoped that any mistakes he’d made could be put down to his disorientation at being forced to stay and live at this castle, when they all thought he’d come here from his father’s.

Baron Stanebeck. Not a happy man – with good reason, Yuuri supposed, having lost ownership of his castle and lands today, because of him. A message from the baron had been delivered earlier, along with Justin’s clothes and personal effects, or some of them. Emil had read it out to him here in the bedroom after the Courtenays’ servant had gone. Apparently, Justin was not to show his face at his father’s castle again until he redeemed himself. Paradoxically, it was good news, because Yuuri was trying to get settled into _this _castle, and felt no desire to visit another where he was supposedly known and would surely be discovered as an imposter, with or without the excuse of amnesia. He would, no doubt, also receive a bollocking there for his less than honourable deeds today; and the enmity he’d been experiencing here was bad enough as it was.

“Justin le Savage, you’re a real tosser, you know that?” he muttered into the quiet room.

The knight’s clothing was now in his chest and wardrobe. It had fortunately been washed. Yuuri had decided he would have to wear it until he could get some of his own. Unsure what else to do with his modern clothing and shoes, he’d wrapped it all in one of Justin’s cloaks and stuffed it at the bottom of the chest, with the key hidden in his coin purse. He’d also returned the repugnant hat to the closet and experimented with the image projector for a while in front of the mirror to see what he could get it to do. It was able to reproduce what was in his mind, it seemed, turning thought into illusion; there was an acceptable copy of the hat, and items of Justin’s clothing in the trunk.

Out of curiosity, Yuuri next tried some of his own clothes that he’d left behind in his flat, and he would’ve believed he was actually wearing them if he didn’t look too carefully and disrupt the hypnotic effect. People would enjoy playing with this device, he thought; they could make it look like they were wearing any kind of costume they could imagine. The spirit of fun and games eluded him at the moment, however. 

He shivered, moving the pillow further up his back so that he was not directly touching the cold wall; it felt more comforting huddling like this than sitting on the bare wooden floor in front of dying flames. Clutching the blanket against his throat, he tucked his knees in further. He’d decided to put on a thick pair of socks, a soft long-sleeved linen shirt, and those voluminous pants they wore here. Fortunately, it seemed that he and Justin were about the same size, though if the fit of the shirt was any indication, Yuuri was a little stouter around the chest.

He also now had a razor that looked like a miniature axe. Justin’s, of course, though God knew what he did with it; there must be an art to styling a goatee. He’d asked an amused Emil to show him how to shave, and he’d gone and fetched a small terracotta bottle with a cork stopper that he said contained olive oil. This he rubbed over the areas he intended to denude, while Yuuri held up a candle so he could see what Emil was doing; then he tilted his head back in front of the mirror while carefully moving the semi-circular blade back and forth. He rinsed the blade from time to time in water he’d splashed into the basin from the pitcher.

“There’s a bit of rosewater added to the oil, I think,” he said, putting the razor down on the bedside table. “Do you want me to shave you as well, sir, or – ”

“No, that’s all right,” Yuuri said quickly, adding a “thank you” so as not to seem rude.

Yuuri had had to verify with Emil that the hard, waxy bars he now possessed, thanks to Justin, were indeed soap. He didn’t know when it had been invented, but it was a relief to discover it was in existence here after all. Less of a pleasant surprise had been the ceramic jar full of ground-up charred herbs and spices loosely bound together with some kind of gum that Emil said was meant to be rubbed over the teeth with a cloth. He’d even enthused about what a luxurious mixture it was.

Yuuri couldn’t help asking whether people in the castle took baths. Emil had looked at him with pity. “I suppose you must be used to it at the Courtenays’ castle,” he said. “I’m sorry, sir, but here they’re reserved for the noble family and their officials. Though sometimes on special occasions, we’ll have some full buckets in the main room of the garrison. Most of the time, though, well, there’s the river when the weather’s warmer, and the pitcher and basin. Speaking of which…” He took a candle and the basin, sloshing with water, olive oil and tiny whiskers, left the room with Yuuri following in his wake, went down the hall a way, and stopped at an area where a copper pipe descended from the ceiling. It ended at about knee height from the floor, in which there was a small copper grille, and Emil emptied the water into this.

“What’s the pipe for?” Yuuri asked. “Not water, is it?”

“Well, yes. It comes from the cistern on the roof. Here’s the tap.” He turned it briefly, and a small volume of liquid splashed out. “You can refill your pitcher with this if you need to. The servants use it often, as their accommodation is a little further down the hall, but we all share in this wing of the castle. The main well is inside the southwest tower near the kitchen, but you won’t have any need to go there.”

This was the second pleasant surprise, after the soap, though there was no telling how clean the water was. It would do for washing, at least. Hopefully.

“Will you join us in the garrison before you retire, sir?” Emil invited him as they returned to the bedroom. “Several of us like to gather there on these long winter nights. It passes the time.”

“I…um, not tonight, thanks, Emil. Maybe another time.”

Emil nodded. “Just as you like, sir. It’s probably wise to let things die down after today anyway, especially if Sir Victor comes in. He won’t be best pleased to see you, I daresay.”

He took his his leave for the night after Yuuri thanked him for his help. Silence and shadows spilled out from the corners once he’d gone. And then Yuuri realised he had no choice but to visit the garderobe.

He’d gone by the light of a candle and found it unoccupied, though down the hall from the direction of the main room echoed the sounds of men talking, laughing and singing. Yuuri guessed they’d been imbibing something stronger than the watery beer Emil had brought for them to drink earlier. There were also the plinks and thrums of lutes, or something similar.

_Since when did guards and men-at-arms and knights sing and play musical instruments?_

At any rate, there was no getting out of it; he depressed the iron latch of the small wooden door in front of him and pulled it open.

He was immediately assailed by the smell, though he’d expected it. And actually, maybe it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. There was a slit of a window in here that was propped open, letting in the cold but also fresh air. A niche in the wall to place a candle in. A long wooden board with a woven rush mat on top of the hole. To one side of the board was a bucket full of straw, while on the other was a basin full of water and rose petals; Yuuri wondered where the rose garden was that so generously provided for the castle. More bunches of lavender and other herbs were stuffed around the rafters.

This room would certainly do, as would the copper water pipe in the hall. Before he’d travelled here, in the moments when he’d found the courage to allow his thoughts to stray in that direction, he’d expected to be using buckets to fetch water from wells, and chamber pots for other bodily functions, if there was any indoor sanitation at all. He ought to consider himself lucky, he told himself as he finished and returned to his bedroom.

_I don’t _feel _lucky, _he thought now, gathering the blanket more tightly around himself. _I have a mission to carry out. Somehow. One that killed my predecessors within weeks. I’m without most of the possessions I intended to bring, and I have no way of contacting anyone in the future. _

Briefly his thoughts strayed to what tomorrow might bring, and he saw Emil’s bemused smile again as he was called upon to explain to Yuuri the most basic things that everyone here should know. And…what did knights do at a castle? What would they expect _him _to do?

Emil had said something about training. In that case, he wouldn’t be able to avoid displaying his need for a great deal of it. He didn’t think he was going to earn the respect of the other fighting men in that way any time soon.

Fighting men.

Celestino and Phichit had been hoping he could defend himself with a sword, or at least brandish one in a convincingly threatening way, if needed. But Yuuri doubted anyone had expected him to end up an actual knight. The idea had never crossed his own mind.

Images formed in his mind as he stared into the flames. Of himself being ordered with a band of men to besiege another castle.

_But they said families seized each other’s castles and lands by having their champions fight. So maybe they don’t do that here._

Might he be called upon to fight for a different reason, however? He saw Sir Victor’s face again, pale with blazing eyes, attempting to strike a death blow. Then he imagined himself being forced to do the same to others. To slaughter men in battle. Cut their throats, hack off limbs. The screams as their blood flowed. Another shiver passed through him, and tears pricked at his eyes.

_No, _he thought, as if the mere word could ward off the reality. _No. I could never do that. Never. I’d rather die first._

But then his mission would fail.

He wasn’t religious, but in a sudden fit of desperation, he muttered, his voice low in the stillness of the night, “Please, God, no. Don’t let them make me do those things. I can’t. I _can’t._”

Maybe it could even happen here at the castle. He’d be put in a duel again, perhaps as some chance to “redeem” himself, as Baron Courtenay had phrased it. Or…or they’d make him joust. On a horse. He couldn’t remember having been on one in his life. But knights were meant to ride them, weren’t they? He had a vision of someone stabbing him with a lance. Of falling off and shattering his skull. While onlookers booed and jeered. A sob escaped his throat.

Now in his imagination he’d found Ailis – but before he could do anything about it, she whipped out a laser gun. The final thing he saw before his body was flayed alive by the blue beam was her hate-filled face as she aimed the weapon at him. It would be the work of a second, and he would end up just like Dr. Quincey.

Or if not him, like Dr. Croft, his body ravaged by some disease it had never acquired an immunity to. Were there rats here in the castle? Would they enter his room in the night?

It seemed as if the very shadows harboured malignant secrets that were waiting to spring out of the woodwork the moment his eyes were closed. Tears leaked from their corners now, and his throat tightened.

Loud laughs from the main garrison room rolled down the hall, feeling through the cracks in the door. Men who would just as soon break your bones as share a drink and a chat with you, once they’d had a skinful.

Yuuri rode out the inevitable anxiety attack, his second of the day in this room. When his heart began to slow and his breaths to steady, he wiped at his damp cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, then sniffled and attempted to discover whether the com told the time. If it did, he couldn’t figure out how to make it tell _him_. Darkness ruled in the winter here between four p.m. and eight a.m. All he knew was that this had been the longest day of his life, and he was ready for it to end.

But sleep was elusive, and his thoughts continued to prey on him. The flames had died into clinking orange embers before he finally found release in blessed nothingness.


	10. Chapter 10

The first light of dawn was creeping around the shutters when Victor awoke; as was his habit, the first thing he did was slip out from under the warm sheets and open them. The white sheepskin rug was thick and soft as his toes sank into it, but the floor tiles were cold and sent a jolt through him, which was what he wanted, as was the wintry air on his bare body. It quickly pushed him the rest of the way to alertness.

He went next to the gold pitcher and basin. He wasn’t overly fond of collecting luxuries, but this set had been given to him by Geoffrey, the eldest son of Baron Stafford, as a gift years back from his travels in Persia, and it was a pretty thing. It glimmered, the rising sun chasing the intricate swirls carved deep into the metal, tiny pearls and inlaid jewels scattering it like stardust. Victor poured water into the basin, then proceeded to splash it over himself, using his linen towel and a bar of soap for cleaning. That was a slap awake, too. He wondered sometimes if it was the Russian blood in him longing for the bite of its ancestral land, or if he had a need to prove to himself time and again that he was impervious to that very bite. Perhaps a little of both.

Tyler was still dozing in the wooden bed. The cream and gold embroidered curtains that hung from its canopy were permanently roped to the side; Victor disliked having servants sleep in his room or being disturbed by them unless he had a specific need, and so there was ample privacy with the door shut. He blew out the little terracotta oil lamp on the marble-topped table next to the bed, which he liked to keep aflame overnight in case he woke up, then paused to look again at Tyler.

He was handsome in the pink-tinged rays of dawn, which gave a faint sheen to his thick ash-brown hair and unblemished skin. But Victor suddenly wondered now how much he’d ever truly been moved by it. He’d heard some people tell of the joy of waking in the morning next to a loved one, but _joy _was something he was certain he’d never felt with any of the men who had slept by his side. Friendship, certainly. The pique of novelty. A remedy for loneliness, for a while. On occasion, renewed desire. He was discerning enough in his choice of partners that he’d never felt shame, or an urgent need for parting and forgetting. Not that he could remember, at any rate; a handful of drink-addled nights that had bled into mornings in his youth would perhaps always remain a mystery to him.

Tyler had never complained of their arrangements, however, and the two of them had enjoyed each other intermittently for years. Victor supposed he ought to be thankful for the blessings he had, rather than search for yet more. He would never have to worry about getting with child, or putting someone else in the condition. There were no complications of an arranged marriage, a dowry, producing an heir. His father and eventually his mother – albeit reluctantly – had accepted long ago that this was how it would be with him. And men, moreso than women, seemed to have an affinity for viewing the ways of the flesh as harmless dalliance.

However, he’d felt his heart and mind turning – gradually, like the procession of the stars across the seasons – to something else of late, though he was still at a loss to define it. He was tempted to think it was something to do with Alex, but not every problem’s root could be traced there. This went further back: a dissatisfaction with what had always been a perfectly acceptable state of affairs. It had been strong enough for him to avoid bedding with Tyler during his visit, until now. And last night, he realised, had only been out of habit. If Tyler had been someone new attempting to seduce him at supper, he felt sure he would not have given in so easily. And again, the reason _why _was elusive to grasp. 

Deciding he’d had enough of such frustrating and fruitless thoughts for now, Victor combed his hair, rubbed his teeth with paste and rinsed, took a pinch of fennel seeds to chew, and was pulling his braies on in front of the full-length mirror when he heard shifting in the bed.

“Victor, are you there?” called a sleepy voice.

“Yes; I’m getting dressed.”

“Why don’t you have Percy or Julius bring your clothes? It’s cold. Come back to bed.” There was a tinge of a whine to the words that niggled.

“Because I’d have to shout across half the castle for them to come and do something I can do for myself,” Victor replied simply, going to the chest of drawers and choosing a pair of brown hose. He began to pull the first one up his leg, bending over and staring at the swirls of maroon and cream, yellow and delicate blue patterns in the floor made by the small tiles, like tesserae. His mind conjured an image of Percy Steggles, the keeper of the wardrobe, coming in to dress him, and he almost laughed. It wasn’t that Percy would be hesitant to do so if asked, he was sure. Quite the opposite, in fact; he’d probably be flustered, and perhaps take the request the wrong way, gentle dandy that he was. No, Victor thought, he was capable of pulling linen over his own body and tying a few strings, which he did at the top of his left leg before pulling on the right-hand leg piece.

“Come back to bed,” Tyler said again, half-sleepily, but with a coaxing note.

“Weren’t you satisfied with our sport last night?” Victor said with a little laugh, taking his boots from the corner in which he’d placed them the night before.

“Indeed.” As Victor turned, he saw Tyler prop himself up on an elbow with a coy smile. “I was hoping you might like more, before I leave today.”

Victor returned the smile, but then, finishing with his boots, went to the door and pulled it open, picking up the large silver tray left outside on the floor and putting it down on the walnut table; he settled into a plush blue velvet chair and went over the breakfast selection. Julius had put as much care into it as always. Dried apples, apricots and figs, strips of dried salted herring, fine manchet bread, and oil and vinegar for dipping. A silver pitcher of thin beer and his favourite mazer, the little footed redwood handle-less cup with the silver lip. One for Tyler as well. Julius was discreet as well as reliable. Not that Victor’s activities in his room were such a well-kept secret, and not that it mattered anyway. It was one of the advantages of being who he was.

“Get dressed and come join me,” he called over to Tyler as he took a piece of fish. He would only have a nibble at the items here, as would be expected, the leftovers being passed around to others and possibly given to the poor at the castle gates. If that were so, they would believe their luck had come in, to be favoured with a piece of manchet. The main meal was only a few hours away, though when a full day of training and other arduous pursuits lay ahead, it was sensible to give the body the fuel it needed. 

A shadow passed across Tyler’s face, and he got out of bed without a word, donning his clothes of the day before and quickly making his morning ablutions before doing as Victor had requested. He helped himself to several mazers of beer before picking figs out of the bowl with a precise, delicate grasp between forefinger and thumb. There was an undeniable power and grace about him which had always held Victor’s interest, even if it didn’t quite pierce his heart the way he longed for it to do.

Oh. _That _was what he wanted, then. A Cupid’s arrow.

But…no. Not just some silly romantic affair.

He looked at Tyler. What was lacking?

“I was thinking again about that duel yesterday,” the man said, taking his knife from his belt and cutting himself a slice of bread. “How insulting, to give you such an ill-matched opponent. You could’ve beaten him blindfolded.”

“He put up a fight at first,” Victor replied, sipping at his mazer. “I have no idea why he suddenly decided to run from me.”

Tyler snorted. “Maybe you stabbing at him with your sword had something to do with it.”

“It was an odd change of tactics. _He’s _changed, since the duel. Didn’t you see him at supper?”

“You put the fear of God into him, my friend.” He dipped his bread into the oil and vinegar and took a bite. “Long may it last.” After a pause, he added, “Now if _I _had been on the field with you…”

Victor chuckled. “Indeed. A worthy opponent.” He eyed Tyler as he sipped. “Can you not stay a while yet today and spar with me? I intend to train.”

“Unfortunately, no. My father’s fixed on leaving before the terce bell. But…” He put his bread down on the tray and gave Victor a searching look. “…I can come back soon. My own business isn’t as pressing. We could spar, and…have other sport.”

Victor felt a pulse of heat through his body, but his heart was like a stone. _I don’t love you. _Then he wondered why he thought it, because it wasn’t a revelation. _I…I don’t want to do this anymore. Be with someone I don’t love, in this intimate way._

Staring at Tyler as he was doing now, he realised it had stopped being sport at some unnameable point. The physical contact had no meaning. That wasn’t a revelation either, however. The surprise was that it had grown to bother him.

He felt the cool metal rim of the mazer against his bottom lip as he rested it there for a moment. _I’m grateful for your company on this visit. But not for the reason you may think. Thanks to you, I believe I’ve worked out what I want, even if it may not be achievable. Because it means I know, also, what I don’t want._

“Tyler…” he began, “…I’ve valued our friendship. You’re a skilful knight, and good company. But I don’t wish for things to continue as they are between us.” Surprise darted into in Tyler’s eyes, and his mouth fell open. There was no pleasant way of skirting around the issue, Victor decided. “We’re not suited for a long-term relationship, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tyler stared at him. Then he said, “What’s this? I ask you again, have I angered you in some way? Because, Victor, I thought maybe we were _very _suited to such a relationship. I thought, in fact, that was what we had.” There was a growing hard edge to his voice.

Victor’s brow wrinkled. “When did we ever agree on that? We each have had other people in our beds. We rarely see each other. What – ”

Tyler slammed a fist on the table, making the tray and its contents rattle. “That’s exactly what I was hoping to remedy. I thought you knew how I felt.”

“It seems not.” And how could he? _We should’ve discussed this a long time ago._

“Well it seems clear how _you _feel,” Tyler snapped. “Why did you take me to your bed last night if it meant so little?”

“It wasn’t the first time,” Victor replied, lowering his voice just as Tyler was raising his. “What made it any different from the others?”

Tyler got stiffly to his feet with an affronted glare, then began to search the room for his possessions, collecting them. “Very well. My mistake. I should’ve known better.”

Victor swallowed, his blood beginning to race. This was not how he would have predicted the events of the morning to transpire, and his mind was picking at their past, trying to find any signs from Tyler that he’d missed. It wasn’t succeeding. “If it’s a deeper relationship you desire,” he said gently, “you should find someone who wants to be with you through the days and nights, not just as a diversion when you happen to be staying under the same roof.”

It came out all wrong, he realised too late. His words were cold, regardless of being well-meant. Perhaps he had better clarify them. “It’s not that – ”

“Diversion.” Tyler stopped in the middle of the room and stared again. Victor was horrified to see a tear course down his cheek.

“Tyler, we’ve been friends a long time. I don’t want to lose that. But how could I have known you wanted something more? You never – ”

“I made too many assumptions,” Tyler replied, his tone clipped. “My apologies. My head is too easily turned by a pretty face.”

If this was supposed to be a dagger aimed at him in turn, it hadn’t hit home, Victor thought, still trying to make sense of what was happening. Tyler strode to the door.

“Goodbye, Victor,” he said flatly. “Enjoy your breakfast.” Then he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

It opened again a moment later, hesitantly, and Julius’s face peered around the edge. “I was just checking whether you needed anything, master. Shall I come back later?”

Victor briefly rested his forehand in his hand, then sat back in his chair and looked at his young squire. “It’s all right,” he said quietly.

Julius entered the room, then stared back at the door as if Tyler were still there to be viewed. “_He _was in a bad humour. Mind you, it doesn’t take much with him.”

“I think he had good reason this time.”

“Are you finished with these?” Julius asked, arranging the items on the tray.

“I…yes, thank you. I don’t want any more.”

“Then may the Devil bite his arse for upsetting you, sir.”

“I…I’m not upset. But I could do with a little time to myself.”

His squire nodded, picking up the tray. “I’ll see you at the stable, then. But might I also suggest you put a shirt on – it’s freezing in here. Do you want me to stoke the fire for you?”

“No, thank you. I’ll do it myself.”

Julius nodded, bowed and exited, rather more quietly than the previous visitor.

Silence stretched through the room. Victor gradually became aware of the usual morning sounds in the courtyard outside: horses’ hoofs and wooden wheels on cobblestones, businesslike conversations, laughter, the clink of harness. He stood and stirred the ashes in the grate, placed some kindling and a couple of logs on top to keep the fire burning throughout the morning, then pulled on a white linen shirt with a green jerkin over the top, buckled on his belt, and crossed the room to the window. The seat there, fashioned from the wall, was generously padded with white cushions displaying colourful flowers of all kinds, and stitched with proverbs such as “A time to every purpose under Heaven” and “After the feast comes the reckoning”. He sat in the corner as he looked down from the first-storey height and idly watched the goings-on outside.

_I’ve just lost a friend._

_How did I misread the situation so badly?_

_He should’ve said something before. So should I. We needed to know where we stood._

He ran a hand through his fringe, which flopped straight back down over his left eye. Perhaps he was a fool for leading this kind of life. But how much choice did he have? He was the baron’s son, and a knight. That placed a certain path before him. He would also never marry, never have children. His father could have tried to force him to do so, of course, and produce an heir, but mercifully he’d decided to allow Victor that little amount of freedom.

Freedom to do what, though? To change lovers like he changed his clothes, each one no more meaningful to him? Or so he’d thought. Tyler had put him right on that score. Not that he’d suddenly discovered heretofore unknown feelings for him after their argument. But it was obviously different for Tyler. That was an error Victor didn’t want to make again. Did that mean he was destined to spend the rest of his life staring out of his window, wondering what it would be like to be able to open his heart to someone and have them do so in turn? A real communion, rather than a one-sided misunderstanding.

_It wouldn’t have been this difficult before Alex._

But he had to stop his thoughts straying in that direction so often. And yes, it would still have been difficult. There weren’t many noblemen of his age and sexual persuasion to choose from; not openly so. He suspected a fair few welcomed dalliances outside of their marriages, but that didn’t interest him.

_Maybe I would make a good monk._

He grinned and shook his head at the notion. Mind you, quite a few of them probably got up to _that _sort of activity as well, with such opportunities as they had access to. But it helped if you were religious. And he had a castle to take over when his father finished his days. Besides, even surrounded by other men in such an environment, Victor had little confidence he’d be able to cultivate anything other than further brief encounters.

How did you get someone to fall in love with you? Get a potion from the herbalist. Find a witch. Summon Mephistopheles. Because maybe…maybe no one _would _love him otherwise. They could love his body. His deeds in the arena. His social position. But none of those things were _him._

At any rate, he decided as his eyes followed a man carrying a sack over his shoulder from the gatehouse to the great hall, he could master his physical needs enough to abstain. There were ways of taking care of those that required no other person. It wasn’t as if he was used to sharing his bed every night, anyway. It had in fact been a rare occasion these past several years. Life could carry on as usual.

_I’m made for duty. Running a castle. Fighting – and killing, whether I would or no. These are but idle fancies that could, and should, evaporate in the clear light of day._

He ought to indeed be thankful for everything he had. It was bounteous, compared to the vast majority of the population. The fact of the matter wasn’t lost on him. But did that mean it was selfish of him to want more?

A tear ran down his cheek. He brushed it away and went to get his cloak. 

* * *

There was knocking at the door. But that made no sense. It was made of metal and had speaker for a visitor to talk into.

Yuuri was lying on his stomach. No light reached his eyes when he opened them. He rolled onto his back, but it wasn’t much better. The room was dark, save for some slivers of light seeping underneath the window shutters.

Then it hit him.

_I’m at Crowood Castle. I’m Sir Justin le Savage. They hate me here. I might be expected to kill people. They might want me to ride a horse, too._

_Fuck._

“Sir, it’s Emil,” came a muffled voice. “You’ve locked the door.”

He pulled off the blanket, seized by an immediate shiver; the fire had gone out in the night. Wrapping the blanket around himself, he opened the shutters to let in the light, then turned the key in the door to admit Emil.

“There’s usually no need to lock your door overnight,” Emil said as he stepped in. “Keeping it unlocked means you can escape faster if there’s an attack. On the other hand, locking it means enemies can’t get through as easily – though if they’re trying to do that, it’s likely they’ll already be outside your window, so…”

Yuuri swallowed in a dry throat. “Does that kind of thing tend to happen here? The castle getting attacked?”

“Well, no, I don’t believe it’s happened yet. The castle’s quite new; the lord had it built when he was granted the land.” He huffed a laugh. “Pray God things stay this way. Anyway, I hope you had a good night’s sleep, sir. I’ve come to help you put your armour on. If Abelard says you don’t need it today, we can take it back off at the stable.” 

Yuuri pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “I thought you said I was going to get new armour.”

“It will take some time for them to make, sir. We’ll visit the blacksmith first thing. But until then…” He looked around the room. “Where did you put the armour you were wearing yesterday?”

Yuuri had to think fast, though this was the worst time of day for it, especially while he was shivering and barefoot and God, when had he last had a proper meal? But his mission depended on getting this right; it wouldn’t be the first web of necessary lies he wove, and it wouldn’t be the last, he was sure. So he told Emil he’d left his door unlocked in the night while he’d visited the garderobe and had a wander around the castle because he couldn’t sleep, and perhaps that had given someone an opportunity to sneak into his room and take his armour.

Amazement quickly chased across Emil’s face. Surely it had made a noise, he said, and how would a thief have carried it all away? But whatever had happened, such villainy would not be tolerated, and enquiries and searches would be made until his armour was found.

Yuuri realised he was fast digging a hole for himself, and insisted it didn’t matter; that the armour hadn’t fitted him well to begin with, and was old and dented, and he was looking forward to getting new plate mail from the blacksmith. Emil, Yuuri discovered, seemed to be conscientious to a fault, and couldn’t believe he wanted to drop the matter about the theft. He would also need something to wear for the next few weeks. They would have to see what could be found for him to use.

That seemed to settle things for the time being. However, Emil also offered to help him dress, and Yuuri began to wonder in exasperation if people here ever did anything for themselves when they had flunkies they could order around. He dismissed Emil, giving him an “It’s not you, it’s me” explanation for why he’d been rejecting his offers of help, and then tried to come to terms with what he had to do before he left his room.

He managed to have a wash, after having asked Emil the basics of how. Although he tried to be careful about it, he splashed water everywhere; it helped having access to the pipe and drain in the hall. He tried smearing the strange toothpaste across his teeth with the cloth, and it did seem to have a gentle abrasive effect that he reckoned would do the job; but it tasted of ashes, and was gritty and foul, and he rinsed his mouth well afterward.

A young woman in a heavy tan-coloured dress and white turban came by with a wicker basket and asked if he had any laundry; Yuuri gave her the cloth he’d washed with, and she provided him with a fresh one from the stack draped over her arm. He realised he wouldn’t be able to give his modern clothes to her, however, and wondered if he’d eventually have to beat them with a stick in the river. If it were summertime, he wouldn’t mind trying, but in December…? There had to be a better way. 

With Emil gone, he stared at Justin’s image in the mirror. Maybe he’d feel a little better if he weren’t so embarrassed by his appearance. Via trial and error with the projector, he eventually succeeded in altering it so that he had a bowl haircut similar to Julius’s, but not as severe; there was now a soft strawberry-blond fringe across his forehead, the area around his ears and neck short but not shaven. It was a definite improvement, neater and cleaner. Next he attacked the awful goatee. None of this was as easy as changing the appearance of his clothes, and took some concentration, but he managed in the end, and all of the whiskers disappeared. That was the biggest and best alteration, he decided. He’d gone from looking like a vain cavalier to someone who might stand more chance of being taken seriously as a knight.

_Until they make me do something I can’t. That could be one of a lot of things._

He kicked the thought away and locked the door while he turned the projector off, momentarily startled by his own face staring back at him from the mirror. With the olive oil and the axe-like razor, he attempted to shave off his own whiskers. Emil had made it look easy, but there was obviously a knack to it. He swore several times as he nicked himself, and splashed water on the cuts, then dabbed at them with the cloth. It was a good thing no one would see him emerging from his room looking as if he’d already been in battle.

Clothes next. He’d decided he would have to wear Justin’s. His own would still be relatively clean, but if he was going to be measured for armour, best to wear whatever was most likely to go underneath. He doubted he’d have much use for the athletic clothes in the middle of winter, not when he could wear these warmer garments of wool. It took a while, but eventually he fitted himself with baggy underwear and a rope belt to which he’d tied the tops of brown hose, wondering how this was in any way practical; there’d be a proper draught right through to his nadgers.

_You can’t tell me they were able to build castles in this time but they didn’t know how to make a pair of joined-together trousers._

He found a tunic that looked less like a jester’s outfit than yesterday’s, of a solid vibrant blue; he didn’t care for bright clothes like this, but it was better than walking around like a Christmas tree. Justin had a pair of calf-length leather boots that had been broken in and which were maybe half a size too small, but Yuuri reckoned they’d do for now. The projector reproduced his brown flat circular hat of the previous night, and to his gratification he now had a sturdy leather belt. He took his coin purse out from under the loose floorboard, making sure the time-travel sphere remained well-ensconced in its nook. The knife Emil had fetched for him last night fit snugly into a small sheath obviously meant for the purpose. Best of all, however, was the scabbard. Fetching the sword and sliding it into its rightful home, he felt more protected, though he had no intention of drawing it on anyone unless he was desperate.

There was even, thankfully, a heavy mustard-coloured cloak with a simple circular golden brooch attached to it, which he used to fasten the material at his neck. When he was finished, he turned the projector back on and gazed again at the mirror. Justin wasn’t bad-looking, Yuuri thought. The warm tint in his hair brought out a glow in his cheeks, and the deep blue eyes were… arresting. Especially with the toned-down clothes, he reckoned it would do.

Emil had said he would meet him in the main garrison room. That would mean facing the other fighting men, and he wondered if he’d have need of his sword sooner rather than later. But he couldn’t hide in here forever. Taking a deep breath, he shut and locked the door, dropped the key into his coin purse, and headed down the hall.

Voices echoed from up ahead, then abruptly died as Yuuri entered the room. The only men he recognised were Emil and Chris. Continuing to return the gazes he received with a defiant one he hoped was convincing, Yuuri found an empty wooden chair at a small table near Emil, who came straight to his side as conversation in the room gradually resumed.

“I hardly recognised you, sir,” he said, pouring liquid from a grey metal pitcher into a matching mug and handing it to him. “Your appearance is much changed, I have to say. But it suits you.”

“Thank you. I’m making a new start,” Yuuri answered, sipping the liquid. It was similar to the mulled wine from the previous night, but watery and cold. Maybe it was what had been left over.

“Indeed?” Emil put a metal plate the size of a saucer with a piece of dried fish and bread in front of Yuuri, along with a small wooden bowl containing a thick liquid that looked and smelled like thin vegetable soup. “There’s a sop for you, if you’re hungry. If Abelard works you hard today, you may be glad of it.”

“What’s a sop?” Yuuri whispered.

Emil looked at him in confusion, then chuckled. “Now _I’m _the one forgetting that _you’ve_ forgotten. It’s a piece of bread soaked in liquid.”

Yuuri was too hungry to care about the quality of the food – which actually tasted quite good, though the fish was salty – or the fact that his stomach was still tied in knots. He ate everything he was given and drank the watery wine, thankful that no one else seemed to want to pay him much mind, absorbed as they were either in their own meals or in conversation.

“Where are Sir Victor and his squire?” Yuuri asked as he mopped up the last of the soup with the final piece of bread.

“Sir Victor has a room of his own, as I told you, sir,” Emil answered. “It’s unusual to see him here in the morning. He takes his breakfast and gets dressed upstairs, and we might see him in the stables or on the training grounds later.”

Yuuri had seen Sir Victor twice, during the duel and at supper, and both times it had been hard to look away. There was a certain presence about him. But then he caught himself.

_He’s not some handsome fucking prince come to life from a fairytale. He tried to kill me yesterday. God, I can be such an idiot._

“If you’re ready, sir,” Emil broke into his thoughts, “I’ll take you to the blacksmith.” 

* * *

Yuuri discovered a whole world of craftspeople behind the castle, in workshops made of wood. There was a brewery, a fletcher who made arrows, a cooper who made barrels, a tanner from whom Yuuri ordered a new pair of boots, a carpenter, a stonemason, and the blacksmith who they sought. It was far busier and noisier than the courtyard, full of the smoke of many fires, malt-scented steam from the brewery, and surprisingly foul odours from the tannery that made Yuuri wonder what on earth went on inside. When he saw two men who looked like servants walk casually over to the side of the building where there was a large wooden bucket and piss into it, never breaking their conversation, Yuuri felt his curiosity was satisfied and decided to have someone send him his boots when they were done so he wouldn’t have to return in person.

Yuuri was greeted with a blast of hot air as he and Emil entered the blacksmith’s workshop, which rang with the sounds of metal hammering metal. He was measured for new plate mail, told it would take a couple of weeks to make, and relieved of more of his coins than he felt comfortable with; though at least they were accepted, after a dubious look and a displeased mutter about how beat-up they were. He didn’t _want _armour in the first place, however; the thought of being told to kill someone was permanently lodged in his brain. He was also struggling to learn what the pieces were called, since his translator wasn’t helping. What was wrong with calling gauntlets gloves, sabatons metal shoes, or a gambeson a padded jacket?

To tide him over until his things were ready, Emil borrowed used armour for him. They had some difficulty finding anything in the shop that fit, however, and Yuuri was once again conscious of looking strange. He’d been given a heavy chainmail shirt reaching almost to his knees, with wide-cuffed sleeves that were too long; it was obviously a couple of sizes too big for him. Yuuri wasn’t exactly small himself, and he wondered what giant it had been made for. He’d strapped his belt back around his waist and fastened his cloak over the top, but he couldn’t help but think he must look like a boy dressing up to play knights and castles. Or _Swords and Sorcery._

Emil led him to the stable a short distance away; a long building made of the same grey stone as the castle. It had a steeply sloped slate roof, small square unglazed windows, and a couple of wooden doors that were propped open. Yuuri’s feet didn’t want to follow Emil into the dim interior of the building, but he forced them to continue to move.

Before his eyes adjusted to the low light, his nose told him he was in a stable; the smells of manure, hay, wood and leather were unmistakable. Whinnies from horses filled the air, and voices, and the same clank of plate armour that brought to mind yesterday’s duel.

Now that he was inside, Yuuri saw a large set of double doors at the end of the aisle which opened onto the leaden morning light and a vast grassy field containing wooden apparatus. Emerging from a stall near the doors was Sir Victor in full plate mail again, leading a beautiful white horse with Julius at his side. Before Yuuri could avert his gaze, he saw Sir Victor turn his head, note him, and widen his eyes in surprise, his mouth slightly open. Julius registered his master’s distraction and turned to its source, his face clouding immediately upon seeing Yuuri. He tilted his head up and whispered something to Victor.

“Sir, do you remember your horses? Here’s the one you rode yesterday. Thunder, your palfrey.”

Yuuri peered into the stall a few paces to his right, where Emil stood with a questioning look. Inside was a gold-coated horse with a white mane and tail. He knew little about these animals, but thought one of this type might be called a palomino. “Thunder,” he echoed. “Why, am I…am I supposed to…charge opponents with him?” he said in a small voice.

“Not with a palfrey, sir. Though it’s a her, not a him. She’s meant for travel, not for the arena or battle. You have a destrier for that; your servant brought him last night along with your possessions.”

“A what?” Before he moved to have a closer look, Yuuri couldn’t resist a glance at the far end of the stable again, but there was no longer any sign of Sir Victor. Feeling an odd twinge of disappointment, he approached Thunder’s stall. The horse seemed to sense his presence, even though its rump was facing him; it stomped a hoof while it swished its tail, puffing air out of its nostrils.

“She’s in an odd sort of mood today,” Emil said, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, Blaze, your destrier, is in the next bay, here.”

Yuuri came to stand next to him, and found himself looking at a magnificent muscular black horse, its coat gleaming faintly in the light of a small window. But it, too, reacted to his approach by snorting and shuffling nervously.

“Even his horses don’t want to know him,” called a voice from the other end of the stable that Yuuri thought he recognised; and when he turned, he spotted Julius. There were other men with him now, though not Sir Victor; Yuuri recognised the swearing Scotsman in yellow hose and a gambeson today, and his heart sank. Childish taunts from a teenager were one thing, but dealing with an unpleasant musclebound man like him was something else entirely.

“We’d better find out what Abelard wants to do with you,” Emil said, turning and walking toward the end of the stable where the others stood, as laughter at Julius’s comment died away. Again, Yuuri had to force his feet to follow. Julius was standing in the stall that had been vacated by Sir Victor’s white horse. The youth turned and watched him approach, opening his mouth to speak.

“Shouldn’t you be with your master?” Emil pre-empted him.

“Sometimes he wants to be alone,” Julius replied petulantly.

“I’m sure there are many tasks that could be occupying your attention, then, don’t you think?”

“Ah, it’s our new fierce fighter,” said the Scotsman, crossing his meaty arms and turning to look at Yuuri with a disapproving glare. Yuuri noticed several other men, some dressed as servants and some wearing armour, in the stalls tending to horses; they gave the appearance of not paying any attention, but Yuuri caught glances slanted his way.

“Abelard,” Emil began, “this is – ”

“Yes, I know. Justin ‘le Savage’.” He stared at Yuuri, who met his gaze with as much coolness as he could muster. “Trimmed your wee whiskers a bit, did you? I can’t say it’s gonna help your fighting skills, but then maybe it’s worth trying anything.”

“Sir.” Yuuri took a breath and narrowed his eyes. “Just tell me what’s required of me here, please.”

Abelard guffawed. “Required? I’ll tell you what’s _required_, ya feckless bampot. Not running away in the middle of a duel after you refuse to yield, like some fuckin’ bawheaded roaster.”

Yuuri delved into his memory for suitable Yorkshire put-downs to use as a response, only to decide it would not be wise. What was he supposed to do? And who did this man think he was?

He heard Julius snicker nearby as Emil said, “Ah, Sir Justin, I didn’t finish the introductions. This is Abelard, the head trainer. He’ll help you brush up on any skills you might need – ”

“Bloody well right I will, though it’ll be the job of a lifetime with this fanny of a knight before he grows a pair, if the shite he pulled yesterday is any indication.” 

Yuuri stared.

“Come on, then, ya wee prick, and show me you can fight better than a girl.”


	11. Chapter 11

_Who taught him how to ride a horse – the nursemaid?_

_His own mounts don’t even want to know him!_

_This would be some choice after-dinner entertainment._

_Get up and be a man, ya milk-livered weasel!_

Yuuri was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at cold grey ashes. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to let the fire go out; he didn’t know, and didn’t have any way to relight it. It didn’t matter, anyway.

He’d forced himself not to cry while it was happening; not to disintegrate into another anxiety attack. And he’d succeeded. But when they’d broken for the late-morning meal they called dinner, Yuuri had sought the refuge of his room. He’d managed to slip away from Emil too, though it wouldn’t be difficult for the squire to work out where he’d gone.

Abelard had made him ride Thunder, who knew, as animals had a way of doing, that Yuuri was not Justin, which clearly made her nervous. One of the servants who worked in the stable had pulled him aside to enquire how the horse had been looked after at its previous stable, because he reckoned it was undernourished and had a flighty temperament. Then he’d pointedly stared at Yuuri, who of course had been at a loss for an answer. He’d asked the man to saddle her and do whatever else was required for him to ride her, and fortunately he’d obliged. Yuuri had watched everything he did, trying to take note, though after a while he knew he wouldn’t remember it all.

Unfortunately, it was Abelard who intended to help him with his horse as well as his fighting skills. For someone who had barely been able to tell the back end from the front, Yuuri thought he’d been making good progress, but of course everyone had expected him to be able to ride her at a gallop straight away. During his own struggles, he caught glimpses of what the other men were doing. There were some guards training out in the field, sparring with swords and staffs. The knight who Yuuri had not yet properly met, Sir Charles, had been on his own horse, tilting with a lance at something Emil said was called a quintain, a wooden post with a pivoting horizontal bar attached to the top which displayed a shield on one end and a heavy sack on the other. It didn’t take a genius to see that the challenge was to smack the shield with the end of the lance as the horse charged by, and gallop away quickly enough that the sack didn’t swing around and clout you. Sir Charles did well, while Yuuri had to ask the most basic things about what to do with his horse. When she wasn’t stomping at the ground in agitation, she was ripping out pieces of grass with busy teeth.

It had come to a point where Yuuri knew he would have to give some sort of explanation for his poor performance to Abelard, but he didn’t trust him not to tell anyone else if he used the amnesia excuse again. Images came to his mind of his entire mission unravelling. Word getting to Ailis about the new knight who was not a knight, who didn’t know what the hell he was doing and barely knew his own name. She’d work out that Celestino had sent him, and hunt him down, then finish him off…

But just then, to his eternal gratitude, Emil had approached and suggested to Abelard that he work with Yuuri for a while. The vituperative man had been quick to agree, insisting his expertise was being wasted and he had better things to do, like go take a dump. Yuuri had been tempted to tell him to jump through the hole into the pit below while he was at it, but his relief made it easy to hold his tongue. He suspected Emil had been watching the debacle of his master on the horse, had surmised he’d forgotten how to ride, and had swiftly decided to save his skin. In that moment, Yuuri made himself ignore the usual concerns about how disappointed and frustrated Emil must be with him, and simply wanted to hug him and kiss the pointy leather toes of his boots.

Away from the sight of the stables, near a wood, Emil gave him his first horse-riding lesson. He seemed to genuinely feel sorry for him, and was patient, though he continued to display the air of bemusement which resulted in huffed laughs of disbelief. That was all right with Yuuri. He’d even put up with Emil calling him every foul name under the sun like Abelard did, as long as he was willing to discreetly instruct him. But despite only having known him for a day, Yuuri didn’t think he was the kind of person who would do that. He couldn’t remember hearing him swear at all yet, which was more than he could say for himself.

His legs were already sore, and he was meant to return to training, whatever that entailed, after dinner. Which he had no appetite for. Certainly not in the great hall, though he doubted he could have forced anything past his lips here in the garrison either. He couldn’t even lie down properly on his bed without getting the whole thing muddy, because he’d fallen off his horse so many times that his clothes were caked in it. Come morning, he reckoned he’d be surprised if his skin wasn’t more black and blue than flesh-toned.

_I can’t go back there and face them. And Abelard’s a stupid bully. But if I fight back, I could get myself in trouble._

_I can’t make a prat out of myself and watch all those men laugh at me, either._

_Thank God Sir Victor wasn’t there to see. _Though why that thought entered his head, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps because the last person he wanted to view the spectacle he’d been making of himself was a man like that. It would be like being burned by the sun.

What he wouldn’t give to simply be sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the Cloud…but even if he had the means to go back, he had a mission to accomplish.

He rested his head in his hands and told himself again he wouldn’t cry.

_Just because I don’t know how to do these things doesn’t mean I can’t, once I’ve learned how. They already think I’m rubbish, so for now maybe I’m not surprising them too much. I’ll learn; I’ll practice._

But it took some time before he’d built up enough courage to return to the stables for the afternoon’s training.

Yuuri ignored the amused glances he received from the denizens of the building as he mounted his horse and Emil led it outside into a light drizzle. He asked if waterproof clothing was available here, and Emil expressed surprise that he didn’t own any such garment, promising he would find him a beeswax-treated woollen cape, though they usually paid scant attention to the weather while they were training. Beginning to feel the damp chill seeping into his bones, Yuuri took little heart from this; and while he appreciated the impromptu crash course Emil was giving him, he couldn’t help but wish he were huddled in front of a fire somewhere, preferably in a quiet room by himself, wrapped in a warm, dry blanket.

He’d been able to bring Thunder to a gallop and stay reasonably balanced without falling off, though it was a far cry from being able to deftly manoeuvre the animal. Emil had proposed he get spurs fitted to his boots, but Yuuri couldn’t stand the idea of poking spikes into his mount just to get it to move; he knew such devices had been popular for centuries, but they were no longer used in his time.

When Emil suggested they take a short break – even he looked cold and unhappy – Yuuri wondered aloud why someone would give such a gentle creature the name “Thunder”. He was getting a feel for her temperament, at the same time as she was losing her jitteriness with him; she was placid and responsive when handled the right way. She even gave his neck a nuzzle when he dismounted, this time without Emil’s help.

“I don’t suppose you remember why you chose the name,” Emil replied. “Or perhaps someone else did. But I agree, ‘Thunder’ doesn’t seem to suit.”

A clatter of metal from a distance away caught Yuuri’s attention, and he turned and gasped as he witnessed the sight of two knights in plate mail sparring with swords. Sir Victor and Chris. Even in the dull drizzly light, their metal-clad bodies gleamed as they moved.

“Watch a moment, if you like,” Emil said. “Sir Chris always gives his best when sparring with Sir Victor. We all do. But he’s in a class of his own.” After a pause, he added quietly, “I suppose he made you aware of that yesterday.”

Yuuri glanced at him, deciding he was being sincere rather than sarcastic, and then turned his eyes back to the two metal-clad men. He’d had no idea that people wearing heavy armour could move like that, as if they weren’t even wearing it. Bouncing on their feet, swinging their swords with never a still moment, tumbling onto the ground – that was Chris, mostly – and springing back up. It was a sparkling blur, seemingly vicious, though there were smiles from Victor. Chris mostly gave rueful grins in return. He was taking a battering. But they didn’t seem to be hurting each other directly.

“Why don’t they wear helmets?” Yuuri asked as they watched.

Emil gave him one of his usual surprised looks, then shrugged and said, “They would, if they were in battle. But they often train for the eventuality of being in a duel. It’s rare to wear anything that covers the head – people like seeing the fighters’ faces.”

_Especially when they’re bleeding, I bet, _Yuuri thought. He watched silently, forgetting after a while that Emil was next to him. He also had to force down the initial horror he’d felt when he realised this was surely how he himself was going to be expected to fight. The two knights seemed to be taking it in rounds, each of which didn’t last long before they either ended in Victor having Chris at a disadvantage, or occasionally what appeared to be a draw. Their swords flashed at speed. At times they were wielded like clubs, at others like spears. There was none of the showy brandishing that Yuuri had encountered in Immersion games or witnessed at re-enactments. No stately slow-motion moves for display. These were men bent on brutal assault with a deadly weapon.

“Good, isn’t it?” Emil commented. “I’m just going to take your horse back to the stable and make sure she has food and water, though I expect she’ll be turned out to pasture in a bit. You can stay a while yet if you want. Maybe it will be instructive.”

Yuuri watched him lead Thunder away, then turned back to the sparring. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice him over here. Or maybe they were used to people watching anyway. He tried to work out, between the silver blurs, what techniques and tactics they were using, and was comforted as he began to recognise things he already knew how to do, though it would take a great deal of effort to put them all together and react so swiftly. And once he’d been able to take it in with a more discerning eye, he could fully appreciate the skill he was witnessing.

Chris was highly competent, that was in no doubt. But Victor moved with a fluidity that made it look as if he were playing a game. His opponent’s face was set in concentration and determination, while his own expression was one of…if not enjoyment as such, perhaps indulgence. He didn’t see Chris as a challenge, but he was taking pleasure in his mastery over his own body, and the wonderful – terrible – things he could make it do. Yuuri didn’t know what made him so certain of this, but it seemed plain to see; to feel, as if in silent understanding.

He realised he would’ve been deeply moved by what he was witnessing, if it hadn’t been a reminder of the violence in which this place and time were steeped; of the duel yesterday, in particular. But then it looked as if the two of them had decided to finish for the day; Victor gave Chris a hand up from the ground, and they clapped each other on the shoulders before Chris sheathed his sword and strode back to the stable. Victor, however, took a few deep breaths, gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, and…

_Danced. _There was no better word to describe it. He waved his sword, tracing out moves that seemed to be well rehearsed. Twisting and spinning, his free hand describing an arc, landing and then whirling again, he seemed to be sparring with the air itself, every limb moving with ease and grace. 

_Oh my God_. _Am I dreaming?_

_I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care if you want to come over here and kill me. At least…you’ve shown me this._

Seeming to decide he’d done enough for now, breaths coming fast, Victor sheathed his sword with a small grin. Then he noticed Yuuri and the grin vanished, but he held his gaze. Yuuri tried to read his expression. Confusion perhaps, like he thought he’d seen in the stable. And then Victor made a move to join him. But a voice from behind – one Yuuri already knew too well, and would be happy never to hear again – brought him slamming back down to earth.

“Why are you standing here getting watered on, ya dozy cunt? You’re in worse shape than my grandma’s windflaps. Get to runnin’ round this field, and you can stop when I tell you to.”

A flame leapt into Yuuri’s chest. “While I appreciate your…help,” he bit out, “I’ll thank you to stop insulting me in the process.”

Abelard gave a loud fruity laugh. “That’s a right good bit o’ coldswallop, ya little gobshite. You’ll get respect from me when you’ve bloody well earned it. Which is like to be never. Away wi’ ya now and get those legs moving, ya hairy minge.”

* * *

Yuuri’s limbs ached from riding a horse for hours, and then running around a field for hours, wearing a heavy chain-mail shirt, which was now lying in a corner of his bedroom. The rain had faded to a mist, but he was still damp when he’d entered the room; and because he’d locked his door, Emil explained, no one had been able to light a fire for him. He suggested Yuuri leave it unlocked from now on if he wanted servants to be able to come and go rather than having to be present to admit them himself, though it would be up to him, if he was concerned about his armour being thieved again. In the meantime, Emil made a fire, provided Yuuri with a towel to dry himself off with after the dreary day spent outside, and fetched a wicker basket in which he could put his dirty clothes for the washerwoman’s collection. Yuuri wasn’t sure Emil was the type he’d ever naturally approach with a desire to be friends if they’d met in modern times, but he was more grateful than the squire would ever know for his kind attentiveness now.

It eased, a little, the other constant worries. As did the vision of Sir Victor with his sword glimmering in the field. In whatever days were left to him, here or in his own time if he ever got back, Yuuri knew it would live on in his mind as something truly special. He wondered if he’d be lucky enough to get the chance to watch more.

_As long as I don’t have to fight him again. He’d get his sword into my throat before I could beg for mercy._

Discarding his muddy clothes after Emil had gone, he had a wash – he’d never missed warm showers and baths so much in his life – put on new tan-coloured hose and an off-white tunic, and sat down on the floor next to the fire. His fingers having warmed up from their former numbness, he took his little toolkit out of his modern coat and removed the com from his wrist. The door had been locked again so that no one would enter and discover a strange Japanese man occupying the room.

_Would you even be there to hear me if I fixed it and tried to talk to you? _

He selected a laser screwdriver and carefully removed the back of the com, giving a small gasp when he saw the intricate workings inside. A faint blue glow surrounded what he assumed was a qubit processor, though it was much smaller than anything he’d ever encountered. And he really needed a diagnostic scanner to put this into, because there would be many parts invisible to the naked eye. If he accidentally damaged anything – the projector especially –

_This is my job. I fix things like this._

No, he corrected himself. This tech was beyond anything he’d ever seen before. It wasn’t like watching the swordfighting earlier, when closer scrutiny had led to understanding. A closer inspection of _this_ was only leading him to see that the wisest decision would be to leave it alone.

He replaced the back of the com and resumed the guise of Justin, stashing the toolkit under the loose floorboard next to the time-travel sphere.

That was it, then. If his com was broken, he’d lost contact with Phichit and Celestino for good, assuming they were still…well, he was tired of attaching that proviso every time he thought of them. Justin must be alive. And if he was, there was a chance they were, too.

Yuuri wondered briefly what his counterpart was making of the modern world. Since he seemed to be something of a git, maybe it was teaching him a little patience and humility. But no, he told himself, it was unkind to think such things. Though if Justin had been a nicer person in this place and time, it would’ve made his own job easier.

Pausing to consider whether or not he wanted to face another meal sitting in full view in the great hall, he attached his mud-splashed mustard cloak with the golden brooch, deciding that eating was an unfortunate necessity when there were no nutri-pills, and left the room.

* * *

Yuuri found himself sitting next to Sir Charles de Roos during supper, a taciturn fellow of about his own age with short, thick golden hair parted to the side underneath a brown cloth cap, teal eyes, and a long prominent scar down his left cheek. Unsure whether his silence was a natural inclination or an expression of his opinion of Justin, Yuuri got through most of the meal with simple polite requests while they shared dishes and a trencher.

As he cast the odd glance at Victor, whose blue-clad neighbour of the evening before had vanished, he also continued to take an interest in the food, which consisted of several fish courses interspersed with small servings of fruit and nuts. With Emil’s interpretative help, he knew that they’d been given cod in verjuice broth; fish pie; pike in galantine sauce which tasted of cinnamon, ginger and vinegar; stewed quinces; and almond milk flan. Taking cues from the diners around him, Yuuri either cut his food with his knife, sipped from his spoon, or ate with his fingers, though he was expected to wash his hands regularly in fragrant dishes of water and flowers and herbs. His appetite wasn’t doing well in the wake of all his worries, but the almond milk flan was a pleasant surprise. It seemed to be a milk-and-egg-less substitute for custard, and he didn’t want to guess what they thickened it with, but he liked it.

“I saw Abelard giving you an earful today,” Sir Charles commented, wine cup in hand as he turned to look at Yuuri.

Taken aback for a moment, Yuuri replied, “He…has a way with words.”

“He’s a bellend. A right fucking knobhead.”

_I guess you have a way with them too, then. At least they’re not directed at me this time. _Yuuri sipped his own wine.

Before he could answer, Charles went on, “I don’t know why they keep him here. Bloody thistle-arsed slap-headed manky Scots tosspot. And that’s being generous.” He pointed at the scar on his cheek. “Know how I got this? Anyone told you yet, eh?”

Yuuri had begun to wonder if the man had got one knock on the head too many. A trio of musicians was playing in the middle of the room, providing a background to Charles’s tirade that might have been surreal or slightly amusing; Yuuri couldn’t decide which. From the previous night, he’d learned that everyone was expected to leave the hall in a certain order; the noble family would depart first, followed by the senior household staff, with the knights soon afterward. But no one seemed in any hurry to do so.

“Fighting the fucking Scots.”

“I’m sorry?” Yuuri said, blinking.

“That’s how I got this scar.” Charles pointed at it again, perhaps in case Yuuri hadn’t seen it the first time. “Battle of Otterburn, August, 1388.”

“Oh. Um…”

“I was a squire. They killed my knight. They almost killed _me_, but I got away. Took a few of the bastards down before I did, though.” He gave a hoarse laugh. “I dunno what it’s like at your castle, but most people around here have no love of the Scots, let me tell you. I dunno why they don’t just send our esteemed trainer back to the minging wasteland he came from and get someone else. I’d be the first to kick him on his way out the door.” He held up his cup without turning round. “Roland! More wine.”

Roland, who was presumably his squire, quickly came forward from his place at the wall where he’d been standing with Emil, and poured him some more from a ceramic jug, then backed away again. Yuuri didn’t blame him. He thought maybe Charles was making some kind of attempt to show sympathy for his troubles with Abelard, but the more he talked, the less Yuuri wanted to listen. 

At least the man seemed satisfied with nothing more than a hum of acknowledgement as he went on about battle campaigns and his hatred of the Scots. Yuuri filtered it out as best he could; it had already plucked at a raw nerve. If he himself were sent out to battle…he didn’t want to think any further than that.

And then the meal finally ended – but instead of leaving the room, most of the diners got up to gather in the middle, in a ring around the musicians. The female of the trio put her harp down and picked up something that looked like a tambourine, then asked the gathering for song requests. There were various titles shouted out, then someone called to Sir Victor – who was sitting by himself at the high table, the baron and lady having joined the ring – and asked him to name a song. He gave a small smile and thought for a moment, then called back “The Outlandish Knight”, and sat pensively while the musicians struck up a sprightly tune, the woman commencing to sing a ballad.

_There was a knight, a baron-knight,_  
_A knight of high degree;_  
_This knight he came from the North land,_  
_He came a-courting me…_

It reminded Yuuri of a musical in which, on cue, everyone would suddenly burst into song and dance. Not that he was averse to such things. _Swords and Sorcery _hadn’t been the only Immersion game he’d played, just the one he’d found most addictive. He’d also participated in a few seriously in-depth simulations in which he’d been one of the leads in just such a musical. It hadn’t mattered whether or not he’d been any good at singing or dancing; he didn’t feel he could be an honest judge, and he’d never performed for a real person. But in that world, he could put a part of himself on show that he doubted he’d ever have courage – or reason – to display in actual life. Immersion was good for that.

What was going on in the great hall, however, wasn’t Immersion. Yuuri had no idea how to participate in the dancing he was witnessing, which entailed skipping as a group in a circle, breaking into pairs to perform certain steps, rejoining the circle, rinse and repeat. At least Sir Charles had gone to join them. Yuuri wondered why Sir Victor hadn’t. He seemed preoccupied. Yuuri didn’t allow his eyes to linger, however, lest Victor caught their glance one time too many and thought him rude, or was angered by the attention.

“Sir…” came Emil’s voice from just behind him; and then the young man was at his side. “…I thought I ought to tell you that it’s usually expected of guests at the meal to participate in a dance, especially when the lord and lady are doing so. Sitting here as you are could be seen as a slight.”

Yuuri’s stomach gave a lurch. “I don’t know how,” he whispered.

“Would that be because you didn’t learn, or because you forgot?”

“Take a wild guess,” Yuuri muttered.

“I’m sorry, sir, what was that?”

“Nothing,” Yuuri said more calmly. “But why should a knight have to dance? I don’t understand.”

There was the bemused smile Yuuri had seen so many times now. “It’s part of the chivalrous training of a knight, which…well, I’m sure you would’ve received yourself. As a young page, you’d be taught how to dance by the ladies of the castle.”

“A page,” Yuuri said, thinking. “That’s…”

“Part of a knight’s training, yes. You’d be a page until age fourteen or so, and then a squire, until at age twenty-one or thereabouts, you’re eligible to be knighted. If you have the money and connections,” he added with a little laugh. “Sir Victor’s been a knight since he was sixteen. I myself was hoping I’d be knighted in three years; that is…well.” He shrugged.

_If you serve a knight who’s good enough to help you to it, I suppose, _Yuuri added, sensing once more Emil’s disappointment. But who could blame him? He’d had to teach Yuuri just that morning how to handle his own horse. “Emil, I don’t think it’d be good for anyone else to find out I don’t know how to dance. What do I do?”

The squire rubbed at his little beard thoughtfully. “That’s a tricky one, sir. Perhaps, if you’re willing, you could pay a visit to the women who teach the pages. I daresay they’d find it a delightful surprise. You could tell them that the conditions at your father’s castle are primitive and you never learned.”

Yuuri saw a grin quirk at his mouth. Fair enough, he supposed, though it would be taking a risk, if Ailis turned out to be one of the ladies teaching him to dance. Yet it might be riskier still to stand out like he was doing now, possibly giving insult to his hosts. He would have to tread very carefully.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Can you take me there?”


	12. Chapter 12

Emil discreetly escorted him from the hall, and told him he would have to wait a while until the dancing had finished and everyone had returned to the areas of the castle they inhabited. Just before his squire left him in his room, Yuuri asked him what people actually did in the evenings here. He replied that some went to sleep, as it was dark; some had drink and conversation; some wrote or read; and the staff and servants often had tasks, though even these were brief, because working by candlelight put a strain on the eyes. He reminded Yuuri that there were usually men in the main garrison room of a night, sharing drink and telling stories, singing or playing instruments, gaming or whatever caught their fancy, and he was welcome to join them. Yuuri wasn’t sure when he would feel like doing so, but it certainly wasn’t tonight. Dance lessons with children and ladies, however, had a certain appeal.

He passed an hour in front of the fire, deciding that while he’d always valued solitude, it was likely to get on his nerves here after a while, with no access to Immersion or holograms or the Cloud. No information, no music. No one to call or message or visit the pub with. No Mari…no Phichit. Yuuri thought about this and realised he felt as if he were in mourning for him, and even for Celestino in a way, though that was more impersonal, like his horror when he’d learned of the fates of Doctors Quincey and Croft. And it also reminded him that he was on his own.

Though maybe not quite. Emil had already made himself indispensable. When he returned to collect Yuuri, he said he’d had a word with Mistress Monica, the head seamstress, who was also renowned for her skill as a dancer, and she said she’d be happy to speak with him. Apparently he’d told her that Justin had never learned to dance, and she’d had a few words to say about a place that would give a highborn man such an appalling education.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said as he led the way down the hall, holding up a lantern, “but as the subject of your amnesia is one you don’t wish to be discussed…”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Yuuri replied as he looked around. Emil had said this was the servants’ wing of the castle. The windows were fewer and smaller here, the wooden doors unadorned with the fancy ironwork Yuuri was now used to seeing. Some of them opened onto spartan communal single-sex rooms with rows of beds and small fireplaces, where some people slept while others worked by candlelight. Yuuri didn’t want to appear to stare, but curiosity compelled him to look. There was a room in which several of the men who were still awake were mending shoes or belts or other personal items. One was paring his fingernails into a bowl with a small knife; another had a little battered-looking leather book and was silently moving his lips while guiding a finger across a page. 

“You don’t sleep here, do you?” Yuuri asked Emil as they passed a room whose door was closed, and from which issued the enigmatic sounds of splashing and women singing loudly.

“I share a room in the garrison with the other squires.”

“Share?”

“The only fighting men who have their own bedrooms are the knights.”

“Oh.”

“This way, sir. The women are at the top of the southwest tower.”

They’d arrived at the turret at the end of the long wing; through an opening in the hall to the left was the vast kitchen, dimly aglow in orange firelight. It was quieter now than it had been when Yuuri had stood outside it the night before, though the clank of pans and low voices revealed that people were still working within.

“This is the main castle well,” Emil said, pointing to a large round stone column in the middle of the room, about chest height, with an iron arch curving across the top and a wooden board over the entrance. Yuuri noticed stacks of buckets in varying sizes against the wall. “I said you wouldn’t have cause to come here, but…” He shrugged. “I must say you haven’t ceased to surprise me since you arrived, sir.” Before Yuuri could respond to this, he added, gesturing with the lantern, “Follow me up the stairs, if you will.”

As they climbed, they passed more slitted unglazed windows admitting draughts that sank down to the stone steps. The narrow stairs wound steeply and tightly around a central upright column, and Yuuri was reminded of his astonishment, when visiting castle ruins in his own time, that anyone could regularly navigate these contraptions without tripping and tumbling down several storeys.

“The head cook has his lodgings here, along with other important servants,” Emil explained as they went. “Mistress Monica being one of them. She’s usually to be found with other maids up here of an evening.”

At the top of the stairs, Yuuri stepped onto the wooden floor of the highest room in the turret, lit by a generous fire, a chandelier and a candelabra. The occupants turned to look at their visitors. Several women in colourful dresses and headgear appeared to have been instructing a handful of boys dressed like miniature versions of adult males, in bright tunics and hose. Sitting across from them was another cluster of women with needles and cloth; one woman appeared to be darning a hose leg piece, while another was stitching a sleeve of royal blue onto a gown.

“Ah! You must be Justin,” called the woman in the largest chair. “Bring him, Emil; let’s have a look at him.”

Yuuri felt the stares of everyone in the room as he and his squire went to join her. Despite the warmth from the fire, he couldn’t suppress a shudder as he wondered if Ailis was in here with him. Maybe he was even about to speak to her. 

“Sir Justin, this is Mistress Monica, the head seamstress,” Emil said.

She appeared to be in her thirties, in a sleeveless wine-coloured gown with a white linen long-sleeved shirt underneath. Her brown hair had been swept into a white cylindrical cap; a wide strap of cloth ran tightly from above one ear, under her chin, and back up to the other ear. Hazel eyes blinked at him. There was a grace to her posture as she sat up straight and regarded him with a small smile. Then she looked over at the women who were working with the boys.

“Please, don’t mind us,” she called over; and her voice had an edge that indicated it was meant to be an order. They quickly turned back to their business, one of the ladies playing a lively tune on an instrument that looked like a long, thin horn and sounded a little like an oboe, while her companions nearby took the boys by the hands and led them in dance steps.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, sir, if you don’t mind,” Emil said. “I trust you can find your way back with the lantern when you’re done here?”

“Don’t you need it?” Yuuri asked; but Emil had already taken a candle from the mantel and lit it in the fireplace.

“If I don’t see you when you return, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, sir.”

“Good night,” Yuuri said, watching him disappear down the stairs with the glowing, spluttering candle, around which he’d cupped a hand.

Five women, Mistress Monica in the middle, looked at Yuuri. He felt pink stain his cheeks and wondered if it would show in the projection.

“Your squire says you’re in need of some training,” Monica said. “Usually it’s the other way round.” She looked at him questioningly.

“He…well.” _I’m Justin le Savage, _he told himself firmly. _I’d better start convincing myself of it, or I won’t convince anyone else. _“We’re not accustomed to dancing at my castle they way you did after supper tonight. At least, I’m not. I…” His thoughts raced. “I used to think such things were beneath me. But since this is my new home, I want to make the most of it, and I’d be most grateful if you could give me some help.”

The women looked at each other in amusement. “What kind of backwater is that castle you come from, then?” Monica said with a laugh.

“I’ll thank you not to call it a backwater. Especially since it belongs to the Nikiforovs now. They wanted it. But I’m not here to argue, ma’am. I really would be grateful if you could teach me – ”

“What do I get for my part?” she asked, though her voice had been gentle throughout the conversation.

Yuuri hadn’t thought of that. “I’ve got money, I can pay – ”

“No…no. It’s all right.” She took the brown tunic she’d been embroidering, folded it, placed it on the floor, and stood. “The novelty of this should be payment enough, I think. As long as you don’t mind practising in a room full of women and boys.” She smiled again.

“That won’t bother me.”

“Good. Come over here, then, away from the fire a bit, where there’s more room.”

Yuuri followed her, aware again of eyes upon him, though when he looked, the seamstresses were back at work, the horn began to play, and the boys returned to dancing. The younger ones turned their heads to stare at him in unabashed curiosity, while one of the older ones snickered before he was chastised and made to concentrate on what he was doing.

“Have you danced at all before?” Monica asked him, folding her arms across her chest and considering him thoughtfully.

“Not really, no,” he hedged.

“They don’t dance much where you come from?”

He blinked.

“Well, then, let’s see. Dancing – you can almost see it as a science.”

“A science?” Had they heard of that word in 1392?

“Of dancing. Yes. A branch of learning. A skill.”

Yuuri’s throat went dry. He scanned her gown; the bodice was tight, while the material opened into voluminous folds at her hips. He couldn’t be sure whether it contained pockets. Pockets that might conceal a laser gun. But if this was Ailis, and she had one, surely she wouldn’t use it here in front of everyone.

_Easy, Yuuri. Maybe you’re jumping to conclusions. It’s only a word._

“I thought a learned man such as you might like to look at it in that sense.”

“Why?” he whispered.

“Young sons of noblemen, trained for battle, and for the hunt…I’ve met many who seem to think dancing is nothing but a silly flouncing waste of time. If they applied themselves to it, however, they’d soon see how much skill it takes, and perhaps give it the respect it deserves. Maybe you’d do better to think of it as more of an art? Though art and science are two sides of the same coin, in my opinion.”

Yuuri agreed, relaxing a little but remaining wary. As she began teaching him the basics of a group dance she called a carol, which was nothing like what people sang at Christmas but was easy once you knew the steps, he forced himself to overcome his dislike of small talk to question her and observe how she responded.

She was a widow who’d been living at the castle for many years, she said. She told him about how she’d met her husband on the feast day of St. Barnabas and they’d danced the night away in the great hall, and how she’d won a contest several years ago on All Saints Day at York Castle, and didn’t hesitate to reel off a list of her favourite music and songs. People liked being asked to talk about themselves, and she was no exception. If she were Ailis, then she’d researched a very convincing backstory for herself that she’d carefully memorised to the point where she could give minute details in front of others in the room who could presumably vouch for their veracity, at least partially. She didn’t seem interested in asking many personal questions in turn; certainly nothing that seemed designed to catch him out or trip him up. But then, maybe the talk about science had been meant as a taunt, and then she had gone back to playing her role.

_Or maybe I’m overthinking everything._

Why on earth had Celestino chosen him for this? He was no detective, and had told him as much.

Soon, however, he was focusing on his first lesson. He picked up the steps to the carol quickly, and danced it with the other women and boys to the tune of the wooden horn they called a shawm. Two teenaged lads seemed embarrassed to have been joined by a beginner of Yuuri’s age, and he heard one of them hiss to a middle-aged stern-looking woman that he couldn’t understand why he was being asked to do these infantile exercises, to which she responded that adults of all ages performed this dance, and he had better mind his manners while they had a visitor. Yuuri had been partnered with the youngest lads, one to either side, their hands small and warm; and their enthusiasm brought an unexpected smile to his face as the mellow notes of the shawm wove around the room. He began to ask them, rather than Mistress Monica, how he was supposed to perform certain moves, which delighted them, until they were regularly pointing out his errors in an effort to be helpful – or perhaps because they enjoyed telling an adult what he was doing wrong.

“Sir! Not that way. You go in this direction.”

“You’re supposed to jump and clap at the same time.”

“Not like _that_.” A sigh of exasperation. “Honestly, sir. Watch me.”

A couple of the other women beamed at him. He smiled back, savouring how different this felt from his earlier visit to the stable and training field.

Eventually the musician stopped, announcing she was tired, and so the boys must be too, though none of them acknowledged it. Yuuri wondered if this was the only way they knew that it was time for bed, since watches hadn’t been invented yet; he hadn’t seen a clock anywhere, either. At different times of the day he’d heard what sounded like church bells chiming in the distance, though he wasn’t sure what they signified.

Once the boys were herded down the steps to bed, only the seamstresses remained, their fingers deftly moving across the material on their laps. They chatted quietly among themselves with occasional curious glances at Yuuri and Monica, who worked on a few more dance steps. These, Yuuri discovered, involved an intricate series of moves that took some effort to memorise and required suppleness that stretched his muscles a bit; he hadn’t practised this kind of thing since his last Immersion musical several years ago. Monica mostly told him what to do and watched, being unable in her long gown to demonstrate.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” she said after she declared them finished for the night.

Yuuri shrugged, hoping she’d allow him to leave it at that.

“It’s just that you’re…how do I put it?” She crossed her arms again, looking at him. “You’re a natural. Very graceful. I’m surprised you thought you needed lessons. Even so, you learn quickly.” She smiled.

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile back. He didn’t think he’d ever received such high praise, and wasn’t sure it was deserved, especially for what they’d been doing. “Thank you. I wouldn’t mind seeing you a few more times, if you’re willing to teach me.”

“I’d be pleased to do so.” She walked over to the cluster of chairs, where the other seamstresses were packing their materials in wicker baskets and extinguishing the candles. “I’m not used to working with older students. I daresay you’ll listen better than the lads who were in here earlier. And if I can be any judge after so a short time, I would add that your nickname doesn’t seem to be deserved. Unless your character changes completely when you’re on the battlefield.”

“I, um, thank you,” he said again as she picked up her own basket, holding it under her arm. “But before we go, ma’am, I need to ask you not to tell anyone about these lessons. It’s embarrassing that I haven’t been taught these things before.”

She chuckled. “Your squire already asked when he saw me earlier. Everyone here promised me they wouldn’t gossip. Though as I said, my good knight, I don’t believe you have anything to be embarrassed about. Your body was born to dance.”

_Born to…_Yuuri stared.

“Come, Sir le Savage,” she said, taking a candle for herself and handing him the lantern Emil had left. “The hour’s late. Return here after supper the day after tomorrow, if you’re free. It’s a long time since I’ve had aught to do of an evening other than stitch another pair of braies.”

After ascertaining with a blush that she was referring to the baggy underwear men wore here, he followed her carefully down the stairs a short way, as her room was on the storey below. She bade him good night, and he continued onward by the light of the lamp.

Reaching the foot of the stairs and passing through the servants’ quarters, he soon arrived at the door to his room. He’d forced himself, against his protective instinct, to leave it unlocked, and was rewarded with glowing embers in the grate that he stoked into dancing flames. Having removed his cloak and boots, he placed the lantern on the mantel after blowing out the candle, sat down on the floor, and stared into the yellow and orange light.

_I don’t know how to think like a detective. I don’t know how a detective thinks. Could any of those women be Ailis? How far should I trust gut feeling and instinct? _

What they were telling him was that everyone in that room had genuinely been who they said they were. No replies had hit a false note when he’d asked Mistress Monica about herself. He’d got the impression that the women working with the boys had been just that – teachers, minders. The seamstresses, then? He hadn’t had the chance to say much to them, and he wanted to be careful not to give the impression that he was flirting with anyone by showing too much interest. If Ailis had been in the room, they were the likeliest candidates; but they had seemed so…normal, so at home.

_What constitutes abnormal, then? What am I expecting to see with Ailis? She’s going to be trying to blend in with everyone else, just like I am. I could probably be looking at her and talking with her and never know._

He held his hands up in front of the fire to warm them, and bit his lip. This was going to be about as easy as steering a ship through fog without a navigation system. And in the meantime, he was going to have to spend hours in training every day as a knight.

Somehow _Swords and Sorcery _appealed right now…especially the part about casting a spell to send yourself straight home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to what a shawm sounds like [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wW1YRHtU60).


	13. Chapter 13

The best thing that could be said about the following day in the stable and training field was that it was no longer raining. The sky was as dismal as the day before, however. Yuuri had heard about what the weather had been like in his time before tech had been invented to gain a degree of control over it; elderly people remembered weeks with no glimpse of the sun, or day after day of drizzle. He’d discovered it to be every bit as dour as it sounded, and he’d only endured two days of it. But he could at least be thankful that he was still dry after he’d finished running lap after countless lap of the field again, even if his legs were threatening to give way underneath him. He tried not to see it as a punishment, whether Abelard had meant it to be one or not. He _did _need to get into better shape, he knew, if he stood any chance of being an equal to the other knights.

_Who am I kidding? They’ve been training for years. I can’t just walk in and expect to be able to fight them. I don’t _want_ to fight them anyway. _Though there was no getting round the sobering fact that he might not have much choice.

Abelard had also made him carry heavy sacks and boxes between the stable and castle, which involved hauling them up and down the hill, and his arm and back muscles were burning by the time he was finished. He managed, also, to get another horse-riding lesson in with Emil, though it was at the expense of his opportunity to eat dinner. By the time the sun had begun to set, he was feeling lightheaded, which wasn’t helped by the beer, albeit watery, that everyone drank instead of water. Not knowing what kinds of impurities the water here carried, whether it was from the well or the pipes or the river, he didn’t want to take any risks, especially without the nanobots he’d expected to bring with him.

It would’ve brightened the day to catch a glimpse of Sir Victor doing his routine in the field with his sword again, but there had been no sign of him, or of his squire. Presumably, as the son of the baron, he had more to keep him occupied than training for something he was already good at.

Emil had spent less time with him today, seemingly glad to get back to his own training now that his knight was settling in. Hoping to make good use of the time between the last of the tasks Abelard gave him and supper, Yuuri walked up the hill to the castle, through the gatehouse and into the courtyard. Then he realised he ought to think of a strategy for what he was going to do.

Was it acceptable for someone like him to simply wander around chatting to the womenfolk here? The more he saw of castle life, the more it struck him how important social status was to these people. He wasn’t entirely clear about what his own entailed, but he’d gathered that his “station” was far above that of the servants. If he tried to start a conversation with one, how would they react?

_There’s one way to quickly find out. We’re all human beings. One can talk to another._

_But I’m so bad at this. I’m just supposed to walk up to someone, ask a few questions, and decide whether she’s likely to be Ailis? What’s that going to accomplish?_

_I have to start somewhere._

He spotted a young woman with long blond hair in a gold-coloured sleeveless dress with a white shirt and brown woollen cape, carrying two heavy-looking buckets sloshing water over the grass.

“Here, ma’am, let me help you,” he offered, trotting over.

She stopped instantly and gave him a frightened look. “Sir,” she breathed, bowing a curtsey, “I…there’s no need. And it’s Edith, sir, not ma’am_. _That’s for ladies.”

“You aren’t a lady?” Yuuri said, gently taking one of the buckets from her.

“Well, no, sir. I’m a chambermaid.”

That didn’t make any logical sense, but never mind. He looked into the bucket and saw it was full of dead silvery fish. “Where were you taking these, to the kitchen?”

“I’m helping with a delivery at the castle gates, sir. And yes, the kitchen, but really, sir, there’s no need; I can get by on my own. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

“I was just headed to the kitchen myself. Why don’t we go together?”

“I…very well, sir, if that’s what you wish.” She looked uncertain.

_I’m a charming detective who gets people to reveal their secrets. That’s what I am. If I tell myself a hundred times, maybe I’ll start to believe it. Maybe. _“So, Edith,” he said lightly while they headed across the courtyard, attracting stares, “have you been at the castle long? I’m new myself. What does a person have to do to get a chambermaid’s job here?”

He felt like an utter pillock, but Edith seemed to warm to the conversation a bit. This was her third year here, she said. She came from a family that farmed on the estate, and they’d seen it as an honour for her to enter the service of the Nikiforovs at the castle. The lord was regarded as firm but fair, while the lady was kindly, though she tended to keep to herself, not mixing much with anyone other than her ladies-in-waiting or other visiting noblewomen. Sir Victor, she added, was the flower of the county, and everyone believed he would make a fine baron after his father. She herself tended to the solar first thing every morning, before moving on to other rooms in the castle.

“The solar,” Yuuri said as they approached the door to the kitchen. “That’s where the lord and lady have their chambers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You haven’t noticed anything unusual there or anywhere else in the past few weeks, have you?” She looked at him curiously, and he realised that if Edith were Ailis, he might have just made a mistake by asking such a question. “Since it was announced that the king will be coming to visit next year,” he added hastily. “I imagine that must be changing things a little.”

Edith laughed. “Why bless you, sir, of course. What _ain’t _it changed? They’ll be building practically a whole village out of wood at the foot of the hill to house the royal retinue. Cook’s been trying a new dish almost every day. The lord and lady are all aflutter, planning it. He don’t look best pleased much of the time, but word has it that she’s delighted, and has ordered new dresses for herself and all the ladies of the castle.” She shrugged. “That don’t include the likes of me, of course, but it means I might get some hand-me-downs that are pretty to wear, from the ones as _does _get new clothes.” Then she gasped as they went through the doorway. “Oh sir, begging your pardon. I’m sure you’re not interested in such doings as what a chambermaid can tell you of. Why, you can talk to the noble family yourself, I don’t wonder.”

“I don’t think I’m in their best books, exactly,” Yuuri muttered under his breath. “Where do you want me to put these…” His voice trailed off as the people in the kitchen turned startled expressions in his direction. A man hastened over to Edith and ushered her across the room and out of sight without another word. Another man mumbled that he would take the bucket Yuuri was carrying, and hurried away with it. A woman with her hair covered by a white cloth cap like Emil’s came up to him, carrying a silver plate with bread rolls, nuts and dried fruit.

She bowed, her eyes downward. “Are you seeking some refreshment, sir? Supper will be served soon, but take your fill from this if it please you.”

“No, um, that’s all right,” he said. It seemed he’d caused quite a commotion by entering the room. “I don’t need anything to eat.” She bowed and scurried away with the plate. “Please, don’t let me stop you from what you were doing,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. And, fortunately, it seemed that they were so bent on getting supper ready that after some dubious glances they followed his instructions, while he went further into the room, looking around, wondering what to try next.

Maybe this wasn’t the ideal time to be here, just before a meal was due to be served. Pots and pans clattered, orders were barked out, people bustled about carrying large bowls and sacks. The room was hot, steamy and smoky, despite enormous stone hoods channelling emanations up the chimneys. There was yet another fireplace, Yuuri noticed, in which the flames had died down to bright glowing embers, on top of which huge black pots sat. Some of the male cooks near the fires were wearing nothing but braies and leather shoes, sweat beading on their pink faces as they fried fish on large skillets or stirred soups and sauces.

“What can we do for you, master knight?” a plump woman at the end of a long nearby counter asked, not taking her eyes off the saucepot she was stirring. There was a dazzling variety of chopped herbs and flowers in front of her, and bowls full of colourful powders; she dipped a spoon into the sauce, tasted it, paused for thought, reached for pinches from the stacks with a practised hand, and again briskly stirred. A stained apron covered her front, and a white cloth was wrapped around her head in the turban-like style the female servants here seemed to favour, wisps of salt-and-pepper hair poking out from underneath. 

“I…I’m new to the castle,” Yuuri told her, “and I was curious. Sometimes I do a bit of my own cooking. You know, when I’m travelling. I wanted to see how it was done here.”

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Well, good for you, sir. Though I don’t know as this is something you’re like to be trying to make in the field. It’s a gamelyne sauce to go with the sea bream. Though it’s for the high table only, this is.” She dipped her spoon in and tasted it again. “More galangal,” she said, smacking her lips and grabbing a knobbly-looking chunk of a pinkish root, then grating some into the sauce.

_Galangal? I thought that went into Thai food. _“Are you one of the head cooks?” he asked.

“I am the sauce chef,” she said proudly. “Bridget, that’s me. I trained under Montazin de Galard in Rouen. It takes years to learn how to produce a perfect blend of herbs and spices for every dish, sir. Though I also turn my hand at making pastry and pies from time to time as they need here, since that was what I did before I went to France. If you’d care to come back sometime when I’m not as busy, I daresay I could teach you a thing or two if you were still willing.”

_You’re not Ailis._ _That much is obvious. _“Maybe. Thank you. Do you mind if watch for a while now?”

“Be my guest, sir.” She turned and took the sauce pot to one of the mammoth fireplaces, hanging the handle over a hook on a hinged iron arm that she could move so that it held the pot where she desired over the heat.

Yuuri stood with his back against the bare stone wall, suddenly recalling that it was here in the kitchen where Ailis had hidden the box that she’d given Celestino instructions for finding. He wondered where. Did she work in here, and therefore have special knowledge of the best place to stash something that had to lie undisturbed for centuries? Or had she simply scouted the place out when no one else was around?

“There you are, master.” Yuuri turned to see Emil striding toward him. When he was close, he whispered near his ear, “Why are you here, sir, if I may ask? It’s rather unusual for people of your position to be in the kitchen. If you’re hungry – ”

“No, I’m not. I, um, just wanted to see. That’s not a crime, is it?”

“No.”

“Mistress Bridget said she’d teach me some things if I came back.”

Emil’s eyes widened. “She did?”

“Anyway…” Yuuri folded his arms across his chest. “…did you want something?”

“Well, we’re rather in the way. We ought to go to the hall for the meal.”

“Is there any chance I could sit by myself this time?” Yuuri had been put at the end of the table for meals, but there always seemed to be a neighbour to share a trencher with; that appeared to be the custom here. Though not everyone had someone next to them at every meal, he’d noticed.

“Matthew Everard, the steward, chooses the place settings, sir. I don’t have a say in it unless there’s a problem with the neighbour you’ve been allocated.” He paused. “Has there been?”

“No. Um, though Sir Charles is a little, well, interesting.”

Emil laughed. “They have you next to Sir Chris tonight, sir. It’s customary for the fighting men to sit together, so it may be worth getting accustomed to each other’s eccentricities. I daresay we all have them.”

_Point taken_. They briefly went back outside before entering the archway that led from the courtyard to the great hall.

“Might you be interested in visiting the main garrison room this evening?” Emil asked as Yuuri sat down on the bench at the table. Chris hadn’t arrived yet.

Yuuri scratched his forehead. “I don’t know, Emil. I’m not exactly popular here. I don’t want to start a fight or anything.”

“At the same time, it might be wise to show yourself sooner rather than later, if I may say so. Otherwise, the men might think you’re slighting them. They wouldn’t take kindly to that, sir.”

“I know,” Yuuri sighed. “You’re right, I don’t want things to get worse than they already are. Will you be there?”

“Yes, sir. I’m there most evenings.”

“All right, then.” He swallowed. Facing a room full of men who’d watched him try to kill the lord’s son, who’d seen that he needed lessons on how to ride a horse and had been made to run laps around the training field like a naughty child, while wearing a chain-mail shirt that hung on him like a metal sack…Oh, and he already had a reputation for being a twat.

How hard could it be?

* * *

_I’m not sure what’s worse, being insulted or being ignored._

_Who am I kidding? Do I want someone’s sword stuck through me? At least they’re leaving me alone._

Yuuri sat in the closest equivalent to a corner in the main garrison room, a stone bench cut into the wall across from the fireplace. The shadows fell around him, and he huddled into them while he sipped at a metal cup of beer. He’d instructed the projector to show the usual flat cylindrical brown hat, along with clothes that seemed to fit the fashion. No one was sitting near to him or had acknowledged he was there, apart from Emil, who had greeted him and said he was glad he’d come, then gone off to talk with Chris’s and Charles’s squires. The two knights themselves were engaged in a game of chess.

There were other men in the room who Yuuri had seen in the training field but not spoken to; several were clustered around a table near a candelabra, throwing dice made of bone, making bets, and growing louder and more enthusiastic as time passed. He’d begun to wonder if coming here tonight had been so essential after all. Celestino had said the castle had had a library; maybe he could ask Emil if he knew where it was, and if anyone apart from the noble family was allowed to borrow books from it.

Yuuri watched him leave the other squires and approach. “Won’t you come closer to the fire, sir? It’s dark over here, and there’s a draught. Are you feeling all right?”

“Uh, I’m fine, thanks,” Yuuri said, taking a sip of beer. It had a nice malty flavour, even if it wasn’t much stronger than water. “I wouldn’t know what to say. I don’t think I want to play dice, and I doubt your squire friends want me raining on their parade.”

“Rain on their parade?” Emil echoed, huffing a little laugh.

Yuuri leaned his head against the cold wall. “It’s an expression where I come from. It means spoiling someone’s good time.”

“Where you come from?” Emil knitted his brow.

“We have all kinds of funny customs and sayings at my father’s castle,” Yuuri muttered. “I’m sure you’ll hear more from me.”

“It sounds fascinating.” Someone called to Emil from across the room, and he excused himself, leaving Yuuri alone again.

_I’d better be careful what I say, even to him_. He’d got a smidgen of alcohol in him and was already relaxing too much. Castles just a few hours’ journey apart would not have developed their own customs and sayings, as if they’d spawned completely separate cultures.

He sat up straighter, however, when Sir Victor entered the room with Julius, both returning the greetings they received. Victor paused to say something to Chris and Charles, then sat down on a stone bench near the fire, Julius nipping to the table on which flagons and cups had been placed and fussing with those. Several men immediately engaged Victor in conversation, though they remained standing, rather than taking seats on the bench next to him.

He was wearing one of those strange parti-coloured tunics similar to what Justin had, only the patches of colour on this were subtler and suited him well: olive green and creamy white. He had a matching hood with a wide collar, olive on the right and cream on the left, though he’d pushed it back from his head when he’d entered the room. The tunic hugged his muscles while the hood softened the angles around the tops of his shoulders, and the firelight set his fair hair aglow. With no hat on, his fringe was free to flop over his left eye.

Yuuri eased back into the shadows again, watching the men in the room once more, though his gaze mostly strayed to Victor. A baron’s son; an aristocrat. But also a knight. Maybe that was what drew him here, to associate with people he must consider to be below his station. There was no haughtiness or disdain evident on his face as he attempted to field several conversations at once, while Julius plied him with beer, seeming to hover on his every word. 

“Now there’s a fellow with an eye for a pretty skirt.”

Yuuri scanned the room and spotted a man in a voluminous fur cape at a crowded table across the room who was staring at him with a smirk.

“Not here more than a few days and you’re eyeing up the serving wenches,” he laughed, and his companions did the same. “I can introduce you to some local ladies who are a right good fuck at a decent price, if that’s what you want – you can avoid fouling your own nest that way. People here, they talk and gossip, but there’s no end of willing whores to be had outside the castle gates. Believe me,” he added loudly, “I know.”

_I bet you do. _Yuuri watched the men next to him laugh again, elbow him playfully, and guzzle more beer. People were…raw here, he decided. Their actions and their speech. Could he bring himself to be like that too?

_No._

“Sir Victor,” another man at the same table called out above other voices – the beer had been flowing freely there, Yuuri thought, or perhaps something stronger – “what pageantry can we expect when his highness the king comes? A tournament?” There were cheers in response to this. “An exhibition of skill?”

A man next to him quickly shushed him, however, and Yuuri made out: “He doesn’t do that anymore, not since – ”

“Will there be plenty of drink?” came another laughing voice, and Yuuri missed the end of the first man’s speech as more cheers erupted.

“As much as you want,” Victor said with a smile. “Though I’ll trust you not to be indisposed enough to make an arse of yourself.”

“Ah, you know me.”

“That’s the problem – he does,” someone else broke in.

“Are you looking forward to it, sir?” came another voice.

Victor paused to think. “Well, my mother, certainly. The lord, not so much. And I might be tempted to ride out on Alyona more than usual. The hunt’s quite good at that time of year.” He smiled again. It didn’t appear to touch his eyes.

He fell to talking again with the men standing near him, and as Yuuri had drunk the last of his beer, he rose to get more from the flagon on the drinks table. Julius had decided to do the same thing at the same time, his cape seeming to bristle at the sight of him.

“Well, look who’s here,” he announced in his boyish voice, loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. When Yuuri continued to pour his own drink without comment, the squire added, “What an honour that we’re joined tonight by the craven coward of a knight who ran away.” This was met by a chorus of laughter, which seemed to embolden him to continue. “The shit without a wit whose own horses can’t bear the sight of him.”

Yuuri felt all eyes on him, waiting for a response. But he was as speechless as he’d been with Abelard. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand up for himself; he really would’ve liked to tell both of them where to get off to. But Abelard was his trainer, and Julius was an annoying bratty teenager who also happened to be Sir Victor’s squire, and both of them were people he’d be expected to try to get on with, he was sure. If anything, he wanted to rid himself of his counterpart’s less than stellar reputation when it came to human relations.

“Julius,” Victor called sternly into the quiet room, “you know that isn’t how a chivalrous knight should speak to someone. If Sir Justin took offence at your rudeness, he’d be within his rights to challenge you to a duel.”

Julius gave a hearty laugh and looked at Yuuri. “Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“Go dunk your head in a pitcher, squire, until it’s cooled off. Go on. Leave us for a moment.”

The teen’s eyes sparked, and after one last glare at Yuuri, he skulked off down the hall. Yuuri put down the pitcher and cup he was holding, wondering if he should thank Sir Victor. But those ice-blue eyes had now turned their stern gaze toward him.

“Approach, sir knight,” he said.

Yuuri complied quietly, feeling the attention of everyone in the room on him. _Don’t do this is front of them. Please. Just…go ride your horse and swing your sword and let me watch you. I think I already know how you feel about this situation; there’s no need to spell it out to me. _But he could see in Sir Victor’s eyes that there was plenty he wanted to say, and was going to say, and so he inwardly braced himself.

Victor took a small breath and then spoke in a low, firm voice. Yuuri expected him to use a lecturing tone, but what he said sounded more genuine, even heartfelt, though there was anger clearly underlying his words. “It must have been difficult for you to have to come here and face me in a duel, knowing you were defending your family’s lands and freedom and were therefore going to lose them. If I’d had a choice in the matter, I would never have fought you. But I’m not the master of my own destiny where my father the baron is concerned, and the Courtenay lands were there for the taking. For my part, I apologise.”

Yuuri simply stared, as stunned as he was when he’d first laid eyes on him in the arena. But then Sir Victor pressed his lips into a line, and he wondered if the lecture was coming now. He also noticed out of the corner of his eye that Julius had crept back into the room and was lingering in the shadows with a smug look on his face.

“But for _your _part…” Victor raised his voice. “You presumably know it’s customary to yield when your opponent’s won the duel. Yet you would’ve had me cut you down.” A flame leapt into his gaze. “Or perhaps you had some misplaced notion that you still had a prayer of overcoming me. You’re an idiotic hothead.”

The sentence was loud enough to sound around the room, and Yuuri swallowed, his cheeks burning. But then Victor seemed to master himself, settled further back on the bench, blinked, and continued.

“You were ready to die. Ready to force me to kill you. Why? You’re a seasoned knight. I resent the fact that I almost had your blood on my hands due to your poor judgement. Perhaps you see such things as sport, Justin le Savage. I don’t.”

Yuuri was struck again by his extraordinary words. _Swords and Sorcery _was not the most realistic guide to the Middle Ages, but his interactions there had led him to believe that if both participants survived a duel, they might be expected to either decide it was a “jolly good show, old chap” and share a drink, or remain enemies. It would never have occurred to him that the victor would be angry at the vanquished because he’d almost been made to kill; because he hadn’t _wanted _to kill. That it would’ve bothered him.

_But why wouldn’t it? Isn’t that the very same thing that’s been worrying me since I showed up in this place?_

And yet, such an attitude from a knight who’d been born and bred here, and the son of a nobleman on top of it? Yes, it was surprising. And very interesting.

But what should he do? Sir Victor was now awaiting a response, as was everyone else. Yuuri felt a stab of anger, certainly not the first, that Justin had landed him in such a situation. None of this was his own fault. But hadn’t he decided he was going to try to pull his reputation out of the mud? He had an opportunity to start now. Justin was going to be the noble, courteous knight he ought to have been in the first place, and this extraordinary man in front of him would no longer be angry and disappointed in him. Maybe.

“Sir,” Yuuri said, hoping it was the correct term of address. He was aware of the quiet gazes upon him. The crackle of the flames in the grate. The blue eyes steadily looking into his own. He wanted to touch whatever was there underneath. “I’ve had time to think about my rash, senseless actions, which were…unbecoming of a…chivalrous knight. Now that I’m here serving your family, I give you my word that I’m going to mend my ways, and…and do you honour. But more than that, I want you to know that I’ve repented of my uncouth behaviour. And I’m grateful for your mercy.”

Sir Victor stared. Yuuri hadn’t seen anyone do what he was about to do, not yet; but then he hadn’t set eyes upon the baron and his lady outside of meals in the great hall, and could only make a guess. Maybe it would be laying it on too thick, but maybe not, considering how angry Sir Victor had been.

He bent down on one knee before the knight, dipping his head low in what he hoped was a posture of humble submission. “I beg your forgiveness, sir,” he said, looking at the stone floor, “and I hope you’ll give me the chance to show you that I’m no longer the person I was.”

If there had been any women in the room, anyone who might be Ailis, he wouldn’t have phrased it that way. And he might have just made a faux pas as it was; he had no idea what passed for manners here, or how someone in his position and situation was supposed to behave toward someone in Victor’s. He should’ve asked Emil…but it was too late now.

The silence stretched out. Someone coughed. Then Yuuri caught a glimpse of Victor’s legs straightening; he was standing up. A hand with a thick gold signet ring on the pinky came into view in front of him. Yuuri looked up in confusion and saw that it was Victor’s left hand, held out for to him to take. His expression was unreadable. Yuuri clasped his hand and stood; it was warm, and the touch of it sent a tingle up his arm. But that was surely a frown on Victor’s face.

“Knights don’t kneel to each other in this castle. Nor do we call each other ‘sir’. We…we’re a brotherhood.” He seemed momentarily lost for words as he dropped Yuuri’s hand. Then he looked toward Julius and nodded, and his squire joined him at his side. “I hope you intend to be true to your flowery speech and oaths.” And again he paused with a look of uncertainty, then pressed his lips together and left the room, Julius following in his wake after a quick clouded glance back.

Yuuri walked purposefully to the drinks table and poured himself the cup of beer he’d originally intended to have, aiming for an outward appearance of nonchalance, while inwardly he discovered he was hoping for more chances like this to show Victor who he really was – in a manner of speaking, of course. Though why him in particular, when he was hoping to earn more respect from everyone –

Emil had joined him before he could finish the thought. “Were you practising that speech beforehand, sir? I must say it was impressive.”

Yuuri took a mouthful of beer, looking at him. The others in the room had gone back to their previous activities, though not without a few glances his way. “I just told him how I honestly felt.” He smiled. “I did all right, did I?”

“I should say so. Earning Sir Victor’s regard would be a high achievement after the way your duel ended.”

“Sounds like a worthwhile goal.”

Feeling like he’d somehow achieved a small victory, Yuuri slept a little easier that night. But not before deciding, upon reflection, that Victor’s squire Julius was not all he appeared. Especially since it seemed almost certain that _he _was a _she. _Yuuri couldn’t guess the story behind that, but perhaps he was trying to make up for what he lacked in physical presence by being bolshy.

But that was Julius’s business, and none of his, he decided as his thoughts drifted away.


	14. The Company of Men (Part 3)

Yuuri was getting used to his new routines, the regular breaths of the castle as day followed night followed day. Most people went to bed early and had a long sleep, rising with the dawn. Now that he did this himself, he discovered that waking up in the morning wasn’t so painful anymore, though he figured it would never be a very pleasurable experience. If his ears didn’t pick up the chimes of the church bells in the morning, Emil would come knocking at his door. They rang at the hour called prime, Yuuri had been informed. He’d just about given up on understanding how people told the time here. The length of an hour varied, Emil said, because every day was divided into twelve hours from dawn to dusk, and so they were half as long in winter as in summer. It made about as much sense as a beaver being called a fish.

However, with a bone comb, his shaving kit, a pitcher he could fill at a nearby waterpipe, the garderobe just down the hall, and a fire that was lit for him every day if he left his door unlocked, he at least had some creature comforts. Not that he was in his room often, though, and not that he had much to do in there when he was. Emil had confirmed that the library was for the exclusive use of the Nikiforovs and their senior household staff, which didn’t surprise Yuuri, since the printing press hadn’t been invented yet and hand-written books would therefore be rare luxuries. With no particular desire to visit the main garrison room only to sit on his own, he watched the fire in his room, wandered around the dark and draughty corridors of the castle, or visited Mistress Monica for dancing lessons. More often, however, he simply went to sleep, when his worries allowed it.

Emil continued to give him riding lessons away from the prying eyes of others at the stable and training field, for which he would be forever grateful. He was still learning how to use the reins and his legs to guide, but fortunately being able to balance well was one of his strong points, and he was getting better at not feeling like he might fall off at any moment. Though it was a far cry from donning armour and wielding a lance, which he was in no hurry to do. Blaze, the stout muscular horse they called a destrier, was there waiting for such a time, but for now Yuuri simply took him around the field, amazed at the difference in the feel of riding both of his horses, and their temperaments. Destriers, he’d been told, were trained to charge in battle, while palfreys were for journeys. Working with them was almost but not quite like having a pet; and while there was no shortage of stable hands, he’d asked to be shown how to care for the horses himself, and sometime went there just to do that.

Abelard still rained verbal abuse down, but Yuuri tried to ignore it, and carried out all the strength- and stamina-building tasks he was given, hour after hour. He was pleased to find his body was taking to them well, and he had already noticed that he was getting fitter, though he was often aching and exhausted at the day’s end. No one had been impressed with how slow he was with a sword, but they’d at least acknowledged that he seemed to know what he was doing with one. Abelard put him with the squires to train, and while Yuuri assumed it was intended to be an insult, he took in every bit of instruction that was given. After the years of training they’d already had, the squires were all formidable opponents – even Julius, though Yuuri had already been told as much. He had little opportunity to spar with any of them himself, however, as Abelard had him running around the field, up and down the hill between the castle and the stable, carrying heavy loads – for which the servants who’d been relieved of them expressed their gratitude.

Victor did not visit the stable or the training field often, and the fact that this was a relief to Yuuri was both reassuring and frustrating. He decided to put all his effort into his training in the hope that one day he’d be able to wield a sword in Victor’s sight without feeling ashamed.

Other issues arose, such as the fact that he would give just about anything by now to have a bath, because he never felt properly clean, and was beginning to wonder if jumping into a river in the middle of December would really be so bad. He was also no longer having caffeine, which had triggered some headaches, though mostly he missed the jolt in the morning.

By now he was used to two main meals a day, dinner late in the morning and supper in the early evening, which were often accompanied by entertainment such as the musicians who seemed to be resident at the castle, as well as jesters, jugglers, and people who recited poems. Once a troupe of men visited who performed more sophisticated dancing that seemed to be a predecessor of ballet, though Emil called it acrobatics. The entertainers and the food – which, if rather strange at times compared to what Yuuri was used to, was on the whole tasty and well-cooked – commanded most of his attention during meals, so that he didn’t feel pressed into too much awkward small talk with Chris or Charles.

Well, those things and Victor. Yuuri worked out that if he had a neighbour at the high table, it was usually some visiting dignitary or noble; they seemed to come and go from the castle frequently. His parents were always to his left, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that sitting to the right of one of the nobles was considered a place of honour. Yuuri wondered if Victor had any friends around the castle, and if so, if they were ever allowed to join him. He appeared to have no other family here. There was an ease to his actions at meals that Yuuri supposed was natural for someone brought up in this lifestyle. But smiles were rare, and Yuuri wasn’t sure how many were heartfelt. Something invisible seemed to weigh constantly on his shoulders, and Yuuri often thought back to what Victor had said to him in the main garrison room that night he’d knelt before him.

But he would eventually snap himself out of it. Who was Victor to him, anyway? They hardly knew each other. The duel was behind him. He had a mission to accomplish.

He therefore turned his focus to interviewing the women of the castle on the pretext of getting to know his fellow residents. Monica assisted him in finding contemporary clothes that suited his personality, since he didn’t want to spend more time in front of his mirror trying to get his projection to mimic them. He’d had to part with more coins, but the expense had been worth it, and he now owned tunics and hose, a hat that looked like the repulsive one from the closet but without the odour, a water-resistant cape, boots, and warm knitted socks, in colours that were less garish. He was a little self-conscious about how tight the tunics and hose were, but Monica insisted they were stylish, and other men at the castle wore similar things.

Attempting to carry on with his mission, he’d already questioned a cleaner, a gardener, a herbalist, a cook, and one of the seamstresses who was often present during his visits to Monica. They’d given him a posy to pin to his tunic, a bundle of herbs to place in his room to freshen it, a small loaf of freshly baked bread, and even a pair of black gloves that were more decorative than insulating. But no useful information. To his growing frustration, he could not imagine any of these women being Ailis in disguise. It was possible, he thought once more, that she was simply a good actress. Or she was projecting herself as someone who didn’t work or live at the castle, though he hoped the reality wasn’t as complicated as that.

He was pondering what to try next one afternoon when he passed through the courtyard on his way to the pantry to collect sacks full of dried beans and peas, which would be used to make something called horse bread for the animals in the stable, as one of Abelard’s strength-building tasks. The congestion around the kitchen door was thicker than usual, however, so he entered the archway that led to the vestibule outside the great hall, intending to go through the passage between the pantry and the buttery to get to the storage room, when he heard a voice he recognised as Victor’s.

Yuuri peered around the doorway and spotted him in conversation just inside the hall with his father. While the baron was clad in rich dark layers that hung heavily on his imposing frame, Victor’s clothes were simple and down to earth, the only giveaways of his status the expensive-looking material and a maroon cap with intricately embroidered green and orange vines along the sides, tapering to a point in front, which reminded Yuuri of Robin Hood.

Not wanting to be caught listening in, he ducked back into the vestibule but decided to stay where he was, wondering what these two important people would say to each other.

“…when we’ll see you in the chapel again.” Baron Nikiforov’s deep voice. “Your avoidance of it is unseemly, Victor. Don’t think I’m unsympathetic, but – ”

“We’ve had this conversation many times before.” Victor’s, on a weary note. “Now isn’t a good time to revive it, and my response would be the same as always.”

“Father Maynard is most displeased.”

“Father Maynard is no concern of mine.”

The baron made a grumbling sound and muttered something Yuuri couldn’t make out. The conversation shifted to the castle estate, taxes and tithes and so on, and he decided he’d heard enough, when the next statement caused him to raise his head and strain to listen.

“I’ve also heard back from Matthew Jenkins,” the baron said quietly. “I thought you should know it’s been confirmed that he’s lost a fifth of his sheep herd to the plague.”

“He’s certain that’s the nature of the affliction?”

“Yes. I know it troubles you to hear it; it troubles me also. But his farm is a good way out in the countryside, and no one has fallen ill apart from the animals. We believe the problem to be contained, though his family and their neighbours have promised to remain vigilant.”

There was a long pause. Then Victor said, “It seems we’ll never be free of the scourge.”

“I’m going to send John tomorrow to ensure the remainder of the herd is destroyed.”

“The Jenkins family will need to be reimbursed.”

“John will see to it that they are.”

Yuuri shuddered. Local sheep catching the plague? He hadn’t known it was possible. The nanobots in his own system were programmed against _yersinia pestis_ and other common varieties, but he was ever mindful of what had happened to Dr. Croft. And if the plague spread to the castle…He suddenly had a vision of these people and their carefully constructed hierarchy, from Edith the chambermaid to the baron himself, and Emil and Julius, Monica and Victor, dying horribly. He and Ailis could be the only ones left standing.

But the baron sounded less worried than Victor. A few sheep in some distant field wasn’t an epidemic. That thought, however, was unlikely to lull him to sleep at night.

“…a sorry excuse for a knight,” the baron was saying. “It was a mistake to insist he stay here with us. As soon as I saw the duel between the two of you go from bad to worse, may God forgive me, I hoped you’d cut his throat.”

Yuuri’s breath caught.

“It was your decision,” came the hard-edged reply. “I did as you commanded.”

The baron sighed. “So you did. I thought perhaps the fellow would shape up to be a better knight than he at first appeared to be, after some time with Abelard. The reports I’ve had from him, however, aren’t promising. His reputation as an intemperate rash man preceded him, and I think we can add ‘coward’ to it as well. It seems to me that he could put all our men’s lives at risk on a battlefield, though God willing, there won’t be any such fights to break the peace here. In fact, I sent a message to Courtenay asking him if he’d like his son back, but even _he _doesn’t want him. A pretty position to be in, isn’t it? Rumour has it that he’s been making sport with the women here at the castle as well.”

“I’m not sure it’s as bad as that. He’s apologised to me, very courteously. Surprisingly so. I wouldn’t have expected it of him, but he seemed sincere.”

Victor’s voice was higher and softer than his father’s. He was…defending him?

“I admit I shared your concerns at first,” Victor continued. “But I’ve seen him in training, and I’d say he possesses unusual strengths as well as weaknesses. With Abelard’s assistance, perhaps…” He fell silent.

Unusual strengths? When had Victor been around to watch? Surely not while he’d been lugging sacks up and down the hill.

“Well if things don’t work out with him, we can always compel him to join the clergy and look after our interests that way. There must be _some _use for him.”

Join the clergy? Could they make him do that?

_Of course they can. I’m a possession of theirs now, just like the Courtenay lands and castle._

Yuuri realised he’d gasped loudly upon hearing the Baron’s words, and the two men had fallen silent. Beads of sweat leapt out on his brow as he stepped into the doorway to find them staring at him in surprise.

_Shit. _

He considered walking off in an offended huff or saying something sarcastic. Neither of which, he was sure, would be looked upon favourably. Then it occurred to him that this moment offered an opportunity, just like the one he’d grabbed with Victor in the garrison when his apology seemed to have hit home. Maybe, if he played his cards right, Yuuri could even have an ally in him.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.” Their eyes widened, and he wondered what he’d said to make them gape like that. He stepped into the room and gave a low bow, the way he’d seen other people do when addressing the baron. “I…regret that I’ve given you cause to be disappointed in me, my lords,” he said hurriedly. “I’ve lost some of my memory since the duel; I think it might’ve been caused by a head injury. The only other person I’ve told is Emil, my squire, because I didn’t want to bring more embarrassment on myself than I already have. But that’s why I’ve needed some extra help. I’d rather no one else knew, and…and I beg you to keep this a secret. Please.”

He hadn’t planned to tell the amnesia story to anyone else; hadn’t wanted word to spread and possibly get to Ailis. At the same time, however, if his incompetence, as they saw it, seemed bad enough for the baron to be thinking about sticking him in a monastery, he had to do something about that. Aside from the fact that it was the last thing he wanted, it would make it difficult for him to complete his mission.

They still seemed bewildered as he continued, “I’m also not…making sport with the women. I’m trying to learn things from them that I never learned at my father’s castle, or that the amnesia caused me to forget. How things are run here; how to…how to be chivalrous. More than I was. As for my fighting prowess – you’re underestimating me, my lord.”

Where had _that _come from? But it was too late to turn back now, though the prolonged stares were burning into him. “Train me hard,” he said heatedly. “Give me a chance to develop the strength I should’ve come here with. I’ll prove my worth to you.”

The baron broke the silence with a cynical laugh. “It’s easy to say such things. You’ll forgive me if I’m not convinced.”

But Victor gazed at Yuuri keenly. “I’d like to see that. I hope you mean it.”

“I do,” Yuuri affirmed. “I want you to…think well of me. I’ll give you a good reason – all I need is a chance.”

“Indeed.” He paused. “So tell me, Justin – where did you learn to speak Russian?”

Yuuri’s throat tightened; then he forced through it, “We’re…speaking Russian.” He made sure it ended as a statement rather than a question.

“Yes,” Victor laughed. “You speak it quite well. Wouldn’t you say, Father?”

The baron simply eyed Yuuri. “I was wondering the same thing, in truth.”

“Um.” _Fuck. The translator. I forgot. _“I’m a master of languages,” he blurted, and was again met with surprised expressions. “I can speak just about any language that’s spoken here.”

“I could understand that for English, Latin, French, and so on,” Victor said. “But Russian? It’s not exactly common. Most people here have never even heard of my family’s homeland.”

Yuuri attempted a nonchalant shrug. “But you’re an important, powerful family. And I have a talent for learning languages, so it wasn’t difficult.”

Victor quirked his mouth in a smile that seemed half bemused and half pleasantly intrigued. “You’re full of surprises, it seems. The new look, too – it suits you.”

Yuuri’s cheeks pinked. The more approval he gained from this man, the more he seemed to want it. He told himself to stop being so silly.

“I think we’ve had enough of this for now,” grumbled the baron, looking at Yuuri and then Victor. “There are more pressing matters to attend to.” As he made to leave, he turned to glared at Yuuri again, dark eyes flashing. “You’ve given me your word, young Courtenay. I trust you’ll honour it. If not, you won’t want to experience my displeasure.” After a pause, he added, “And what’s more, if I discover you’ve been listening again to conversations that are not meant for your ears, I’ll have them chopped off, and you can consider yourself lucky.”

A violent shiver passed through Yuuri, though the more noncommittal look on Victor’s face was a bit of comfort. “Yes, my lord,” he replied hoarsely before father and son exited into the courtyard.

Yuuri breathed deeply, willing his limbs to stop trembling. Some display of courage that was. He remained still, taking a moment to collect himself and allow the baron and Victor to put more distance between them before he emerged from the hall.

_What were they saying before the baron threatened to…well, before that?_

Sheep with plague. Then, once he’d been discovered, a spur-of-the-moment promise that he’d prove himself to these people, whatever that had meant. Now the baron would hold him to it. And – he’d been fucking _speaking Russian _without knowing it. There appeared to be no way of making the translator tell him what language he was supposed to be using, the illusion being that it was always English.

Victor seemed to think he had potential, anyway. Yuuri was burning to know what he thought he was so good at. And…he’d actually complimented him.

He focused his thoughts on that as he made his way to the stable, and there was a spring in his step by the time he arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “Robin Hood hat” Victor’s wearing during the conversation with his father that Yuuri overhears is called a bycocket. The picture I modelled it on is [here](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/300404237638614533/).


	15. Chapter 15

The spring didn’t stay there, however, over the next couple of days, as the heavens opened and the rains hardly ceased their deluge. Life carried on as usual throughout, and Yuuri was soaked on numerous occasions until he was shivering, his beeswax-treated cape proof against the onslaught for only so long before it, too, became sodden. Abelard took him into the stable one afternoon to train him in the use of a sword, but Yuuri was so cold and wet that he found it difficult to concentrate, and eventually he was ordered to go back to his room and sort himself out.

He pulled his wet and muddy clothes off, hung them from the mantel to dry, put on a new pair of hose and a long-sleeved shirt, and decided he would sit in front of the fire with his com and toolkit again.

Maybe he’d been too pessimistic about what had happened to Phichit and Celestino. If they’d immobilised Ailis’s assistant Ian somehow, they might have got him to talk – and it was conceivable he might even have told them who Ailis was projecting herself as. In which case, they’d been waiting to relay the information to him. It would simplify things immensely. All he would have to do was take her unawares, and…

…and what? He’d never worked that part out.

_It’s about time I did, isn’t it? _

_Could I…kill her if I had to? But how? I’m no assassin._

_No, I’m a knight. Jesus._

He removed the back of the com, then decided he’d be able to see what he was doing better near the window than in front of the fire. The panes of thick glass were sufficiently warped that anyone outside would have trouble making out who was sitting on the inside, let alone what they were doing; he’d checked.

_This is stupid, _he told himself as he examined the components in the eerie blue glow of the qubit processor. _If all I achieve is damage to the projector, I’m fucked. But what kind of a techie am I if I can’t even repair a piece of broken tech? I have to try._

He laid his tools on the stone bench next to him like a surgeon preparing for an operation, then studied the inner workings of the com and attempted to diagnose the problem until the sun was dipping low in the sky, but made little progress. If a part needed replacing, there was nothing he could replace it with. Some of his tools gave a magnified view of whatever he targeted them at, but it wasn’t the same as using a diagnostic machine, which would do a more thorough and reliable job. Though the biggest problem of all, of course, was that he didn’t even understand how the bloody device worked in the first place.

That wasn’t entirely true, however. While the image projector was more of a mystery, the com was something he could wrap his head around – if he ignored that fact that it communicated across time, anyway. He decided to focus on the components he did understand, or could at least make some guesses about. There were a couple of possible loose connections; those were easily addressed. It looked like there might have been a tiny burn inside near the casing seam, perhaps where energy in the timestream had leaked in. He cleaned off the resultant micro-layer of soot and ash, and soldered a couple of nearby junctions that appeared to have been damaged. It wasn’t much more than tinkering around the edges, but he had to start somewhere.

Replacing the back of the com, he strapped it around his wrist – and Justin’s projection returned. Thank God for that. The BCI menu for it still worked, too. Now, did the one for the com? Yuuri told himself not to get his hopes up as he walked over to stand in the warmth of the fire.

He waited a moment, holding his breath…and _there_ it was, flashing up in his field of view. It was working! His heart leapt.

_OK, OK, that’s great_. But could he get it to do any more than this? Gripping the edge of the mantel, he gave a mental command for it to call Phichit.

_Please God please God please let someone be there – _

“Yuuri? Yuuri, is that you?” Phichit’s voice, tinny but unmistakable through the speaker holes in the com.

“Phichit!” Yuuri breathed. “Oh my God, Phichit, it’s you! I thought I’d never talk to you again!”

“Same! You’re alive!”

“_You’re _alive! How? When I left – ”

“Yeah, I know. For a minute there, I thought Celestino and I were gonna get ghosted. Anyway, where’ve you been? Why haven’t you called until now?”

“Please, just fill me in on what happened in the lab first? I’ve been so fucking worried.”

After a pause, Phichit replied, “Well, as soon as you disappeared, the jack you swapped places with turned up. Not in the exact same spot, which was a good thing, because that Ian bloke was trying to blow a hole through you with his gun. But it distracted him enough that I was able to take a shot at him – just to stun him, you know.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Phichit said, suddenly sounding proud. “But, um, it didn’t work as well as I hoped. I missed, because I’ve never fired a gun before and I guess it takes some getting used to. Ian got all panicked and fired some wild shots into the room, then ran back out the door.”

He fell silent; this seemed to be the extent of the story. Yuuri’s brow wrinkled as he stared at the com. “Did either of you go after him?”

“He had a gun!”

“So did you.”

“He could’ve killed us! Do you know what it’s like to have that almost happen to you?”

“Yes.”

“You – you do? Since when? Yuuri, what’s been happening to you there? Where – ”

“I’ll get to that in a minute. Are you and Celestino both OK?”

He said they were, and Yuuri listened to the rest of the details as he watched the flames flicker low in the grate. As neither Phichit nor Celestino were confident with using a gun, much less chasing after someone else who’d threatened them with one, they’d focused their attention on the new person in the room, who had begun to demand in his peculiar version of English that they tell him where he was and what had happened.

“At least you don’t have to meet him, Yuuri,” Phichit said. “His name’s Justin, knight of the…Corder…Court…something like that.”

“Justin Courtenay, otherwise known as Justin le Savage. I assume he’s been showing you why he was given the nickname.”

“We had to stun him before we could even get him out of the lab, if that tells you anything. He had a dagger on his belt and he tried to attack Celestino with it.” He added in a confidential tone, “I don’t think he’s quite right in the head, Yuuri. It’s like he’s angry all the time.”

“From what I’ve heard about him, that sounds normal,” Yuuri conceded. “Though the fact that he was uprooted from his life here and plonked down with you two in the future might have something to do with it, too.” His eyes flitted around his room, his surroundings seemingly incongruous now that he was talking with Phichit again. It felt like he ought to be able to switch this off as an Immersion simulation and find himself at the gym, or his flat, or the university. “So what have you done with him? Where is he now?”

Phichit said they’d given him a translator and were keeping him under lockdown in a secure wing of the university as a virtual prisoner. As often as Yuuri had muttered things to himself about Justin in frustration since he’d arrived, he felt bad – guilty, even – about the circumstances the hapless jack now found himself in; Phichit said he kept demanding that they send him home, promising that his father would pay them a kingly ransom. Apparently Dr. Fay was attempting to smooth things over, setting up sparring sessions with weapons experts and re-enactors under close supervision; she’d also shown him the living history museum, though they couldn’t trust him to stay there without trying to run away or harm someone.

“Phichit, if anything happens to him – ” Yuuri began.

“I know. If he got killed, you’d turn up back here. As much as I’d like to see you again, I know that wouldn’t be good. None of us want him to get hurt, either. I promise we’ll take good care of him; try not to worry.”

_That’s easy for you to say_. If Justin had been content at the living history museum like his predecessors, it would’ve helped a great deal.

Yuuri’s hopes that Ian might have revealed something were dashed too, though he’d figured as much when Phichit had explained what had happened in the lab. The police were looking for him, he said, but they hadn’t learned anything new about him, and he’d already proved that he was good at evading attempts to track him down. Yuuri could hardly blame Phichit or Celestino for how events had played out. He _was _glad they hadn’t risked their lives by trying to chase after him, and he said as much to his friend.

He began to pace the room slowly while the daylight faded. His drying clothes slung over the mantel had filled it with the smell of damp wool and earth, which mingled with the ever-present woodsmoke. “It was such a surprise to hear your voice,” he said. “The com wasn’t working when I got here. The projector was, but I couldn’t contact you. It took me a while to find the courage to try to fix it. I mean, I don’t understand the tech, so it seemed like a stupid idea, you know? But whatever I did, it worked. Where are you, anyway?”

“In my office.”

“Holy shit,” Yuuri laughed. “That sounds so…so fucking normal.”

“I guess it would. Where are _you_?” Phichit’s words tumbled out in a rush. “If you changed places with Justin, does that mean you’re a knight? Have…have you had to fight someone already? You said – ”

“I’m OK for now,” Yuuri replied with a reassurance he did not feel. Then he explained what had happened since the moment he’d arrived in the middle of the duel. The sun had set by the time he finished, with Phichit silent for the most part, adding occasional interjections, which became more emphatic and frequent as Yuuri went on, especially when he mentioned the sheep that had caught the plague.

“Shit, Yuuri. But at least if you catch it, the nanobots in your system should be able to take care of it.”

“The only other person here with nanobots is Ailis.”

“I know. But well, it was a fact of life back then, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess so. But there are nice people here. Emil. Monica. Victor, I think. And all the rest of them, just trying to get on with their lives. You’re not here, you don’t see them. It’d be like…” He paused to consider. “I don’t know, everyone at the university catching some disease and dying horribly. You don’t know most of them very well, but even so – ”

“That wouldn’t happen. Anyway, have you – ”

There was a knock at the door, and Emil called through. Yuuri opened it, leaving the com link open after hurriedly telling Phichit not to make a noise.

“I didn’t know if you were aware of the time, sir. Are you ready to come to supper?”

“I, uh…not yet.”

Emil gazed at him. “Is something wrong?”

“No, um, I’m still warming up and drying my clothes. Would…would they let you bring some food here to my room later instead?”

“I could fetch you some when I go to get my own,” Emil said with a shrug, “though I can’t promise any of the choice dishes will be left.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“All right. I’ll see you in a while, then, sir.” With that, Emil left, and Yuuri relocked the door. “He’s gone,” he said into his com.

“Yuuri, that was _amazing. _You were speaking real Middle English with that jack.”

“That’s what it sounded like to you?”

“Yeah! I didn’t understand much of it. It’s like another language. Who was he? What’s it _like _there? Do you get special clothes and food and things because you’re a knight?”

“That was Emil, my squire. And fuck the ‘special’ stuff,” Yuuri added. “This isn’t some fairytale kingdom. The second I arrived here, I almost got a sword through my throat. That could happen again. Or I might be expected to try to do the same thing to someone else. I don’t mind using a sword to defend myself – but to kill?” He huffed. “Jesus Christ. This isn’t the kind of cartoon violence you see in movies; this is real life.”

“I know,” came the quiet response.

“On top of that, everyone thinks I’m the most incompetent knight who ever existed.” As soon as he said it, he remembered it wasn’t quite true; that Victor had seemed to see something in him. But he couldn’t stop the words spilling out. “I’ve had to get my own squire – who’s supposed to look up to me and try to follow in my footsteps or something – to give me lessons on how to ride a horse. He’s had to tell me so many simple things that I made up a story about amnesia to explain why. I’m even having to take dance lessons from the head seamstress along with seven-year-old boys, so that I can do this stuff that’s expected of me. The trainer here is a Scottish pillock who constantly insults me. I haven’t tried using a lance yet. I don’t want to. If they force me into some duel to the death, Phichit, it’s a no-brainer who’s going to get killed. I…” He took several breaths, his throat constricting. If he carried on like this, he was going to plunge into an anxiety attack.

“Yuuri, calm down,” came Phichit’s soothing voice. “OK, I guess I got a little carried away there, imagining you turning into a knight in shining armour.”

“That’s Victor,” Yuuri said, counting his breaths and trying to take them in deep. “Me, I haven’t even _got _my own armour yet. Phichit, this is a nightmare…I’ve been so alone with it all.”

“Well you can talk to me now. I’ll have to tell Celestino you’re still alive; I think he’s giving a lecture. We weren’t sure what to do when we didn’t hear from you…”

Yuuri was silent, continuing to count his breaths as he stared into the fire, now the only light in the room apart from weak purple-grey outside the window.

Phichit eventually continued, “But you’re good with a sword, you said so yourself. You’re in good shape, too.”

“You should see these jacks here,” Yuuri said, raking a hand through his hair. “That’s nothing compared to what they can do. What they’re like. I bet even Victor’s fifteen-year-old squire could beat me.”

“Give yourself some credit, Yuuri. It can’t be as bad as that.”

_Yes it is. _“Some help Dr. Fay was. Why didn’t she tell me any of this stuff? The most useful thing she did was give me the bag of coins. Though that’s something. People here have been accepting them.”

“OK, well maybe _I_ can help. Just tell me how.”

Three more breaths. In, out. The hissing, crackling flames, the only sound in the room, were comforting somehow. “You help just by being there. A voice of sanity in the middle of all this. It feels good to know you’re there and you’re OK.”

“Wow, thanks.”

Yuuri thought a moment. “You’ve got access to information, don’t you? The Cloud, books, whatever. Maybe it’d help if I knew more about this time and place. Specifically here – this castle and the people in it.”

“I’ll double-check, though I’m pretty sure Celestino and Dr. Fay told you everything they knew. A lot of information’s been lost over the centuries. There might be some old books in libraries or churches or something that haven’t been digitised, but I’d have to see what I could find; it might take a while.”

“Thanks.”

“And, um, Yuuri – I know it’s been hard for you there and everything, but have you had a chance to do anything about…well, about your mission? It’s just that I know Celestino will ask.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been trying.” Yuuri decided to start with the most important thing he’d learned in that regard. Well, the only thing. “I found out that the king’s coming here to visit next June.”

“What?” Phichit gasped. “_The _king? Of England?”

“That’s right. I’d been thinking that Ailis might be planning something for when he’s here, though I don’t have any evidence of that yet.”

“You should keep looking, Yuuri. Shit, this is serious – can you imagine what Ailis could get up to with someone that important there?”

“I know. And I’m trying, but it’s going to take time. I’ve also been interviewing women around the castle, but none of the ones I’ve talked to have seemed suspicious. A few of them have got specialist knowledge about the jobs they do that would probably be hard for Ailis to fake, though with her being as intelligent as she is, I don’t think I can say anything for sure. Maybe she learns fast.”

“You ought to keep interviewing people, then.”

“I will. And this is a long shot, but what if she swapped places with a woman who didn’t have any regular business at the castle, found out the king was coming, and decided to try to get a job here so she could be in the perfect place at the perfect time? The last time I spoke to Monica, I asked her if any women started working here at the time Ailis must’ve arrived.”

“And?”

Yuuri explained that she’d given him three names, and he’d found each of the women and talked with them. The cleaner was young, but had calloused hands and a sallow face. The gardener, a middle-aged woman, clearly enjoyed her job and was very knowledgeable about it. And the herbalist appeared to come from a higher social class than the other two; she seemed to want people to know about it as well, by dressing in richer clothing and cultivating a bit of a haughty manner. Yuuri admitted that he could simply be mistaking that for pride in her work and an unwillingness to let any of her trade secrets slip out; though as he’d spoken to her in the courtyard and not in the room where she worked, he couldn’t see how it would be likely. None of these women, however, had given any indication that they were anything other than who they appeared to be. 

“I don’t know what else to do,” he concluded. “I can’t exactly go around picking up DNA. I can’t dust for fingerprints. I don’t even have a flipping magnifying glass like Sherlock Holmes, though I can’t see what I’d do with one anyway. Ailis is going to be careful, and she might want to just get on with whatever life she’s living until the king comes. How do I find her?”

After a pause, Phichit said, “Could she have tampered with time, do you think?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, maybe she’s already killed someone important. Someone who’d show up in the history books.”

“Even if she had,” Yuuri said, shaking his head, “wouldn’t the history books all change, and we’d just believe that what they said was the original natural course of events? How would we know any differently?”

“Jeez, you’re right. We don’t know anything about the rules of time travel.”

“This is going to be practically impossible,” Yuuri sighed, looking at the floor.

“You’ve got to keep trying, Yuuri. I’m probably not a good judge of this, because Celestino was the one who mainly talked to Dr. Quincey and Dr. Croft, but I think maybe you’re already doing better than them. And you’re our last hope.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Yuuri breathed. “I think about that every day. I know I need to find her. But I need to be able to survive here, too. That means being able to play the part of this knight. Somehow. I’ve been training for hours every day. I exercise until my entire body aches. I’ve still got a sore arse from riding my horse, though I suppose I’m getting more used to it now.”

“Sorry, Yuuri.”

He bit his lip. “Yeah, I am, too. Really. This is the first time I’ve been able to tell these things to anyone, and they get me so worked up sometimes. And it’s…well, it’s frightening here. And weird. I don’t know how Ailis manages to fit in so well, if she _is _here at the castle. I’m constantly worried that I’ll do something to give myself away to her, and I’ll end up like…like Dr. Quincey. Or for that matter, in pieces on a battlefield, or in an arena.”

“Just hang in there, OK? Now that the com’s working, you know you can call me whenever you need to, day or night. I’ll see what info I can look up for you. If you want, sometimes maybe you can leave the link open, like you did when that Emil jack came in? I can’t tell you how incredible it was to hear what was going on, and you two talking like that.”

“Yeah, OK, as long as you’re someplace quiet, where you won’t make any noise yourself. They can’t see the com as part of the projection, but they might be able to hear it.”

“Brilliant. I’m looking forward to this. I really am glad you’re OK.”

“Cheers, Phichit,” Yuuri said as he stared into the flames. “You know, though, there’s one more thing you could do for me right now.”

“Sure, just name it.”

“Play me a Nasha Bolaji song.”

A surprised laugh. “Why that?”

“Because I haven’t heard any normal music since I left,” Yuuri replied quietly. “I like her voice. Show me…” He shook his head and huffed. “I know this sounds silly, but show me I’m not going mad. That the world I know is still out there, and I’m not just Justin le Savage dreaming he’s this jack called Yuuri Katsuki.”

There was a pause as Phichit took this in. “Wow. Um, OK. Any particular song of hers?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m on it. Just give me a minute.”

Phichit managed to locate a digital music player. There was nothing technologically sophisticated about placing it on a table next to the com, or the slightly muffled tune that sounded like it was being broadcast from a long way away through a dense medium. Yuuri could make it out well enough; and as Nasha sang the first lines of “Never Gonna Leave You,” it almost felt like a physical touch from the ether, as if what she was really saying was, _Yes you remember me, __yes I’m real, yes you’ll come home one day._ And when tears pricked at his eyes, he let them fall. 


	16. Chapter 16

Over the next several days, Yuuri often called Phichit for short conversations over the com while he was in his bedroom. It was rare that he was able to accept calls when the BCI popped up in his visual field, however, because he was working with Emil or Abelard, or having a meal at the great hall, or doing something else where there were other people. But he’d call back when he was able, thankful that he could. Phichit told him that Celestino was delighted he was still alive – which was rather gratifying, Yuuri had decided with a smirk – and that he was sourcing ancient book archives with the help of Dr. Fay. He was struggling to find information on the Cloud about the castle and its residents from that particular time, he said, and accessing the books would take a while.

Yuuri verbally took Phichit through the beginning of his day a couple of times, to share with him what it was like. In fact, he ended up feeling like a tour guide, and thought what he was saying wouldn’t be out of place at the living history museum.

“It’s pigging cold this morning. The fire goes out in the middle of the night and you just don’t want to get out from under the blanket, I can tell you.

“You wouldn’t believe the weird bright clothes they wear here. This chest I’ve got is like something you’d find in an actor’s dressing room. I could do a good Hamlet. Or, well, Yorick the jester more like.

“I only cut myself twice when I shaved just now. I think that’s a record. The stupid thing is, though, I ought to just let it bloody grow because I can’t let anyone here see the real me anyway.

“Jesus, Phichit, don’t ever try to wash yourself with just a pitcher and basin, and cold water on top of it. What I wouldn’t give for a fucking bucket big enough to sit in and have a proper wash.

“They gave me salt fish again with breakfast. That’s supposed to be a treat. They’re on a no-animal-products fast here for an entire month_. _If I ever see a fish again after this, I’ll chuck it back in the pond.

“You don’t even want to know what goes on at the tannery here. It’s bloody revolting.

“They gave me dolphin for dinner.”

That was the biggest talking point for a while. Yes, Yuuri had tried it, and found it quite tasty. But he’d refused to eat any more on principle, because how could he eat a dolphin? Phichit got Yuuri’s permission to relay the historical information to Dr. Fay, who made notes, he said, and in turn he kept him informed of what was happening at the university. Apparently Celestino and government experts were examining Ailis’s tech and notes and not getting far, and in the meantime they were relying on Yuuri to do what he’d gone back in time to do.

He was aware of that, and of the fact that he was making little progress. But the training he was receiving in knighthood was taking up much of his time. He’d meant what he said in the great hall to the baron and Victor about proving himself, and frankly he was tired of being laughed at and insulted. Perhaps part of Abelard’s problem with him was that he was a better trainer than Yuuri gave him credit for, and therefore saw him as a relative beginner who was beneath him. Yuuri thought he could understand that, but it didn’t stop him from burning in anger at the humiliation the man dished out. There was never any praise. When Yuuri felt confident enough to move from jumping onto the pommel horse while wearing armour to jumping onto his destrier, Abelard said the leper outside the castle gates could move faster. When he scored a win against Sir Chris while sparring with him – his very first win against anyone – Abelard said he was a jammy dodger, and even his five-year-old nephew got lucky sometimes. While he was learning sword moves, he was told it might wake him up a bit if he gave it a good swing between his legs and whacked his own bollocks. Yuuri rather felt he’d like to do that to the infuriating bastard.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt that way toward anyone. People had tried to pick fights with him at school sometimes, but he would find a way to defuse the situation, or just ignore them. Granted, Abelard didn’t tend to be very pleasant with anyone, though he seemed to save his most venomous comments for Yuuri. He’d noticed Victor watching occasionally, without being able to read anything into his expression, though it was easy to start writing disappointment into those fair features.

“You should insult him back, Yuuri,” Phichit said one evening after he’d been training in the cold rain and mud, and was feeling his tether stretched thin. “Call him, I dunno, a – ”

“I’m not going to call him _anything_, Phichit. I don’t want a sword stuck through me.”

I guess you know best.”

_I doubt I do. _

He asked Phichit to play more of his favourite music before going to sleep that night.

The next morning, Emil told him his new armour was now ready, and strode with him through the misty grey morning light to the blacksmith’s workshop, where he had it fitted along with a gambeson.

_I have a helmet, _he thought in wonder as he held it in his hands. Complete with a visor and slits for eyes. Next he was given a pair of gauntlets, which he pulled on and then stared at in awe, as if his hands were not his own. The metal plates tied to his body gleamed like silver mirrors.

They briefly returned to his room in the garrison – the metal making those clanking noises he’d so often heard when the other knights moved – where he saw that a second wooden chest had been delivered. “Ah, good, they’ve brought it,” Emil said, pulling the lid open. “This is for your armour, sir. The plate needs to be dry before it’s put away so that it doesn’t rust. I’m always happy to help you with taking it off and looking after it.” He added, “It’s part of a squire’s job.”

“I think I really may need your help, at least at first,” Yuuri replied. “There are so many different pieces to this, and I don’t know how they’re all tied on.” He walked to the mirror and gasped when he looked.

_Phichit, I wish you could see this._

_I look like Victor now, and the other knights. I still don’t _feel _like a knight, though. Well, maybe a little more than before._

“It looks grand on you, sir. What do you think?”

“Not as heavy as I expected.” Yuuri raised and lowered his arms. “It’ll take some getting used to, but it doesn’t seem to weigh any more than the chainmail shirt I was wearing.”

“It’s quite like the armour you had on when you arrived here. How does it feel to draw and use your sword?”

Yuuri had momentarily forgotten that Emil believed he’d been wearing real armour in the duel, and would therefore probably expect him to be used to it. He drew his sword from its leather scabbard and made some jabs and arcs with the blade. _Sir Lancelot, eat your heart out,_ he thought with a silent laugh. Then he remembered why a knight wore armour in the first place, and what he was expected to do with a weapon. _I’m being stupid. Anyone can strap metal plates to themselves and wave a sword around._

“I’ll leave your helmet in the chest, sir, since the knights generally train without them.” Emil was smiling as Yuuri sheathed his sword. “You do look the part again, sir. Let’s walk down to the training field, and you can tell me if any of your fastenings are too loose or tight, or if anything else doesn’t fit quite right. I daresay Abelard will want to work you hard and get you used to your new plate as quickly as possible.”

That flattened any remaining effervescence about his appearance as they walked through the empty garrison, into the courtyard, and out the castle gates. Yuuri was certain Abelard would think of some appropriate insults for his new armour, and gruelling exercises as well. At least the rain had stopped today, and there were patches of blue sky as the clouds began to part and the mist clinging to the low ground at the bottom of the hill slowly evaporated. The air was chill, but Yuuri was wearing his ordinary tunic and hose underneath the padding and armour, and for once the cold was unable to eat into his bones.

When they entered the stable, he saw to his consternation that the knights and squires were there already, as well as the usual mixed cohort of guards and men-at-arms. Many pairs of eyes were upon him as the room quietened. Ignoring them while his cheeks burned, Yuuri greeted his palfrey with a stroke down her face. Her ears flicked and she whickered.

“No, not the wee lady today,” he heard the familiar Scottish accent instruct from behind. “I want you to practise jumping up onto your destrier. Get the spring back into those sticks you call legs, now you’ve got some plate on ’em. Then I’ll wanna see you building some more strength; I’ll see what I can find you to lift. Don’t be getting ideas above your station because you’re all shiny and new, laddie; I’ve seen dungheaps that made better knights than you.”

As Yuuri led Blaze through the stable, he looked straight ahead, trying to ignore the stares. Emil had gone to spar with the squires, with his permission, so he would be working alone. At the end of the building near the door to the training field, Victor was standing outside his horse’s stall while Julius strapped his armour on him. Yuuri looked down at the ground as he passed.

“He’s wrong,” came Victor’s quiet voice.

Yuuri’s eyes met his, calm and blue; Victor had been speaking to him. “I’m sorry?”

“Show him what you can do. Like you said you would for me.”

“I…” Realising he was staring, Yuuri managed a “thank you” before heading out the door, hearing Julius’s words fading behind him: “Why are you encouraging him? We’d be better off without him here, do you not think, master?” He could not hear Victor’s reply.

Yuuri followed Abelard’s instructions, practising vaulting onto his horse at the far end of the field. He thought it was quite an accomplishment even without armour, and would have felt proud of himself if all the other knights and squires hadn’t already been able to do it routinely. Now that he was wearing plate mail, however, his weight distribution was different, and he fell more often than he succeeded, the impact on the ground seemingly magnified by the clanks his armour made. Blaze was not well pleased at his scrabbling efforts either, snorting and stomping at the clumsy handling.

Eventually, feeling bruised all over, Yuuri decided to ride around the field. His mobility was significantly enhanced, he discovered, with properly fitted plates tied to him as opposed to an oversized chainmail shirt hanging off his shoulders. Even sitting on the leather saddle was more comfortable, because there was no armour over his nether regions, front or back; just a short metal skirt Emil had called a fauld, comprised of horizontal loops that could fold together like an accordion to enable him to move and bend. A lot of engineering had gone into these metal suits, he realised.

“Oi there, did I say you could have yourself a merry wee trot?” shouted Abelard, who was standing with the squires near the stable as Yuuri approached. “Get the fuck off the horse and put your back into taking those sacks of manure to the rose gardens. They’re not gonna get up and walk there themselves.”

_Sacks of manure? You must be joking. _Yuuri reined up and jumped off Blaze. “Can’t someone else do that?” But he regretted it as soon as he’d said it.

“Too high and mighty, are we? Since when? You can hardly aim to piss up a tree, and you call yourself a knight. You can bloody well do what I tell you to.”

Yuuri’s heart began to race. Emil’s eyes were wide but he remained silent. Philip and Roland gave quiet snorts, while Julius guffawed. Yuuri sized the Scotsman up. Muscular, but also stocky; it wouldn’t be hard to outrun him, not that he had any intention of doing so. Something about him reminded Yuuri of a bulldog – his shape and the ferocity of his bark, perhaps.

How long could he reasonably be expected to put up with this? Not only was the man ceaselessly having a go at him, but now he wanted him to haul shit around the castle grounds.

Well, he wouldn’t do it.

“I’m stabling my horse,” he announced firmly, looking into Abelard’s flinty eyes. “Then I’m going to practise being a knight. If you want to help, you can suggest some suitable things for me to – ”

“I _told _you what I wanted you to do, ya jumped-up walloper.”

This time all of the squires apart from Emil laughed, and out of the corner of his eye Yuuri could see several of the fighting men gathering at the wooden fence that ran the length of the field, having heard Abelard’s shouts. Somehow he didn’t think anyone was about to tell Abelard that his behaviour had been inappropriate.

_They’re not going to have grievance procedures you can file, Yuuri. This is a different world. _

_You can’t run away again, either._

He swallowed. “Leave me alone,” he bit out, beginning to lead Blaze forward.

“You don’t give orders to me, laddie – you take ’em,” Abelard said, drawing his sword.

“Are you threatening me?”

_Yes, he is. And a proper knight wouldn’t stand here saying so – he’d attack._

_I’m not attacking anyone._

“Do you _feel _threatened, ya weak-kneed milksop? I’ll give you a ‘suitable thing to do’.” He leaned forward and said very deliberately, with a smile, “Go kiss the cunt of a cow.”

The three squires were doubling over with laughter now, and there were similar sounds floating across the field from the fence.

“Do you need instructions?” Abelard asked, breaking into laughter himself.

Yuuri set his mouth in a firm line, narrowed his eyes, took a step back, and drew his sword, the cloud of laughter that surrounded him suddenly vapourising. “You’re a foul-mouthed lout. I don’t care who the fuck you are; go haul your sacks of shit around yourself.” He made tiny jabs in the air with his sword while he spoke. _He’ll cut you to ribbons, _a voice told him, but he ignored it.

It seemed to be exactly what Abelard was waiting for. He brandished his sword as the squires backed away and made room; the force of it when it met Yuuri’s sent vibrations up his arm. As metal clanged against cold metal, silver flashing, he was horrified to discover that his first instinct was still to move the way he used to when fighting in _Swords and Sorcery_, which worked in Immersion but was sadly inefficient in real life_. _He’d been watching and learning, however, and managed to stay on his toes, thrusting and parrying, and searching for an opening where his opponent was weak. But that opponent was Abelard, who trained knights.

_What the hell am I doing, trying to fight him?_

_Saving face, for the first time since I got here._

He anticipated a kick and dodged out of the way, Abelard quickly regaining his balance, though not before Yuuri got in a blow that would have sent his opponent’s sword flying out of his hands if he hadn’t been gripping it so tightly. Whistles and shouts came from the direction of the fence, though astoundingly, they sounded appreciative this time. The squires were standing and watching quietly with surprise on their faces.

“Got some fight in you after all, I see,” Abelard said as they circled each other. “I was beginning to think you were nothing but a pus-faced chicken-brained yellow coward.”

Yuuri darted forward. The sudden support from parts of the audience was a spark that ignited something within him. The clash of steel, the glitter of silver plate, pushing forward and retreating…it was like some kind of dance. Yuuri whirled and struck, limbs fluid, anticipating his opponent’s moves well. When they broke away again and circled, he glanced at the fence. A sizeable audience had gathered, maybe a dozen men – and Victor. Chris was leaning against the fence next to him, and looked at his neighbour with a raised eyebrow. But Victor’s eyes were on Yuuri.

With a renewed ferocity, Yuuri shouted and thrust his sword at Abelard, who parried with a heavy clang that resonated across the field. Shoving Yuuri back, he reversed his blade and swung the pommel in an arc; Yuuri jumped away, but not quickly enough, and a flower of pain erupted in his left shoulder. Eyes watering, he noted his gloating opponent’s distraction with the audience and lunged forward, knocking him to the ground to the sound of loud cheers. Each quickly scrambled to his knees, gripping his sword. Yuuri’s breaths came fast as he locked his gaze with Abelard’s, eyes sparking.

_Just try it, you bastard. I’ll get you._

But Abelard’s expression was curiously relaxed. “That’s how it’s supposed to work, laddie. I give you a bollocking, you give me one back.” He lowered his sword, then stood and sheathed his weapon. “Next time I won’t go so easy on you.”

_Easy? _Yuuri frowned as he got to his feet. Of course – there was no way he’d do so well against Abelard otherwise. As he looked at the faces of the squires and the men at the fence, however, some still appeared surprised, while he hoped he detected a glimmer of respect in others. And what was Victor thinking? Yuuri watched his mouth quirk into a small smile; his heart gave a little leap and he grinned back. Then Victor turned to Chris and the two of them entered the stable.

“Why are you standing there with your sword like a wazzock?” Abelard asked, and Yuuri’s attention snapped back to him. “Put it away, man. We’re done sparring. Consider that your first real lesson from me. You didn’t do too badly either, all in all. Took a while to stir those ashes in you to find a bit of courage burning under there, though. What’s it they call you – the Savage?” He laughed and shook his head. “What nutter gave you that name? I was beginning to think I’d have to poke my sword into your nadgers or something just to get a reaction.”

As Yuuri slowly sheathed his weapon, he stared, taking this in. Abelard had been goading him to try to get him to fight? It had been some kind of training strategy? _Fucking hell. _He wiped the sweat from his brow with the fabric palm of his gauntleted hand.

“Now, let’s see how fast you can run with a bunch of metal plates all over you. Ten laps of the field. Away with you.” 


	17. Chapter 17

“You got into a fight? With real swords and everything?” came Phichit’s awed voice over the com.

Yuuri was sitting on the floor by the fire, in his hose and braies and long-sleeved nightshirt. The events of earlier in the day had continued to run through his mind, and eventually he thought it might help if he shared them with Phichit. The dying flames glowed soft and orange, the only light in the room.

“I didn’t mean to. Abelard didn’t give me much choice. That seems to be his training strategy – wind me up and humiliate me until I react.”

“But you weren’t actually trying to kill each other or anything, were you?”

“Of course not.” Yuuri rubbed his shoulder and winced. He was sporting a black and purple bruise the size of an orange, he’d noticed earlier when he changed his shirt. “We’re all supposed to be on the same side.”

“Could’ve fooled me, the way people have been going at you.”

“Yeah, well.”

“They’re not planning on putting you in another duel anytime soon, are they?”

“No. At least, I hope not.”

“I wish I could’ve seen it. It sounds like you were brilliant.”

“I don’t think so. You should see how the real knights here fight. I’ve still got a lot to learn. Maybe I’m finally starting to, though. Emil had good things to say afterward, and for once I didn’t get the impression that he was just being obsequious, you know that way servants have, even if they’re insulting you behind your back.”

“Do you think that’s what he does?”

A little grin touched Yuuri’s face. “At first I bet he complained about me to his friends, whoever they are; the other squires, maybe. Some of the other fighting men. Now, though…no,” he decided. “He’s a nice jack. I hope I can show him that I’m going to keep getting better at all this. Victor, too; I promised him.”

Phichit paused, then said, “You know, Yuuri, I’m really pleased for you. At the same time, though, do you think you could keep talking to the women at the castle?”

“I am, but I don’t have any leads yet. You know as much as I do so far.”

“Are you keeping an eye out?”

“Yes, I am. I can’t hang around them all the time, though. I’m a knight. You should see how they react just when I walk into the kitchen. Besides, I’ve already been seen with several of them, and people think I’m trying to get laid or something.”

Phichit laughed. “Maybe you should. It might help you relax.”

Yuuri huffed in response. “One, I’m not attracted to women – though if I was and I followed your advice, I daren’t think what the repercussions would be if she got…well anyway, it’s not going to happen. And two, I’m not exactly in the mood anyway. You don’t _relax _in a place like this. I have to make sure I don’t give myself away with something I say or do, and I’m still trying to figure out the mad ways everything works. That’s when I’m not fighting in a muddy field.”

“I get that, Yuuri. Look, you know what you’re doing better than anyone, and you’re trying your best.”

They finished the call, Yuuri feeling catapulted back across time. Rain had begun to patter against the shutters, and the wind gusted now too, occasionally blowing down the stone chimney, making a noise like a breath across the top of an empty glass bottle and fanning the coals into little flames.

He reflected on Phichit’s words as he stared at the flickering light. _Trying my best? Yes, for what it’s worth. But – know what I’m doing? I’m not so sure._

The lack of progress on his mission frustrated and worried him. Several times he’d considered trying to sneak into different rooms, but he always returned to the reason why he’d decided not to in the first place. Privacy was rare to come by here; many people shared rooms, and they were coming and going all the time. There was no guarantee that if he had the luck to find Ailis’s room, he’d find anything incriminating there, and it was entirely possible he’d be caught. It wasn’t worth the risk – not yet. If there was someone he finally found reason to suspect, that would be a different matter.

Training today, however, had felt like more of a success at last. Abelard still swore at him, but he swore at many other people too; and after Yuuri had returned to the stable from the gruelling run in his plate mail, he received a lesson from the Scotsman on how his sparring performance could be improved. There was still no praise to be had, but he’d found the information useful.

Strange, he thought, how natural the moves had felt to him. He realised now that Victor had been at the back of his mind – a vision of him whirling and dancing in a sparkle of silver, limbs and sword in harmony. Yuuri had wanted to try to capture some of that beauty and find out how it felt. And it had been…

_Rapture._

He wrinkled his brow, then laughed aloud at himself. “Just a slight exaggeration,” he said into the empty room, his grin fading to a smirk before dying completely.

But it _had _been special. The satisfaction of being able to channel artistry into something he was doing. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything quite like it before.

“Artistry?” he said, shaking his head. “Get real, Katsuki. All of those men could still beat you in seconds flat.”

Though maybe he could give them a challenge now. Maybe he would even be able to beat them sometimes; he’d done it twice, after all. One day, perhaps he’d do well enough that Victor and the other knights would come to respect him.

Not Julius, though. He huffed a little laugh again. Thanks to Justin’s past behaviour, he would have a chip on his shoulder for a long time to come. If he ever managed to win the squire over, he’d consider himself a knight of the fucking Round Table.

* * *

Over the next several days, Yuuri wouldn’t have claimed he was relaxed, but it felt like he’d reached a new equilibrium. He was getting used to the myriad rituals involved in meals in the great hall, from making polite conversation with his fellow fighting men to joining in with the group dances that occasionally occurred after supper, which thanks to Monica were no longer a mystery to him, even if they still seemed rather strange and twee. His shaving and washing skills improved, and he no longer felt desperate enough to plunge himself into a river with a bar of soap. Even dealing with the quirks of his clothes was becoming second nature, from tying the tops of his hose to his braies, to fastening and unfastening the long dense chain of little buttons down his tunic. He was even slowly learning how to put his armour on and remove it, and what every piece was called, with Emil’s help; though despite his squire’s insistence, he was determined to do it all himself as soon as he could, having no wish to be reliant on anyone else for something so basic and personal.

With a change in the weather to brighter and drier days came the realisation that Christmas was fast approaching, and even though Yuuri knew it was bound to be celebrated differently here, there was a familiarity to the holiday that was reassuring somehow. He’d seen cloth bags hanging from hooks in the kitchen that he’d been informed were plum puddings, and occasionally he’d swear he smelled the aroma of mince pies baking while he was in the courtyard. He continued to ply Emil with questions, and though he expressed dismay that Yuuri’s memory was not returning, he was as willing as ever to help.

Emil explained that the Christmas festival was spread over twelve days, and it would be a time of relaxation and feasting, though he mustn’t get his hopes up that the knights would stop their training. That, and other essential activities in the castle, would carry on largely as normal, he said. One day Yuuri stepped outside the garrison just in time to witness a whole section from the thick trunk of a tree being pulled over the ground by long ropes tied around it. It was taken into the great hall, and he wondered how it would fit into the fireplace. It was the Yule log, Emil told him, and would burn until Twelfth Night, which Yuuri was familiar with from the title of the Shakespeare play.

With the wet grey days gone for now, the palette that painted the world seemed to have brightened. Emerald-green grassy fields, aqua streams glinting in the sun as they flowed in ribbons between the hills, the blue and yellow pennants atop the turrets, the colourful clothes worn by just about everyone. Unlike Yuuri’s own time, where people were more inclined to stay indoors during the short cold days, activity never seemed to cease here. Farmers tended to their animals, travellers passed on the roads, and traders visited the castle with laden wagons, selling everything from cloth to spices to kitchenware. The ground glazed over with ice in the chill air, and while it made for rougher falls during training, it was pleasant not to be caked in mud at the end of every day, even if an occasional dusting of snow made it easier to slip and fall.

This happened mainly when Yuuri began to tire on his runs. Abelard seemed fond now of making him sprint up and down the great hill between the stable and the castle, and timed him with an hourglass. He was relentless in his expectations that Yuuri cover specific distances in certain times, always in full armour; but he was steadily improving. Between that and working with a variety of weapons, he was sure his muscles were larger and harder when he felt them.

That wasn’t to say he was having as much success with the weapons as he would have wished for. He’d tried using a lance a few times, initially on foot aiming for Abelard’s wooden shield, which he thought hadn’t gone badly; but atop his destrier, aiming at the quintain, he only evoked more laughs as it swung round every time and smacked him. His lance would be knocked out of his hands, and he’d be knocked off his horse. It didn’t take him long to develop a natural aversion to the activity.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t any better with a bow and arrow. This was something he’d been aware of from _Swords & Sorcery_, and no amount of training from Abelard or even Emil seemed to be able to help. He knew he had good hand-eye co-ordination, but he never could seem to get a feel for the way both of his hands needed to work in conjunction with the bow, especially when there was an arrow nocked on it. Julius expressed a mixture of amusement and scorn when he was around to see, and Yuuri had to concede that the squire had a point, because his own aim was incredible. He didn’t want to lower himself even further in Julius’s regard by asking for his help, but he surreptitiously watched whenever he could, hoping to learn. Maybe with practice, he thought, he might be able to improve.

But it was the sword that continued to be his best weapon. Abelard taught him stances, grips and tactics; and between the insulting names, Yuuri listened and took mental notes, often sparring with him or Chris or Charles, and occasionally scoring a win, though these were still rare.

Victor never took a direct hand in his training; it appeared that he was only interested in working with his own squire or the other two knights, none of whom posed a real challenge to him. Yuuri assumed he would have to be at least at their level before Victor thought it worth his while to spar with him; he made this an incentive to continue to train as hard as he could, sometimes ending up so sore from his efforts that it was difficult to sleep at night. 

Having been dismissed from training at the end of one day, Yuuri saw Victor emerge from the stable astride his chestnut destrier, guiding it in a trot to the middle of the field. He was in full plate armour minus a helmet, as he usually was when he came to the field, and a long blue lance was couched on his arm.

_I wish I could talk to him. _But there was an invisible barrier between them, it seemed. Yuuri knew Victor saw him watching sometimes, like now; there had been a momentary glance his way. Then again, everyone watched Victor and tried to follow his example; it was the sensible thing to do if you wanted to improve.

_And anyway, what would we talk about? I didn’t come here to make friends. Not that someone like him would be interested in me. For a start, he tried to kill me in a duel. Then there’s the fact that I’m still not as good at most things as the other knights and even the squires. If I really wanted his attention, I’m sure I’d have to earn it._

In which case, it would probably never happen. For a moment, Yuuri was tempted to talk to Phichit about Victor during their next call. But he didn’t think words could convey the beauty of what his eyes took in when Victor…danced. It was _all _dancing, everything he did.

Yuuri’s eyes followed the horse streaking across the field. Victor tilted his lance at the quintain; the impact on the wood sent a loud crack echoing through the air, and he was well past the apparatus before the sack pivoted round. He did this a few more times, making it look easy. Maybe it was his way of winding down after training. What _did _challenge him? Was there a knight anywhere who was capable of beating him in a duel?

_I don’t want to see him or anyone else in a real duel, ever again. That includes me._

Victor rode his horse in a wide circle around the field at speed, then slowed and headed back toward the stable, passing Yuuri at a distance. The blue eyes glanced his way again, a little longer this time, and there was a mild expression of acknowledgement before he disappeared into the building.

_Show’s over for today, I guess._ Yuuri huffed and shook his head.

Approaching the most direct path up the hill to the castle, he came across a cavalcade of horses and carts hauling sacks. There had been more traffic to and from the castle recently because of the upcoming holiday, and Yuuri had got used to seeing the extra supplies being delivered to the kitchen and great hall.

Wanting to avoid getting caught up in it all, he decided to take an alternate route, and halfway up the hill he caught sight of something sitting at the top of a smaller hill opposite him that he’d never noticed before, probably because he’d never looked from this angle. It was difficult to make out what it was, with dusk fast approaching and the sun silhouetting it from behind.

Aware that he’d probably only find some clunky medieval contraption whose purpose he couldn’t begin to guess, Yuuri nevertheless decided to go have a look, sprinting down the hill and up the next one. When he arrived at the flat grassy top, he saw that he’d been correct; whatever this was, it had been fashioned from wood, stained a rich russet colour, and varnished. But the elements had been eating away at it up here, with nothing to shelter it from the wind and the rain, and it was beginning to look mottled and bleached in places.

“What the hell?” he mused. It appeared to be a sturdy horizontal wheel about three meters in diameter, attached at chest height to a metal post in the middle which secured it to the ground. Smooth, thick spokes divided it into six equal segments. Yuuri grabbed the rim with both gauntleted hands and pulled. It took some effort, but with a gentle squeak it turned.

Surely not a wheel for a vehicle like a coach; it was too big. There weren’t any others to be seen, either. What use was one wheel? If there had been a building nearby, or a waterway, Yuuri might have suspected it had a part in pumping or powering something; he knew little about fourteenth-century technology. But up here on its own like this? The wind whipped at him, its icy fingers reaching into his hair and blowing his cloak out behind him. It seemed an isolated setting for something that clearly once had a purpose, which had either been forgotten or perhaps become obsolete.

Giving it one last spin and watching the spokes turn in a stately motion, he told himself he’d be constantly distracted if he investigated every strange primitive device he came across here. Pulling his cloak around himself, he set off back down the hill, wondering what kind of fish, or pseudo-fish, there’d be for supper.

* * *

“Come, sir!” A red-painted wooden club with little golden bells was shaken in front of Victor’s face. “Will you not join the lord in serving your guests?”

Victor placed his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers, leaning his lips and chin against them while he sought a little patience.

This year the Lord of Misrule was a balding blacksmith from the village, John Bartholomew, with a paunch that bulged over his belt and a red nose, likely due to a fondness for ale. He wore the usual motley: a bright green tunic fringed with leaf shapes, a red leg and a yellow leg, a yellow fabric collar, and a gold-coloured paper crown. And, of course, he carried the traditional “sceptre”.

Andrei took the custom seriously, even though it wasn’t one that was practised in the Russian courts, from Victor’s understanding; and that meant allowing this festive lord to take the prominent place at the high table and order people about. Most seemed to find it amusing, especially when they’d imbibed enough wine. Victor knew his father didn’t, but he did what was requested of him within reason. Natalia sometimes joined in, but had chosen to ignore John and his bells this year; she had eaten and drunk her fill today and appeared a picture of lassitude until John approached the table to remind her and Victor that he had been given the power to tell them what to do. Victor wished someone had been sharing his plate tonight, because he or she might have given the man a distraction; but their usual Christmas guests had had other plans their year, and it was a quiet holiday by the castle’s standards.

“Kindly find someone who’s more amenable to your requests,” Victor said, his gaze dropping downward to his hands.

“But your father the lord is fetching dishes from the kitchens with the other servants, so if it isn’t beneath him, how is it beneath you?” He gave his club another shake.

“I don’t see it as beneath me. I’m just not in the right the humour.” He looked back up at John and raised an eyebrow. “I won’t be moving from this seat, my good man, so you may as well give it up.”

Making an elaborate pretence of being affronted, John looked at Natalia, but before he could speak, she pre-empted him. “Go where you’re wanted. We’re not playing tonight.” And with a shrug, he crossed the hall and sneaked up on Andrei from behind, shouting “boo” and causing him to slosh the tureen of soup he was holding. The diners erupted in laughter. Andrei made a low bow, took a towel from a boy carrying them on his arm for people to dry their clean hands with, and mopped the soup from the floor. Victor gave a small smile and idly played with the stem of his goblet.

“I take it you’re not interested in his antics,” Natalia said. Two blue eyes, as pale as his own, regarded him.

“I take it you aren’t either, madam.”

She ran a finger along the rim of her goblet. “No. And it’s unseemly for Andrei to be. They’re laughing at him.”

“It’s a time-honoured tradition in this country. I don’t think there’s any harm in it.”

A young maid dashed up to the table, breathless from either exertion or merriment. “Ma’am,” she said, dipping a low curtsey, “please will you come help us light the Yule log?”

Natalia sighed, then smiled. “Very well. As long as Lord Nikiforov can join me. I think he’s had enough of playing the servant boy tonight.”

She arose and accompanied the girl to the fireplace, where the Yule log had been placed on the massive grate along with smaller pieces of firewood and kindling; it had been adorned with wreaths of holly. Victor knew he ought to go and help with the lighting ceremony. Or take the place of his father, serving the last delicacies to the diners and good-naturedly accepting the Lord of Misrule’s commands, which were often just ridiculous or lewd enough to entertain without being considered obscene.

Two Christmases ago, he had Victor dancing barefoot on a table, minus his hat and tunic as well. It had taken a little extra wine for him to get into the spirit, but he remembered enjoying it. The following Christmas had been very different, however; and this…well, maybe it was the vacant place next to him on the bench, but he couldn’t help but think of Alex, and that made silly antics impossible. He longed to remove himself to the garrison to spend the evening as he preferred, with a small group of men who knew him, and with whom there was no need to be on show; but contented himself for now to sip his wine and let his gaze rove over the guests.

It eventually came to rest on Justin, sitting next to Chris. The latter, true to form, was singing songs with Philip his squire, and trying to get Justin to join in; but the fellow appeared to want none of it, returning a rather bemused smile. Victor continued to wonder at his newfound quiet, polite manner. Perhaps the duel and the move to the castle had had a more profound effect on him than Victor had at first thought.

He was a riddle in other ways as well. His fitness level and knowledge of weapons and horseback riding had been improving rapidly, though in some areas he’d been building himself up from the beginning, it seemed. Was that what he’d been referring to when he’d said that he’d lost some of his memory since the duel and had needed extra help? It was conceivable, but somehow there had to be more to it than that. Victor couldn’t remember having seen Justin fight before their duel of several weeks back, but his style had changed since then. In his confrontation with Abelard, there had been a deliberation and a grace, a maturity even, that had previously been absent. Those were fundamental qualities that tended to come from within rather than from training, even with someone as capable as Abelard. Whence, then, had they suddenly arisen?

Curious about this, Victor had kept an eye on him on occasion when they were at the training field together. Justin’s struggles with a bow and arrow, and the lessons he’d required in order to ride his horse, had been perplexing; but mixed with the lack of skill, and a certain awkwardness at times, were determination and talent. He was a rough gem waiting to be polished into a shining jewel. It seemed utterly absurd to say so, but Victor was certain it would be possible if circumstances favoured. He was not fond of the rather brutal training methods Abelard sometimes employed, and the man lacked the inspiration and creativity that were the hallmarks of the very best; but Justin might still learn a great deal from him…or even from himself perhaps, when the time seemed right. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm him just when he was trying to find his footing.

Victor remembered watching him like this, here in the great hall, during the supper after the duel. The disquietude in his demeanour seemed to have mellowed into guardedness that observed, took in and deliberated, without giving much away. Chris and Charles had both made offhand remarks about how little he tended to say when he sat next to them in the great hall. For Charles, that was a definite plus, because he loved nothing more than a receptive audience for his tales about himself, which was why Victor tended to avoid him when he could. Chris, on the other hand, could be uncomfortable with a taciturn person, and was not particularly good at drawing people out of their armour so that they felt more at ease.

Victor wondered what Justin would say to him if they ate together. Though that wasn’t going to happen during a formal meal. Ordinary knights did not sit at the high table unless they were receiving special favour from the noble family. 

The hall rang with laughter as John Bartholomew announced that any man brave enough to arrive at dinner the following day in a dress could sit as his consort at the high table, and was enthusiastically answered by Abelard, who said it would be no problem for him as he would wear his kilt. Justin’s eyes – a deep blue hue, though they sometimes seemed to have a dark flash to them that Victor was sure he must be imagining; perhaps a trick of the light – flicked over the scene, but instead of laughing he drank from his cup.

_What would make you laugh, I wonder. I’m sure I recall that it once used to be the humiliation of others, especially when you’d brought it about. Somehow I can’t see that happening now._

Perhaps Justin had been so profoundly affected by the recent events in his life that he’d reinvented himself. The change in his appearance was probably symbolic of that. He looked younger now, yet at the same time there was a gravity to him; and even those flamboyant clothes he’d been wont to wear had disappeared. The preening and frippery that were now missing meant that you were drawn to his face, his expression, his eyes. In fact, it was all rather fetching.

_Remember, this is the same man who was thirsting to fight you to the death, and would rather have forced you to kill him than lose. He did that. It’s a fact._

Which made the change in him all the more remarkable. Victor could still see him in his mind’s eye, on bent knee, his head bowed. _I beg your forgiveness, sir, and hope you’ll give me the chance to show you that I’m no longer the person I was. _

Victor felt a flutter in his chest as he recalled the moment. It was…interesting, he thought as he took another sip of wine, watching Justin dubiously accept a cuskynole from the bowl Chris proffered to him – had he never tasted the fruit-filled pasta parcels before? Perhaps they were a specialty of Fernand’s, Victor thought with a smile. Justin took a nibble, then his eyes lit up, and he ate the rest of the sweet with some gusto.

Yes, Victor decided, he must be sure to continue to temper his thoughts with what had happened in the duel…because he was rather keen to discover more about this intriguing man.


	18. Chapter 18

Adam, Luke, Ralph, Simon. Godfrey, Alan, Urien. And the others. They wanted to ply Victor with food and drink, as if he hadn’t had enough already today. Urien, a tall lanky tow-headed guard, was singing an alehouse song while a few of his friends did something resembling a jig, despite their crowded surroundings. Snow was falling lightly in the quiet darkness outside the garrison, though inside the fire leapt merrily in the grate, the flames in the candelabras danced, and the press of bodies warmed the room to a little beyond optimal comfort, while giving it a somewhat ripe smell that mixed with the herbs and spices from mince pies, gingerbread, sugared fruits and flower petals, mulled wine, and other delicacies scattered around the tables. In want of a breath of fresh air, Victor threaded his way to the other side of the room, flashing smiles at those who clapped him heartily on the back as he went, opened a shutter, and propped a window open. Chill air crept down the wall from the dark aperture, along with a few powdery white flurries.

As he turned back to the room, he spotted Justin sitting in a dark corner and nursing a pewter tankard; from his vacant look, his mind seemed to be elsewhere. Emil said he was a private person who spent a deal of time in his room. He didn’t appear to be in a social mood now, either. Nothing in his posture or expression suggested standoffishness or cold unapproachability, however. He was wearing a dark brown tunic that fitted his form well, and tan hose, though the flat round brown hat he usually wore was absent; and his short golden locks fell softly onto his forehead, their red tint heightened by the glow of the fire. It was a curiously bland ensemble for a festive day. Victor, hatless as well in the warm room, was wearing a baggy scarlet long-sleeved shirt open at the neck and cinched around his waist by his belt, billowing back out underneath until it reached his knees. The embroidered gold patterns glinted as he moved. It was more Russian in style than English, though his father wasn’t the only one who occasionally enjoyed the customs of their family’s homeland.

But what was Justin pondering there in the shadows? Victor’s eyes alighted on a side table with vessels containing festive drinks. Struck by an idea, he grabbed two empty tankards and went to join Justin in his quiet corner. The knight looked up at him from his stone bench, surprise in his eyes.

“Good evening,” Victor said with a small grin. “You’re by yourself here, I see.”

Justin considered for a moment, then replied, “I, um…well, Emil said he thought I’d enjoy being here tonight.” He added, “With it being Christmas.”

“And you’ve decided you don’t agree,” Victor offered as a statement of fact rather than a criticism.

A flicker of alarm passed through Justin’s eyes. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

Such a change from the bold, impassioned speech this man had given to him and his father in the great hall. _Do I make him uncomfortable with my presence? Odd. Surely I can’t be that off-putting. Perhaps he’s still thinking about the duel. _“My good man, now that we’re both knights of the castle, I hope we can put unpleasant memories behind us and start over. What do you say – will you drink with me?” He held the tankards up.

Again the surprised look. “I…well, yes. But I’ve already got a drink.”

“What, the thin beer?” Victor laughed. “They’ve just brought in the wassail bowl. Wouldn’t you rather have some of that?”

Justin looked blank for a moment. Then he said, “Thanks, I…I’ll try it.”

“Leave your beer on the bench; someone will come round to collect it.” He tilted his head toward the drinks table. “Follow me.”

When they got to the large silver bowl – which had been properly warmed, Victor was pleased to find when he touched the back of a finger to the metal – he handed one of the tankards to Justin, who stood and waited, reminding Victor of a small uncertain bird. “Help yourself,” he said, dipping his tankard into the bowl while avoiding catching any floating slices of apple, cinnamon sticks, or chunks of toast, which were a bit awkward to eat once sodden.

“What’s in it?” Justin asked, looking at the bowl as if it had sprouted limbs.

“Wassail. You have that at your father’s castle, don’t you?” He added, as Chris came over to scoop his own tankard through the mixture, “Mulled cider with a sop of toast, if you want it.”

Justin leaned over to have a closer look; the bowl had been filling the room with the heady seasonal aromas of apple, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves. Then he inhaled, his eyes closing in pleasure, and the thoughts tumbled out of Victor’s head.

Justin filled his tankard and tried a sip, deliberated, and took a longer draught. “It’s delicious,” he said with a sudden smile. “Thank you, um, sir…Victor.”

“Just Victor,” he reminded him between sips of his own drink.

“But you’re the son of the baron. Don’t you want people to use a title when they talk to you?”

“We’re knights. So no, it’s not necessary. And anyway,” he added, “you’re the son of a baron yourself. We’re equals.”

Justin’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t say that, no.”

“Why not?”

“Your abilities as a knight,” he said quietly, looking down with pinking cheeks. “I can’t imagine many people would be equal to those.”

Though Victor knew the truth of the words, no one had ever spoken to him quite like this before. If they were from a lower social station, they would be bowing and ensuring their speech was properly deferential. His peers, on the other hand – especially if they were knights – would be informal, certainly; while more than a few had a petty, sardonic attitude born of a privileged upbringing in which their every need had been catered to. His reputation being what it was, Victor had had to deal with some who were hot to challenge his prowess in the arena, or hot for other things besides, thinking to take the whole of him as a trophy. Tyler had perhaps been the best of the bunch, which wasn’t any great feat.

But Justin was either very gifted at flattery – or he was simply sincere. Victor doubted the light blush could be easily faked. “Abelard’s reported to me on your progress,” he said, stepping aside to allow others access to the wassail bowl, with Justin following. “I’ve seen you out in the field myself. You seem to be doing well in some areas, while you’ve been catching up with other things you’ve forgotten. Would you agree?”

After a pause, Justin replied, “I guess that’s fair enough.”

“I don’t recall giving you such a hard blow to the head that it should’ve caused you to lose your memory, though. In fact, I didn’t hit you over the head at all.”

Another flash of alarm. “I hit a rock when I fell.”

“Oh.” As the silence stretched, he added, “I’m sorry.”

“Tell me you’re sorry for almost putting your sword through my throat,” Justin muttered; then he caught himself and gave Victor that wide-eyed look. “I didn’t mean – ” he began to add hastily.

“You gave me little choice.” Victor raised an eyebrow. “Though talking to you like this, it’s hard to believe I’m with the same person. I daresay it must be likewise for you. You saw me at my worst. Unlike some knights, Justin, I don’t enjoy killing people. I’d prefer never to have to do so again.”

“You’ve killed people?” Justin whispered, lowering his tankard as if he’d forgotten he was holding it.

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Well, yes. Unfortunately. So have you.” He sipped his drink, eyeing him.

“I…of course I have. But I don’t want to either. Again.”

“You know,” Victor said softly after a moment, “against my better judgement, I think I believe you. Strange as it is. There doesn’t seem to be much of the savage about you,” he added contemplatively. “Did someone give you your nickname in jest, I wonder?” Justin seemed to be struggling for an answer, but the pleased look on his face was plain, and it was becoming to him, Victor thought. “Well, then. In time, maybe we can find something more suitable.” He raised his tankard. “To your good health.”

* * *

Yuuri leaned back into the corner, the stone walls behind him offering some relief from the warmth and stuffiness of the room. Two official-looking men in luxurious clothing had approached Victor, who’d made his apologies and gone to a quieter area near a hallway to talk with them. Yuuri had seen them many times before; he guessed they were involved with the day-to-day running of the castle. Having lost his partner in conversation, though feeling glad in a way that he’d been saved the continuing embarrassment of struggling to think of the right things to say, he’d refilled his tankard with wassail and returned to the stone bench where he’d originally been sitting, preferring it here where he was seen to be present yet was under no obligation to talk to anyone.

This drink really was tasty, he’d decided, sipping at the heavily spiced autumnal blend of flavours. The addition of the toast struck him as odd, though they seemed to enjoy dipping bread into just about everything here. His cheeks were warm, and the sounds in the room were beginning to blur together into an undulating background hum – talk, laughter, shouts, pieces of song, the clink of plates and cups, notes weaving up from a lute, the crackle and hiss of logs on the fire.

Emil had briefly joined him, holding a tankard, his cap slightly askew, saying he was pleased to see his master getting on well with Sir Victor after a “difficult” start, and did he require any food or drink?

“I’ve had enough today to last me for a week, thanks just the same,” Yuuri had replied, thinking back to the feast in the great hall that had gone on for hours, course after course; though as always, the diners seemed to be expected to have small tastes from a variety of dishes, so he’d never felt obliged to gorge himself. The entertainment had included larger-than-usual groups of musicians and singers, the strange Lord of Misrule who made people laugh even while Yuuri quailed at the thought of being made by him to do something publicly humiliating, and a troupe of mummers in masks performing pantomimes whose Punch-and-Judy style of violent physical humour had seemed macabre at times.

Not especially sorry when it was over with, Yuuri had found a maid to interview with the usual fruitless result, before – incredibly – there had still been a supper to attend. If the beer and wine hadn’t been watered down, he was sure that he and the rest of the castle would be flat-out drunk. Not that some people hadn’t reached that state anyway.

And the food…Yuuri had never seen so much in one place before. The servants had brought in a boar’s head with an apple in its mouth on a huge platter, surrounded by fruit and roasted vegetables, and Emil had taken some pride in carving a few pieces off of it for him and bringing them on a plate to his table. He was getting used to the sometimes savage-seeming culinary customs here, but had heard of this one before, and simply told himself he was eating pork. With apple sauce. And as many mince pies as he could want. Though “mincemeat”, he’d discovered, was just that – minced beef with honey and fruit and spices, pine kernels and rosewater. Yuuri wished he could have sent one to Phichit. Along with a tankard of wassail.

Apparently satisfied that his master had no need of him for the time being, Emil had held his tankard out. “Cheers, then, sir. If there’s anything you require, just let me know.”

“Emil, wait.”

“Yes?” he said, hovering.

“I, um…you know, I was wondering if you’re ever off duty. When do you get time for yourself, when you don’t have to worry about waiting on me like a butler?”

Emil sat down next to him with a confused look. “A butler? You mean like Mistress Shaw? I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“I don’t have much to do with the drinks of the castle, sir. I attend to you.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You said I was waiting on you like a butler.” Emil paused. “The person in charge of the buttery, where the kegs of beer and wine are stored. Naturally, I’m not sure why you – ”

“Ah. Um, I think we’re at cross purposes,” Yuuri said hastily. “I just meant that you seem to spend a lot of time looking after me. And I was wondering when you do things for yourself. Do people here travel to see family and friends on holidays like this?”

Emil seemed momentarily stunned. “You know, sir, it’s odd, but these questions you ask me, it’s almost as if you’ve never been here before. To have forgotten so many things about daily life that you must’ve known since you were a babe…”

Yuuri bit his lip, then huffed a small laugh and drank his wassail.

“It must be distressing for you. Do you think your memory will return?”

“If it hasn’t by now?” Yuuri shrugged. “Maybe not. But you’ve helped me a lot. I, um, don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Emil gave him a bright-eyed smile. “I’m pleased to be of service. And to answer your question, over the twelve feast days, most of us are given leave to go on visits if we so desire. My father’s a trader in fish, wine and cloth in York, and my older brother works with him in the business, along with my mother. I have three sisters, two of whom are married, and one is a nun. We do all try to get together at this time of year, though it’s difficult, as I’m sure you can understand. I’ll give you notice before I go. It would only be for a few days.”

“And you decided to be a squire?” Yuuri knew the wassail was loosening his tongue, the cider in it being alcoholic, but he’d been wanting to ask Emil these things for some time. “Wouldn’t you have preferred to stay in a merchant’s house, rather than running around after someone like me?”

Emil laughed. “Well, Jan – that’s my brother – he was already in the business, which meant I needed to do something else. I was fortunate that my family could afford to buy me the accoutrements I needed to become a knight in training, so that’s what I did.”

“Have you killed anyone yet?” Yuuri asked quietly.

Emil stared. “Well, sir…no, I haven’t. We seem to be blessed with peace at the moment. Relatively speaking. There are border skirmishes with the Scots hereabouts sometimes, but unlike Sir Charles, I haven’t been present at any of those.”

“Could you? Kill someone?” Yuuri continued to look at him over the rim of his tankard.

“I…” Emil seemed nonplussed. “I would if I had to, yes. That’s what I’ve been training for all these years.” He took a drink from his own tankard. “Though it has to be said, like many others, I’d be glad if the peace lasted.”

The conversation drifted on to more mundane topics, and Emil eventually went to join Philip, chatting with him while they watched a chess game between Chris and one of the guards.

Before he departed, however, Yuuri had asked him if mass in the castle chapel was always as grand as it had been today, as this had been his first time inside, to which Emil replied no. Not being religious, Yuuri had still been impressed. The room was packed with just about every resident, from the lord and lady – minus Victor – to the servants; and as often seemed the case here, the olfactory experience was heightened enough to call attention to itself: intense smoky fumes of burning frankincense from an elaborate gold censer that the priest and his helpers swung, with an underlying bass note of body odour from people in various states of cleanliness. That particular smell was usually never as bad as Yuuri had originally feared, however, and he even suspected with a touch of horror that he might be getting used to it.

He’d hardly been able to pay attention to the actual service, as intent as he was on taking in the entire experience. For one thing, he’d turned his translator off for the first time; he hadn’t previously dared, because if someone were talking to him, he’d be expected to understand. And for that matter, he _wanted _to understand any speech he heard, on the off chance that it had something to do with himself or Ailis. It was strange hearing the voice that had made sense a moment ago suddenly chanting incomprehensible things in what he was sure must be Latin, the people in the chapel murmuring responses in the same language. He didn’t bother turning the translator off when he spoke to Phichit because with both of them speaking modern English, it seemed to sense there was nothing it needed to do.

After everyone else had filed out of the chapel, Yuuri had briefly lingered, mentally contrasting the bright paintings on the plastered walls and the luminous marble sarcophagi with similar things he’d seen in his own time – paint faded by the centuries in the few places where it still existed; plaster crumbling or absent to reveal bare walls; stone monuments and their inscriptions worn and weathered, scratched and chipped. There were a couple of effigies of knights in here, frozen forever in white marble, lying stiffly on their backs with their swords gripped in their dead hands, depicted in full armour right down to their pointy toes. This entire room was a work of art, Yuuri decided. He wondered what the other sumptuous rooms in the castle looked like. Did the lord have a giant bed with ornately carved wooden posters and a canopy, and cherubs painted all over the ceiling? Did Victor?

Yuuri was aware again of his glowing cheeks. _Don’t start thinking about what his bedroom looks like. _He knew he’d already been clumsy with what he’d said when Victor had surprised him by coming over to talk and then drink with him. Having initially felt the usual sense of awe, Victor’s friendlier tone had tempted him into feeling more relaxed, and he knew he hadn’t been as careful with his words and actions as he ought.

_I shouldn’t have looked surprised by the wassail; I’ve heard of it before anyway, even if I didn’t know what was in it. And it was stupid of me to ask if Victor had killed anyone. He’s a knight. I’m a knight. I mustn’t give myself away._

Though he had to admit, that particular line of thought had been pressing on him. Even though you could program Immersion games so that there was no gore when you killed things, Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to even _pretend_ to kill people. Until they had been replaced by tech, he reckoned real-life human soldiers must have had a variety of feelings about it, depending perhaps on how deep they were able to bury their empathy, and their perception of the morality of the act. What about these knights, then? Yuuri was sure there was something not quite right with the battle-scarred Charles. What had it done to Victor? And then, when he imagined the young squires taking up arms against an opponent, especially Emil and Julius, it sickened his heart.

_These were brutal ages. And now I’m a part of it all._

_Could I kill if I had to? Another knight? Ailis?_

Then he told himself these weren’t appropriate thoughts for Christmas, especially when most of the men around him were drinking and making merry. He heard more notes plucked on the lute, and someone joined in with a shawm. Fighting men making music, dancing and singing wasn’t something he’d expected to encounter here, but Emil had told him that they constituted part of a chivalrous education, along with reading and writing in different languages. Something Justin would certainly have received, he’d said, if only he hadn’t forgotten. 

Yuuri was considering calling it a night, before any of the men got especially drunk and picked him to cause trouble with, when he noticed Julius bringing an instrument to Victor, who was seated on a wooden bench. He nodded to his squire in thanks and began to tune the four pegs at the end. It looked like a cross between a small guitar and a violin, made of a light-coloured wood, perhaps beech. Although it was smooth and plain, the sound hole was covered with filigree carvings that reminded Yuuri of the tracery in a cathedral window.

Several men in the room shouted out requests for songs – “How Can I Keep my Maidenhead”, “She Lay All Naked in Her Bed”, “The Wanton Seed”. Victor gave a little laugh and didn’t look up from his tuning.

“It’s Christmas,” he said. “How about something a little more appropriate.” Then he brushed his fingers over the strings, a mellow reverberating sound that reminded Yuuri of a banjo. The room quietened, though this didn’t seem to be a performance as such; many of the men carried on talking in low voices, and eating and drinking, some turning their heads to watch, others more involved with what they were doing.

It was a simple song of fluttering individual notes mixed with chords. But then, to Yuuri’s surprise, Victor began to sing – something religious, a Christmas carol maybe, with a sweet but haunting melody. Victor might have been doing this for no reason other than his own pleasure, the instrument cradled on his lap and his eyes thoughtfully downward; but although his voice was soft and quiet, it was confident as well, with a gentle vibrato that rippled through Yuuri’s chest. He realised he was staring again, filled with that same nameless emotion that had welled up when he watched Victor in the training field. But how could anyone look away? His pale hair and skin catching the glow from the candles…he was an angel of light and music.

Yuuri gave a small snort and put his empty tankard down on the bench. He’d had too much to drink and was getting comically poetic, he told himself. But…no. No, he wasn’t, he decided as he continued to listen. This man was beautiful, in so many ways. 

Unfortunately, the spell was quickly shattered when Charles barged into the garrison, snow blowing through the doorway in his wake, falling more heavily now. The knight, wrapped in a black woollen cloak, was being supported by Roland, his squire, and appeared to be rather the worse for drink.

“Blow me, what in the name of sweet Jesus is that reek?” someone said loudly. Followed by another, who declared, “God’s teeth, man.”

Victor put his instrument down and went to Charles and Roland, frowning. He said something Yuuri couldn’t hear, and the trio crossed the room to stand near the bright fire, Julius hurrying to join them. Yuuri remained where he was, not interfering, though they were now close enough that he could easily make out their conversation. And he also fancied he knew what the men had been complaining of, because a pungent odour of garlic followed in Charles’s wake.

“Would someone please explain – ” Victor began, but Roland jumped in as he pulled off his fur hat, his red hair glinting.

“My lord, Sir Charles was…ah – ”

“That bloody Scots git thought he’d get the better of me,” the knight growled, removing his own fur hat. “I showed him.” Victor’s brow furrowed.

“They were just sparring, sir,” Roland explained. “He and Abelard had been at the drink.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“I gave him something to remember me by,” Charles slurred proudly.

“He scratched Abelard on the cheek with the tip of his sword, sir. And, ah – ”

“What, outside in the dark and the snow?”

“Near window of the great hall, sir. The candles are lit inside because the servants and the poor from the village are having their Christmas meal. That made it bright enough for…well, for – ”

“For two people to make arses of themselves.”

“He’ll think twice before trying that again, the villain,” Charles declared.

“Enough of that language,” Victor said sternly. “I seem to have to regularly remind you both that we’re all on the same side. You can each give me your version of things in the morning when you’ve slept it off. Now, why the garlic? The whole room smells of it.”

“I took him to see Mistress Ramsay, the herbalist,” Roland explained, helping to steady Charles as he swayed. “He accidentally fell on his own sword.”

Victor’s expression was suddenly one of alarm, and he pulled Charles’s cloak aside to reveal a gold tunic with a bloody slit to the left of his chest.

“’Tis but a scratch,” Charles insisted. “The lady put a poultice on it. I’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

“She put garlic on it as well?” Victor queried.

Roland nodded. “Indeed, sir. I’ve seen her myself a few times. People are saying it’s a good thing we have her here now. She cleans a wound diligently; takes her time about it, like it’s the most important thing in the world that she sees you right. And she uses these strange edible balms that seem to work a charm. I’ve had her put honey on my own scratch, and I saw her tend to my master; she – ”

“She smeared garlic on it,” Charles said. “I know it’s on the powerful side, but she swore by it, my dear fellow. Though it didn’t half burn at first.”

“You smell like a French butcher’s shop,” Victor commented. “I don’t know what’s worse right now, you and Abelard having another go at each other, or everything and everyone in here being overpowered by this…aroma. Roland, please escort him to his room – and make sure he has a bucket in case his wine decides to repeat itself.”

Roland made a silent bow and took Charles’s arm, leading him down the hall. The serene reflective look that had been on Victor’s face not long before had vanished, Yuuri observed, and his heart sank to see the heaviness with which it had been replaced. If it was Victor’s job to referee the men like this, however, he wasn’t surprised.

“My lord, do you mind if we open more windows?” someone called. “Holy Mary, what a stench.”

“Come now,” Victor said in somewhat clipped tones, opening a nearby window himself, “there are worse things. Go trade places with the gongfermour and I daresay you’ll decide you’d rather have a whole wreath of garlic around your shoulders.” Several men laughed. “Julius, my cloak please.”

Yuuri watched the young squire dash up to him and place the brown fur coat on his shoulders, and Victor tied it at the neck. “Where’s my citole? Ah.” Julius grabbed the instrument, and Yuuri expected Victor to leave without further ado, but to his surprise he turned and faced him.

“It seems there are a few others here who could do with some lessons in chivalry,” he said. “Perhaps you can instruct them tomorrow.” Before Yuuri could think of what to say, he bade him good night, then disappeared out into the dark with Julius.

Yuuri had been looking forward to telling Phichit about everything when he got back to his room, though he’d agreed to wait to call him until later because he’d gone to a party. He dozed for a while in front of the fire before giving it a try, and Phichit answered straight away, having just returned to his flat.

“You know I’d never get drunk or anything and leave you in the lurch if you needed me,” he explained once they’d exchanged season’s greetings. “If I couldn’t man the com, I’d give it to Celestino – but I’d let you know first.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri considered asking Phichit could find a way for him to speak to Mari. But he’d told her he wouldn’t be able to stay in touch because he’d be working at a top-secret facility that was in communications blackout from the rest of the world. It had been a stupid excuse, he thought, even if Celestino had suggested it because he knew such places existed. Now his sister thought he was on some ting secret mission, though nothing about his job had ever indicated that anything of the kind was likely to occur. And he missed her. She was the only family he had, and he’d seen her every Christmas, even if it was just a brief visit. He wondered what she’d make of all this. Himself dressed like an extra from a Shakespeare play. Learning how to use deadly weapons. Mince pies with beef. Smearing…

“Phichit,” he said after they’d brought each other up to speed on their respective Christmases, “do you know why someone in the Middle Ages might smear garlic or honey on a wound? Sometimes I tell myself I’m going to stop questioning everything odd about this place, but…”

“Hang on, I’ll look it up.” There was a pause. “And don’t stop questioning anything. Questions are what you _should _be asking. Whatever helps you find Ailis.”

“Tell me about it.”

“OK. According to the Cloud, garlic and honey have antiseptic properties. They’re nothing like nanobots, antibiotic medicines, or even washing a wound with alcohol, but they’re actually some of the best natural cures that were available at the time. Why?”

“The herbalist here uses them.” Yuuri told him about Charles. “I’m not sure I’d want that done to me unless I was desperate. I hope I won’t be,” he added. “And poor Victor; he seemed to be enjoying himself until that stirred everything up.”

“That’s the jack who almost killed you, right?”

“Yeah, though…I think we’re coming to terms with that.”

“You are?”

“You should see him, Phichit. He’s amazing.”

“He is?”

“He said I should get a new nickname, because ‘le Savage’ doesn’t suit me.”

“I guess that’s no surprise. But, Yuuri – you’re still trying to make everyone think you’re a knight, right? I mean, if Ailis starts to suspect – ”

“Why do you think I’m doing all this training?” Yuuri interrupted. Though he knew the answer had become more complex. “Anyway, that doesn’t stop just because it’s this days-long feast. Servants still have to cook and clean and so on, and Abelard’s told me that knights keep training. I’ll need it anyway, after all that food today.” He huffed a laugh. “I’ll make sure I keep out of the way of the Lord of Misrule, though.”

“That sounds like a real nightmare, Yuuri. They did some proper weird stuff back then.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Chris – that’s one of the knights, you remember – was telling me at supper about a few years back, when he got Victor to dance on the tables. I bet that was something to see, as graceful as he is.” He paused. “Somehow I can’t imagine him doing it now, though. I think he’d just say no if he was asked. Or told. Whatever the custom is.”

“You seem to think a lot about him, for someone who tried to slice you up.”

“Do I? Maybe. I wish I could do those things he does with a sword. And – what’s a gongfermour?”

Phichit looked that up for him too, and when he said it was someone who mucked out privies and cesspits, Victor’s comment suddenly made sense. They made more small talk for a while, even though it felt a little awkward even with a friend; Yuuri knew he wasn’t very good at it. Then, eventually, they both seemed to have run out of things to say.

As the silence stretched, Yuuri realised he didn’t want to end the call. Because it would mean going back to being alone in this room at night. Like most nights. With nothing to do but stare into the fire. He should’ve arranged to visit with Monica, but he had no idea what she’d planned for the holiday.

“Yuuri? Look, next year you’ll be back here, safe and sound, and we’ll go to The Eagle and have some Baz’s Bonce Blower, and Mari can come too, and – ”

“All right, I get the idea,” Yuuri said with a small smile. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” He stared at his com as if he could look beyond it, to a time long in the future. They kept up a pretence that he’d be able to return one day, and even if it was unlikely, it felt good. “Merry Christmas, Phichit,” he finally said.

“Merry Christmas, Yuuri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to what a citole sounds like [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AicViY6LgUY).
> 
> [Twelfth Night wassail recipe](http://www.picturebritain.com/2013/01/twelfth-night-wassail-recipe.html).


	19. Chapter 19

The snowfall was more than a dusting; not deep, but enough to present a slipping hazard again, Yuuri discovered. While the leather shoes and boots here would be prized in his time for their handmade craftsmanship, they didn’t seem to have discovered the usefulness of treads or cleats yet; the soles were all smooth, and treacherous on the frozen ground.

That didn’t stop Abelard from giving him exercises to do. The trainer was soon back to his loud bristling self, while sporting a long red scratch across his left cheek. Yuuri wondered what Victor had said to him and Charles about their scuffle, and whether they’d been sanctioned somehow, but he supposed it was none of his business.

He had seen Victor in the training field as usual; the ongoing Yule celebrations didn’t seem to be demanding too much time away from his own fitness regime. Occasionally he went through his swordsmanship routines without armour or even a shirt, his pale corded muscles flexing. It sent a shiver down Yuuri’s back to even think of going half-naked outside in the cold like that. When he mentioned it to Emil, the squire had laughed and said it was a quirk of his that was often remarked upon; he claimed it toughened you up, and had sometimes asked the other men to try it with him, but so far as anyone knew, only Abelard had risen to the challenge so far. The Nikiforov family must have cold blood in their veins, being from northern climes, he’d said. Yuuri would have preferred to ask these questions directly, but he reckoned he would simply make a tongue-tied fool of himself. He suspected, however, that Emil was wrong about Victor being cold-blooded. If you stripped away the layers of feudal privilege and responsibility, knighthood and whatever else that bound him…quite the opposite might be the case.

But Yuuri also knew that he mustn’t neglect the reason why he was here, though the lack of any kind of hint or clue, however slender, continued to frustrate him. As supportive as Phichit was, he asked about the mission every time they talked, which was most nights, and it was starting to prickle. Eventually Yuuri decided to seek out Ethelfrith, the laundress who Dr. Croft had swapped places with in time. He hadn’t thought it likely that she’d be able to tell him anything, and the last thing he wanted was for her to spread word around the castle that someone was asking questions; but if he were careful with what he said? Maybe it was worth a try.

At first, Yuuri was inclined to visit her as himself, without the projector on; that way she wouldn’t be able to link his persona of Justin with the man who came to see her. But he couldn’t think of any way of conveniently hiding his Japanese features, which meant she’d be more inclined to gossip about her strange visitor. He therefore kept the door to his room locked for a few days, which caused him the inconvenience of having to light his own fire, the materials for which he had to get from Emil; but it also meant he had a good excuse to find Ethelfrith, as no one had been able to fetch his laundry.

Between training and supper one day, therefore, with a few centimeters of snow still icing the ground and the grey walls of the castle, he picked up the wicker basket and took it to the servants’ wing, asking around until he found a bare room full of metal and wooden basins of various sizes, all of them containing water, some with clothes as well, and some sending steam up to the wooden ceiling, where it curled and travelled horizontally before eventually dissipating. The humid air smelled of lavender, wet wool, and some acerbic substance Yuuri couldn’t place. A huge iron cauldron was suspended on a hook over the fire in the grate, from which steam was also issuing.

Yuuri asked if Ethelfrith was there, and a woman of perhaps twenty with blond hair in a long plait down her back approached him and curtseyed. She had greyish-blue eyes, a scattering of brown freckles, and a heavy plain green dress with the sleeves rolled up. The other women paused to watch with curious expressions as Yuuri spoke to her.

“I’m afraid I forgot to put my laundry out in the hall while my door was locked, so I thought I’d bring it here,” he said. Putting the basket down, he added, “I was told you were quick and reliable. I need my blue tunic for tomorrow, if that’s possible.”

“Me, sir?” Ethelfrith said, smiling uncertainly. “That’s uncommon flattery from whoever said so, but I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you very much. I…oh.” He widened his eyes. “Damn, I forgot my cloak. I need that doing, too. I’m sorry about this, but I don’t suppose you could come with me to fetch it, could you?” He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Certainly, sir. Or I could just go fetch it myself, if you tell me where it is.”

“You’d have a hard time getting in. The door’s locked.”

“Oh. Well then, sir, I’d be pleased to accompany you.”

Yuuri went out into the hallway, hearing whispers and giggles in the room behind them. “I’m sorry about the short notice,” he said. “You must be busy.”

“Oh sir, please don’t worry yourself. But if it’s all right with you, could we stop at my room on the way? It would only take a moment.”

“Sure,” Yuuri said, following her down the hall to one of the rooms where the female servants collectively slept. He hovered in the doorway as she went inside. How did they ever get any privacy? If he’d swapped places with someone who lived in a room like this, then apart from struggling to find moments when he’d safely be able to contact Phichit, he knew he’d quickly be frustrated with not getting much peace from prying eyes.

To his surprise, Ethelfrith gestured for him to enter. “There’s no one else here, sir; they’re all out on their duties. You’re welcome to stand by the fire while you’re waiting.”

He did so, more out of courtesy than because he was cold in the doorway. She had taken the lid off a ceramic pitcher and was pouring liquid from it into a dented metal tumbler. “Do you have to come back here just to get a drink of water?” he asked her.

Ethelfrith laughed; a high girlish sound. “This isn’t plain water, sir. It’s mixed with many different herbs and spices. My nose often gets blocked while I’m working in the washroom, and this seems to help clear it.”

Intrigued, Yuuri crossed the room to join her. Six beds, three against each wall, a table between each, and not much else. The narrow windows allowed little light into the room; there were candles in nooks, though none were currently lit. “Is this something you got from the herbalist?” he asked, leaning over the pitcher and inhaling. He was hit by a complex fragrant aroma: peppermint, ginger, thyme, cloves, fennel, lemon, and other things he didn’t recognise. 

“Yes, sir,” she replied between sips of the mixture. He noticed the raw-looking thin red fingers that clutched the tumbler, and wondered what kinds of chemicals were used here to clean the clothes. They clearly weren’t conducive to good health.

“The herbalist – Mistress Ramsay, isn’t it? – seems to have a lot of knowledge,” he said quietly.

“Oh, she’s been a godsend, sir.” She put the empty tumbler down on the table next to the pitcher. “Now, shall we get your cloak?”

When they arrived at his room, Yuuri took it out of the wardrobe and gave it to her; she draped it across her arm and gave a curtsey, promising him she’d wash it straight away. Now was the time to see if he could get any information out of her, he decided.

“Ethelfrith, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but I’d heard you had an…unusual experience a few months back?” He’d tried to make it sound both gentle and nonchalant, but alarm instantly leapt into her eyes.

“Oh sir, I didn’t know you’d heard about that. I’m fit as a fiddle now, I promise you.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said hastily. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything else. I was just wondering if you wanted to tell me about it? It…sounded interesting.” _Way to go, Yuuri. Classic foot-in-mouth technique._

“W-What have you heard, sir?”

“I, um, passed a couple of laundry maids in the hall who’d been discussing it,” he hazarded a guess. “I didn’t catch much, just that you’d travelled somewhere?”

“Only in my own head, sir. That’s what they would’ve been saying to each other if you’d caught more of their conversation.” She began to play nervously with her fingers, looking down at the floor. “I was touched in the head for a while. I was ill.” Then she looked up at him imploringly. “Oh please don’t tell anyone, sir. I could lose my position.”

“For having been ill?” Yuuri said, wrinkling his brow.

“Not as such.” She sighed. “Well, I was at death’s door, sir. So they say. I can’t remember it myself. I had lunatic visions, that’s all they were. I imagined I’d been to other times and places, and when I suddenly got well, I was raving about them. Perhaps it was an effect of the medicine Mistress Ramsay had given me, I don’t know. I…I got better in a few days, and I stopped, I swear I stopped, and I’ve been fine ever since – you can ask any of the ladies you saw in the washroom.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Yuuri said soothingly, while mentally kicking himself for making a mess of things. “I don’t have anything to do with hiring or firing people either, so please don’t think I’m going to cause you to lose your position. I’m curious, though – what times and places did you imagine you’d visited?”

But her look was guarded now, and it still contained enough alarm that Yuuri knew he would only be upsetting her if he pressed further. He wondered if there was anything more she could reveal anyway, if she was even willing to credit her experience as anything more than a disturbing fevered dream.

“I didn’t, sir,” she said in almost a whisper. “Like I said, it was part of my illness, and thanks be to God I’ve been perfectly well and normal ever since.” Another curtsey. “I really must be getting your cloak back to the washroom if you want it to be both clean and dry for tomorrow. If…if that’s all?” she added on a quivering note.

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “And thank you.”

She ducked quickly around the door and into the hall with a quick “Sir,” and Yuuri let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against the wall.

“Some detective,” he muttered.

* * *

Emil and Abelard both chose to leave the castle on visits over the same days, along with several other fighting men; so while it had been claimed that training wouldn’t cease over the holiday, that hadn’t been strictly true. Yuuri had got so used to spending hours at the field that he missed it; missed, too, Emil’s pleasant company. At a bit of a loss for how to spend his time, considering that the encounter with Ethelfrith hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped, he decided he could afford to ease up on the interviews and try to relax somehow.

Monica was happy to see him for more lessons, though he’d memorised all the dance steps he needed to know for public occasions in the castle. They worked on more complicated, physically challenging moves as well, which resembled ballet more than anything else; but it was obviously never going to amount to more than a bit of fun, because who would he dance for here? He wasn’t about to start prancing in front of the musicians during a meal.

He recalled one day that Bridget the sauce and pastry chef had given him an invitation to return to the kitchen and learn something with her. It might also be a way to pick up on the kinds of things that people tended to discuss there. Surely they’d gossip to pass the time, and maybe they’d mention anything unusual that had happened recently.

On the plus side, once he found Bridget and she told him she’d be delighted to spend some time with him, he had more fun than he’d expected to, mixing up crust recipes for sweet and savoury pies and tarts, rolling out the dough, and pressing it into wooden moulds with beautiful carvings that made the food look almost too nice to eat. They also made spiced almond biscuits and something Bridget called bryndons, which were small cakes served in a rich sauce of fruit, nuts and wine. She was glad of the help, not bothering to conceal her surprise that he had some culinary skills. Yuuri learned that most knights could cook basic provisions for themselves in the field, but as they almost invariably had someone else with them to prepare and serve their food, it was rare they were interested in learning anything more.

Unfortunately, they were generally not expected to visit the kitchen, either. Yuuri remembered the stir he’d caused on his first visit, but had been hoping that if he stayed a while with Bridget, they’d get used to his presence. Instead, however, everyone else in the room remained strangely quiet, with just a few business-like conversations and some whispers. No one was going to speak freely in front of him, that was plain; and eventually he felt uncomfortable enough that he left Bridget to her work, having been given a plate with a selection of some of the items he’d been helping her make, which he took to the garrison and left out on a table. He didn’t eat anything himself because he’d been tasting in the kitchen as he’d gone along, something he’d always been fond of doing.

It was becoming an annoyance, though, that “high born” people such as himself, or Justin to be more precise, were not supposed to participate in many of the things that could make life interesting. He’d always detested the old English archetype of the toadying lackey, no matter how steadfast and true, because people were people, and no one was the “better” of another.

Well, he would do what he had to do here to fit in as a knight, but he wasn’t going to change his principles. So he visited Bridget in the kitchen, and the following afternoon he decided to pass the time riding and tending to his horses, telling a surprised stable master that he wanted to do everything himself; it had meant, however, that he’d had to ask for a fair bit of instruction. They were already used to him coming out here, so he was allowed to go about his business without too many astonished stares. He fed and watered his two horses, then rode the palfrey into the countryside and around the village of Crowood, enjoying the cold crisp air under the low winter sun. The snow had melted, but the chill had returned afterward, and Yuuri discovered that the stream near the castle had frozen, though he didn’t dare risk crossing it any way other than by bridge. Smoke curled from the roofs of huts, naked branches reached to the sky, and a deer and a hare crossed the path in front of him. There were no peasants out in the fields that he could see, and he hoped they were resting from their toils in front of a fire and a decent meal.

He jumped down from his horse before he entered the stable, his cloak briefly flying up around him as he half-expected the clank of metal that didn’t come, unused as he was to doing this without his armour. He removed his hat and stuffed it in a pocket, doing the same with his gloves, as his breath puffed out in front of him. He’d had a peaceful journey, and there was no one here now; the habitual clash of weapons, clinking plate mail, and shouts of men were absent, and the stable hands seemed to have gone elsewhere. The sound of his footsteps on the frozen ground was magnified in the stillness as he took the bridle and entered the stable.

“Oh,” he said upon entering, realising that someone had been standing on the other side of Victor’s white palfrey in its stall near the doorway, and that person was Victor himself. “I didn’t mean to disturb you; I didn’t know you were here.”

He was wearing his brown fur cloak and blue tunic underneath, and the flat black cloth cap he seemed to favour. Yuuri watched him pull a brush over his horse’s coat, while his own nickered beside him.

“You’re not disturbing me,” Victor said, giving him a glance between strokes of the brush. “Been out riding, have you?”

“It seemed a good day for it. Where’s Julius?” Yuuri asked, conscious that the young squire was usually at Victor’s side.

“He’s visiting family. Like most of the others.” He paused and looked at him. “I’m sure my father would allow you to visit yours if you asked. I don’t think anyone’s afraid you’d abscond.”

Yuuri huffed a small laugh. “You’ve got that right. He sent me a note saying he doesn’t want me to show my face at his castle again until I’ve redeemed myself.”

To his surprise, Victor put his brush down on a shelf and came to the gate of the stall, folding his arms across the top of it and giving him his full attention. “I take it that was after the duel?” Yuuri nodded. “Then it was written in distemper. You’re his only son. I daresay he might be pleased to see you. And your mother. I can have a word with my father if you’d like – ”

“Uh, no, that’s all right – but thank you.” When Victor looked at him curiously, he added, “I think I ought to give things a little more time to…to settle down. Anyway, I like it here.”

Victor smiled, and it lit his eyes. “That’s pleasing to hear. I know your accommodation must seem rather basic compared to what you’re used to…”

“No worries there,” Yuuri said with a small laugh. Silence fell for a moment while their gazes met. Then Yuuri swallowed and said, “So…you don’t visit family in Russia at this time of year? I guess it’s a long way to travel.”

“Just a bit. But no, I’ve never been. I was born here.”

“Emil told me. That explains why your father has an accent and you don’t.”

“Really? Not even a bit?”

“No,” Yuuri said with a smile. At least, nothing that had come across over the translator.

“You didn’t have an accent when you spoke to my father and me in the great hall. I hadn’t been so surprised by anything in a long time.” He paused, perhaps wondering if Yuuri might explain; but how could he, since the truth was not an option? Victor eventually added, “When you speak English, though…there’s maybe a light trace of something I can’t place. Is there a story behind that?”

_Is there? _Yuuri thought with a stab of panic. Was he speaking Middle English with a modern accent – did the translator let things like that slip through? Or was there even a touch of Japanese in it? But no one had ever told him he had an accent before. He’d been five years old when his family had moved to York. “I’ve travelled a lot,” he said, unable to think of any other reply. “Maybe that’s how it happened.”

“Have you been to France often? I love Rouen. I’ve been there more times than I’ve been to London.”

Yuuri’s insides squirmed. Victor was speaking to him as if he were the son of a baron, like himself. If he allowed himself to get too drawn into conversations like this, his ignorance would give him away, and he wasn’t sure the amnesia excuse would go over as easily with Victor as it had with Emil. Yuuri didn’t enjoy lying to him as it was.

“I’ve been to Paris,” he said truthfully, hoping he wouldn’t be expected to demonstrate a detailed knowledge of what the place was like in the Middle Ages. “Notre Dame is beautiful.” There – a landmark that existed in both times, though it had been rebuilt in the twenty-first century. _Keep going, Yuuri. _“And the Seine. I’d love to see it again sometime, especially, um, in the spring.” _Fuck,_ he thought, ready to die of embarrassment.

“Flawless French too, I see. I suppose being a master of languages as you are, it must be handy for your travels.”

_Was I speaking French? Was Victor? Jesus, this bloody translator – _

Just then, his horse clopped a hoof on the ground and bobbed her head. Yuuri was still getting used to the animals, but at a guess, he thought she was getting restless. Stroking a hand down her face, he said, “There, Lady, are we boring you? You’ll be all snug in your stall in just a minute.”

“Lady?” Victor echoed.

“She’s had a name change. It used to be Thunder, but can you imagine? What a name for this beautiful girl.” Yuuri ran a gentle hand down her golden neck.

“I take it you didn’t name her originally.”

“Um, well, it just seemed all wrong for her,” Yuuri hedged. “I’ve never caught the name of your palfrey there.”

Victor straightened and patted the horse. “Ah, this is Alyona. It means ‘light’ or ‘beautiful’.”

_A good name for both horse and rider_. Yuuri’s throat hitched and he scrambled for something to say, but Victor beat him to it.

“I enjoy coming out here sometimes to look after her and Perun, my destrier,” he said thoughtfully, picking up the brush again and running it down Alyona’s gleaming mane. “Most people leave the stable when it’s starting to get dark. It’s quiet here. You can get away from everything for a while.”

“I guess you must be busy, being Lord Nikiforov’s only son,” Yuuri ventured, watching the smooth practised motions of Victor’s grooming routine.

There was a long pause in which Victor didn’t look up from what he was doing, and Yuuri wondered if his comment had inadvertently caused offence somehow. But then he replied, “Sometimes, very. Sometimes not so much.” More brushing. “There are certain obligations. I imagine you must’ve had them too, at your father’s castle.” Another pause. “Were you ever betrothed?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Not that I’m aware of,” he said quickly, with a blush.

Victor turned to look at him, seemingly amused by his comment. “You mean you don’t know?”

“I…well…” _We’ve got to stop talking about me – or Justin. _“Were _you_?” he said. “Betrothed to anyone?”

For a moment, Yuuri wasn’t sure if he intended to answer. It was rather a personal question, after all – though Victor had started the topic. But then he gave a little laugh and put the brush down again, turning to look at him.

“I _am _the only son and heir,” he said, leaning back against the shelf and folding his arms across his chest, his gaze frank, voice quietly confiding. “But since I prefer the company of men, I won’t be marrying or producing children.”

Yuuri thought about the words for a moment. Then understanding struck him. _Oh…_

Looking down at the ground, Victor said more quietly still, almost as if he were talking to himself, “My parents aren’t happy about it, of course, but they’re reconciled to it. I’m lucky they never tried to press the issue too far.” Then his eyes lifted to meet Yuuri’s again. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’m aware we’ve taken you from your family, and you’re their only heir, too. You’d still be allowed to marry and have children yourself, though; of that I’m sure. Then you’d be able to leave the castle and return to your own, although you’d ostensibly remain in our service. If that were ever a possibility, I could speak to my father – ”

“No, I…” _I what? What on earth do I say to that? Yuuri, stop being so tongue-tied for once. He’s been open and kind, which is more than can be said for you here in this place. _“I appreciate everything you’ve offered to do for me. It’s more than I deserve, after…after how I acted toward you at first. You know, in the duel, and…whatever else I did before that. But, um, in this case there’s no need, because I prefer the company of men, too.”

He hadn’t meant to be so blunt about it. But it was true, so why not? His breath caught as he waited for Victor’s reaction. The blue eyes were unreadable at first. A light rosy glow crept into Victor’s cheeks, and he gave a small awkward-sounding huff, continuing to quietly hold his gaze. Then he straightened, dropped his arms to his sides, and began in a more conversational tone, “Justin – ”

A shadow darkened the doorway, and Lady Nikiforov glided in – tall, slender and pale like her son, with her hair hidden under a while veil, a claret velvet gown brushing the ground, and a thick fur coat wrapped around her. She looked at Yuuri with his horse, then at Victor.

“I didn’t think anyone would be here at this time,” she said to her son, looking uncertain.

“May I ask why you’re here yourself?” Yuuri was surprised at the formality in Victor’s voice. But it was also how he’d spoken to his father.

She glanced around, then answered, “I needed to go into the village.”

Victor’s brow wrinkled. “The sun’s setting. And – surely you weren’t planning to go on your own?”

“Sir Christophe was going to escort me, but he’s…indisposed. Please don’t ask me to explain how. I thought you were supposed to be in charge of these men?”

“I’m not their minder. It’s also the Christmas holiday, and they’re allowed a certain measure of good cheer.”

“Well they’re taking advantage of it all right.” She looked again at Yuuri. “Maybe he could escort me.”

He was about to reply when Victor said, “Madam, what’s so important that it requires you to go now?”

“I need to get some material from the tailor. Mistress Monica can’t finish my dress without it.”

“I’ll escort you.”

“It’s really not necessary.”

“I think it’s quite necessary,” Victor answered, his frustration clear. “Justin’s already been out for a ride, and he doesn’t know the area well yet. Surely you’re aware there are ruffians who’d think the heavens had blessed them with abundance if they saw a wealthy noblewoman riding on the road by herself at night.”

“It isn’t night yet. And I was going to take a lantern.” She watched his stern face and eventually sighed in resignation. “Very well. I’ll get my horse.” She turned to Yuuri and said, “He’s stubborn, this one.”

“Not to the point of being careless with my safety,” Victor returned, beginning to tack up Alyona. His mother made no reply, but walked past them, entering a stall further down the row.

“I’d better go,” Yuuri said, wondering if he should’ve done so when Lady Nikiforov had come in, but unsure how to manage it without being rude.

“I apologise,” Victor said, lifting the saddle onto his horse. “My mother knows her own mind. Though I daresay my father would be furious to discover what she was coming here to do.” He secured the saddle in place and turned to look at him, quirking a sudden smile. “I can imagine what ‘indisposed’ might mean where Chris is concerned. I’m sure it’s harmless, but you might want to avoid going to your room through the garrison unless you want to be pulled in.”


	20. Chapter 20

Yuuri compromised by approaching his room through the servants’ quarters, then making his way surreptitiously to the end of the hallway that opened into the main garrison room, where he could peek around the corner. As indicated by numerous flagons and tankards littering the tables, drink had been flowing freely here, and from the small crowd of men came shouts, cheers, and discordant melodies from musical instruments. It reminded Yuuri oddly of a football match.

The interest appeared to be centred on the far corner of the room near the fireplace. People called out numbers. The room quietened. Yuuri heard the clicking sound of dice being thrown on the ground. The numbers were read out, and a collective roar went up. When the men shifted enough for Yuuri to catch a glimpse of what was happening, his eyes went wide as he saw a flushed Chris clumsily pull off his braies and toss them on the floor, then do a silly little dance, completely nude. One of the young guards, an Irishman named Fergus, seized up the underwear and pulled it onto his head as a hat. Everyone seemed to think it was very entertaining, though it was certainly not Yuuri’s scene, and he went into his room, wondering if the men intended to turn up for supper in that state.

_The company of men. _Yuuri thought it unlikely that such gatherings were what Victor had been referring to. Though maybe they were part of it…or maybe not. No, it seemed to be Victor’s duty to officiate. If anyone in that room got out of hand, Yuuri imagined they’d be answering to Victor when they were sober. Chris was probably already in line for a talking-to, for neglecting to present himself as a fit escort for Lady Nikiforov.

_He said that, and then I said the same back to him._

_He was just telling me about himself; making conversation. _

_Was that what I was doing too?_

He turned his thoughts aside before they went any further in that direction.

Emil and Abelard returned to the castle a few days later, and Yuuri was glad to be able to resume training, though the hours had been cut down for the holiday. He was also surprised, touched, and horrified to discover that Emil had brought a gift for him: a new knife in a smooth leather sheath to replace the used and worn one he’d fetched for Yuuri’s first meal. _This jack is just plain nice, _he thought. _What a lovely present. _And right on the heels of that: _Fuck, I don’t have a thing to give him in return._ It should have been the most obvious thing about Christmas, but it had completely skipped his mind, perhaps because it was easy to think at times that he was in a foreign country with strange and different customs. He thanked Emil, told him he’d ordered a gift for him as well but it wasn’t ready yet, and pondered what he could do about that. Then it occurred to him that the expensive pile of precious metals on the sideboard in the great hall had grown recently; and when he commented on it to Emil, he was told those had been gifts to the noble family from people who could afford to give lavishly.

“They compete with each other to see who gives the most expensive gift,” Emil said with a chuckle. “I believe the Baron du Barry outdid everyone this year with a splendid gold nef.” Yuuri had asked him to clarify, and he said it was a salt container in the shape of a ship.

“Are there people who’d be offended if I didn’t give them a gift?” Yuuri asked in alarm. “Do they expect – ”

“It’s all right, sir. People are flexible here, for the most part. Apart from the noble family and the senior household officials, it’s just an agreement between friends. Being your squire – and feeling bad for you, sir, in truth, because of the amnesia – I thought it would cheer you up to receive a gift, even if we hadn’t discussed it beforehand. You honestly needn’t have worried about getting me anything in return.”

Which of course made it all the more important that he did.

So he forced himself to go to that paradoxical place of artistry and foulness, the tannery, to find out if they had anything Emil might like. After asking for advice there, he settled on a leather carrying bag embossed around the fold-over flap with patterns of leaves.

They had the pieces on hand, and it didn’t take them long to stitch them together; Yuuri rode out early one morning on Lady to collect it. There was no training scheduled at the field until after dinner, however; so instead of going straight back to the garrison, he rode Lady down the castle hill and along the frozen stream, its still waters a glossy grey that appeared and disappeared within drifting clouds of mist that the weak sun struggled to burn away.

_I could get used to this, riding a horse through the countryside._ He wondered how much it would cost to buy and keep one near his flat…if he ever returned. Whenever he thought about home, that was the way it ended. _If. _

And yet he seemed to experience different feelings about it every time. This place was beginning to grow on him in some ways, as mad as it was. He was excited – and a little disturbed, in all honesty – by how things seemed to be on the mend with Victor. Being with him wasn’t the same as being with Emil, or Chris or Charles, Abelard or Monica, or anyone else here. He wasn’t sure how to address the son of the lord of the castle, even though Justin was one himself. Wasn’t sure it was appropriate to even be speaking to him, but Victor seemed to have taken pains recently to show him he wanted it.

_What _does _he want? Is he just curious because I’m not acting like Justin ‘le Savage’? Is he trying to help me feel more comfortable in my new home? Does he want someone of an equal social position to talk to? Or…_

_Or nothing, Yuuri. Or nothing. Don’t even go there. _

As if his thoughts had suddenly manifested in physical form, when the mist bank ahead of him drifted away, a sleek white palfrey was revealed to be staked to the grass like some faerie vision. A tall grey tree with a thick trunk and gnarled branches stood nearby. Yuuri recognised Alyona, with Victor’s fur coat and hat slung over the saddle. The branches creaked and shook; Victor, wearing a long-sleeved dark grey tunic trimmed with silver and olive-coloured hose, was nimbly climbing his way up. Astoundingly, red apples still clung to some of the branches; they trembled and bounced on their stems when Victor moved.

“Hail, Justin,” came a call from above. Yuuri tilted his head up to look.

“Um, good morning?” he called back. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” With his legs securely wrapped around a branch, Victor reached out, plucked an apple, and tossed it down. Yuuri caught it, then noticed half a dozen more apples scattered on the ground. 

“They’re all going to be bruised.”

“Can’t be helped. Alyona’s not going to catch them for me, is she? I was going to take them to the kitchen, where they’ll use them straight away, so it doesn’t matter.”

“How are there apples on a tree in December?”

“It happens sometimes when the weather’s right,” Victor said, shifting higher up. “Didn’t you ever go scrumping when you were little? Mind you…” He reached out again, plucked another apple and dropped it, Yuuri hurrying to catch it. “…many people of our class would prefer to send a servant up while they watched. You’re missing all the fun that way, though.”

“Believe me, I don’t want servants doing things I can do for myself.”

“Really?” Victor paused and looked down at him.

“Really. But I never made a habit of climbing trees when I was young, either. I guess there weren’t many around that were, um, climbable.”

A little laugh fell from the branches. “You say some curious things. Did someone chop all the trees down around your castle?”

“Who says I lived all my life at the castle?”

“Did you?”

Yuuri was silent, watching.

“All right, Justin. Be mysterious. But also be warned.” He yanked an apple hanging above his head. “I’ll pry your secrets out of you, see if I don’t.” And he tossed it down.

Feeling strangely emboldened, Yuuri drew his sword in a flash and held it out in front of him, never taking his eyes off the apple as it plummeted. With a tiny thunk, it stuck on the point. He stared in amazement, his lips curving in a grin.

“Well,” came Victor’s voice, and Yuuri looked back up to find him peering down with a smile, “I see. So that’s what we’re doing, is it? How many of the next five can you touch with your sword, I wonder? Then I’d like a turn.”

Yuuri would ordinarily have felt anxious with Victor watching, but he was surprised to discover that this was _fun_. He only missed one apple, laughing in delight as he sliced the final piece of fruit in half in mid-air. Victor scrambled down from the tree, and after removing his own cloak, Yuuri took his turn climbing up, though he was less sure-footed. And he watched in awe as Victor perfectly sliced each of the six apples he threw down. For the last one, he even did an exaggeratedly dramatic full spin, waving his sword in a huge arc so that when it met the apple, the halves flew violently apart. He stood, looking mildly pleased with himself, as Yuuri climbed down the tree, his tunic snagging on the bark a couple of times.

“Fucking hell,” he laughed, the words tumbling out before he could check himself in case he offended Victor’s ears; but he received a smile. “You’re good. You’re…incredible. I guess you know that, but…I’ve seen you. Not just now, or in the duel. Out on the training field. The way you move, the things you can do…” He knew he sounded like a gushing fanboy, but it felt good to express what he’d been feeling inside all this time.

Victor sheathed his sword, his smile fading into a contemplative expression as he looked at Yuuri. “I didn’t know you were watching so keenly. I’m flattered.”

Yuuri pinned his cloak back on, the damp chill air creeping through the neck of his tunic. “Where did you learn? How? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Victor took a moment to consider his answer, then replied, “I’ve always had a natural ability, but practice sharpens any skill. I’ve…had some good influences.” He blinked, falling silent again.

Yuuri couldn’t help but feel that he inadvertently kept sticking his foot in his mouth where this man was concerned. He nodded and untethered his horse.

“You’re not bad yourself,” Victor added suddenly. Yuuri stopped and turned to look at him, hardly daring to believe he’d just heard the words. “Maybe you’d find you had a natural ability too, if you worked on it.”

Heartened, Yuuri quickly replied, “I want to. I’ve been trying to. I’ve wanted to keep practising over the Christmas holiday, but it’s hard on my own.”

“There are plenty of things you can do by yourself. But I admit, it helps to have a partner to spar with, too; someone who can give you a challenge.”

“Spar with me,” Yuuri said, his eyes shining. He wondered how he could have been so bold, but it felt like a fire had been lit in him. “Just…for a little while? I know I wouldn’t be a challenge for you. But I’d love to learn.”

Victor regarded him thoughtfully. Surprise was chased away on his face by a look of consideration, which was followed by a grin and a nod. “Why not,” he said; and the smile Yuuri gave him was radiant.

* * *

“You can’t be serious. It’s too cold.”

“No it isn’t,” Victor replied nonchalantly, draping his tunic over the gate of Alyona’s stall and refastening his belt around his waist. “Gets the circulation going.”

Yuuri tried not to stare. He’d gathered a while back that all men here wore braies. But leaving them brazenly in view without a tunic, despite the hose, still looked to Yuuri like being half dressed. And at the end of December – ?

Victor was muscular but lithe like a dancer, rather than a brute mountain like Abelard. Yuuri told himself again not to stare. But God, someone ought to carve a marble replica of him and put it on a plinth. Yuuri had seen him in the field like this, but it had been at a distance. Now they were standing here talking to each other. Or, rather, enduring an awkward silence while Yuuri dithered.

“Aren’t you going to put any armour on?” Yuuri finally asked him. “Just in case – ”

“You won’t touch me, don’t worry,” Victor said with quiet ease. “I’ll make sure I don’t hurt you either, if you still want to join me.” Then he turned and walked out the stable door and into the field, drawing his sword and waving it slowly while he rolled his shoulders, presumably as a warm-up exercise.

Join him? Shirtless in the freezing cold? Then Yuuri remembered what Emil had told him – to his knowledge, only Abelard had done this with Victor. It didn’t appeal to anyone else, apparently. And with good reason.

_When am I going to start acting like the knight I’m supposed to be? I got Victor to put aside whatever he was planning to do and come here with me. I have to make it worth his while. And besides, I’m not going to let Abelard get the better of me. If he can do this, so can I._

He unpinned his cloak and laid it over the gate, already shivering as the icy air crept across his neck. “I must be completely mad,” he muttered to himself, removing his hat, gloves, leather belt, and then – after a pause to steel himself – his tunic. Another shiver went through him and his skin erupted in goosebumps. Gritting his teeth, he fastened his belt back around his waist. His hose and boots were keeping his legs warm, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to wield a sword while shivering, and these braies were a thin barrier between the winter and his nether regions. Nevertheless, he was determined to take up the challenge. He counted his breaths as he walked out to join Victor in the field, trying to ignore the cold slicing through his bare skin.

Victor lowered his sword and simply looked at him for a moment. Then he grinned. “All right. Why don’t you try to touch me with your sword.”

“But you said – ”

“Yes. That you wouldn’t be able to.” Now there was a hint of pride in Victor’s smile. “I said ‘try’.”

So that was what Yuuri did. _I’m going to show him how much I’ve improved, _he thought. No longer was _Swords and Sorcery _his inspiration. He’d been learning from Abelard and the other men here, but most of all from Victor. His feet were rarely still, his eyes focused and sharp, his body reacting to every move. Metal clanged against metal, once, twice, a dozen times. Sweat broke out across Yuuri’s forehead and chest despite the cold.

Yet Victor’s guard was like a solid wall. Everything Yuuri did seemed like child’s play to him. All the strategies Yuuri had learned passed through his head, but it felt like his boots were mired in the mud compared to the way Victor could dodge and dart. Eventually Victor lowered his sword. There was a smooth sheen of sweat glistening on his skin as well. Yuuri wondered how he could stand it; the moisture only made the bite of the cold air that much worse. He himself was struggling to hide the shivers passing through him.

“Had enough for now?” Victor said with a polite smile, sheathing his sword. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”

Yuuri looked at him with a sinking feeling. He hadn’t made any kind of impression at all, had he? Victor didn’t have a single word of praise or encouragement. Not that he should expect any, he supposed; he didn’t get them from Abelard, either. But anything would be welcome.

_Why? If I haven’t earned it, why do I have any right to expect it?_

“Victor,” he said firmly as the knight began to walk back to the stable. He turned, and Yuuri trotted up to him. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“Wrong? Surely Abelard helps you. He says you’ve been making good progress. Thanks for coming here with me,” he added. “I needed the exercise.”

“I’m not finished yet,” Yuuri insisted; and at Victor’s quizzical look, he added, “I mean, if you don’t want to be, either. I know there are things you could teach me. Tell me what I can do better. Whatever you say, I can take it. I want to learn.”

Victor considered, and finally he planted his sword tip-down on the ground, resting his hands on the shining gold crossguard. “Well, there’s a harmony to your moves that’s always going to stand you in good stead, I think,” he began. “You anticipate well, and keep on your toes.”

“But?”

After a pause, Victor continued, “Your sword’s drawn blood, Justin. It’s killed people. And yet you act like you’re afraid to harm me.”

This wasn’t quite what Yuuri had expected, and he looked down at the sword in his hand as if it were something strange and terrible that he’d never seen before. Then his eyes met Victor’s again. “I _don’t _want to harm you.”

“That’s the biggest problem, I’d say,” Victor stated with a small laugh. “I told you I wouldn’t let you. Didn’t you believe me?”

“I…” Yuuri floundered. “…yes, of course I did.”

“But besides that, you need to put more of your body into it. You’re not just fighting with a sword in your hand; every muscle should be contributing to what you’re doing. You need to get faster on the attack, and mix it up so it’s less predictable. You’d also benefit from working on your fitness level so there’s more strength behind your blows.” He paused again. “Is that enough?”

Yuuri hated criticism; it always made him feel like a failure. But at the same time, what he’d said to Victor was the absolute truth – he wanted to improve. And here was one of the best, taking the time to tell him how. He made himself swallow the bitterness, and looked at him defiantly. “Thank you. Those things will take time, but I’ll work on them. For now, though – I’d like another go, if you’re up for it.”

Victor’s eyes glinted. “Up for it? I am indeed…if you can take it.” He quirked a smile.

Yuuri forced himself to shove aside the part of him that instantly interpreted this as innuendo, and raised his sword, Victor doing the same. _He’s so good, and so confident, he knows I won’t be able to get anywhere near him. Believe him, he said. I will._

With renewed vigour, Yuuri attempted to put into practice what he’d been told. He wasn’t any more eager to hurt Victor than before, but he tried to relax into a feeling of trust that Victor wouldn’t allow it to happen no matter how determined his efforts were. It seemed as though he were making Victor work more, and there was a look of concentration in his eyes that hadn’t previously been as noticeable. Swords clicked and clashed, again and again. Yuuri ended up falling several times, bare skin colliding with cold hard ground, but he rolled with his momentum and came up fighting. And with a spark of delight, he recognised the feeling he’d had when he’d fought Abelard in front of the other men, time and movement seeming to slow down, his arms and legs, torso and neck and sword all a symphony…just for a moment, as he struck.

A high voice he recognised as Julius’s called from nearby, “What the hell are you doing?” He strode forward, his fur cape making him look like a bush on stilts.

Yuuri and Victor were staring at the ground, where a small leather purse lay nestled in the grass. It was Victor’s, and Yuuri had cut through the cord that had attached it to his belt. “I…I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s all right,” Victor said, bending to collect it. “Easily mended.”

“What were you doing,” Julius repeated, “waving a sword at him like that?” He put his hands on his hips and glared at Yuuri.

“He was taking some advice from me,” Victor said, looking down at him with a smile. “And hello and welcome to you, too.” He sheathed his sword, gave the purse an idle toss in the palm of his hand, and strode into the stable, the others following.

“Victor and I were just sparring,” Yuuri said.

“I wouldn’t have thought you were worth the time,” Julius replied, looking at him with narrowed eyes, then up at Victor questioningly.

He was pulling his tunic back on, and Yuuri was only too glad to mirror him. “You ought to spend some time getting to know Justin a little better. Whatever he said or did to you in the past, he’s been a flower of chivalry since he arrived here.” He grinned at Yuuri, pulling his cloak on and stuffing the cut purse in a pocket.

Julius looked stunned. “What, him? Master, are you certain he’s not just pretending to get into your good graces? And as far as skill is concerned, just watch him with a bow and arrow – that’s all you need to know.”

“My dear squire, do you know what I really need now?” Victor bent down and whispered something in his ear. Julius didn’t look pleased, but nodded and ran out of the stable. Yuuri was impressed and relieved at the speed with which he’d been dispatched.

“I apologise for that,” Victor said, standing with his back against Alyona’s stall gate.

“You seem to have a habit of apologising for other people.” Yuuri pulled his cloak on and pinned it.

Victor looked as if he were about to disagree, then huffed a sheepish laugh. “Maybe you’re right. But if Julius continues to be insolent, it _is _my responsibility to be firm with him about it. Though he isn’t that bad with most people. You both seem to have made an unfortunate start with each other.”

“Maybe. I’ve tried to be civil to him since I got here, but to be honest, it can take some patience.”

“That’s politely put. He’ll come round, though. I think he feels a need to be on his guard, or on the offensive, much of the time – ” He cut himself off, then continued, “His youth and his slight build, you know; they invite ridicule sometimes. Anyway, what say we put our horses out to pasture, since there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here to do it?”

They fetched both their palfreys and their destriers, leaving them to crop the grass in the training field. Yuuri had hardly ridden Blaze, his black destrier, and wasn’t in any hurry to change the fact, because he would probably be doing it to joust. Victor told him more about his chestnut destrier, Perun, who he said was named after the Russian god of thunder and lightning. While trying not to ask too many strange or confusing questions, Yuuri gathered that in peacetime, these horses were mostly seen as status symbols for noblemen, since they were expensive to buy and keep. They were ridden in tournaments as well.

“There’s one other thing Perun’s good for,” Victor said, “and that’s hunting. Maybe you’d like to join me sometime.” He smiled. “You can get in a bit of bow and arrow practice.”

Before Yuuri could reply, Julius came sprinting across the field to them with something dark and round cupped between his hands. “Master, I did as you asked,” he panted when he came up to them, drawing one of his hands away to reveal a hollow bronze-coloured ceramic filigree sphere about the size of a large orange, within which rested a small metal container.

“Thank you,” Victor said. “Justin, this is for you, if you want to use it. You might want to pull your gloves off first.”

Yuuri did so and pocketed them; they were thin and not much use in winter weather, anyway. Then he picked up the sphere and gave a start when he realised how warm it was, like holding a hand over a glowing coal. It didn’t hurt to touch it, but it radiated a welcome warmth through his arm, and he quickly cupped his other hand over the top. Julius was looking at him like he wanted to say something he knew Victor wouldn’t approve of.

“Master, Fernand wants to know if you’d like him to make a crumble with gingered almonds for dinner with the apples you gave him,” he said instead.

“Tell him to ask my mother and father. I don’t mind.”

“I also saw Master Steggles, who says he has some new outfits he wants you to try on. And Master Everard wants to know when you and Lord Nikiforov would be willing to discuss taxes; he told me to remind you that the manorial court will be held soon.”

“Did you stop and talk to the entire castle on your way?” Victor laughed. “The answer for Matthew is never, if he wants the truth. Though the one he’d probably prefer to hear is soon after Twelfth Night, when the holiday is over. Please go back and tell him that; and if you bump into Percy, let him know I’d be delighted to see what he’s got to show me. After dinner would be a suitable time.” As Julius continued to look at him, he added, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go get some exercise and run back and tell them. I’ll be in the great hall shortly.”

Julius’s mouth twitched briefly, then with a “Yes, master,” he dashed back toward the stable.

“Have you never used one of these before?” Victor asked Yuuri, nodding at the sphere. “I thought most people had them. They take them to church in the village on cold days.”

“It’s wonderful,” Yuuri murmured with a grin. “But no, I haven’t. What’s keeping it warm?”

“An ember from the fire. The metal box should be suspended in the middle so it’s not touching the sides.” He peered at it as if to make sure.

“It’s fine. Perfect, even. Not…not that I need it, of course. I could come out here again anytime and take off most of my clothes, and run around, and never feel the cold. In the snow, even. I’m a real man, I tell you.”

Victor eyed him, and they both laughed. “I do believe you’re teasing me,” he said.

“Maybe,” Yuuri replied with a quietening chuckle. “I wish they had these hand warmer things where I’m fr – um, at my father’s castle. What a brilliant idea. Thank you.”

“It seems you’ve had a few surprises to share yourself,” Victor said softly. “You proved me wrong about getting through my guard. A cutpurse indeed.”

The honey of his voice slipped through Yuuri along with the heat from the ceramic sphere, and he felt like he was floating in lassitude on a tropical sea. Next thing he knew, he felt the touch of smooth skin, and saw that Victor had placed his hands on either side of the sphere, partially overlapping his own. A thick silence stretched, during which Yuuri forgot to breathe, and it looked like Victor had as well, those crystal-blue eyes searching his with a spark of surprise, and other things that were less easy to interpret.

“My lord, there you are.” A black man in a sumptuous ankle-length grey fur coat and matching cap, and vibrant blue gloves embroidered with silver thread, strode purposefully up to them both. Yuuri recognised him as one of the officials Victor and his father often spoke to. Disappointment flashed across Victor’s face as he removed his hands from the sphere.

“I was just returning to the castle, Matt,” Victor said to him. “Julius gave me your message.”

“It’s a most pressing matter, my lord, if you don’t mind my saying. Several of our tenant families are in changed circumstances that warrant immediate intervention.”

“All right.” Victor turned to Yuuri. “Will you come back with us?”

“Um, I would, but I’ve got some things to fetch from the stable,” he answered ruefully, thinking of Emil’s bag that he’d left on a shelf in Lady’s stall.

“As you please. Thank you for an interesting morning.” Victor gave him a small smile, then walked away with the man Yuuri assumed must be Matthew Everard, the steward – whatever one of those was. Someone who helped run the castle seemed to be the obvious answer.

Pressing his palms to the warm curves of the ceramic, he stared after the two men until they disappeared around the corner of the stable.


	21. Chapter 21

Yuuri had little appetite for either dinner or supper that day, though he trained hard in the afternoon, pushing himself to run twice as many times as usual up and down the castle hill in his plate armour.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the food: dining in the great hall, especially during the twelve days of Christmas, had started to feel like eating at a restaurant, so good was the cooking. There was no more fish to be seen. Beef, lamb, pork, and other more esoteric meats were served during most meals. There were pies, purees, and pottages, or thick stews. Sweet mixed with savoury, tangy and salty and spicy, hot and cold. Custards, flans, buttery pastries.

And yet none of it seemed to have the usual appeal just now. Yuuri’s eyes kept straying to Victor as he wondered what was going through his mind, especially now that they’d spent some time together and shared confidences. But the windows of his eyes were usually shuttered during meals. Yuuri wished they could sit and talk while they ate, but it would never happen while these rigid feudal customs were in place.

He did, however, partake of the apple crumble at the end of supper, thinking back with a smile to the morning, when he and Victor had climbed the apple tree and tossed fruits for each other to slice with their swords. And then after that…Victor in the cold, his upper half nude. Himself, daring to copy him. Shivering. Insisting on Victor’s help. And scoring a hit, despite Victor’s solid confidence that it couldn’t be done. The hand warmer…

His breath hitched, and he couldn’t eat any more of the apple crumble, though Charles next to him offered to polish it off when he noticed Yuuri’s disinterest.

_I have to pull myself together. This is all distracting me. I’m on a mission. And I’m sure Victor’s got a lot more on his mind than me. As it should be. _

The heady emotions inside of him didn’t match his thoughts; he knew that, and decided they were best ignored. When he was in his room for the night, he took off his boots and changed his tunic for his linen nightshirt as he usually did, then sat down next to the fire – but before he could call Phichit, Phichit called him.

“Hey, Yuuri, how’s things?”

“Hey, Phichit. Maybe not too bad today.”

“Oh? Have you found any clues? Got a lead?”

“No, nothing like that. I just have to live here and convince everyone I’m a knight, you know? I think I’m getting better at that.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good…”

“I picked apples off a tree today, and they made them into apple crumble in the kitchen.”

“OK…”

“I’ve got this really nice hand warmer, too. You put an ember from the fire in the middle of it. How come nobody in our time uses them?”

“Because we have central heating?”

“Do you think I have an accent? I was told I have a touch of one._ I_ didn’t think – ”

Phichit suddenly laughed. “Yuuri, what’s got into you? No, I’ve never noticed an accent, but I’m Thai, so maybe I’m not the best person to ask. Look – I hate to start by venting, but I just wanted to say. You know how I said your counterpart here, Justin, is difficult? Well…he’s difficult.”

“I can imagine. What’s he been doing?”

“Nothing new. It’s just that I tried to get some information out of him about the past – well, his present. I thought he might be a really good source. But he’s got a bit of a screw loose. What all did he say…? Lemme think. He hates the Nik – ” There was a pause. “Sorry, just accessing my notes. I can never remember their name.”

“Nikiforovs?”

“Yeah, that’s it. He hates their son Victor. I guess it was a mistake to tell him about the duel you lost – ”

“He lost it first,” Yuuri hastened to add. “He was never going to beat Victor anyway.”

“…arrogant knave and villain, deserves to die, etcetera, etcetera…needs someone to trounce him thoroughly. Well, there wasn’t much actual information to be had from him. He’s got that mad hair, too, and the beard. Looks like the Sheriff of Nottingham or something. You know, from Robin Hood. He doesn’t want to shave them off, though.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “I did it for him. In the projected image I’m using, anyway. It’s a big improvement. But you’re looking after him, aren’t you?”

“Of course we are,” Phichit said mildly. “I know none of this is his fault, and I feel sorry for him. That doesn’t mean I’m keen to be friends with him, though. Or even to talk to him again, for that matter.”

Muffled shouts issued down the hall outside Yuuri’s door. The drink was flowing in the garrison again tonight, and he hadn’t fancied being the one made to strip according to whatever numbers turned up on the dice. “Have you found anything else out from these books you were going to try to check?” he asked as he stared at the dancing flames in the grate.

“Well I do have a little information, though I don’t know how much it’ll help. Important historical facts aren’t hard to find on the Cloud, like who was king. Since, you know, he’s coming there in a few months. I tried to pool some stuff together about what he might be like.”

“Start with that, then.”

“Richard the Second. Everything I’ve read says he loves his queen, but he’s had affairs, some with women, at least one with a man – well, that’s pretty normal for a king, isn’t it? I suppose they’re free to roger anything that moves if they want to.”

“How’s that relevant, exactly?” Yuuri laughed.

“Well, if Ailis fancies her chances with him or something? Anyway, he’s twenty-five years old, not very popular, seems to get on the wrong side of powerful nobles – but that’s pretty normal too; name me a monarch who never has.”

_One year older than me and he’s king of England_. “I guess that’ll be enough to make me feel sorry for him when I see him next year. Almost this year, actually. It’s New Year’s Eve tomorrow.”

“I should say so. He’ll be deposed in 1399 by his cousin, who’ll become Henry the Fourth. He dies in captivity the following year.”

Yuuri bit his lip. “It’s creepy to hear you talking like that.”

“Don’t go trying to tell him or anything.”

“Of course not.”

“Maybe Ailis will, though. She could change history just by doing that.”

Yuuri rubbed a hand thoughtfully along his chin. “I’m not sure,” he said after a pause. “It doesn’t seem her style. Why would she go to all the trouble of coming to this time just to say to the king, ‘Hey, be careful, your cousin’s out to get you’? Maybe she didn’t even know he was coming here until she was at the castle and it was announced. If she’s even here. There’s a village nearby, and there’s York…Phichit, she could be anywhere. How am I going to find her?”

“Keep talking to the women?”

“I am,” Yuuri sighed. “It’s hard. You’d be a lot better at it than me.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Anyway, none of those things you told me would’ve required making trips to find old books. Did you learn anything else?”

“Well like I said, it’s not a lot, but I’ll give you what I’ve got.”

“Go on, then,” Yuuri said, adjusting his position on the floor so he was more comfortable. His stomach fluttered. Had Phichit found anything out about the people he saw here every day? If so, what? He swallowed.

“Just looking it up…there don’t seem to be any records for the Courtenay family that Justin’s from. Well, none that I could find. I did look, but it was a long time ago, and so much has been lost…”

“OK, I get it. What _can _you tell me?”

“That the chroniclers only seemed to want to write about important Church people and nobles? There’s a little for the Nikiforovs, anyway. Andrei Nikiforov, First Baron of Crowood, lives just into the fifteenth century. And Victor, you’ll probably be pleased to hear, won’t be trying to cut your throat any later than next year, if you’re still there, because he dies in 1393.”

Yuuri stared at the com.

“Did you hear me? Yuuri?”

“I…”

“Are you OK? Is there a problem?”

“Are you sure?” Yuuri whispered hoarsely. “H-How? How does he die?”

“The book just has a date for him, that’s all.” He paused. “Is something wrong? I thought you’d be glad to get him out of your hair. Who knows, it could be as soon as a few days, with New Year’s on the way – ”

“Phichit.” He took several shallow breaths, then said, “He…we were making up. I told you. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh. Gosh, Yuuri, I…I guess it didn’t really register. I mean, he tried to _kill _you.”

“I know. He thought I was Justin. I mean, he still does. But it’s different now. I…” He stood and gave a shaky sigh.

“I didn’t know you were friends.” When Yuuri forced down another breath, Phichit added in a quiet voice, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Me too. I…um, I’d better go.”

“You sure you’re going to be OK?”

“Yeah. Bye, Phichit. I’ll, uh, speak to you tomorrow, I guess.”

He cut the call, and as usual, was left with the heightened awareness of being a stranger here, Phichit’s voice receding into time. Then he clapped a hand to his mouth and stared at the blank wall. _Beyond _the wall.

“Oh my God. Victor,” he whispered through his fingers.

But how many conversations had they even had? Victor thought he was someone else. Phichit had said “friends”, but could they even be considered that?

_It doesn’t matter. He…he’s not like anyone I’ve ever known. He’s special. Wonderful. You don’t have to know someone well to see those things in their eyes. In their…in his heart. In everything he does._

“No,” he whispered into the room, as if the word was proof against the tragedy that the approaching year was bringing, like an avalanche in the distance, gaining ground faster than anything could run.

The damned book Phichit had consulted hadn’t even bothered to say _how_. Combat? An illness? An accident? Not Ailis. She had no reason to harm him, surely?

_What if he’s made to fight another duel, and has one of his rare bad days? Or…or all of us are sent to some battle?_

He lifted the top of a chest and pulled his sword out of its scabbard. As he held it up, the silver metal gleaming in the firelight, he recalled Victor’s words from earlier.

_Your sword’s drawn blood, Justin. It’s killed people. And yet you act like you’re afraid to harm me._

Yuuri wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. _But what if there are others who want to, Victor? People who hold a grudge against you, or…or want to say they fought and beat the best knight in the land, or who are just out for blood? What then?_

_This place is fucking barbaric._

He screwed his face up and hurled his sword at the far wall, where it cut a small chunk out of the plaster and then clattered noisily to the wooden floor, quickly stilling. His hands covered his face as his shoulders shook.

After some indeterminate time, the thud and crackle of logs in the fireplace as they burned through and broke apart, resettling, made him start. _Ever since I got here, I’ve felt helpless. I don’t have control over anything. And now this. Fucking hell._

He sniffed, sleeved off his face again, swallowed, hugged his arms to his chest, and thought. _That’s not entirely true. I chose not to live up to Justin’s nickname, though I could’ve tried, and…done an awful job, I suppose. I’ve gone through all that training, and I’ve worked my arse off. Because I wanted to. I want to be good at this stuff. I think…maybe I could be._

Several more deep breaths. Then he crossed the room and stared at the sword before bending to pick it up. _Maybe this has had human blood on it; even been used to kill. But I can change that. Use it to defend. To…to save a life. Maybe it’s the most important tool I own now._

There was no telling what fate had in store for Victor. Or himself, or anyone else, apart from kings whose lives were recorded in history books. No knowing whether a sword would be able to stop some deadly event from occurring.

_But if it can, I’ll be there to use it_. His voice cracked the heavy silence in the room as he said aloud: “Victor, I promise you – I’ll defend your life with my own. Anything or anyone that wants to hurt you is going to have to get past me first.”

The bold words lightened his heart. For a moment. Then his shoulders sagged and he sat down on his bed, the tip of his sword poking the floor.

_It’s easy to say that. How often, apart from meals, do I even see him?_

_Why would he need me anyway, when he’s got his own intelligence and talent, and Julius, and other knights and fighting men surrounding him? People who actually know what they’re doing. As opposed to a time-traveller who’s play-acting._

_And…why am I feeling this so deeply? What is Victor to me? _

The questions lingered, seemingly with no answers; and his eyes remained open for hours after he’d gone to bed.

* * *

_What do you say to someone when you know something important about them that you can never share?_

Yuuri had finished training for the day, still in his armour, and was standing against the wooden fence that bordered the field, watching the stable, his gaze lingering on Victor and Julius in Alyona’s stall. They were too far away for their voices to be heard.

_I can’t tell you about my real self. My life. The time I come from. My mission. You don’t even know my name._

_I don’t know much about you, either. But I know this. Somehow you’re condemned to die in the new year, and I have to live with that knowledge, and make sure you never find out. While I…I don’t know. _He sighed. _Find some way of preventing it. But how? At least if I were Julius, I’d be in a position to…to guard you. Or something. But I can’t tell him, either. I can’t involve anyone else in this._

He’d struggled to concentrate on his training, and Abelard had been full of more invective than usual. His appetite had vanished; dinner hadn’t appealed, and he wasn’t interested in supper. Shadows were lengthening as the sun dipped over the horizon, throwing rays of gold at a steep angle across the tops of the trees.

Emil emerged from the stable, the strings of his white cloth cap bouncing. He’d seemed surprised and happy to receive his new leather bag, and had been making regular use of it; Yuuri saw it slung over the shoulder of his cloak now.

“Are you ready to return to the castle, sir? I’ll help you remove your armour, and then we can go to the great hall for supper. Rumour has it that the head chef is preparing a special subtlety to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Last year it was a huge pastry and marzipan castle in all colours of the rainbow, and when it was presented in the great hall, the juggler jumped out of it.”

Yuuri rested his arms on the fence and gave a tiny laugh. “You go enjoy it, then.”

“Don’t you like subtleties, sir? They can be delightful surprises.”

“What _is _a subtlety?” Yuuri asked as he watched Victor and Julius approaching.

“Ah, I suppose you’ve forgotten. It’s a dish intended for entertainment. You can’t always eat them; they’re mainly designed to amaze and impress.”

“Do you think you’d be allowed to be amazed and impressed while you were sitting in my seat at the table, if I wasn’t there?” Yuuri asked, a sudden idea striking him. He didn’t even know what Emil did on the occasions when his master wasn’t present there for a meal.

Emil’s eyes widened as Victor and Julius joined them. “Sir, it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Why not? You’re a knight in training. Try out my seat.” He looked at Victor. “Couldn’t he?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Victor replied.

“Take my place at the table when I’m not there for a meal.”

Julius gave a hard laugh. “Are you insulting us?”

“I’ve never seen him have a meal with everyone else,” Yuuri continued, ignoring him. “He’s expected to hang over my shoulder with a jug or a plate or a bowl, waiting for me to ask for something. He carves meat for me.”

“That’s what he’s _supposed _to do,” Julius said. “He’s your squire.”

“And he does a wonderful job.” He looked at Emil, who gave him a smile before his confused expression returned; then back at Victor. “Do you remember when I said I don’t like servants doing things for me that I can do for myself? It’s New Year’s Eve. Why not give him a break and let him take my place. I won’t be having supper tonight.”

“Are you not feeling well, sir?” Emil asked quickly.

“I…I’m just not hungry.” Again his gaze met Victor’s. “Is it so much to ask?”

“It’s impertinent,” Julius said, glaring.

“And not a bad idea,” Victor decided. “For tonight. That is, Emil, if you’d like to take Justin up on his offer?”

Emil considered for a moment. “It’s most unusual, my lord, but…” He smiled at Yuuri again. “…certainly, if my master wishes it.”

“Good,” Victor said. “That’s settled, then.”

Julius huffed. “Wait. Does that mean I get a turn in your place sometime, master?”

“At the high table, my lad? Do something to earn your place there and I’ll say yes.” He turned to leave, then looked at Yuuri. “Since you’re not having a meal, will you go as far as the castle with us?”

Yuuri nodded and walked at his side, their squires behind them.

“Won’t you reconsider coming to the great hall?” Victor asked him as they strode toward the hill. “There’ll be food and drink and dancing through the night, to see in the dawn of the new year.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” When Victor looked at him quizzically, he hastily added, “Maybe not afraid. I just…I’m not keen on parties. I’d rather be someplace quiet with a few friends. Usually.” He gave a little laugh. “I do drink. Once in a while. Just…I’d rather not, tonight.”

Victor was quiet for a moment. The sinking sun glowed in his hair. Yuuri was seized with the ridiculous urge to ask him to take his cap off so that all of him could catch the light.

“I don’t like admitting it, but drinking until dawn isn’t usually my idea of fun, either,” Victor said quietly. “I was thinking about retiring early myself. I don’t know what the common practice at your father’s castle is on the first of January, but with it being the Feast of Fools, our tenants like to celebrate it in style. So perhaps I’ll rest up for that.” He gave Yuuri a wry smile. “The noble family visits some of the villages, where the people put on costumes that poke fun at aristocrats and the clergy. The only time of year when a villein can wear long sleeves and rich cloth, if he can get them, and not be fined for dressing above his station. They hold mock courts, and drink and behave like jesters.” He looked at Yuuri. “Have you ever presided over such affairs?”

“I, uh…no. But I can’t say I envy you.”

Victor nodded and smiled. “At least I can watch them enjoy themselves. The time will pass. But anyway, in the spirit of turning things on their heads, your suggestion that Emil take your place in the great hall is a good one. If you’re sure you can’t be persuaded to come and have a drink at least, to toast the coming of the new year.”

The coming of the new year was not something Yuuri felt like toasting, however. When they arrived at the castle, he said his goodbyes to Victor and Julius, then allowed Emil to help him remove his armour, though he’d worked out how to put it on and take it off himself by now, and only pretended to struggle with it once in a while because Emil seemed to think it such an important part of his job. Soon he was left on his own, wondering how to pass another evening in here with little to do. He couldn’t face trying to socialise, not tonight, when everyone was likely to be in an even more festive mood than usual. 

_And how does that fit with my promise to defend Victor’s life with mine? Staying here in my room while he’s somewhere else is really going to help._

_No one’s going to attack him in the great hall. Or while he’s out visiting the villages tomorrow. Are they?_

_What if an arrow goes astray? What if his horse stumbles and throws him? What if he catches some illness? _

But he knew that accidents happened, no matter how vigilant anyone was in trying to prevent them. He also knew it was impossible for him to act as Victor’s bodyguard. Victor was a capable person, and he himself had other things to be getting on with. And yet. And yet.

_I’m avoiding the biggest issue of all, if I’m honest. How does defending Victor’s life with my own fit in with needing to stay alive so that I can do what I came here for, what Phichit and Celestino are depending on me for? If Ailis really intends to try to change the course of history, do individuals like Victor and me even matter in the grand scheme of things?_

_Yes we do. Each person matters._

_All the more reason to find Ailis before she does something to interfere with a lot of lives, then._

Yuuri ran a hand over his face and walked to the window. Leaving the shutters open allowed the cold to drift into the room, since the apertures were poorly insulated, but he didn’t want to be blanketed in darkness until there was no choice. A purple flame of sunset was visible in the sky, brightening to a yellow and pink glow on the horizon.

_Whenever I’m not with Victor, I’m going to feel like I ought to be. Watching over him. But I can’t do it. I can’t tell him. I can’t tell anyone. _

_This is going to tear me apart._

He exhaled and sat down on the window seat, wishing he could expunge the incessant thoughts and worries from his mind. They might be stealing his appetite away, but he would need to eat. To _live_. How would hiding here in his room help anything?

He would have to carry on as usual. There was no other choice. He couldn’t risk endangering his mission. Tomorrow, he would wake up and do everything he always did…and hope that Victor was OK.

_Watching over him…I can still do that when it’s possible, _he thought, listening to the light laughter of people walking through the courtyard to the great hall for supper. He wondered when he’d be able to laugh like that again, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

_I might even turn into a praying man before I’m done._


	22. Chapter 22

In Yuuri’s own time, the twelve days of Christmas seemed to live on in spirit as well as song. Businesses would be closed, bank holidays came and went, people took time off work, and everything was disrupted for two weeks after Christmas Day. When ordinary life emerged in the new year from underneath a stale pile of turkey, Christmas pud, mince pies, unwanted presents and perhaps a hangover – due to the drinks it had taken to survive the obligatory party for university employees and forget about the embarrassment – Yuuri usually considered it a relief.

The real twelve-day holiday was both better and worse, he decided, and more of the latter than the former. The best part was the food. Whoever this Fernand jack was who’d been placed in charge of the kitchen, Yuuri felt sure he’d have several Michelin stars to his name in the modern world. He was thankful no one was ever offended if he didn’t eat much, because taking small amounts of food from a wide variety of dishes was considered the norm, and he knew that someone less fortunate would be given any leftovers remaining on his trencher, however disturbing Yuuri found the thought. What he _did _taste was usually delicious, as long as he didn’t ask Emil what it was. He’d been put off more than once by discovering he’d just swallowed hedgehog, dormouse, or a soup they literally called “garbage”, made from chicken heads, feet, liver and gizzards, with the usual sop-and-spice mix added. 

What he didn’t like was…most everything else. The Lord of Misrule, who he’d come to dread and actively avoid, lest he be commanded to do something mortifying in front of everyone. People in various stages of sobriety, especially in the garrison, whose behaviour was therefore difficult to predict. And the unreliable training schedule, though Yuuri decided to do something about that himself by exercising more and finding fighting men to spar with, even if it was still producing mixed results. Victor hadn’t been out to the training field or stable very often, and Yuuri was beginning to think he’d simply been lucky to have had the one session with him. Though it was something he knew he would never forget.

That was what he told himself. But as usual where Victor was concerned, it wasn’t a very good match for what he actually felt. He wanted more. To be able to get to know him better, and think of him as a…a friend. To learn from him. And to protect him, or at least try to. None of those things were possible if they barely saw each other, and it was a constant frustration simmering away at the bottom of everything else.

There was one Christmas tradition Yuuri changed his mind about, however. And he almost didn’t get the chance, because it didn’t happen until the fifth of January, Twelfth Night.

He’d been tempted not to go to supper again. How did so much feasting continue to appeal, and didn’t people gain weight? Not that he’d seen anyone stuffing themselves with food, but twelve days…More cake. More drink. More strange entertainers singing about maidens, or capering around in masks, or slipping and falling and pushing each other and calling it comedy. But he’d allowed Emil to twist his arm. He said it wasn’t seemly, or even healthy, for a knight to miss as many meals as he had, and he knew for a fact they’d be serving the custard pie with cinnamon, saffron and rosewater that Yuuri had enthused about when he’d first tried it on Christmas Day.

So he went with Emil to the great hall. When they entered, he glanced up at the large spherical shrub-like decoration hanging from one of the central beams above; he’d noticed it before, but tonight it seemed to be catching the candlelight in a way that made it sparkle. What it was, exactly, Yuuri hadn’t asked, but he assumed it was a prototype of a Christmas tree. It was hollow, maybe twice the size of a disco ball, and covered in trimmings from evergreen trees; he recognised the pointy dark green leaves and red berries of holly. In the centre hung several shiny red apples on matching ribbons, while the boughs were decorated with strings of nuts, more ribbons, and pieces of what looked like brightly coloured glass that glinted as they slowly revolved in the draught.

He didn’t linger underneath it, however, because he’d also seen people kissing here, and he guessed the decoration must also perform the same function that mistletoe did in his own time. Glancing across the room at his usual table, he saw that Chris was going to be his neighbour tonight. That meant he would probably hear stories about life at his family’s castle in Vernon, in northern France. He could think of worse things, he decided as he strode forward.

“Sir, I command you – halt!”

Yuuri stopped and turned around, wondering who was addressing him like this, certain it could mean nothing good. And sure enough, there was the Lord of Misrule, the sinister jester he thought he’d successfully avoided for the past twelve days. With his bizarre paper hat that looked like it had come out of a Christmas cracker, and the red club with bells; God only knew what that was for. But then he realised it was Victor the man been speaking to. Yuuri could read the annoyance in his eyes, though he gave a politely indulgent grin. 

“This is my last day, sir,” the Lord of Misrule announced loudly enough for half the hall to hear; a small crowd was gathering to stare, while those already seated turned their heads to watch, many of them smiling. “You’ve eluded me up ’til now – don’t deny it!” he declared, dramatically pointing an accusing finger. “But no one escapes the Lord of Misrule. I have one command for the son of the baron, who has yet to take the lesson in humility that his family and peers have done many times over, in good cheer.”

Victor folded his arms across his chest and gave him a good-natured pointed look, then said somewhat grudgingly, “All right…my lord. What do you want me to do?”

A murmur went around the room, and a few laughs and claps, as the reply was awaited. Yuuri’s stomach was doing nervous flips on Victor’s behalf.

“I see you’re standing under the kissing bush,” said the man; and he waited to carry on until the eruption of whistles and cheers died down. Yuuri imagined Victor being told to kiss a cook or a maid, and figured it could have been a lot worse, though he admired his composure. A touch of pink across the top of each cheek hinted that it might not be entirely genuine, however.

“My command to you, then, is this.” He paused while the hall quieted completely, then announced – spinning round to point at Yuuri – “Kiss the man you tried to kill.”

Yuuri’s eyes shot open wide, and he wondered if he was in some drunken dream. The jester-like man, cap and bells jingling, bowed and backed away as if giving the two of them centre stage. His odd club waved in his hand, and there was a broad grin on his face. Hoots, whistles, cheers and shouts filled the room, then quietened once more as Victor stepped forward.

All thought chased from Yuuri’s mind. He watched as Victor drew nearer, until he was standing in front of him. There was a sombre expression on his face; but as their eyes met, Yuuri’s still wide and uncertain, he saw Victor’s blue ones dance, and then there was a little grin – part apologetic, part mischievous, it seemed. He gently placed a hand on Yuuri’s left shoulder, then leaned forward, and Yuuri briefly closed his eyes and took in a little gasp as he felt Victor’s lips on his cheek. They lingered for perhaps two seconds before the heat and touch were gone…but he still hovered close as he whispered, his breath fanning Yuuri’s cheek, “Good fortune go with you in the new year.” A small smile brightened his face as he drew back.

The cheers and whistles came once more, but they were subdued, perhaps because the dramatic scene of embarrassment they’d expected had not occurred. No longer were the two of them deadly enemies. They were…

Yuuri couldn’t figure out how to end that sentence, even when Victor had gone to take his place at the high table; he himself was faced with more food for which he had no appetite, not even the custard tart.

“The mad fellow got you in the end, then,” Chris chuckled. “A dull challenge, if you ask me. You must be disappointed.” His gaze rested on Yuuri after he’d said it, as if to assess his reaction.

“Hm? Oh. Yes…I suppose so.”

“Better luck next year, then. Are you going to finish that?” He gestured toward Yuuri’s piece of custard tart.

“Um, no.”

Chris picked it up and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t think you were here when he had the squires pour beer all over me, and I had to sit and eat like that. This chap is uninspired.”

“Sounds like it.” But a tingling sensation seemed yet to linger on Yuuri’s cheek, and he was silently inclined to disagree. 

* * *

He had several days to return to his senses, however, because Victor as good as vanished, apart from at mealtimes. There was no sign of him in the training field, and his horses were in their stalls whenever Yuuri was in the stable and looked.

_Keep your feet on the ground and face facts, _he told himself sternly while he was taking Blaze back after practice with the quintain that was pathetic by a knight’s standards, but definite progress compared to his past efforts; though he would be nursing more bruises from being knocked out of his saddle and slamming to the hard frozen earth too many times to count, the deepest one emerging across his abdomen where his breastplate had wedged into his skin on impact. _How much do I know about Victor and the life he lives here? He’s not just a knight; he’s the baron’s only son. I’ve got to stop flattering myself into thinking that he’d have any interest in someone like me. I’m sure I’ve only been a diversion from other things he’s been busy with._

_Is that why he put his hands on that ceramic sphere with mine? Is that why he smiled at me after he kissed me under that Christmas shrubbery?_ The memories sent a frisson through him.

_Yes, and yes. Maybe I should fill the pitcher in my room full of cold water from the well and dump it over myself. I’m being such a plonker. Phichit and Celestino sent me here to do an important job._

He secured Blaze in his stall, deciding that the remainder of the afternoon would be best spent in some non-contact form of training such as running, when a man standing outside the gate of a nearby stall suddenly let out a cry of alarm. Yuuri jerked his head up and looked. No one was attacking him and he didn’t seem to be hurt; a stable boy was putting a saddle on the placid-looking black and grey mottled palfrey behind him.

The man himself was a bit of a puzzle, though. Standing with his hands raised to chest height and obviously flustered, he looked like some strange tropical bird with his cascade of brown hair, bright parti-coloured clothes, and hose that tapered to pointy toes which doubled the length of his feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked the man, going over to him.

“Oh, my good knight,” he said, sleeves flapping gently as he waved his hands. “Just the person. I need your help.”

“I’m sorry, but you are…?”

“Percy Steggles, keeper of the wardrobe.”

_They need a special person to look after their wardrobe here?_ Well, why not? Each member of the noble family probably had a whole room full of clothes.

“I’m in a hurry,” Percy continued, “and I forgot to give something to Sir Victor. I wonder if you’d run it up to him in the great hall, there’s a good fellow.”

Telling himself to disregard the feeling that he was being patronised, Yuuri said, “Why is he in the great hall? It isn’t supper time for a few hours yet.”

Percy gave an amused little laugh. “It _is _used for more than meals, you know. It’s the manorial court today.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The hands waved again, and Percy huffed. “I’m in a hurry, sir; I’m late for a meeting in the village.” Yuuri stood waiting, however, and the man soon added in a tone that betrayed his annoyance, “Very well. Lord Nikiforov is in Pontefract, so Sir Victor and Master Everard are in charge of the castle while he’s away. Sir Victor is presiding in his father’s place over the court. I made a list of all the Christmas gifts the family received, and their estimated worth, and it must go to him so that it can all be figured into the holdings of the estate. Master de Lacey will need the list as soon as possible, if not Sir Victor himself. I said I’d leave it with them.” He huffed again. “Please, sir, it’s most urgent. Will you take the scroll to them? I must be on my way.”

_What do you think I am, a pageboy? _Then Yuuri caught himself. Was he already subsumed into this ridiculous feudal hierarchy to the extent that he expected people to give him deferential treatment? He’d promised himself he’d remain outside of it all, in spirit at least, as far as he safely could. Emil would volunteer to go, he knew, if he hadn’t been sparring with the other squires in the field. Maybe this could be a good opportunity to find out more about what Victor did here, and he had to admit he was curious about this court.

“All right, I’ll go,” he said.

More hand waving, this time in gratitude. “Oh God bless you, sir. Let me fetch it.” Percy opened the stable gate and removed a scroll bound with a red ribbon from a leather satchel attached to the saddle, then handed it over. “As quickly as you can, my good man. I’m in your debt.”

Yuuri nodded and dashed out of the stable, waving while he passed the training field so that he caught a surprised Emil’s attention, and was soon up the hill and giving the day’s password to Alfric the porter. Once he emerged from the gatehouse and into the courtyard, he could see that something unusual was taking place because of the clusters of people standing around, many of them dressed in the types of clothes Yuuri had seen peasants in the fields wearing, rough and plain compared to those of many of the castle denizens, though layered and dyed different colours. Whatever their reason for being here – he assumed it must be the court – they were now chatting amongst themselves while children scampered about.

Making his way through, Yuuri arrived at the archway that led into the vestibule outside the great hall. Unusually, two guards blocked the way. Yuuri recognised them from the garrison and thought for a moment. Simon and Harry.

“Do you have business, sir?” the former asked him. “Sir Victor’s holding court, so I’m afraid I can’t let you in unless – ”

Yuuri brandished Percy’s scroll and quickly explained, and they allowed him to pass. He took a few steps into the vestibule, hearing the echoes of clattering pots and pans from the kitchen down the hallway to his right, while to his left he glimpsed several rows of people lining walls in the hall as a man’s voice he didn’t recognise spoke. It had the feel of a formal gathering, and the last thing Yuuri wanted to do was march straight in, so he crept toward the doorway and peered around just enough to get a view of the entire room.

His eyes widened at what he saw. The high table had been removed, and in its place on the dais was Victor, sitting in the throne-like chair occupied by his father during meals, presiding over the gathering and looking more princely than Yuuri had ever seen him.

He hardly even recognised him at first, in fact. Victor was wearing a dark blue garment like a gown, with sleeves as long as Percy’s. It extended to below his knees, cinched with a black leather belt and hemmed with some shimmering stuff of gold, green and red; a long-sleeved shirt of the same colour could be glimpsed underneath. His livery collar gleamed. Covering his hair apart from a bit of fringe peeking out of the left side was a black confection; “hat” seemed a very ordinary word for something so elegant. And his blue hose tapered to shoeless pointy toes, though they weren’t as ridiculous as Percy’s. He rested his chin in his hand, his gaze sombre and pensive as he regarded an older woman with a young man, both of them dressed humbly.

Several official-looking people populated the dais along with Victor: Matthew Everard stood next to the chair on his right, another with salt-and-pepper hair Yuuri had seen numerous times was to his left, and two more men sat behind a wooden desk, one of them scribbling on a sheet of paper with a quill and the other with stacks of gold and silver coins arranged in front of him, along with more papers. Yuuri guessed there were perhaps fifty people in the hall, with the most important ones closest to the dais, as usual; it was easy to get an idea of social status and rank from clothing alone.

As the hearing proceeded, Yuuri learned that this was a case of theft. The woman’s son had been caught trying to take two tankards from an inn; witnesses in the hall described what they’d seen, and the innkeeper and his wife injected their outrage that a local young man should do such a thing to hard-working people trying to make an honest living. The accused man made no attempt to deny what he’d done, saying in a voice that attempted confidence but was clearly laced with fear that he thought he was taking plain wooden tankards with steel rims; he hadn’t been aware that the rims contained silver. However, the innkeeper pointed out rather obviously that he shouldn’t have been trying to take anything in the first place. The mother was soon openly sobbing and begging the most noble and just lord to spare her only son, as it was his first offence and it had put the fear of God and hell into him. Both of them weren’t exactly dressed in rags, but their clothes were worn and threadbare; the man’s tunic looked as if it had been bleached over time in the sun and maybe from many washes.

Yuuri wondered what they did to thieves in the Middle Ages, and his imagination threw out a series of horrific punishments. The innkeepers, and some people in the crowd, seemed to be after the man’s blood, but Victor’s face was impassive as he firmly kept order. Eventually the woman threw herself on the floor, crying out for mercy, while her son looked around in consternation.

Victor gestured to Matthew, whose fur-trimmed robe trailed on the floor as he stepped down from the dais and helped the woman to stand. He remained by her side as Victor addressed the hall.

“This man, Thomas Farraday, is clearly guilty of attempted theft,” he said. “However, these tankards Master Scrimshaw brought as evidence from his inn aren’t as valuable as some have claimed, I believe; and I know the Farradays have been in straitened circumstances for some time now.” He silenced the beginning of an outcry from the innkeeper with a glance. “At the same time, there’s never any excuse for criminal behaviour.” Now he looked at the woman in front of him. “Madam, you know you can come here and ask for aid if you’re in difficulties. And you, Master Farraday, know it as well, but it seems you’d rather abuse the trust of your neighbours than swallow some pride.” The room was utterly silent, all eyes upon him, as he continued, “There will be a fine of a groat to pay, in full, before Easter. Stay, both of you, and my chamberlain will have a word with you.” He glanced at the man with the salt-and-pepper hair next to him, who stepped down from the dais. One of the men at the desk rapped a wooden hammer loudly.

The crowd began to file out of the hall, and Yuuri ducked through the door and found a place near the corner to stand until they dispersed. The woman and her son were in animated conversation with the chamberlain and steward, and Victor was slumped back in his chair, no longer hiding his exhaustion. He turned his head to confer with the men at the desk, one of whom was still writing furiously, while the other had begun counting coins. There was a loud “Thank you, oh thank you, my lord!” from the woman to Victor, and a low bow from her son, before they were also led out of the hall.

If it hadn’t been for the familiar form of Victor, albeit dressed so differently, Yuuri would have thought this was the most alien-seeming gathering he’d attended here so far. He remembered the scroll in his hand, almost as an afterthought, and crossed the hall. When Victor turned his head and saw him, he appeared surprised, and possibly pleased.

“Justin,” he said in a voice gentled from the commanding one he’d been using a moment ago. He shifted in the chair, a questioning look on his face.

Yuuri stepped forward, feeling oddly like he ought to bow. He explained about meeting Percy in the stables and handed the scroll over. Victor untied the ribbon and glanced at the paper, then rolled it back up and replaced the ribbon. “Quentin, you’ve been waiting for this, I believe,” he said, standing and giving it to the man with the coins.

“The featherbrain. Why did it take him so long?” Then he fell silent, his attention fixed on his reading.

“Thanks to both of you for your services today,” Victor said to them. “I’ll leave you to finish.” He stepped down from the dais and was about to say something to Yuuri when the steward reappeared, giving Victor an urgent look. He bit back his words, though, glancing at Yuuri and then again at Victor.

“What is it, Matthew?” Victor asked him.

The steward coughed, clearly conscious of Yuuri’s presence. “I’ll go,” Yuuri said, turning to leave.

“No,” Victor said hastily. “There’s no need.” Then he turned to Matthew. “You can speak freely in front of Justin. He’s a knight of the castle, after all.”

“Yes. Well. As you please, my lord. I’ve made arrangements with the Farradays as you requested.”

“Good.”

“And I’m afraid I have news that’s less pleasant.” He dropped his voice to a more confidential tone, although the only other people in the room now were the two men at the desk. “There’s been a second herd of sheep affected by what we feel certain is the plague. This time about seventy percent have died.”

Victor’s face paled, but his voice remained steady. “Is it the Jenkins farm again?”

“No, sir. It’s the Caldwells, on the other side of the estate. John has already been to investigate, and he can’t understand how it happened. As far as we can tell, there’s been no contact between the two herds at all. Nothing has been shared by the farms. The families hardly know each other.”

Victor paused to consider, the concern in his eyes plain. “The remainder of the herd will need to be destroyed.”

“John has already given orders to that effect.”

“The Caldwells will need to be reimbursed.”

“We shall do that soon, my lord.”

“We might have to impose a quarantine if this carries on.”

“We could, but if the disease is able to jump about like this – ”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Victor said in clipped tones, then sighed and looked back at Matthew. “Have any people complained of symptoms?”

“Not to our knowledge. But Blake and his men have been instructed to keep their eyes and ears open while they’re about their duties on the estate.”

“All right. You’d…you’d better go take your ease before supper. It’s been a long day. Inform me straight away if there are any fresh developments.”

“Of course. Thank you, my lord.” He gave Yuuri a curt nod, then departed.

Victor stood, fingering his signet ring as he stepped down from the dais. “We all wanted to think the scourge was gone after the outbreak two years ago,” he muttered. “It was worst in York, but took enough people from this castle. I daresay it was the same at yours.” Before Yuuri could think of a reply, he added, “We have the royal visit later this year, too. But if matters get any worse, it will have to be cancelled. I wouldn’t be disappointed, because it’s extra work and hassle I could do without, though I think I’m rather on my own in that sentiment.” He huffed a laugh, his expression softening. “I find it curiously easy to talk to you, Justin. You make a good audience. I hope I don’t bore you.”

“You’d never bore me,” Yuuri said.

“I’m parched. Will you have a drink with me?”

“A drink?” Yuuri echoed, wondering for an odd moment whether there was a pub nearby that he intended to visit. But he simply walked over to a table against the wall underneath the window on which jugs and ewers, basins and pewter cups were stored, Yuuri following. 

“I wonder what’s been left here,” Victor mused, briefly removing the tops from different vessels and inhaling their scents. “After Matthew’s news, I could do with something a little stronger than usual. Ah, this will do, I think.” He poured two cups full of red wine and handed one to Yuuri, then took a long sip of his own. “It’s not unheard of for animals to catch plague and other diseases,” he said. “It’s probable nothing will come of it, especially if we’re watchful. But I don’t like it, Justin. There’s nothing fouler that God put on this earth.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure how to respond. He sipped his wine, which was bitter but not as watered down as what he was used to. “You seem to have a lot of responsibilities on your shoulders,” he commented eventually.

“Maybe. Though my father normally presides over the court; I only do it when he’s absent or indisposed. Did you not do similar things yourself at your father’s castle?”

“I…you remember I said I was having some problems with my memory? It’s strange, some of the things I’ve forgotten, but…” He laughed in what he hoped was a convincingly embarrassed way. “…I can’t even remember what the court’s for. What happens there. You tried a thief, though; I saw that much.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Really? Oh.” He paused, looking at Yuuri with concern before continuing, “Well, this is one of the ways we deal with affairs of the estate, especially if there are difficulties.” He turned his cup in his hands, examining it as he talked. “Poaching, blocked streams, fist fights, slander…I’ve heard it all today.” He took a sip of wine. “The case I just heard was left to last because it was the most important. Anything more serious would be referred to the sheriff. I wish it all could be.” He gazed at Yuuri earnestly. “I don’t always know if my judgement is the best, Justin. I try, but I’m sure I get it wrong sometimes. I prefer to leave it in my father’s hands when I can. He’s more experienced than me.”

“The last case seemed to end well.”

“I hope so. Did you see the looks on the faces of the innkeeper and his wife when I announced a fine? They’d have protested my judgement if they’d dared. People have been hanged for lesser offences.”

“Hanged?” Yuuri breathed. “Have you – ”

“Don’t ask me what I’ve had to do in the course of my duties,” Victor interrupted, choking slightly on the last word and looking down at his cup again. “It was justified on each occasion. I know that, but…it makes me sick at heart.”

_Jesus,_ Yuuri thought.

“I’d never do such a thing to a young man who was desperate for money and had hoped to sell those tankards to get it,” Victor continued, meeting his gaze once more. “And yet justice needed to be served somehow. The Farradays can’t even afford to pay a groat, but my steward is working on ways to help them earn that money, and more besides. I couldn’t force the man to leave the fields because then there’d be nobody left to work them; it’s been hard for them since the woman’s husband died last year, though they should’ve approached us for help before things got to this state. I may still have to impose some difficult conditions on them. It’s in my power to order her to remarry, or even decide on a husband for her. Though I’d rather not have to. No one would want to have that done to them.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. He couldn’t imagine having to look after people on lands he owned in this way. If Victor wasn’t confident in his own actions, Yuuri suspected that he himself would be crippled by anxiety attacks before he could attempt such a thing. And yet his sympathies also went out to all these tenants who seemed to have so little power over their own lives.

“Maybe there are other ways to live,” he said eventually, “where people have more independence, and no one needs to worry about making such difficult decisions on their behalf.”

Victor had been lifting his cup to his lips, but stopped midway and raised an eyebrow. “Have you been to such a place on your travels?”

_Yes. _“I’m just imagining. That’s the way the best ideas start, isn’t it?” He paused. “Do you think it’s a good one?”

The heaviness on Victor’s face lifted, and he gave Yuuri a bemused grin. “You have a habit of asking bold and interesting questions, Justin. Yes, I do think it’s a good idea. But I’m just one man. It’s all very well to dream, but it doesn’t solve problems like what to do about people who try to thieve tankards from inns.” He drained the last of his wine and put his cup on the table. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m pent up from sitting in here all day. I need to take some exercise. Would you like to join me?”

* * *

_This might not be what I had in mind when he mentioned exercise, but why not?_

Victor had suggested they meet near a pile of logs that had been dumped in the courtyard near the kitchen. He was going to change into something more suitable, he said, and Yuuri was welcome to remove his own armour if he wanted. He’d done so, and had emerged from his room in a blue tunic, hat and cloak and gloves. Now he stood staring at the wood, thinking the only thing to do here was to chop it, though there were no axes to be seen. An aroma of roasting meat, onions and garlic, woven through with a dozen different herbs and spices, drifted from the kitchen windows.

_Maybe he’s got something like tossing the caber in mind. But none of these logs look long enough. _Yuuri could easily imagine Abelard picking up a heavy pole and throwing it in the traditional Highland manner. It certainly would be good exercise – and probably rip his back muscles apart in the process.

“You’re here,” Victor’s voice came from behind him. He turned and saw the man he was more used to, in boots, hose and fur coat, minus any head covering. The golden rays of the sinking sun played in his hair, spurring Yuuri to speak before his brain could catch up.

“It seems a shame you had to change clothes just to do this. You looked…I mean…” Too late, he realised the hole he’d dug himself into, and felt his cheeks pink.

“I didn’t think it would be very sensible to chop firewood in a houppelande, chaperon and the hose I was wearing,” Victor replied with a smile.

“I don’t know what those are, but they suited you.” _What’s got into me? _His mouth needed stapling shut.

“Do you not own any of them yourself?”

“No. At least, not here. My memory…” He shrugged.

“The houppelande is the gown, for want of a better word, and the chaperon is the hat. I try to be fashionable with my legwear without looking too silly.”

“You didn’t look silly.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Victor paused, while Yuuri started to wish he could sink into the ground. “You must’ve worn clothes like that yourself before. I think you’d look quite dashing in them.”

“Uh…thanks.” _I’m not a tongue-tied idiot, Victor, honestly. It just seems to happen to me a lot around you. I wish we could be sparring again; I’m better at that than conversation. _“You sounded surprised that I was here.”

Victor gave him a small grin. “Well, I’m aware that I did nothing but talk about myself the entire time we were in the great hall. Like I said, I hope I didn’t bore you.” Before Yuuri could contradict him, he added, “Why don’t we get what we need for chopping this wood, and you can tell me about how your training’s going, if you like.”

He led them into the room at the bottom of the tower, which Yuuri was used to passing through on his way to dance with Monica. It was always wreathed in shadows when he did, however; and now he saw that apart from the well in the middle, next to the doorway were several large hunks of wood, with axes propped against the wall. Victor invited him to take a piece of wood while he took one himself, and they rolled them on the grass in the courtyard until they were next to the logpile again. Then they each fetched an axe.

“Do you do this a lot?” Yuuri asked, securing the wood so it could presumably be used as a stump for chopping on.

“Once in a while. It’s an excellent workout, and the crew in the kitchen don’t mind it either,” Victor replied. “Being in the courtyard, I get interrupted sometimes, but usually people are happy to leave me to it.”

Yuuri rested his axe head down on the ground and examined the pile of wood to decide on what he would chop first, then noticed what Victor was doing. “You’re kidding me,” he said with an incredulous laugh. He had removed his cloak and draped it across part of the logpile, revealing a long black tunic trimmed with silver. His belt came off next. Then he began unbuttoning the tunic. His actions were business-like, and he was looking down as he worked, but Yuuri’s breath still hitched as he watched. When Victor was halfway finished with undoing the buttons, Yuuri forced himself to tear his gaze away.

_He takes his tunic off in the cold, I do too. Right? That’s what I do. Because I’m a hardy man who can take it. Or something._

With trembling fingers, his eyes downward as well, he removed his gloves, hat, cloak and tunic, shivering as he placed them on the logpile. Then he picked up a thick piece of wood, positioned it on the stump, and swung the axe. He’d never done this before, but he’d seen others at it around the castle and felt confident in copying them. The axe was sharp and made a satisfying thwack as it cut cleanly through the wood, the pieces of which he then tossed aside.

“So, how’s Abelard been with you lately?” he heard Victor ask him, and he had no choice but to move so that he was facing him while they talked. He kept his eyes mostly on his work, however, while he spoke about training and exercise. To his surprise, he found himself telling Victor about the insults he’d endured from the Scotsman, though their frequency had noticeably lessened.

“I don’t know how he thinks he’s going to inspire anyone by talking to them like that,” Yuuri muttered, splitting another log in half and feeling a sudden sense of catharsis from the act, remembering how he’d been called a “pathetic wee bell-end” that morning when he’d been knocked off his horse by the quintain yet again. 

“I agree.”

“You do?” Yuuri straightened and saw Victor looking at him intently.

He nodded. “He can be a foul-mouthed lout.” Taking a steadying breath, he added, “But he’s good at what he does, and my father likes him. He seems determined enough to stay here, in an English castle, despite the prejudice he has to put up with himself, so I doubt he intends to leave anytime soon. But, Justin…you _can _learn from him. Just don’t put up with any of the shit he deals out.”

Yuuri thought back to the day when Abelard had quite literally expected him to do so. “What, should I draw a sword on him every time he does?”

“It worked last time, didn’t it?” Victor said with a smile.

“I guess so.”

“And don’t let him go easy on you. Tell him to do his best. Or worst. That way, when you beat him, you’ll know you really have.” He picked up a piece of wood and balanced it on the stump in front of him.

“You think I can beat him?” Yuuri said quietly, watching him.

“I do. You got under my guard enough to cut the purse off my belt, didn’t you?” Victor smirked. “I don’t pretend. That’s why I don’t spar with anyone who isn’t ready for it.”

Yuuri blinked.

“You’re good, Justin,” Victor continued, splitting the log and immediately reaching for another one. “More than good, maybe.” Another glance his way. “Keep practising, and it’ll be interesting to see where you end up.”

_Really…? But isn’t that what I thought, too – or dared to hope? _Yuuri shuddered and watched him reach for the handle of his axe, then let go of it as he stared at the log he was about to chop. He seemed to be coaxing something off of it and onto his hand, and then he turned his palm down over the grass, and Yuuri saw a small dark shape fall.

“Spider,” Victor said with a quick smile, reaching for his axe.

“Spider?” Yuuri echoed with a small laugh.

Victor turned to look at him again. “I don’t need to chop that along with the log, do I? It wouldn’t be very pleasant for the spider, either.” As Yuuri continued to stare, he gave him a confused smile. “What?”

“Just…a knight saving the life of a spider,” Yuuri laughed. But Victor’s expression turned solemn, and he wondered if he’d offended him.

“I’ve killed people, Justin,” he said, resting his hands on the upturned handle of his axe, his voice quiet, eyes sharp. “Once in a lifetime is too many times. I make amends where I can.” He turned away and picked up the axe. “It doesn’t always have to be a person.” And he split the log.

“I’m sorry; I wasn’t laughing _at _you,” Yuuri replied quickly. “I’m just…I was…I thought it was touching. Not many people would do that, I don’t think.” He paused, then laughed quietly. “I’ll be on the lookout myself, now, so I don’t chop any innocent little jacks…blokes…creatures,” he finished, his words tripping. Victor gave him a smile that lit his eyes, and then he returned to his work, eventually settling into a rhythm. Yuuri simply watched for a moment.

_How does a man like you survive in a place like this? _

Victor paused to ask if he was all right, because he was standing motionless. Reassuring him that he was, Yuuri put a log on the stump and split it, and soon got a rhythm of his own going. They worked for a while in silence, as the aromas from the kitchen strengthened; Yuuri could detect baking bread and apples among them now. People began to file past, a little way away, toward the great hall for their meal. When his muscles began to burn, Yuuri put his axe down for a moment, flicking sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, and then looked at Victor.

To his surprise, he was already gazing at him, his mouth slightly open. He appeared taken aback when Yuuri noticed him.

“Don’t tell me the cold’s finally got to you,” Yuuri said with a grin.

“No,” Victor replied, swallowing. “No, it hasn’t. Um…a few more minutes of this? Then I think they might be ready to serve supper.”

“Fine.” Yuuri smiled and watched Victor get back to work, though another shiver passed through him.

_Was he…what was that look in his eyes?_

_No, Yuuri. Don’t go there. You can’t._

_Oh, but I want to. I know. I’ve always known._

_I want him._

Now that he’d finally admitted it to himself, he stared hungrily while Victor’s attention was elsewhere. The way his muscles moved while he swung the axe. The sun in his hair; on the sheen of sweat now covering his upper body. Those blue eyes, so incisive and deep. The hose that men wore here, their underwear in between, which were all so fucking distracting on Victor. Not to mention him in his armour. Him in that regal blue outfit he’d been wearing. Him in nothing at all…And oh God, the things Yuuri wanted to do to him. _With _him. Visions of them locked in each other’s tight embrace, lips pressed together, clinging and moving against each other…the sensation of fingers and tongue, skin sliding…building need, and moans and cries. So much, all in a matter of seconds, while his breath stuck in his throat and his cock twitched. That was what snapped him out of it.

_I’m not going to let this go any further. What the hell would I look like, out here in the courtyard? In front of Victor, and everyone else?_

All right, so he could be honest with himself about this now – but how did that change anything? It wasn’t what he’d come here for. Apart from that glaring fact, he had no experience of being in a relationship, and had never had sex with a real person. Everything he’d just envisaged might not have any equivalent in reality. He’d made it all up.

_What makes me think anyone would want me anyway, especially a man like this? No one ever has before._

_He wouldn’t. He shouldn’t. _

_There are a dozen very sensible reasons why it can’t happen, even if both of us wanted it to…_

But Yuuri did want it to. What he felt wasn’t just attraction. That was another lie he was telling himself, while he was on the subject of being real. He’d been drawn to Victor the whole time he’d been here, and not only his body. Everything about him, from his warmth and kindness to the stern responsibility he carried in the manorial court. The knight who was made to kill, but spared a spider’s life. Noble and regal, vulnerable and…haunted. Through it all, he was Victor – simply, wonderfully himself.

Yuuri wished he could properly reciprocate the confidences Victor had shared, today and other days. He’d tell him – _show _him – who he was. Explain his mission, and about where he’d come from. The desire to do so was suddenly compelling – but he forced himself to pinch it out. How _would _Victor react? And wouldn’t it put him at risk once he had that information? What if he accidentally gave something away to Ailis? What if she saw them both as a threat? What if Victor were killed, and it was Yuuri’s fault? He was destined to die this year, after all…

He gasped, his throat suddenly tight, his blood racing. His hand shot out to the handle of his axe before he fell over.

Victor rushed to his side. “Justin, are you hurt? What’s happened?”

_I am not having an anxiety attack. Not here, not now. _“I’ll be all right in a minute,” he said, his voice wavering a little.

There was a pause, then Victor gripped the upper part of his arm firmly, presumably to help steady him. Skin on skin. _Oh God,_ Yuuri thought. _Could there be a worse time? I’m so fucking confused already. _He took several deep breaths, Victor’s hand falling away, though the blue eyes were still watching in concern.

“I think maybe I’ve skipped too many meals,” he said, knowing it was a lame excuse but hoping Victor wouldn’t question it. He didn’t.

“Why don’t we stop for now,” he said gently. “Do you need me to get your clothes for you?”

“No, really, I’m fine,” Yuuri insisted. Then realising he’d probably sounded rude, he turned and said, “But thank you.” And could he ever look at this man and not feel lost in him?

He put his tunic and outer garments back on, and Victor did the same. They left the stumps and axes for the time being while Victor led the way into the great hall with an encouraging smile that still held a touch of worry.

_I have no right interfering in people’s lives here, _Yuuri told himself as they walked side by side. _Especially his. He’s the heir to this entire estate, for Christ’s sake._

The devil’s advocate in him argued that he’d been interfering in people’s lives here from the moment he’d arrived. He ignored it.

And anyway, Victor _was _beautiful; surely it was only natural to feel the way he did. Yuuri told himself he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to act on it. And that was that.

They exchanged goodbyes as they entered the hall, Victor going to the high table and Yuuri to the one where Emil would soon be waiting on him, no doubt hoping to hear all about what his master had dashed off so suddenly to do. But as Yuuri watched Victor take his seat, a familiar warm feeling, whose existence would not be denied, spread through his chest.

_Beautiful._


	23. He Longs to Be Far Away-O (Part 4)

_I’m here for a reason. How often have I reminded myself of that?_

_It’s time I bloody accomplished something._

It was embarrassing, having to keep reporting negative results to Phichit. Yuuri continued to contact him every evening just to tell him he was all right, and sometimes to listen to what had been happening in his friend’s life. Although he’d been here about five weeks, it felt more like five months, and it was strange to imagine there was a reality out there somewhere that included Phichit and Celestino, the university, flying vehicles, nanobots and nutri-pills. And the Cloud. To fill some of the evenings in his room, Yuuri had asked Phichit to leave the digital player sitting next to the com, on BBC Radio 4 or a music station or something else. Sometimes he danced, recalling modern moves he’d learned in Immersion. It helped him to maintain a sense of himself, though he found it a difficult concept to explain to Phichit, who he thought was beginning to sound frustrated that no headway was being made with finding Ailis.

_I’ve talked to most of the women here, _he mused when their latest call had ended and he was staring into the fire._ What am I supposed to do, reveal myself in order to draw her out so she can shoot me?_

He’d also been distracted by his training, and one person in particular. Who seemed to be remaining elusive. Which was good – wasn’t it?

_I promised myself I’d protect him with my life, but I don’t even know where he is most of the time. _

_I want to see more of him. I miss him._

_I need to stop doing this to myself._

Eventually he and Phichit came up with the idea of looking into what might have happened to the three bodies Ailis must have had on her hands at different times: those of Dr. Quincey, Arthur the farmer he’d swapped with, and Dr. Croft. He thought it unlikely they would have been interred in the castle chapel, but there must a cemetery nearby for everyone else. He therefore sought out the chaplain, Father Maynard, one day and asked him, receiving directions to a site on a hill not far from the castle. He rode there on Lady, the several centimeters of snow that now covered the ground making travel difficult, especially on paths that were hard to discern from their surroundings.

Once he arrived, however, it didn’t take long to see that there was no evidence of any of the people he was looking for. Hardly surprising, he supposed. None of the graves appeared to have been freshly dug, though Father Maynard had told him as much; when he’d asked Yuuri why he suddenly had an interest, he’d replied that he thought perhaps the Courtenay family might have sent one or two people into service here in the past, and he was curious. Fortunately, no other explanation was required, though Yuuri had had to endure a lecture on the merits of attending mass once a week if not daily.

He spent a few minutes admiring the Celtic crosses and skull-and-crossbone carvings in grey stone and wood, as a stiff breeze lifted his fringe and a robin flitted on a branch, knocking some powder off. It was restful, if sombre, and he soon headed back to the castle, where he was forced to give another negative report to Phichit that night. For all he knew, Ailis had burned the bodies and left no evidence behind. It was a gruesome thought, but with the damage a laser gun could do, there probably hadn’t been much for her to dispose of anyway. He eventually asked Phichit to play an instalment of the latest Inspector Reed audiobook, and they listened together, Yuuri finding it easy to visualise the settings of his own time while sitting in his plain room, staring at a wall or gazing at the fire.

“Have you met anyone there you could call a friend?” Phichit asked afterward. “I was just thinking. Not to tell about your mission or anything, but just to hang out with? There doesn’t seem much for you to do in the evenings. It gets dark so early this time of year, too. I’ve never got used to it myself. I know you don’t exactly have electric lights, or holographic projectors if you want to sit back and watch a film.”

This brought a faint smile to Yuuri’s lips. “Well, Emil’s nice. Though I wouldn’t call him a friend. I never thought I’d have a…a servant, but I guess that’s what he is.”

“You’re the last person I know who’d ever want one,” Phichit said with a little laugh. “I can just imagine your face. ‘Will that be all, sir? Shall I trim your toenails for you, sir?’ ”

“All right, I get it,” Yuuri muttered.

“But do you? Have friends there?”

“Give me time,” he said with a sigh. “You know I’m not exactly outgoing. And besides, that’s not what I came here for.”

“I know, but I guess it helps wherever you go to have people to talk to and have fun with. What about one of the guards or knights? You must see them a lot. How about this Sir Victor you said – oh.” His voice trailed away. “Sorry, I forgot for a minute there.”

After a moment, Yuuri replied, “It’s not a taboo subject. Yeah, he’s, um, he’s nice too. But he’s the baron’s son. He’s a busy jack, you know? And he’s…well, he’s like royalty here. I’m sort of…sub-royalty?”

There was a pause. Then Phichit said, all trace of humour gone, “Yuuri, you’re not going to – you’re not going to try to change history by preventing his death, are you?”

Yuuri swallowed and stared at the com.

“Yuuri,” Phichit said more firmly. “That’s what we’re trying to prevent Ailis from doing, right? So you’re not going to do it yourself, are – ”

“How do you know?” Yuuri said more sharply than he’d intended. “I mean, what if it was my fault, or Ailis’s fault, that he dies? In that case, I’d just be putting things back in their natural order.”

“Would it show that in the book I looked at? I would’ve thought, if Ailis killed him next Monday, say, the book wouldn’t show his death as that date until it happened.”

Yuuri rested his forehead in his hands. _Don’t say that. Please. _“Neither of us know. Because we don’t know anything about temporal fucking theory, do we?”

“OK – no, we don’t.” Another pause. “Yuuri, _is _Sir Victor a friend? Or do you think of him as, like, your liege lord you’re pledged to – is that how it works? Or…something else?”

“He’s young and talented and is going to make a great baron one day,” Yuuri answered quickly. “Or – or would, if…”

“Yeah. It must be hard to look at him, knowing that – ”

“Yes,” Yuuri cut him off before he could spell it out again, “it is.” Taking a breath, he added, “At least I didn’t end up in Richard the Second’s court.” He forced a little laugh. “I’d be tempted all the time to give him hints about evil cousins. Then I really would be changing the course of history.”

“You still could be if you made sure Sir Victor survived.”

Yuuri sat quietly, his insides squirming. Victor wasn’t the only one to face difficult decisions, it seemed. Or maybe not so difficult, because there was only one answer to Phichit’s questions – and right or wrong, he was never going to change his mind. 

“Are you there? Yuuri?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. It’s late; I’d better get some sleep.”

“Are you all right?”

“…Yeah. We’ll talk tomorrow night, OK? Night, Phichit.”

* * *

A cold snap brought more snow, with a weak mid-January sun glittering from a blue sky on the white crystals. In Yuuri’s time, climate control could usually manage things so that if it did snow, it happened over holidays like Christmas, when people tended to want it to. Bone-chilling temperatures were mostly a thing of the past. _This _past. Yuuri stayed warm in front of the fire in his room, in the great hall, and when he exercised hard enough. The rest of the time, he shivered despite his heavy cloak. Getting out from under the blanket in the morning, when the fire had died to ashes, was a trial; and visiting the garderobe in the hall, especially in the middle of the night, took some resolve too.

He saw Victor at mealtimes and occasionally at the stable, but they never seemed to get the chance to do more than exchange pleasantries and brief summaries of what they’d been doing. Victor was visiting the training field more often now that his father had returned from his travels and resumed his duties at the castle, but he mostly seemed interested in working with Julius or doing sword practice on his own, dancing in that way which was so compelling to watch. No one was stopping Yuuri from walking up to him and asking him to spar; but he still felt as if the one time they’d done so together had been an indulgence on Victor’s part, and cutting the purse off his belt a fluke.

Victor had told him he might be able to beat Abelard, and so that was what he would do, or at least build himself up to doing. He found sacks of grain and beans to lift, and did chin-ups on tree branches and push-ups on the floor in his room. Ran up and down the hill, over and over, despite the snow. And even chopped more wood, though it didn’t feel the same without Victor. The first time he did it on his own, he took all of his outerwear and his tunic off as before, hoping Victor might see him from a castle window or happen through the courtyard and decide to join him, but he had no such luck.

_Anyway, I’m behaving like some idiotic teenager, trying to show off to his crush._

_He’s not my crush._

_Pull the other one, Yuuri. You really do have to stop lying to yourself._

One bitterly cold evening, Emil accompanied him to his room after training as usual. Having thrown several logs on the fire until it was dancing and sparking, Yuuri warmed his hands in front of it while Emil began to untie the myriad plates that made up his armour. He was business-like about it, the way a doctor would be while examining a patient. And maybe masters were used to servants doing this kind of thing here; but to Yuuri it felt too intimate. Being touched like that, having those protective pieces removed bit by bit…

Unbidden, a scenario suddenly entered his mind where someone else was doing this instead. With long, gentle fingers that lightly caressed. And kisses to the back of his neck. He closed his eyes sucked in a breath at the thought, allowing it to go no further.

But it quickly returned in a different form. This time Victor was standing in front of the fire with his back to him, placid, trusting, as Yuuri slowly untied the strings and slipped the plates away. His own fingers and hands gliding across rich material and smooth skin, telling more than words could about his own feelings, how he –

_God, Yuuri. Stop. You have to stop. _He pulled a hand over his face, interrupting Emil’s ministrations. With a muttered “Sorry,” he rubbed at his brow. If he really cared about Victor, he’d exercise more self-control. Because it wasn’t just the potential danger from Ailis that should be putting him off limits, at least in the sense Yuuri had been envisioning. If these fantasies somehow came true, how long would their relationship last before it met some tragic end? Victor was destined to die before the year was over. Yuuri might have to return to his own time, either to escort Ailis back, or because Justin came to harm. He hated to think about any of it. But for Victor’s sake as well as his own, he had to.

_I can’t do that to him._

_Though I’m kidding myself if I really believe he’d be interested anyway._

More fingers picking softly at ties, this time on his shoulder.

“Emil,” he said abruptly, “can you…um, do you mind letting me do the rest?”

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” Emil enquired, stepping away with a worried expression.

“No. It’s just, well, I’ve really appreciated your help while I’ve got used to the armour. But my family, we just aren’t very physical people. I mean, we like our own space. I think I can put these things on and take them off by myself.”

“Ah, I see. You’re uncomfortable. It’s all right, sir; I understand.”

He was trying to appear stoical, but Yuuri was sure he could see a wounded look in his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Emil. You do a lot for me already, though. In fact, there’s more you could do – on the training field, maybe. We haven’t sparred yet.” 

“Squires don’t spar with knights, sir,” Emil said hastily. “You instruct the squires, then we spar with each other.”

“You taught me how to ride a horse.”

“Well yes, but that’s different.”

“Maybe you could teach me how to use a bow and arrow, then.” Yuuri gave him a little smile. “I don’t think my reputation’s ever going to be completely out of the mud until I get better at that.”

“It isn’t me you need to ask, sir; it’s Julius. Though I’m not sure he’d be disposed to grant such a request. I’m afraid he’s taken quite a dislike to you.”

“Tell me about it,” Yuuri said under his breath as he continued with his armour where Emil had left off, storing each piece in its usual place in the chest.

“I am, sir.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh and shook his head. “All right, then. Maybe you can tell me how I’m going to get warm tonight, because everywhere not immediately in front of this fire is freezing. And every morning when I wake up lately, there’s ice on the _inside _of my window.”

“It won’t stay like this for long. But if you’d like to spend a warm evening in good company, you could always join us in the main garrison room. We’ll have a merry blaze in the grate, and plenty to drink, and music and song.” He paused. “I wonder that you don’t seem to like it. Does it not appeal more than staying in here on your own?”

Yuuri removed the final plate, closed the chest, and turned to look at him. “I’m not popular here, Emil. And I don’t like big gatherings of people, if I’m honest. I guess I figure it wouldn’t be much fun for me. Or anyone else.”

Emil shrugged. “Suit yourself, sir. Though it’s less rowdy, now the holidays are over. Sir Victor’s been making regular appearances, too, which is unusual for him. He visits the garrison often in the daytime to oversee the fighting men, but not so much at night, until recently. You ought to come hear him play his citole; he’s quite good.”

Yuuri stared in silence.

_I know he is. I heard him Christmas night. I won’t forget it soon, either._

_I shouldn’t. I can’t. _

_It would be completely irresponsible._

* * *

Thankfully, however, the evening passed without incident, even though Yuuri had acted against his better judgement. Victor did come to the main garrison room, and a few other nights afterward; sometimes with his citole, and always with Julius. There was never any opportunity to spend time alone with him, and his appearances were unpredictable, so there were nights Yuuri spent watching the men play dice, overhearing conversations, sometimes making small talk over a drink, mostly feeling as if he were sitting in a pub on his own.

Maybe it was safer this way, however. He didn’t completely trust himself where Victor was concerned.

One evening, Yuuri was leaning back in his habitual corner with a mug of beer when Victor entered the room with Julius. His eyes went straight to where Yuuri was sitting, as if expecting – hoping? – he’d be there. Removing his cloak and handing it to his squire, who went to store it in the closet, he walked over to join him, leaning against the wall and looking down.

“Justin, how are you?” came his quiet voice. Yuuri had no trouble discerning it above the background noise of conversation, as the room was mostly empty tonight.

“Good,” he answered, cradling his mug in his hands. “You?”

“You wouldn’t believe the tedium of the past few days,” Victor sighed. “We’ve had the Baron Pomeroy and his family and retinue visiting. It’s my duty to help entertain. They have _five _very chatty daughters.”

Yuuri laughed, imagining Victor in the midst of them all. “I saw you eating next to some of them in the great hall.”

Victor raised his eyebrows and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Lady Adeline – enough said. She wanted me to cut up all her food for her, and sent for six different kinds of wine until she found something she liked.”

“I’m sure you charmed them all,” Yuuri said with a smile.

Victor smiled back, and opened his mouth to say something, when Julius joined them. “Were you talking about that abominable Adeline?” he said. “It took the patience of a saint to put up with the mardy cow.”

“And you’re no saint,” Victor said fondly, tipping Julius’s chin up briefly with a finger. “But you did well all the same. Better than you’re doing now.” He seemed to know just how to mollify the young man, who fell silent. “Since you’re so familiar with Mistress Shaw’s excellent selection in the buttery, will you fetch a jug of her best hypocras? I feel like treating myself.”

“But we just came in, master. It’s cold out there,” he muttered. 

“Then some sort of coat is in order, I believe?”

Julius gave a small huff, and with a “Sir,” returned to the closet to fetch it.

“The chessboard is free. Fancy a game?” Victor asked.

Yuuri glanced over at the board against the wall near the shuttered window to the courtyard, its black and white marble pieces standing in wait, gleaming in the light of a nearby candelabra. Victor hadn’t asked him _if _he played; it was clearly expected that a knight or the son of a nobleman did. He was no expert, but at least he could accept the invitation without fear of too much embarrassment.

They took their seats, Victor allowing him to be white. It had been years since Yuuri had played chess, and his strategy had always been a mixture of thinking ahead and unpredictable absurdity, which he hoped would baffle and confuse, though more often it just opened him to being trounced. Once they started, however, Victor seemed to be enjoying it, and Yuuri was gratified to discover that this was one thing his opponent did not appear to have any mastery over, because the match was playing out fairly evenly.

Julius reappeared with a jug of spiced and honeyed wine, and Yuuri drank a full cup, having finished his beer, before he remembered that this was stronger than what they usually had at meals. His head was beginning to buzz.

“So this is your strategy,” he laughed, looking across the board at Victor. “Get me drunk so I can’t think straight.”

“It’s not a very good one, then,” Victor answered with a smirk, picking up his cup and holding it upside-down.

Julius, hovering nearby like an anxious waiter, asked him if he wanted more wine, and Victor held his cup out for a refill, then gestured for him to do the same for Yuuri. “If you want it,” he added. “Far be it from me to addle the brains of my opponent.”

Yuuri held his cup out to Julius, who gave him a sour look while he poured. Then he stepped dutifully back.

“This is delicious,” Yuuri said, sipping. “I love it. I wish they had it where I – I mean, I wish they appreciated it more at my father’s castle.” He glanced down at the board and rested his fingers on a rook. He needed it to move diagonally. Everything you ever did in life was full of damn rules. He _could _move it diagonally, but he didn’t think Victor would approve. Changing his mind, he scooted a pawn forward instead, just because he could.

Victor’s brow wrinkled. He cupped his chin in his hand. Glancing quizzically at Yuuri, he switched hands. Yuuri laughed.

“You must have something up your sleeve, you rascal, and for the life of me I can’t work it out.”

The mock insult sent a pleasant shiver down Yuuri’s spine. He smiled mischievously. “Don’t expect me to give you any hints.”

Victor stared, blinking. Then he turned to Julius. “You don’t need to wait on me all evening. Leave the jug here on the table and go join the other squires if you like; you’ve been busy all day.”

Julius looked as if he wasn’t keen on the idea, but with an “Of course, master,” he did as Victor bade. Emil, Philip and Roland were sitting at a table across the room, and welcomed the young man.

Victor turned back to Yuuri. “He’s the best squire a knight could hope for, you know. But sometimes I think he’d stay at my side day and night if I let him. Now.” He considered the board again, then moved a bishop. But before Yuuri could decide on his own move, he added, “Who taught you to play chess? Your moves are…unconventional.”

Taken aback, Yuuri answered, “My father,” meaning his real one, before he engaged his wine-dulled brain. Fortunately, it was entirely believable in context. “We, um, used to play some evenings.”

“You stopped?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said in a quiet voice.

Victor paused, then took a sip of wine and said conspiratorially, “You’ll never believe who taught me.”

Since he seemed to be waiting for a response, Yuuri hazarded, “Father Maynard?” Victor shook his head. “A cook? The jester? I have no idea,” Yuuri laughed.

“My nursemaid.” Victor smiled, seeming to relish the unexpected answer.

“Oh.”

Victor nodded. “By the time my father decided he was going to teach me, I surprised him by challenging him to a game.” He laughed. “I lost.”

Yuuri wondered if he ought to make a move, and looked back down at the board, but Victor seemed to want to say more. He’d folded his arms on the table in front of him, and there was a wistful expression on his face as he stared at the signet ring on his little finger.

“Her name was Irene. My nursemaid.” Then he looked up at Yuuri, eyes bright. “She was with us for years. I don’t know how old she was, but she always seemed like the grandmother I never had, and she was so full of energy, right up to the end. She simply gave out one day.” After a pause he added, “So I was told. But she had a good long life, Justin, and I’m pleased to have been part of it. Though I have to say I miss her even now.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure how to respond; it was a such a different way of living from what he himself knew, though Victor wasn’t aware of that. He probably thought Justin had had a nursemaid, too. Well, the real one probably did. “It sounds like you were really close to her.”

Victor’s eyes flicked downward, and he had another sip of wine, then ran a finger idly over the cup, apparently lost in thought. The ghost of a fond grin played across his lips. “She had some…different ideas about chivalry and honour. Made sure that we – I – didn’t forget that people get hurt and die in battle. Friends, family, loved ones. Usually for no better reason than because someone wants money and land and power.” He huffed softly. “She said these things to a child who played with toy soldiers, who’d thought nothing of it until then.” He glanced up at Yuuri. “As you do, at that age.” And then the eyes were back down, the finger tracing over his cup again. “But I’d say she was entitled to it. Her own village was raided, and her father and brother were killed before her eyes.”

“Jesus,” Yuuri breathed as Victor briefly met his gaze.

“She was the kindest, sweetest lady I’ve ever met,” Victor said with a shaky sigh. Then he wiped at his face with his sleeve. After a moment, his eyes found Yuuri’s, and this time he did not look back down. In a steadier voice, he added, “We can be better than that, Justin. We don’t have to look for glory in killing each other.”

_I’m full of wine – fuck, what do I say? _“She sounds like a wonderful person. I agree, too; of course I do. But, um, I thought that was what knights do. Why did you become one?” Too late, Yuuri wondered if it was an insulting question after what Victor had just revealed.

But his expression was open and honest as he replied, with a faint smirk that soon disappeared, “I showed promise at a young age. I was learning sword skills before I could tie my boot laces.”

“Fucking hell,” Yuuri whispered, knowing the wine was loosening his tongue before he could properly consider his words. “That…that’s amazing. I can imagine it. But, um, it’s…” He wrinkled his nose briefly in distaste, knowing it hadn’t been long before his own time when it was still common to give children toy weapons to play with. “It’s kind of depressing, too. I mean, little kids ought to be chasing each other around, exploring, playing in the mud, things like that.”

“I suppose so. I did those things, too. But because I was good with a sword, it seemed to make sense that I should become a knight. Irene, lovely as she was, wasn’t the only influential person in my life. My father fought many battles, sometimes side by side with the king’s own son. It’s in my blood, Justin.” He took a long drink of his wine and continued, “But Irene, she taught me to try to be wise and gentle. I wish, sometimes, that…that I hadn’t started my training as early as I did.” He leaned forward. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

No one had ever spoken to Yuuri like this before, and he wasn’t sure what he’d done to invite it, but he was mesmerised.

“Sometimes I think I might not be cut out for this. Being a knight. Would you ever have guessed it?” Victor sat back in his chair with his cup in his hands, searching Yuuri’s face for a reaction.

“Victor, I…” _This talent you have…whose purpose is to kill people. Maybe you don’t think many other people in your own time would understand, but believe me, they do in mine._

Appearing to have expected the uncertainty, Victor said to him, “So why did _you _become a knight?” He sipped more wine and gazed at him over the rim of his cup.

Yuuri’s throat hitched. _Shit, Victor, why are you doing this to me? I don’t want to lie. I don’t think I’d do a very good job of it right now, anyway. _

But hadn’t he become a knight long before now, in Immersion? That was the type of persona he’d chosen to take on. Coming from that angle, maybe he could give a partially honest answer.

“I wanted to feel like a hero. Like…like I had a purpose, and was accomplishing something.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “And has it? Has it made you feel like a hero?”

Yuuri sighed, thinking back to those days. His recent nostalgia trip hadn’t evoked the same feelings; he was older, his life had moved on, and his experience of the game was different now. But then? “For a long time, yes.” Feeling the sudden need of more Dutch courage, he drained his cup, the buzzing in his head morphing into a warm, swimmy sensation. “But not anymore. You know, though,” he added, briefly pointing a finger in the air, “sometimes when I’m sparring, it…it feels good. Natural. I mean, don’t want to hurt the other person, but there’s something about what I’m doing, physically. It’s hard to explain.” 

“The art and grace of the movements.”

“Exactly.”

Victor smiled. “Those things can be enjoyed without anyone getting hurt, just as you say. There are ways.” He paused and regarded him curiously; then his eyes sparkled as he said, “I can’t wait to see what you’re like after you practise some more. I’m excited to find out.”

“My lord, sorry to disturb, but I require an audience with you.” It was the man with the salt-and-pepper hair, the chamberlain. Yuuri hadn’t even noticed him come in.

“Is it urgent?” Victor asked after a pause.

“I wouldn’t have sought you out at this time otherwise. I do apologise.” He gave Yuuri a stern glance.

“All right, John.” Victor stood, and Julius dashed to get his cloak from the closet. “We must talk another time,” he said, looking down at Yuuri. “It’s been…” Seemingly at a loss for words, he eventually said, “Good night, Justin,” and then disappeared down the hall with Julius and the chamberlain.

Yuuri stared after him, the chess game forgotten. He was floating on a cloud, though that was only partially due to the alcohol. And among all the other thoughts tumbling around his brain, one of the foremost was that if there had been more Irenes and Victors in this time, the world would have ended up a better place.


	24. Chapter 24

_Sometimes I think I might not be cut out for this. Being a knight. Would you ever have guessed it?_

A breath of a cold breeze tickled Victor’s face and crept underneath his hood as he swayed gently in his saddle. The riding party were silent except for the clop of hooves along the road. In a sense, they could be thankful for the cold spell, because frozen ground was easier and pleasanter to traverse than mud.

His thoughts had strayed back, again, to his words to Justin the night before. The only other person he’d ever spoken to on the subject was Alex. Usually it was a truth he hid even from himself. Because at times like this, he could see it was nothing but an idle fancy; an indulgence he could not afford.

The chamberlain had received visitors the previous evening who had informed him that knights and other fighting men had been roaming the countryside together, ambushing and robbing travellers on the roads. It was an easy thing to do. The law said that trees and bushes were supposed to be cut well back from the road so there was no place for anyone with evil intent to lie in wait, but it was rarely heeded, and Victor knew it would be impossible to summon enough men to ride out and do it as a discrete task. He’d been pondering the problem last year before the cold weather had settled in. Usually a freeze like this deterred marauders, who would turn to petty indoor villainy until frostbite was no longer a risk. These men were bold, then, or desperate. Or both.

It concerned him that the knights had been reported to be wearing white tabards with a blue cross. Perhaps it meant nothing. But it was possible that these were the Duke of Halbrook’s men. Tyler’s father. Which deepened the problem. Why would they be here? The duke was a wealthy man, and his lands did not border the Crowood estate. Enquiries would have to be made, and the miscreants found.

It also concerned him that Justin had accompanied this band of people from the castle, which included Chris, their squires, and several men-at-arms. Though he knew it shouldn’t. It was Justin’s duty, as a knight of the Nikiforovs, to help protect the people who lived on the estate. Whatever the man had experienced in the past, Victor had got the impression that he’d led quite a cosseted existence; he was certainly no battle-hardened veteran. Which was one thing that appealed about him. He knew he would probably not have mentioned dear Irene and her unusual perspective on things if he’d been completely sober, because he’d learned years ago that most other men thought it weak or cowardly, or simply didn’t understand. Whereas Justin…well, the mystery around him seemed to constantly deepen; interestingly so. Which was why Victor wanted to send him straight back to the castle on his horse. To safety.

He had planned to send the other three knights, their squires, and a good company of fighting men, as was the usual practice in these situations, but instead he’d told Charles and Roland to attend to the lord and lady at the castle, and he’d gone along himself. His action would not be questioned, and it meant he could make doubly sure no one came to any harm. This could potentially turn into a days-long expedition, however, and a rather tedious one at that, which might involve a great deal of riding around the countryside, asking questions at villages, and trying to find these criminals. He’d therefore put together a retinue of wagons with tents and supplies, and a few servants who travelled at the back.

Justin was riding to his left; an air of anxiousness seemed to have clung to him since they’d left the castle. He was like a man gathering himself before a performance while having little confidence that it would turn out well. Maybe it was natural, since this was his first real task for the castle.

As they rode, Victor pointed out landmarks, and places where he’d enjoyed going as a child. He shared his thin beer too, though he knew Justin had his own. The small smiles he received in return were reward enough. Julius, however, riding to his right, was not pleased at his lack of attention and sank into a prickly mood.

Victor took the lead in asking passers-by on the road, and at villages and inns, whether they had seen or heard tell of the marauders. Some answered in the affirmative, and it sounded as if the band were active on the southern borders of the estate. There were perhaps more of them, too, than the reports to John had indicated, which made Victor glad that he’d come along after all, and that he’d brought more men than had seemed necessary at first.

As evening drew in, they set up camp for the night. There was no point in attempting concealment with such a retinue, so they had a large campfire, and music and song. After a supper of mutton and ale stew and sops – with Justin at his side, albeit very quiet, for the first time during a meal – Victor plucked at his citole and taught him a song before Julius requested his help in attending to their horses and provisions. By the time he returned to the fire, Justin had retired to his tent. Feeling a niggle of disappointment, he sat at the fire with the others who were awake, until one by one they also turned in.

This was what Victor had been waiting for: the chance to warm himself by an open fire in the still of the night, his own man for a short time, with no fear of being disturbed by advisers and other important personages. Life had too few of these moments. An occasional breeze fanned the flames; the logs clinked and crackled and collapsed into broken piles. An owl hooted. Deciding he was too warm in his cloak, he removed it – and saw Justin coming to join him, dressed in his own fur cloak and hat.

“I couldn’t sleep. Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Please,” Victor said, making space next to him on the log.

Justin settled and held his hands out to the warmth in front of him. “I like sitting by the fire in my room at night. Maybe I’ve got too used to it. It was cold in my tent.” He gave a small huff. “Here I am complaining, when I’ve been exercising with no shirt on.”

“I like being by the fire, too. It’s even better when you have someone to talk to.” Victor smiled, but was met with that anxious look.

“Victor, um…can I ask you about this mission we’re on? I haven’t been told much; Chris said this morning that we were riding out to find robbers?”

Victor nodded and explained, concluding with, “You can put aside what I told you about knighthood. If someone with a sword is terrorising people in this area, then it’s going to take someone with a sword, or a bow and arrow, to stop them.”

“I, um, thought you made some good points, actually. But I think I get what you mean.” He dropped his hands to his lap and gave Victor a troubled look. “Will they attack us, do you think? Are we likely to end up in battle?” As Victor considered a response, Justin added, “Whatever happens, I…I’ll do what I have to do. I’m with you, Victor. I just…I’m not used to this, and people might get hurt.” He looked down and muttered, “What a stupid thing to say. Of course they might get hurt.”

Victor didn’t believe he was looking at a coward. Someone who cared, rather, and had natural concerns. It didn’t fit with his nickname, but then nothing he’d done since he’d arrived at the castle had.

“I’m not seeking a battle, Justin. Obviously we can’t let these marauders carry on as they are. We still ought to outnumber them, I expect, and we’re quite a skilled group of men, wouldn’t you say? My hope is that all we’ll need to do is arrest them when we find them, then decide what to do with them. Well, that’s my job. One step at a time, though. We could be searching for days yet. We might not even find them, if they’ve left the area for good.”

Justin said in a low voice, “Police…we’re medieval police.” When Victor asked him to clarify, being unfamiliar with the word, he seemed startled for a moment, and answered, “We’re acting as lawkeepers.”

“Yes, we are.” Though the questioning expression on Justin’s face was a puzzle, as if this whole situation were unfamiliar to him. He understood that knights helped to keep the peace, surely; it was common knowledge. Perhaps he’d forgotten. Memory loss could happen to anyone; Victor knew of fighting men who had suffered a great deal more.

“If that was the only thing we were called on to do, I suppose I’d be all right with it,” Justin said, staring into the fire. Then he sighed and stood to throw more logs on the flames, sending up a shower of crackling orange sparks. As he sat down, he took off his hat and cloak and looked at Victor, seeming to consider his next words. Finally he said, “There’s something I’ve been wondering for a while. If it’s too personal a question, just tell me. These duels you fight with – um, Emil called them champions. How do you get people to agree to that, when it’s normal for armies to go and attack a castle? Why does your family risk their only son?”

“Because it’s better than risking an army.” Victor’s gaze fell, and after a silence, he said on a quiet breath, “Oh, Justin. Your words cut to the heart of the matter so often. Yes, it’s very different from sending me out to maintain order in our lands.”

“So what happens if a family refuses the terms? If they won’t send someone to fight with you?”

“Why are you asking me this now?”

“It seemed like a good time.”

Worry flashed in those brown eyes. Brown? Blue. The light could play such tricks, especially a fire’s glow. Not just his eyes. His hair, too, on the edges of his hat.

“I’m sorry,” Justin said, looking abashed. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I was upset about it quite some time before you asked.” Victor blinked and looked back into the fire. “To answer your question,” he said, the words sticking in his throat, “if a family refused the terms, we sent a troop of knights and men-at-arms to attack their castle.” He didn’t need to look at Justin to feel his gaze burning into him. “Did you do that?” came the predictable question, almost whispered. Predictable because it came from Justin, when most knights would be asking him to brag about his great deeds and how many men he’d slain. This man who Victor understood so little of himself, yet felt he could trust.

And would he tell him? Was there any reason not to?

_Because when I put it into words, it makes it real again._

“I had to,” he answered, continuing to stare into the flames; and he heard Justin blow out a breath.

“God, Victor. I – I’m sorry.”

“I hope I’ll never have to do it again.” Victor’s voice wavered, the memory of those dark days threatening to bubble up from their well and flood him. What he’d done, what he’d had his men do, believing he’d had no choice…“If I live to inherit the castle and lands, I’ll do things differently.” Justin gave a little start at this. “It’s not so strange. Chris, Julius, Emil, many of these other men, they know my views on the subject, and they’re of a similar vein, I believe. Squires are open to what we teach them.”

As Justin continued to watch him quietly, so ready to hear his words, somehow the darkest ones of all tumbled out. “Every time I kill someone, some part of me dies inside too,” he said, his voice just audible above the crackle of the fire. “A-As the years go by, sometimes I wonder what will be left of me.”

He gazed into those wide eyes which seemed to mirror his own hurt in their shifting hues. The silence stretched. Then Justin said, “You’ve held on to your integrity all this time, then. Your humanity. Despite everything you’ve been through.”

Victor felt the warmth of the fire on his body; but Justin had kindled a warmth in his heart, too. For a moment, as they looked at one another, he had the urge to lean over and kiss him. But then Justin spoke again, and the moment passed.

“I might have to kill too, while I’m here. The thought of it is…” He broke off.

“Let’s make sure we handle it well, then, when we find these rogues. I’ll do my best to keep it peaceful.”

Justin nodded, but the worry in his eyes remained.

* * *

As Victor lay awake, he heard the changing of the watch outside, two sentries stationed on the outskirts of the camp. It must be deep into the night by now. The earlier change of watch had prompted him and Justin to return to their tents and get what sleep they could. But after what he’d confessed, what he’d almost done, those beautiful and mysterious eyes looking into his own…no, the whirl of emotions inside him was not going to succumb to slumber any time soon.

He was beginning to have…feelings for this knight. They’d been growing for a while. But Victor had struggled to find excuses to seek him out, especially when he was tied up with business of the family, castle and estate at unpredictable times. At least visiting the garrison in the evening had borne fruit on several occasions, though that didn’t exactly amount to time alone either. Of course he could just send word for Justin to meet him in a place where he knew they wouldn’t be interrupted, such as a hunting lodge or his room. But the connotations of such an assignation would be plain – and would he come? Victor wanted to be able to count Justin as a close friend. His honesty, his straightforward manner, the refreshingly bold and challenging questions he asked, his company even in companionable silence – he valued them all. But…did he want him as a lover, too?

His body said yes. Very much so. He’d known it when they’d sparred and chopped wood together; Justin had a fine physique. But did that mean he was in danger of going down the same path as he had with Tyler and the others? Victor had promised himself there would be no more of that kind of thing in his life; that he wouldn’t bed anyone else unless they were already the keeper of his heart. Could…could that be what was beginning to happen between them? How did someone know, when they’d never experienced it before?

After all the portentous subjects they’d touched on, the image that came to mind was the simple one of himself saving the spider from his axe, and Justin’s surprise and appreciation. Apart from Alex, he’d never expected anyone else to understand, if they even noticed. Occasionally he heard a derisive laugh when someone saw; someone who felt they could dare. Tyler, once, for example.

And yet, as so often happened, Victor thought back to the duel; about the man with the prickly beard and pricklier nickname, who had a reputation for seeking out fights. He’d accepted that it wasn’t who Justin really was. But there was no getting around the fact that it was how he had been, until very recently. That disconnect was as confusing as ever, and how did you confront someone about such a thing? What had happened to change him so profoundly? It had to have been more than his life being threatened in the duel, and moving to the castle. Did it have something to do with the memory loss? And oh God – did that mean “le Savage” would return along with the memories one day?

Victor prayed it wouldn’t happen. Because he liked this version of Justin. A great deal. 

* * *

_I’m getting soft in my old age._

The thought brought a brief grin to Victor’s face as he rode on Alyona, the partially frozen road curving on ahead of him past fields and trees, some bare, some evergreen. The sky was as white as the light dusting of snow that had fallen in the early hours of the morning, and which lingered in shadowed hollows in the afternoon. Soft, at twenty-eight? From the perspective of the lifespan of a typical knight, perhaps. But he knew he was no typical knight.

Even so, he couldn’t deny the frisson of apprehension that passed through him from time to time here in the vanguard of the company, unarmoured save for a breastplate hidden under his cloak, deliberately flaunting his wealth and station like the piece of choice bait he was.

And indeed, he’d gone on the hunt like this for rogues several times in the past. On a couple of those occasions, it had got as far as them trying to rob him; though when he and his men had sprung into action, they’d soon realised their critical mistake and quickly been overpowered. No one had been harmed – apart from the criminals, who had lost an ear or a hand when left to his father’s tender mercies at court.

They’d been in the market town of Kirkby Hallam at midday when the keeper of The King’s Head inn had informed them of the passing through of a small party of men the previous day, two of them sporting white tabards with blue crosses. Victor and the others had stayed briefly to discuss strategy over a drink. The rogues’ method of operating seemed to be ambush, according to what they’d been told in the places they’d visited. They’d reportedly been using swords, but not bows and arrows. It had therefore seemed prudent for Victor, being the most skilled knight, to ride far enough in front of the rest of the party that the bends in the road would make it appear as if he were on his own. He’d brought a fittingly sumptuous set of clothes with him for such an eventuality: a magenta houppelande and matching hose, his black chaperon, and a fur cloak trimmed in ermine. It was an ostentatious getup to wear for travelling – not that Percy Steggles ever minded; the man rarely went anywhere without posing like a pretty peacock, even on a horse through the mud. But hopefully it would draw out their unsuspecting quarry.

Justin had insisted on riding as close behind him as was allowed. Chris, Julius and Emil had joined him, with the men-at-arms behind them, and the servants and wagons at what was hopefully a safe distance. Victor could see in Justin’s eyes the same anxious look as before, though he thought as the day had worn on that it had increasingly been mixed with a glint of determination.

There was no hint of a breeze, and Alyona’s hoofs made soft thuds on the road as she waked along. It was in appalling condition in places, and Victor suspected the locals might have been digging it for clay again, due to the number of large pits whose depths could not easily be guessed. He would have to send the reeve to look into it before someone fell in and hurt themselves.

They might ride all day like this and encounter no one at all, let alone the men they were after. Well, so be it. His thoughts began to tend toward a warm meal and campfire, and hopefully Justin’s company again, as Alyona stepped onto a wooden bridge over a river. Sometimes these contraptions could be in such poor repair that they were impassable, but Victor was relieved to find that this one had been well kept, the planks tight and sound, the rails intact. It was a restful spot, with clusters of evergreens verging either side of the dark brown span, the clear waters flowing steadily below; and if he’d been by himself, he might have been inclined to dismount and take in the view for a while. Once in the middle of the bridge, he turned his head to see if he could spot the rest of his party, but they’d dropped well back – as was necessary, if their strategy had any hope of working.

From the far side of the bridge came the cry: “Stand and deliver!”

Victor jerked his head back around. Two knights with blue crosses over white tabards were sprinting toward him, swords raised.

Had they taken leave of their senses? All he’d have to do was turn his horse and –

He looked behind him again – and saw with wide eyes that he’d been a fool. More men than he could count at a glance emerged from the trees, blocking any retreat across the other side of the bridge. They looked like villeins, with simple swords and the odd piece of leather armour; but if they rushed at him as well…

The two knights swiftly closed in. Why were they on foot? Where were their horses? They’d slay Alyona underneath him if they could. Victor threw off his cloak and hat and with a loud cry sprang off his mount, drawing his sword and dashing forward. The two men hesitated for only a moment, the odds being well in their favour. Victor didn’t recognise them, and they might not know who he was and what reputation he possessed; but taking on two plate-clad knights with only a breastplate to protect him was still going to be a hard task. That was assuming their gang didn’t get to him first.

Deciding he had to forget about that possibility, he moved with all possible speed, coming to blows with one while shoving the other out of the way. He parried and dodged, wove and spun. The men were clearly surprised at first to meet with such an able swordsman, but then redoubled their efforts. A chorus of shouts erupted from behind, but Victor couldn’t risk turning to look; a fatal wound could take but a moment to inflict.

He knew how to find an armoured knight’s weak spots. _Go for the joints. The slit in the visor. The neck. _But that was wishful thinking; he had to defend himself above all else. If he could get these men near the rails on either side of the bridge, he could try to throw them off; but the possibility seemed to have occurred to them, and they remained in the middle.

_Don’t let either of them get behind you._

Alex’s voice, echoing in his head. He shoved with his shoulders and aimed quick jabs with elbows and knees, careful not to open himself to being grabbed by a limb. 

Was there anything he could say to them that would help? But he couldn’t spare the concentration; and they would surely have realised by now that he hadn’t been travelling alone, and would fear for their lives. They’d kill him to save their own hides if they could.

_Is this the end you wanted? _Alex asked him silently. _Then start fighting like you mean it._

Victor used his free hand to grab the blade of his sword two thirds of the way down and rushed the man in front of him, the weapon now a bar he could use to shove and jab with as well as parry. Before he could knock him off his feet, however, he felt a sting across the top of his arm – an attack from the other knight. Ignoring it, he hooked a leg to the side and yanked him off his feet. But as soon as he dealt with one, the other took his chance, and this time Victor saw a flash of steel out of the corner of his eye that boded very ill indeed –

– and with a vicious clang and a yell, it was knocked away.

_Justin. _In the fray now, forcing the knight away, quick and fierce like Victor had never seen him. His feet and sword were fairly flying, the glint of weapon and armour like sunlight on water.

With a soaring heart, Victor gathered his strength to spring at the one foe remaining to trouble him, determined to make quick work of it so that he could come to Justin’s aid – only to find that the man had dropped his sword and was backing up against the rail. “Mercy,” he pleaded.

Spinning round, Victor saw that Justin’s opponent had done likewise. And then he surmised why. Just beyond the bridge, back the way they’d come, their allies had won the skirmish. Julius, bow in hand, was searching the ground for spent arrows, and Chris and the other men were clutching their swords. Of the marauding gang, one lay dead on the road with arrows stuck in his chest, two were leaking their lifeblood into the earth, and the noises off to the side were three swimming for their lives down the icy river – they posed little threat to anyone, Victor judged, though he knew Julius’s aim with the bow would be true if he gave the word. The knights and their lord were the instigators of this, without a doubt.

Two of the villeins were still standing; Chris sheathed his sword and began binding their wrists with rope provided by Philip. He wiped a bit of blood from his forehead.

“As Abelard would say,” he called over, “what should we do with these filthy wee venomous roasters, Victor?” 

* * *

While some of the men-at-arms saw to the burial of two of their number who had been slain, as well as the duke’s dead men, Victor had a camp set up, where he questioned the four prisoners in the presence of Chris and Justin. It emerged that they were indeed the Duke of Halbrook’s men, and had encountered a troop belonging to a rival lord, the Baron Dacre, claiming their opponents had attacked first. They’d lost the fight and had had their horses, money and other possessions confiscated, and so claimed to be robbing the local populace out of desperation. At times they’d been reduced to begging, they said, and what else were they to do? Victor felt a twinge of sympathy. But if everyone in such circumstances resorted to terrorising innocent people, no one would travel for fear of attack. And it was up to him to make another judgement.

He rode with the prisoners, knights and squires back to Kirkby Hallam, where he sought out the mayor, and waited at the top of the high street until a sizeable portion of the town’s population had been summoned from the buildings by knockings on doors and heralds’ trumpets. Addressing the assemblage, he briefly explained who the prisoners were, what crimes they had committed, and the events that had transpired at the bridge that afternoon. Their punishment, he said, would be served now, in front of the good people of the town.

As he spoke, the two knights were stripped of their armour, clothes and shoes, until they were shivering in nothing but their braies. They were then placed at the head of a procession, followed by their two comrades, with Chris and Philip on one side and Julius and Emil on the other to ensure they did as they were told. Victor and Justin followed behind. Knowing the townsfolk would take delight in throwing rotten fruit and vegetables and other less savoury things at the prisoners, Victor had given a specific order for them not to do so; though he’d told the men to hang their heads in shame, saying nothing, a collective picture of humility, lest he change his mind and allow them to be pelted. As it was, while they walked slowly down the street, their hands still bound in front of them, they were floridly insulted by the braying crowd. 

Victor drew closer to Justin and spoke near his ear. “A suitable punishment, wouldn’t you agree? These are the people our prisoners would’ve abused, given the chance.”

To his surprise, Justin seemed uncertain. “I…I don’t know. I agree they ought to pay for what they’ve done, but humiliating them like this seems a little…well, savage.”

A stab of annoyance shot through Victor. “Most anyone else would have them put to death. They need to learn a lesson, do they not? Or is it now permissible to attack and rob innocent people? What would you have me do?”

Justin gave him a wondering look, then fell silent. They got on with the unpleasant task, and at the edge of the village Victor gave the knights their clothes back. He confiscated their weapons but returned their other belongings, then provided them with basic provisions for which he’d paid out of his own pocket. Telling them to go home, he said he would ensure the duke was contacted and asked to provide the means for them to do so, though what he’d just given them should help them on their way. However, if they returned to thieving, there would be no mercy a second time, and their lives would be forfeit. He knew there would have to be a reckoning with Halbrook, but he and his father would deal with that once he returned to the castle and messengers could be sent.

Afterward, tired in body and mind, the wound on his arm aching, Victor rode with his men back to camp, feeling the chill of the air for once and wrapping his cloak tightly about him. Justin was again on his left, Julius on his right. They were silent for a long time, while the sun sank to the horizon and shadows lengthened.

“I don’t enjoy publicly shaming people, Justin,” Victor eventually said. “But sometimes justice has to be seen to be done. If it had been you or a member of your family they’d attacked and robbed, how would you feel?” He glanced over at Justin, who nodded. “At the same time, their lord will need to accept that he was remiss in not ensuring his men had safe passage back from their fight. Our families are friendly. I imagine he’ll agree to pay reparations, which we’ll distribute to the victims. It’ll be a big job for our officials, but I think they’ll do it gladly.” He paused. “Is it still your opinion that I’m being savage?”

Justin considered, then replied, “No. No, I…You did well, I think, considering the circumstances.”

“Praise from you is hard earned,” Victor said with a wry grin.

“I’m sorry. This whole day…I’m not used to these things. I need time to make sense of it all, maybe. But I can tell that you care – about the people on your estate, and about the prisoners, too. You’re right, I can imagine someone else doing far worse things to them.”

Victor was easier in his mind after this, though why Justin’s approval felt important to him was something he’d have to think about. After a pause, he said, “I’m sorry for my harsh words earlier. I owe you my life.” He turned his head again to gaze at him earnestly. “I’m in your debt.”

Justin breathed out, looking flustered. “The others were close behind me. If I hadn’t joined you, Chris or someone else would have.”

“But it was you who did. Thank you.”

A pleased grin flitted briefly across Justin’s face. 

* * *

He really should’ve had his wound treated before they’d ridden back to camp. It had seemed like a waste of time then; but now that he was lying on the wooden bed in his tent, with Julius attending to him while Chris sat on a chair nearby, Philip dabbing at his face with a cloth, Victor could see the folly in his decision. He’d bled more than he’d realised, and it had dried, so cloth tore and the bleeding started afresh when Julius helped him remove the houppelande and the shirt underneath.

“Lie down, master, and I’ll fetch some water and have that bandaged for you in no time.”

Victor remained propped up on an elbow, using the damaged gown to absorb the blood. “Mistress Monica will be displeased that her handiwork’s been ripped and stained,” he murmured. “Percy won’t be, though. He’ll want a proper session of enthusing over a dozen different colours and styles for a new one.”

“You’re a poor patient,” Julius said, bringing a pitcher and basin over and placing them on a stand.

“Did you and Michael pack half the castle to bring along?”

“Only what fits a man of your station, master. This tent is supposed to be your home away from home.”

The cut was longer and deeper than Victor had wanted to admit to himself, but not so deep, he judged, that it needed stitches. Julius had also brought scissors, bandages and pins, and started dabbing with a cloth. He winced but said nothing.

Soon he caught wind of an argument outside the tent, and the man-at-arms stationed there said, “He and Sir Christophe are being attended by their squires. Perhaps later – ”

“I need to see him.”

“Sir, I don’t think – ”

“I’m going inside, and if you try to stop me…” There was the sound of sliding metal as a sword was drawn.

That was Justin’s voice. But what had got him so riled? “Edwin,” Victor called out, “it’s all right. He’s one of our knights, after all.”

But Justin had already shoved past the man, who was peering into the tent in astonishment. He was dressed in a blue tunic and brown hose and boots, minus his armour and cloak.

“Do you want me to get rid of him, sir?” Julius asked, sounding eager. Chris and Philip stopped their conversation and stared.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been hurt?” Justin demanded in a low voice as he strode up, sheathing his sword. He looked down at the cut on Victor’s arm and his eyes widened. “I only just heard now.”

“Why should I have said?” Victor countered, nevertheless touched by his concern. “I’m in good hands. And, Justin…” He raised an eyebrow. “Drawing a sword on my own guard?”

He seemed taken aback. “I’ll apologise later. I wouldn’t have hurt him.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I wanted to see you before someone did something to your wound.” He looked at Julius, and the accoutrements on the stand.

“What are you staring at?” Julius snapped, glaring back. “I daresay I know more about this than you. Go wait outside; you’re not wanted here.”

“You could say that if we were both holding bows. But I really do know about treating wounds.” He turned back to Victor. “You need something to disinf – to clean it out. Properly. So you don’t get sick. Have you got anything besides water?”

“What else would I need?” Victor asked.

“Jesus. I should’ve thought of this before we left. What to use? There must be something…”

Julius was looking at him as if he’d gone mad. “What in God’s name are you on about?”

“Alcohol.” A light sprang into Justin’s eyes. “Victor, have you got any strong drink here?”

“I’ll gladly fetch it for you,” Julius said, “if it means you intend to drink yourself into a stupor.”

“Julius, fetch the vodka from my bags,” Victor told him.

“But – ”

“Please.”

The squire grudgingly opened a leather bag nearby and extracted a corked blue glass bottle, then handed it to Justin.

“Can I have some next?” Chris asked from his chair, where Philip was removing his armour. “I don’t want to be left out.”

“This isn’t going to be for drinking,” Justin said, pulling the stopper. He sniffed the bottle’s contents, then his eyes shot open wide and he coughed.

“It’s proper vodka,” Victor said with a chuckle. “But I have to confess I’m at a loss to understand what this is all about.”

“As am I,” Julius put in.

“Well, strong alcohol will wash out a wound better than water. It’ll help prevent…what would you call it…it’ll help make sure you don’t get sick from your wound.”

“You know, Victor, there may be some truth to this,” Chris said between mouthfuls of a piece of bread Philip had supplied him with. “I’ve heard tell on the continent that some physicians soak their bandages in wine. I thought they did it when there was no water to be had.”

“Will you trust me?” Justin asked quietly.

Victor paused and looked at him. “Of course.”

“What in the name of the devil are you planning to do to him?” Julius blurted.

“Remember your place, squire,” Victor said. “I’ll thank you to clean my armour over there while Justin’s busy.” He added in a gentler voice when he received a hurt look, “Your wound care is second to none, but I want to find out what he has in mind.”

Julius gave a little huff, shot another glare at Justin, then made a quick bow and stalked over to the chest containing the plate.

“You seem to be bent on your purpose,” Victor said mildly as Justin examined his wound.

“I’m just going to make sure this is cleaned out first,” he replied. He eyed the pitcher and the cloth Julius had left. “That water needs to be boiled if it’s going to be any use, I think. But maybe I won’t need it.” He took his knife out of its sheath. To Victor’s surprise, he soaked the end of the cloth in vodka, then used it to clean the implement.

“This is a strange procedure.”

“I’ll try not to hurt you.” Justin prised small pieces of cloth from the wound with the tip of the knife, slowly and with care. Victor barely felt it. “There. Now, um…I think probably the next thing I’m going to do might hurt – but please believe me when I say it’ll help. I’m going to pour the vodka over the wound, and then bandage it up.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “This is going to stop me from getting sick from the wound?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you learn such a procedure?”

“At my castle,” Justin replied. “Can you, um, hold your arm out a bit?”

Victor did as he was told. Justin picked the bottle up with that expression of worry and determination he’d been wearing during the entire trip. It wasn’t particularly reassuring now. Then the liquid decanted –

And Victor’s skin was on fire. He cried out before he was able to master himself, but he continued to moan and shed a stream of tears through gritted teeth. All eyes in the tent were upon them both. Time slowed to a crawl before Justin stopped, corked the bottle, put it down, and picked up the bandages and pins.

“Was that really necessary?” Victor said in a small voice, breathing in the fumes of vodka rising from his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Justin answered, looking like he meant it. “But yes, very. I, um, I’ve seen this work well for people. I’m sorry it had to hurt so much.”

It had felt to Victor like a swarm of bees was attacking him, but the sting was fading into a throb. Fingers lifted his arm up and skated across it, sending a tremble through him that made his breath catch. Then they wrapped the bandage round, nimble and feather-light.

“You have a gentle touch for one so fierce,” he whispered.

Justin’s eyes widened. “Fierce?”

“I almost thought ‘le Savage’ was fighting next to me today. Or someone better.”

“Oh? I – ”

“Someone who isn’t anything like what I expected when he arrived at the castle. I wouldn’t have used the word ‘fierce’ for you until today – but it seems there’s that in you too, whether you’re defending a fellow knight, or – ” His mouth twitched. “ – threatening to attack his guard.”

“I did say I was sorry,” Justin muttered as he continued to hold Victor’s arm.

“It’s been a delightful surprise. I wonder what other surprises you might have in store.” 

Chris chuckled. And two pink roses bloomed in Justin’s cheeks. Victor thought it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to _The Time Traveller’s Guide to Medieval England_ by Ian Mortimer, people really dug clay pits in roads, and in 1386, a man drowned in one of them. The abbot of Chertsey, who was responsible for keeping the roads in good repair, claimed the man’s goods on account of the death occurring on his land!


	25. Chapter 25

She knew she shouldn’t. Someone would come along to tell her off and steer her back to where she was supposed to be. But until they did, she would.

There were just so many to choose from; and several of her favourites were here, naturally. All along this table, pretty jugs and bottles full of seemingly endless varieties of wine and beer. She’d learned a lot about them since she’d arrived. Some odd things could get thrown into the mix, though. Egg yolks? Well, people in her own time still drank eggnog, so why not. Cloves and rosewater. Grains of paradise and galangal. Pepper, honey, gruel, sops. And the things they thought of making cordials out of…

Not many people were sitting yet, so perhaps she could get away with lingering to select her own drink. Here by the wall, near the window, she wasn’t so obtrusive, perhaps. A light dinner would be commencing soon, while the Beaumonts – the Duke of Halbrook and his sons, Andrew and Tyler, and their retinue – were entertained on this their last day, with a banquet planned for supper. The family were a bunch of haughty aristocrats, and the castle had had to suffer their presence again here so soon because their fighting men couldn’t behave themselves. This weak-hearted baron’s son, Victor, should’ve just killed them and left it at that. But maybe he understood the politics involved better than she did herself. Dukes were powerful people, and she supposed it wouldn’t do to anger one. Besides, it was common knowledge that Victor was fond of the younger son, or at least what he had between his legs. She thought it was quite enlightened of them not to burn him at the stake or draw and quarter him for it, in this day and age. Though the people at the top of the feudal pile tended to be able to do just about anything they liked anyway.

She chose a mulled wine with cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg, and was filling a cup when she heard voices behind her. One of them she recognised as Victor’s. The other – she glanced out of the corner of her eye – was the new knight, Justin.

“I was wondering how your arm was doing. I haven’t seen you since we got back. Well, I mean to talk to you properly.”

“Ah. I know, and I’m sorry. My father and I have been busy trying to straighten out this business with the Beaumonts. It’s taking some delicate handling. But to answer your question, I’m well on the mend. It was never anything serious. I fear it would’ve been, though, if you hadn’t arrived to aid me when you did. I’m grateful.”

“You told me, remember?” Justin said with a little laugh.

_How boring._ They’d been enemies, and now they were…whatever they were. It wouldn’t surprise her if they were already sleeping together. She’d seen them staring across the hall at each other, usually when the other wasn’t aware of it. But _she _was aware. She was on the lookout all the time. Carelessness could be fatal to her disguise.

“I’m telling you again,” Victor replied lightly. “And when our visitors have gone, maybe – ”

“There you are, Victor. I knew you’d come in here eventually.”

Ailis slipped another glance their way and saw that Tyler had joined them. _Now this could get interesting, _she thought with a tiny smirk.

“Tyler – ” Victor began, but he was cut off.

“Where have you been hiding yourself these past few days? Considering the grave offence of attacking and humiliating our men, which my father has graciously forgiven, the least you can do is pay me the courtesy of speaking with me.”

Victor let out a surprised little huff, and Ailis sipped her wine, listening to every escalating word. “Considering the offence _my _father has forgiven, of your men marauding through our lands and attacking _our _men, including myself, I’d say I owe you nothing.”

Tyler laughed mirthlessly. “That’s not like you at all, and you know it, and you know I know it.”

“Justin,” Victor said, “will you excuse us please?” Ailis heard the contact of boots on the tiles fading across the room as others filed in, chattering, to take their seats for the meal.

There was a wounded note in Tyler’s voice now that hadn’t been present in full force a moment ago. “Victor,” he hissed, “you’ve spent _no _time with me while I’ve been here. It’s shameful as it is, to have been replaced by my brother next to you at the high table while I’ve had to sit with your common knights. I’ve endured the insult for your sake, hoping perhaps you’d change your mind. But now I know what’s really going on. I’ve seen the looks you’ve been giving that knight you just dismissed. I saw the two of you in conversation just now.”

“Is that a crime? He’s a knight of the castle.” Victor’s voice was low, just above the background ambience. “There’s nothing but friendship between us. But even if there were, how would it concern you? I trust I made my intentions clear during your last visit.”

“Perfectly,” Tyler replied bitterly. “And they’re perfectly clear now.” He paused. “Did you know your arse-brained steward sat me next to him for this meal?”

Victor seemed to be taking a moment to digest this news. “You can be civil to him, can’t you?” He added firmly, “I trust you will. If not – ”

“Of course I can. Do you think so little of me?” A sigh. “I honestly have no idea what you see in him, though. A pathetic little weed like that. I’d crush him in the arena before you could draw a breath.”

Ailis heard a sound that she imagined to be the incensed Tyler turning on his heel and flouncing off in a snit, and couldn’t help but enjoy a secret smile. A real-life soap opera – certainly better than the usual entertainment during a meal. She turned around now, hoping her luck would hold and no man would move her from her spot; she doubted a woman would. Victor was striding purposefully across the room to where Matthew Everard stood near the high table. He glanced over at Justin and Tyler several times while in animated conversation. _Good luck with that, _she thought, trying hard not to laugh. Everard had enough authority to argue back, and he hated his seating plans being changed by anybody.

Her gaze shifted across the room to the two hapless knights who were being made to sit as dining companions. Which would try to poison the trencher or the drink while the other wasn’t looking? And this time she did let out a small chuckle, hidden behind the cup raised to her lips. Perhaps Justin didn’t have the guts to try anything interesting, though. He looked as if he were attempting to mind his own business while his squire waited on him. And Tyler wasn’t sure who to glower at the most, Justin or Victor.

She wondered if Victor was aware that his new flame had also been chasing ladies around the castle. But then again, maybe they really were suited to each other, if neither could keep his dick in his trousers. She didn’t think she’d ever been as interested in other people’s sordid affairs as she had while she’d been here at the castle, and was a little alarmed at how enjoyable it was. After all, she was a scientist.

But there was a good reason for it, she reminded herself as she took a moment to study Justin more closely before leaving the drinks table. She assessed and reassessed everyone here because she _knew _Celestino would send someone after her with the remaining sphere. He hadn’t hesitated with the first two, once they’d had their getting-to-know-you conversation over Ian’s com, along with his sidekick Phichit. It was a logical assumption that the third was here at the castle now. Possibly in this very room.

So when this knight had turned up, she’d considered him as a new possibility. He’d looked a little lost at the time, though it was a natural-seeming reaction to being forced to leave his family and live here. There was also talk about the dove that had emerged from behind the façade of a hawk; but Victor could put the fear of God into anybody in the arena, and a dose of humility after an abysmal performance could conceivably have tamed this “Savage”. On the whole, she thought he seemed more devoted to his training – and Victor – than anything else; not that she was in a position to see him often and note what he was getting up to.

There was one intriguing thing about him, however, that had given her pause. He could speak medieval Russian. It was an unusual ability in this place, but not surprising at all if he’d nicked one of the translators she’d spent so many meticulous hours researching and programming. His explanation, she’d heard, was that he’d always had an ambition to come here and serve the Nikiforovs in some capacity. Was it plausible? It was difficult to say. There were others here who also had the potential to be someone other than who they claimed, if she allowed herself to be suspicious enough.

She watched Justin cut a small chunk of meat with his knife and feed it into his mouth with the tip, looking like he was forcing himself to swallow, the little drama between himself and his unwilling neighbour continuing to silently play out. 

_If you _are _Celestino’s stooge, I hope you’re aware of what happened to your two predecessors. Because I intend to make sure that seems like a holiday compared to what I’ll do to you._

* * *

Finally getting a chance to speak with Victor just now had lifted Yuuri’s heart, weighed down as it had been with that fight at the bridge a few days ago – the things he’d been forced to do, or almost do; then trying to explain to a shocked Phichit, and deciding to keep it brief, because how could he be expected to understand? It had also been affecting his performance in training.

But then Tyler had turned up. Recalling that he’d seen him here before, Yuuri had gathered that he was one of the duke’s sons and was angry at Victor for some reason. He thought it best to stay out of it, and was marking time until the meal was finished, not wishing to irritate him any further. Having to share a trencher and dishes felt awkward in the frosty silence. Occasionally Tyler waved a hand for his squire to bring him more wine.

“I wasn’t aware that this castle was in need of another knight.”

Jolted out of his reverie, Yuuri glanced at him.

“Where are you from?” Tyler asked in a flat voice.

“I’m from Stanebeck. Justin Courtenay, son of the baron. I was made to fight a duel against Victor for my family’s lands, and lost.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “How long did you last against him? I’d be surprised if you even had a chance to draw your sword.”

“He beat me pretty fast,” Yuuri said, hoping to close the topic down before it got any further. He stared down at the pieces of minted lamb in grape juice and honey on the trencher, then poked at one with the tip of his knife. There was an incredulous exhale next to him, and he began to wonder what he could say to defuse the situation until they could get away from each other. It was clear Tyler had taken offence to him for some reason.

“How can such a poor knight be deserving of his favour? What did you do to get it?”

“I’m sorry?” Yuuri looked at him with a wrinkled brow.

“What does he see in you?”

“What do you mean?”

Tyler glared at him. “I could cut you into mince before you even realised what had happened.”

Yuuri was saved from having to come up with a reply when a serving girl arrived with a bowl of candied ginger which Tyler took and put on the table with a thunk. If it were possible for someone to eat angrily, then that was what he did, as he took one piece after another and chewed pronouncedly, staring out the window across the hall and then eyeing Victor.

“More wine, sir?” Tyler’s squire asked him, and he nodded, the young man pouring into his cup. “If you’re finished with the gingers, perhaps the knight next to you would like some? Shall I – ”

Tyler picked up the gleaming metal bowl by the rim and plonked it down by Yuuri, several pieces pinging on the table as they bounced out.

“That’s nice of you,” Yuuri said, not quite hiding the sarcasm.

“What?” Tyler turned to him, looking affronted.

_It wasn’t _that _sarcastic,_ Yuuri thought. _What’s up with him? _“I said that was nice of you. Giving me the – ”

“_Nice?_” he shouted.

Yuuri’s breath stuck in his throat. This man was mad. “Well, yes.”

Now Tyler was on his feet, his houppelande falling about him in folds. The look on his face was thunderous. “And you, _sir_, are a base hedgeborn villain!”

Silence fell immediately as all heads turned their way. Yuuri stared, his fingers poised over the hilt of his sword, while Tyler shoved a hand into a pocket of his cloak, draped over the bench beside him. A second later he pulled out an armoured gauntlet, which he threw dramatically onto the table.

“Come, then, knave – what do you say to that?”

In a daze, Yuuri reached out and picked up the gauntlet, examining it. But as soon as he did, there was a collective gasp from the onlookers, and he heard Victor call his name. Looking to the high table, he watched as Victor vaulted over it, landing at the base of the dais and rushing across the room to him, alarm on every feature.

“What have you done?” he demanded, his eyes on Tyler. Yuuri decided he ought to stand, since the other two men were; and then feeling ridiculous that he was still holding the gauntlet, he put it back down on the table.

“He insulted me,” Tyler replied. “My patience was at an end.”

Yuuri saw that Baron Nikiforov and his wife were in conference. Their expressions could not be more different from their son’s; if anything, they appeared to be pleasantly intrigued. Then the baron stood and said, “This duel, with our honoured guest who provides such entertainment through his skill, shall take place when his majesty the king graces us with his presence here.” His eyes found Yuuri’s. “Sir Justin will therefore have time to prepare, so that he may attempt to put up a worthy fight.”

Yuuri’s heart began to hammer. _Duel?_

“My lord,” Tyler called across the room, “if it please you, why wait so long? Let me make a spectacle for you _now_ with this knight.” He turned to Yuuri, dark eyes burning.

“Tyler, don’t contradict our fine host,” said the duke, who was sitting next to the baron and now got to his feet as well. “If he believes the king would be impressed with your performance, that would be a great honour indeed.”

After a pause, Tyler replied grudgingly, “Very well. But since this household has already shamed our own knights, and I’ve been treated so deplorably upon this visit, I exercise my right to decree that this duel – ” He shot another venomous look at Yuuri. “ – will be to the death.”

The blood drained from Yuuri’s face, and he grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. Applause, cheers and hoots broke out in the room. Baron Nikiforov clapped his hands, smiling, while Lady Nikiforov and the duke mirrored his actions.

There would be no running away this time. No mercy, from his opponent or the nobles watching for their pleasure. This knight intended to slaughter him, and the audience were keen to see it happen. But they wanted him to undergo more training first, so that he’d give them a good show. Like…like some captive gladiator. He let out a quiet cry as he began to shake.

“Splendid, splendid; that’s settled, then,” the baron said, sitting down, along with everyone else apart from Victor, Tyler and Yuuri.

_No, it really isn’t, _Yuuri thought as a wave of nausea swept through him.

“Tyler,” Victor said in a loud voice that made it clear he was addressing the others in the room also, “I offer myself in Justin’s place. Fight me instead.”

Yuuri stared at him in horror. Tyler, too, seemed surprised. “I didn’t challenge you,” he said. “Besides, why would you dishonour your catamite with such a suggestion?” He stressed the strange word, and an angry spark leapt into Victor’s eyes.

“He’s not a catamite. And you’ve had too much to drink, clearly. I’m sure you’ll feel different in the morning.”

“I wouldn’t feel different in a year, or ten, Victor,” Tyler shot back.

“Son, kindly return to your proper place,” called the baron. “Though I’ll thank you to walk this time, instead of springing over the top of the table like a March hare.” There were a few titters at this.

Victor gazed silently at Yuuri, his consternation plain to see. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, then glared at Tyler, before crossing the hall to resume his seat next to his father.

The expression on Tyler’s face was a strange mixture of vindication and aggravation, Yuuri thought, before Emil hurried to his side. “I think under the circumstances, sir,” he said in a hushed voice, “no one will mind if you depart from the meal early. In fact, it may be prudent to do so.” When Yuuri didn’t shift straight away, Emil placed a hand on his arm to steer him, and he allowed his feet to move along next to his squire’s while the noises of conversation and the clanking of plates, knives and cups resumed in the great hall. Soon they emerged into the courtyard.

“How the hell did that happen?” Yuuri said, more to himself than to Emil, as they headed toward the garrison. “I don’t understand it. Jesus Christ.”

“Well, you did call him nice, sir. And Sir Tyler was already in distemper. I could see and hear that much from where I was standing.”

“What’s wrong with calling someone nice?”

“Most people would feel insulted by it. I know I would be.”

“You?” Yuuri looked at him in confusion. “Telling someone they’re being pleasant and polite is an insult?”

“Well, no,” Emil answered in equal bewilderment. “But calling someone foolish or stupid is.”

“I said ‘nice’.”

“Yes.”

“Which…which means foolish or stupid?”

“Yes, sir, it does.” Emil was looking at him worriedly as they entered the garrison and carried on to his room. “Would this be part of your memory loss, do you think?”

“I…” For a moment, Yuuri didn’t want to speak another word ever again in this place, lest his meaning be misconstrued in a similarly catastrophic way. He opened his door, walked in, and automatically moved the fire guard, then threw some logs on the embers.

“You also realised that picking up Sir Tyler’s gauntlet was a sign that you were accepting his challenge?” Emil said tentatively.

“No,” Yuuri whispered, looking down at the fire. Though if he’d had just an extra second or two to think about it, he felt sure the phrase “throwing down the gauntlet” would have come to mind, and he would have known.

“Well, not that it matters, sir. If you hadn’t accepted the challenge, you could hardly have come out of the situation with your reputation intact, especially after the insults Sir Tyler returned to you.” He paused. “I really am sorry.”

Yuuri stood quietly for a moment, then said, “How good is he? Maybe if I trained hard enough, like they want me to – ”

Emil huffed, and Yuuri saw pity in his eyes, which told him all he needed to know; but his squire spelled it out anyway.

“Sir Tyler is almost as skilled at combat as Sir Victor. It’s known far and wide. When they spar with each other, it’s a sight to see…I truly am sorry, sir.”

* * *

_One…two…three. Breathe out. _

_Again…again. _

_Not working. Keep trying. Again…_

Yuuri clutched at his blanket as he sat huddled on his bed. The flames of the fire in the little room were always calming. Always…but not this time. He pulled a sleeve over his damp forehead. As long as he didn’t think about what had just happened in the great hall; about the fact that he was a dead man walking, unless by some miracle he could vastly improve his skills.

And yet it didn’t matter whether he thought about it or not. The sense of impending doom, of being closed in from all sides; of needing to run, to hide, to protect himself – it was all familiar, all real, always lying in wait for a crisis to bring it to the fore. If he could have crawled _into _the corner, right through the wall, he would’ve done it.

It was some time before he could begin to regather his thoughts, though it would be longer still before he could give any serious consideration to leaving the room. And whenever the vindictive face of Tyler popped into his head, his pulse threaded again and his heart pounded.

He knew it wasn’t the normal kind of fearful reaction most people had to things. He’d experienced that before; experienced it in this place. The anxiety was more like a broken circuit that couldn’t be fixed, it seemed. You could avoid it for a long time, but you’d inevitably end up blundering across it and get burned.

_Broken circuit. What a way to describe a stupid fucking anxiety attack. _The worst he’d had in years. But no one here would understand. _Coward _was what they would call him.

_Or maybe I’m just kidding myself. Maybe that’s what I really am._

He wiped a shuddering hand across his face. At least no one could see him here. This attack was probably going to be the first of many, with the duel looming in the not-too-distant future. He had to make sure he was in a private place like this when they struck.

As if the fear and uncertainty involved with trying to find Ailis weren’t bad enough already, there had been the battle with the Duke of Halbrook’s men. Afterwards, part of the Nikiforovs’ own contingent had dug a pit and laid the bodies to rest inside – the three slain Beaumont men, and two men-at-arms from Crowood Castle. Men Yuuri had come across almost daily in the garrison and stable, even if they usually only exchanged greetings. Blood-covered corpses, ghostly pale in the earth. He’d never seen a dead body in real life until then, not even when his own parents had died. A funeral mass had been said in the men’s honour when they’d returned to the castle, this time in the cemetery on the hill, which he and Victor and many others had attended. He knew it had only been a small fight, and that he might well find himself in others while he was here. Was that a fact of life he’d just have to accept, too?

A tremor shook through him and he concentrated on his breathing again, willing the renewed panicky feelings to subside, eyes closed, mind blank. After a while he stared at the flames, and this time it seemed to help. His thoughts, once he picked them up, returned to that day of death; it seemed they weren’t finished yet with dragging him through it again, even though they were re-stoking the anxiety he’d only just begun to quell.

It had felt like a penance, in a way, to treat the men’s injuries with the vodka. Ensuring Victor’s was safeguarded from infection had been of vital importance, and Yuuri had made sure that was taken care of as soon as Emil had mentioned the existence of the wound. But then he’d then faced the dilemma that if he treated other members of their company, word of his unusual methods would spread – possibly all the way to Ailis. In the end, he’d asked Julius and Philip to do it, making them promise not to tell anyone they’d learned from him. To his knowledge, no one had developed infections in the days since they’d returned to the castle, and he’d received Victor’s permission to take a bottle of vodka from the buttery that he could keep to hand in case of emergencies from now on.

Victor had trusted him even though he didn’t understand, and even though the pain caused by the treatment must have been terrible, judging from his reaction, despite the fact that he’d been trying to restrain himself. But now wasn’t the time to indulge in warm feelings about Victor. He himself was in very real danger of losing his life.

That was the fear he’d had the morning Chris had told him he was wanted on the expedition to track down the marauders – fear that he’d end up having to stick a sword into someone’s gut, or that they’d do it to him. Apart from a desire to save his own skin was the worry that if he failed on his mission here, there would be no one left to stop Ailis from doing as she pleased. But he knew it was important to play the part of Justin the knight. No, not play it – _live _it. That was the only way he could be convincing, and survive, as well as the only way he stood a chance of defending Victor from the fate that was stalking him this year.

When Yuuri had seen him trapped on that bridge, it was the moment he’d been dreading. Recalling it was like reliving a nightmare.

_It’s OK to feel this way about it. It’s normal. All these fighters who surround me, they’re used to it; they’ve hardened themselves to it. Even Victor, in a way, though he…he said that it isn’t for him. _What must it be like to have no choice, though? Was that why Victor seemed so weighed down sometimes? 

Yuuri’s thoughts returned to the battle, telling him he was not done with it, forcing the terrible memories back; memories he’d been kicking aside since he’d returned to the castle, though they’d been emerging in his fevered dreams. Those eight men had rushed out from the trees lining the road, preventing him from riding forward. He didn’t know how to attack people on foot from on top of a horse, so he’d jumped off and been able to reach the edge of the bridge before he’d encountered a man with a rusty blade and no armour who looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Yuuri had forced him to the rail and shoved him over the side into the river, and did the same again to a second attacker before the way was clear for him to join Victor.

_I might literally have gone mad for a moment, when I saw what was happening to him. I would’ve killed both those knights, and even those peasants, to save his life._

He trembled and hugged his arms around his chest.

_Me. I would’ve done that._

Did that make him a would-be murderer, even though he’d acted in self-defence, or defence of another? But he’d been spared the act in the end, because once the duke’s men had realised the fight had gone against them, they’d quickly surrendered. 

And now Tyler wanted a duel to the death. _Almost as skilled at combat as Sir Victor,_ Emil had said. The little confidence Yuuri had gained from his performance in the fight, moral complications aside, evaporated when he thought about the other more experienced knights who’d been on his side, and the fact that none of the duke’s men present that day were likely to be a match for Tyler’s skills.

_Face it, Yuuri – if something else doesn’t kill you in the next four and a half months, this jack will make an end of you. You’d better have your mission accomplished by then. And hope you’ve managed to save Victor’s life, even if you can’t save your own._

But – maybe he already had, by assisting him on the bridge and treating his wound?

He got up, tipped some water into the basin and washed his face with a cloth, then poured himself some weak wine. Sitting down by the fire, he called Phichit. It took him a few minutes to answer.

“Hey, Yuuri. Sorry about the delay. I was in the canteen, but I’m in my office now. How’s it going?”

The friendly voice made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. “What were you eating?” He surprised himself with the absurd question, but suddenly it seemed important.

“I was having an early lunch because I didn’t have any breakfast. I forgot I was out of nutri-pills.”

“Nutri-pills,” Yuuri echoed in a murmur, shaking his head.

“I had a bowl of Thai-style curry. They’re getting better at having international foods, but you know, there’s not much demand because a lot of people don’t want to bother with eating when they’re at work. I miss the flavours sometimes, though, so…”

Yuuri laughed. There was a rough edge to it that he didn’t recognise.

“Is something wrong?”

He let out a choked-off breath.

“Jesus, Yuuri, what is it? What’s happened?”

“Do you…do you know,” Yuuri began, wiping at his eyes, “how nice it is to be called by my real name for once?” Then he caught himself. “Fuck. I said ‘nice’.”

“Yuuri?” Phichit’s voice was full of concern now.

He briefly explained what had just happened with Tyler, accompanied by exclamations of surprise and dismay from his friend. “What use is this flipping translator if it doesn’t translate stuff like that?” Yuuri concluded. “My life depends on this piece of tech. One slip and look what happens.”

“Well, no tech is perfect; you’d be the first person to say that. I guess it must’ve recognised ‘nice’ as a word we still use, though according to the Cloud…yeah, wow. It’s, like, completely changed its meaning over time.”

“And – what’s a catamite?”

“You what?”

Yuuri spelled it out. “I _think _that’s what he called me. Probably some stupid medieval word for – ”

“A boy kept for homosexual practices,” Phichit said mechanically, presumably reading from the Cloud. “Yuuri, what have you been doing?”

“Nothing!” he blurted. “He was insulting me. I – I think he was hoping I’d agree to fight him then and there.”

“So what are you going to do? The king’s visit is what, in June? Do you think you can take this jack on?”

Yuuri’s broken circuit sparked, reminding him it was primed to start a new attack if he let it. He bit his lip.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Phichit continued. “But look – if it’s any consolation, you’ve already lasted longer than the other scientists we sent, so…”

“Well, now I just have to get good enough to defeat one of the best knights in the land in a little over four months. How hard can it be.”

“Maybe you’ll think of some way to get out of it.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said, knowing it was highly unlikely unless he could vanish from the castle and Justin’s life. But his Japanese features made it impossible to go around as himself here – and then there was Victor. “Phichit, were you able to check that book with Victor’s death date?” He held his breath as he awaited the response. As soon as he’d returned to the castle from the expedition to find the duke’s men, he’d asked Phichit to find out if the date in the book had altered, daring to hope that history might have been changed that day.

But the long pause was answer enough before he replied, “Uh, I’m sorry, Yuuri, but no, nothing’s changed. I know how important this is to you, though, so I’ve got the book here in my office; I can check it any time you want me to now. Dr. Fay got permission from the minster for us to have it; it was stored away upstairs in this creepy dusty corner. Just, um, remember we don’t know how this works; whether the death date is something that ever _will _look to us like it’s changed, or whether we’d even be aware of it if it did…if that makes sense.”

“Sure.” He sighed. “Thanks anyway, Phichit.”

“I really am sorry, Yuuri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Nice” has one of the most fascinating etymologies of any word in the English language, having begun as “ignorant, foolish, simple” and morphing over the centuries into its present meaning of “mildly pleasing”. Thus Shakespeare could write “nice villain” as an insult and it would have made perfect sense to people at the time – but unfortunately not to Yuuri!


	26. Chapter 26

_Everyone’s sorry. Emil, Phichit. Me, too. I’m probably the sorriest knight this castle’s ever seen._

However, no matter how he felt, how close the anxiety still was to the surface – and might always be, from now on – he would eventually have to leave this room. Somehow he’d find a way to carry on, and maybe in time he’d adjust to the idea that he only had a few months to live. Wasn’t that what he’d essentially done anyway, by agreeing to go on this mission?

_But finding Ailis isn’t the same as being killed in an arena for a crowd’s entertainment. In front of people who I’ve come to know, and…and care about. Will they feel sorry for me? Disappointed? Will they be able to make themselves watch?_

His blood began to race again, and he felt a headache coming on as he poured himself two more cups of wine. The alcohol was weak, and he was only drinking to get liquid into his system, but it was still enough to give him a faint buzz. Somehow that made it easier to face the thought of going out to the field to train. Just like he always did. He’d pretend to everyone like he was taking this in his stride. 

He put on his armour and walked to the stable. There was no sign of Emil yet. Brushing and stroking Lady was a small comfort. “At least you got out of that fight in one piece,” he said to her, running a hand along her silky cream-coloured mane.

Steeling himself as he emerged from her stall, he drew his sword and stared at it in the dull light inside the building. Double-edged, the saying went. It could defend lives. It could take them.

“It’s going to be a long time before people decide carrying weapons around like this isn’t a good idea,” he said quietly.

“Justin! Thank God I’ve found you,” Victor breathed, trotting into the stable. “I was worried when you left the great hall, and I couldn’t talk to you.”

Yuuri’s heart leapt. “I hope you’ve come to tell me that Tyler’s changed his mind about the duel.” But the answer was already clear on Victor’s face.

“No. But I’ll work on that.”

“Why’s he so angry?”

After a pause, Victor answered, “He’s an old friend who…who I had a falling-out with. I expected better of him than this, though. Believe me, I’ll do everything I can to persuade him to change his mind.”

“You said I had promise,” Yuuri said quietly. “I guess we’ll never know now what I might have made of it. I would’ve liked to have seen…” His voice trailed off.

“Don’t talk like that. Maybe you _could _take him on, if you worked hard. One day. But so soon…well. For now, you’ll need to put everything you’ve got into your training.” He added softly, “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri wondered if this meant he was already offering condolences for his impending death, or if he was blaming himself for what had happened. But before he could think how to respond, Abelard joined them, brown fur cloak bristling, bald hatless pate gleaming.

“Ah, so this is where you’ve run off to,” he said heartily. “The condemned man. Better get some practice in, son – believe me, you’ll need it.”

“Abelard,” Victor said urgently, “don’t hold back while you’re sparring with Justin. Get him used to dealing with everything you’re capable of. And if he wins, he’ll know he’s done it truly.”

“If he wins…?” A crooked grin spread across the Scotsman’s face.

* * *

Yuuri threw himself into his training that afternoon, just as Victor had told him. Maybe, he thought, he might be able to achieve something that would boost his confidence and give him a glimmer of hope. But in the end, he felt more dejected than he’d been since he could remember.

He was covered in scratches where Abelard’s sword had got through his defences. His tunic and hose were ripped, his body bruised all over from falls and from being shoved. The only consolation he had was that the Scotsman would be sporting a few scratches and bruises of his own. But Yuuri hadn’t scored a single victory against him. The other fighting men had come and gone in the meantime, including Victor, who perhaps wanted to save himself the pain of watching him take a pummelling. Finally Abelard had declared that enough was enough, and put Yuuri on a ten-mile run around the field in his armour. The heavens had opened halfway through, just to top it all off, and Yuuri had been sodden and shivering as he slogged back to his room to sit in front of the fire, where he allowed himself to shed more tears, knowing no one would see him or judge him for it.

He had an urge to call Phichit, just to talk to him. But what could he say? Phichit already understood the situation, and there wasn’t much he could do about it from where he was.

So he tried turning his fear into anger – at the belligerent Tyler, the bloodthirsty baron, the whole feudal system. But that wasn’t any better, and it just added to his frustration.

_I’m not some stupid helpless knight. I wonder what you’d make of who I really am, _he thought with Tyler in mind. An outlandish idea suddenly came to him of dressing in all his modern clothes, taking his laser pen, turning his projector off, and bursting into Tyler’s room. He’d have Phichit playing loud shack music over his com while he shot the thin blue light just to the side of the man’s head – though it had not been made as a weapon, of course, and would hurt no one from that distance anyway. _I am Yuuri from the future, and I order you to leave Sir Justin Courtenay alone, or you will suffer the consequences when I return. _That was what he could say, while the blowhard cringed in terror.

The image made him laugh under his breath, but he had a feeling Tyler would not be completely intimidated even by that scenario. He’d probably still try to come at him with his sword. Then he’d tell everyone in the castle about it, and Ailis would be after him too.

Eventually Emil knocked on the door, and Yuuri, hoping his eyes didn’t look too red-rimmed, admitted him.

“Will you be ready to come to supper soon, sir?”

Yuuri looked into the fire. “I’m not sure I ever want to eat again. Especially in the great hall.”

Emil thought about this, then replied, “I could bring you something to eat here. And I do understand. But I’d also strongly advise that you attend this particular meal, or people will get the impression that you’re, ah…hiding from Sir Tyler.”

Yuuri sighed. He couldn’t care less himself, but his identity as Justin demanded he pay attention to things like reputation and honour.

“It might also be an idea to wear something a bit…well, something a little less plain than your usual garb,” Emil told him. “It’s a feast for the duke. Have you got anything suitable in your wardrobe?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Let’s see what we can sort out for you, then. We have a little time yet.”

* * *

From what he found in the wardrobe and chest in Yuuri’s room, and from wherever else he’d disappeared to for about fifteen minutes, Emil put together an interesting ensemble. Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure about it as he stared at himself in the mirror. Maybe it would look good on someone else, but these clothes still felt like costumes to him. He was wearing a figure-hugging royal-blue tunic with small round silver buttons down the front. A black felt circular collar resting on his shoulders, trimmed in a trefoil design and edged with shimmering silver. A black felt hat with a short brim that curled up at the edges. And it took some persuading from Emil, but he’d agreed to wear red hose with the feet attached; they had leather soles on the bottom, while the toes were stuffed with something stiff at the end and came to a point that jutted out a short distance.

“I daresay you look very fetching, sir,” Emil commented. “The tunic and hose flatter your shape, and you’ll forgive me for saying the hat is rather more stylish that the ordinary one you wear. The collar sets it all off very well.”

Yuuri suddenly felt like he was standing in the changing room of some upmarket boutique, with the salesperson fawning over him. “Don’t you get to dress up, too?” he asked Emil, looking at his maroon cap, white shirt and brown hose.

“I must dress according to my station, sir. I can’t upstage the knights, though I can help you look your best. Those clothes do suit you.”

Yuuri wasn’t particularly concerned about how he looked just now, but he thanked Emil for his help and accompanied him to the great hall, where he was placed next to Chris, Tyler being seated at a table across the room with some of the senior castle officials. Five musicians sat underneath the large central candelabra, quietly playing something ambient. Yuuri had come to enjoy this kind of accompaniment to a meal, but tonight he didn’t know how he would be able to eat anything. Appearances, everything was about appearances. You showed your face at the communal meal. You dressed the part. The memory came to him of ordering takeaway meals in his own time and having them delivered by drone to his flat. That was when he wasn’t doing his own cooking, or taking nutri-pills. All of it such a world away.

Victor was resplendent in his scarlet shirt with gold embroidery, but there was not a trace of a smile on his face during the meal, though his features seemed to soften when Yuuri caught him looking his way – if he wasn’t just imagining it. Tyler simply glowered.

Despite a huge selection of Fernand’s fine dishes, Yuuri was hardly able to eat a morsel. He and Chris mostly dined in silence, the knowledge of the upcoming duel and his probable demise present and unspoken between them. During the final course, however, Chris commented on the enjoyable the songs the musicians had been playing, and the wine, which was flavoursome and strong, certainly not watered down. Clearly no expense was spared when there was an important visitor at the castle.

Yuuri was keen to get back to the privacy of his room, and pulled his cloak on to leave when the nobles got up from the high table – only to realise that a dance was going to take place next, and he would therefore be expected to participate. He’d ended his sessions with Monica, deciding there was little left to be learned, and he knew the simple moves required; that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that it was the very last thing he wanted to do after Tyler’s challenge, the anxiety attack, the disheartening conversation with Victor, and the disastrous practice with Abelard. “Emil,” he murmured when his squire came near with the wine jug, “is there any way I could leave without having to dance? I left dinner early, after all, so maybe – ”

“That’s true, sir,” Emil said, refilling his cup, “but it was more a matter of separating you and Sir Tyler so that nothing more violent occurred. However, I think your absence from the banquet would be noted, and it could be taken by the Beaumonts as a further slight. If you’re well enough, I strongly suggest you attend the dance, and leave afterward with your head held high.”

Yuuri glanced around the room, heart racing. As the musicians struck up the introduction to a carol, the urge to escape was almost overpowering. But then his eyes alit on his cup. Recalling the buzz the beer had given him earlier, he grabbed it and downed its contents.

“Put the jug on the table next to me,” Yuuri told his squire. “I’m thirsty.” And he poured himself another cupful, which he quickly polished off.

By the time he got up to join the other dancers, he was warm and tingling, his thoughts spiralling away. He welcomed the oblivion. 

* * *

“I need to speak to you,” Victor said. He’d managed to catch Tyler just as he was leaving his room down the hall. The sun was up, and the duke was going to want to be on his way soon.

Tyler turned to his squire. “Meet me at the stable shortly.” Then to Victor, as the young man departed, he said, “I’m not sure I have anything to say to you. Unless you’ve stopped me because you intend to apologise.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Me? You’re the one who challenged my fellow knight to a duel yesterday.”

“Richly deserved. And our parents were most pleased, didn’t you see?”

“I was hoping you weren’t serious.” Victor tried to keep any note of pleading out of his voice. “The drinks were strong all day. I thought maybe – ”

“I can handle my drink.” Tyler snorted. “Unlike _some_ people who can’t seem to live with the knowledge that they’ll be dead in a few months’ time. What did he get up to after you dragged him off to the garrison last night? Was it messy? I hope he was as sick as a dog.”

Victor wondered if he’d ever been angrier with anyone than he was with Tyler in this moment. _How could I have counted you as a friend? How misguided could I have been? _He supposed jealousy might bring out the worst in people. But he’d struggled to sympathise with Tyler since he’d challenged Justin to the duel. And now this.

“He wouldn’t be a match for you,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Give it up, or – fight me. You’re not afraid, are you?”

Tyler huffed. “I love sparring with you. I always did. But no…no, I don’t want one of us to kill the other,” he said more softly. “I’d never want that.” After a pause, he added, “What did I do to make you reject me like you did?”

“I wasn’t rejecting you. I told you I didn’t want to sleep with you anymore. Or with anyone I don’t…don’t love.”

“And what, you love _him_?” Tyler looked at him like he’d taken leave of his senses.

Victor thought about this for a moment. “I told you, we’re not in a relationship. You’re making many assumptions. You’re also threatening to kill a good, kind person, and a talented knight, for no justifiable reason.”

Tyler’s eyebrows shot up and he let out a loud laugh. “Where do I even start with that, Victor? Justin ‘le Savage’, good and kind? And _talented_? Not from what I could see while he was running away from you in the arena. Your feelings for him must have addled your brains. God only knows what you see in him.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Victor muttered.

“Well I understand this much. He insulted me. _You _insulted me. How fitting that I should remove your little treasure from the earth.” He took a quick shaky breath. “I do not expect you to try and stop me again.” And with a final glare, he turned and left, and Victor was staring down the empty hall. 

Not wishing to make a spectacle of himself lest his mother or father appear, he returned to his room and sank into a chair.

“Justin,” he whispered, resting his forehead in his hand. But there was still time. It was too early to lose hope; many things could yet happen.

Though all these troubles could have been prevented if he’d been more careful with Tyler. Had he really been so wrapped up in himself not to realise that the man had feelings for him – that his words would be construed as a rejection, and that they would hurt?

_What an idiot I’ve been._

Victor poured himself a cup of weak beer from the silver pitcher on the table.

_Justin, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault._

_I’m only just learning about all the different facets of you. Each one is wonderful and exciting. To watch your light snuffed out by this jealous monster I’ve unleashed…I couldn’t bear it. _He drank his beer and stared vacantly across the room.

Intending to have further conversation with Justin after Abelard had finished with him, he’d unfortunately been called away by John de Lacey, who had escorted him to a conference with his father and other senior castle officials where they hoped to ensure the Beaumont business was thoroughly dealt with. But Victor had paid little attention, because he’d seen the frustration on Justin’s face when Abelard had defeated him time and time again. Surely he couldn’t expect to beat Abelard in sparring straight away, not when Victor had instructed the Scotsman to give no quarter.

Fortunately, last night was evidence that Justin wasn’t taking the situation as badly as Victor had feared. As soon as he’d got enough drink in him, you wouldn’t have thought he was worried about Tyler at all. He’d even been able to make Victor forget, for a while. And, surprisingly, Victor couldn’t recall the last time he’d had so much fun. He’d never seen that side of Justin before; never even suspected it existed.

_I was so lost in you. I wonder if you knew. _

A little grin played on his lips as those fizzing emotions came back to him. Justin, so elegant in his new clothes and the way he moved, an arm around his waist, a warm smile. Sparkling eyes. Whatever colour they were; Victor was never really sure.

Justin had also made a request. Bold and yet sensible. Victor wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself. But it just might work. Even in the sober light of day, his enthusiasm remained undiminished.

And there was no better time to start than now, even if his lovely knight was nursing a hangover; cold air and exercise would soon remedy that. He finished his beer, threw on his cloak and hurried out the door – to the garrison, and to Justin.

* * *

Bodies in a pit. Marble-cold limbs at crazy angles, blood congealed. Eyes staring up at nothing. Soldiers waiting with spades to throw earth over them. The grim victors of the battle.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” came the practised, soothing voice of a woman. It echoed despite the still outdoor air. People approached the yawning brown cavern of earth, silhouetted against the flat white sky, carrying a burden on their shoulders.

_Don’t look._

“It’s always difficult when something like this happens, but at your age particularly. It’s normal for it to raise some very strong and confusing feelings.”

Another soldier’s body to throw into the pit? He’d be able to see clearly now, if he willed his eyes to move.

_Don’t._

“Or, at other times, you might find you feel nothing at all. And that can be confusing and upsetting, too.”

Behind the two people carrying the body were two more with a similar burden. Was it some kind of procession? He thought they were ready to bury everyone who’d died in the battle…did they have families…why had they fought? For what? And who were these, the freshly dead being brought here?

“I’m here to help you, Yuuri. And I hope, in time, you’ll decide you want to work with me. You may be surprised at how much good it can do to talk. Your sister Mari agreed…”

_Don’t look, don’t think, don’t talk. Get away, just get away._

_This is not happening, it can’t be happening._

He no longer knew who was thinking what. Thirteen-year-old Yuuri. Twenty-four-year-old…Justin. But he did know he wanted to run, _had _to run, and that strange paralysis had hold of him, and all he could do was stand and stare and await what was coming, even as he quailed.

_I can’t handle what’s approaching. It’s going to kill me._

He’d been thirteen when he’d had his first anxiety attack. Not long…not long after.

_This may sound surprising, but it can help to view the deceased, even though it hurts. It can give a sense of closure; help you to realise in your heart that they are –_

_Don’t look._

But Yuuri had no choice.

The first pair of silent silhouettes tossed their burden into the pit. A Japanese man in a white silk shirt with a tiny gold dragon on the pocket, a gesture to fashion, though you wouldn’t be able to make out what it was from a distance. Yuuri didn’t need to, because he knew it was there; had seen it and run his fingers over it and nestled against it.

_Whoever cleaned up his face didn’t get all the blood off. Careless._

He desperately needed the tears to come, but they wouldn’t. And then the second pair came, and with a soft thud a woman landed near the man, her dark hair half-plastered to her face.

_That’s wrong. She’s so proud of her hair, and no one thought to tidy it for her. Give her some dignity. Give her some fucking dignity._

He needed to go down there and smooth it away from her forehead, the silky strands that always smelled vaguely of the flowery shampoo she used. To feel it, to bury his face in it. Bury…

_Get rid of it, get rid of it all, _Yuuri wanted to say to the soldiers gathered at the side of the pit. _Start shovelling. I can’t bear to look at it. Make it so that it never happened, so that it isn’t real._

“Room for one more?” a voice called, approaching from the side.

Yuuri tried to turn, to move. Frozen tears, frozen feet, frozen heart.

“Does it upset you to see it? Don’t worry. I’ll help – I’ll send you to join them.”

The slide of metal against leather. Discovering his feet had suddenly been freed, Yuuri wheeled round and encountered the full fury of a knight – a knight who hated him for some unknown reason, who wanted to see him dead; was swinging his sword in a high arc, putting all his strength behind it, bringing it down…

Yuuri tried to step away – but somehow he’d got the direction wrong, and his foot met empty air. He was falling, falling into the pit, joining the dead – and Tyler, sword raised, was leaping in after him –

With a shout, Yuuri fell out of bed, blanket tangled around him, floor hard and cold. He was shaking, sweating, his thoughts muffled by what he’d just seen – and the sword descending upon him at the end, ready to make him into another denizen of the pit, with his parents and the soldiers; one of the dead.

Tears streaming, head pounding, aching inside and out, he realised he was going to be sick. There was no time to grope for a candle and light it against an ember. Arms outstretched, he traversed the route to the door, felt for the latch, then raced through and into the hall, shrouded in deep darkness. He’d gone between his room and the garderobe many times by now, but had never tried it without being able to see.

_Oh God. If someone’s already in there – fucking hell, please let it be empty –_

He made it with seconds to spare. Knees trembling, hand braced against the cold wall, an icy draught sinking from where a glimmer of pre-dawn light limned the slitted window, he took his time, wondering if it was possible to feel any more wretched. 

Eventually groping his way back to his room, he sat down on his bed. A brightening sliver shone around the shutters. But the coming of this day brought no comfort, no hope.

Pulling the blanket around him, he continued to shiver. Splinters of memory from the night before lodged in his brain. He’d needed to get out of the great hall, but instead he was expected to dance, and he’d guzzled the wine in some stupid attempt to calm himself. He couldn’t remember anything after that. But if he’d stood on the tables singing, or done some idiotic jig, the embarrassment of that was nothing compared to – 

_A duel to the death._

_A_ _lmost as skilled at combat as Sir Victor. It’s known far and wide._

And then his dream had linked it to…God, he couldn’t think of it. But the images were still fresh in his mind. His head pounded as he shook.

_I can’t stay here. I…I’ve got to get out. Before anyone comes looking for me, before they see me and expect me to go anywhere. Now. Away._

With trembling fingers, he pulled on a tunic and hose. Then from the bottom of the wardrobe he removed a large leather bag with a shoulder strap which had come with Lady from the Courtenays’ castle, and was obviously meant to carry things for travelling. He took the time-travel sphere and coins and toolkit from under the floorboard, and after a moment’s thought changed clothes, putting on his modern athletic wear, white mud-stained trainers and coat. His body was the safest place for them; it would be foolish to leave them behind, and accidents could happen to bags. The projector could make it look like he was wearing the medieval clothes he’d just removed.

While he was unfolding his coat, he received the most unlooked-for reminder of home when a ballpoint pen and a small pad of paper fell out of one of the deep pockets. Hardly anyone used them anymore in his time, but he remembered Celestino taking them out of his office desk and handing them over, saying they might come in useful. 

_So useful that I forgot I even had them._ He shoved them back into the pocket.

Then he tried to think what else he should take with him. His head was fuzzy and at the same time felt like it was splitting in two. Clothes, start with clothes – including boots, cloaks, a hat. Toiletries – a bar of soap, a cloth, the razor, the jar of toothpaste, his comb. Glancing across the mantel, he saw candles – not required for a horse journey, surely – and a lantern, which he also shouldn’t need, though it was probably best to be prepared with some kind of light source, so he picked it up anyway.

And…the hand warmer. He reached out to touch it, though of course it was cold now. Victor had said he was welcome to keep it in his room and use it when he wanted. He’d been hoping they could share it again. It didn’t seem right to take it away, somehow.

At the thought of Victor, his throat hitched and he hung his head, gripping the mantel.

_How can I leave him? How?_

_I don’t know how long I’ll be away. I just have to get out of here. If I stay, I…I’ll keep having anxiety attacks. And if anyone can take care of themselves, it’s him. _

_He doesn’t know about his death date, though._

_I promised I’d protect his life with my own. That’s what I’ve been trying to do._

_I’m getting too close to him. We can’t have a relationship, or a future. And it might be impossible to prevent him from dying this year. There’s no way to know. _

A tear dropped onto the stone hearth.

_And Ailis…maybe I stand to get more news of her somewhere else; a place where people talk. She’ll be more guarded here at the castle. If she actually even _is_ here, and I still don’t know that._

He pulled his bag over his shoulder and trotted out of the garrison into the faint leaden light of early morning, misty breaths puffing out. Alfric the porter was raising the portcullis, and Yuuri passed him wordlessly on his way down the hill to the stable. There wasn’t a soul about, thankfully, and he began preparing Lady for the journey. His fingers trembled and he glanced around frequently, fearing he’d be interrupted at any moment by someone who would demand to know what he was doing.

_They wouldn’t understand. I can’t stay here. _

He’d never felt the conviction so strongly in his life that if he didn’t escape, he’d smother or drown, pressed in on all sides. And yet when he thought of Victor, he felt a wrenching pull back toward the castle, and a nauseating wave of guilt.

_He deserves better than me. I make a mess of everything._

_Once I’ve had time to calm down and think, maybe I’ll have an idea of what to do next. For now…_

He secured Lady’s saddle, then took some food for her in a canvas bag and tied it to the back, along with one of the full beer sacks hanging on the wall. Thankfully the stable boys always kept provisions ready here in case anyone had to depart in a hurry.

Leading Lady out of the stall, Yuuri suddenly realised he’d left all his armour in the chest in his room. He wondered if he ought to retrieve it.

_Someone might see me; they all get up at dawn. And besides, where I’m going, I probably won’t need it._

_Victor…_

He swallowed, then leapt into the saddle and guided Lady on her way.


	27. Chapter 27

Mist hugged the dales as Yuuri approached the Ouse. Patches of shifting white hung over its wide grey waters. There was no path here – presumably if anyone wanted to follow the river, they just got on a boat – but the ground was relatively flat and easy for a horse to traverse at the water’s edge. Boats with oars and sails, and even ships, occasionally passed in both directions, laden with barrels, chests, amphorae, boxes and sacks. No one paid a lone rider any mind.

With little to occupy his thoughts, Yuuri found that they continued to drift back to the nightmare. Or the sorry physical state he’d landed himself in due to his drinking the night before; he’d had to stop once and dismount so he could be sick again. For a moment he found himself missing Mari, and wanted nothing more than to be hugged by her and told that everything would be OK, even if she didn’t really know. Mari…the voice in his dream had mentioned her.

Karen’s voice, of course. The grief counsellor he’d been assigned when his parents had died. He’d never been able to think of anything she’d said to him that had been wrong, as such; but it was the way she talked, the tone of voice she used, that had always seemed _off_ somehow. No wonder it had ended up in his dream, along with all the other horrors. It had felt like she was talking to a generic person rather than making a genuine connection with him, which he’d thought was supposed to be the whole basis of the relationship. He’d had the option of choosing someone else to see, but in the end he’d decided he didn’t want anyone at all, and he and Mari had worked things through together. That hadn’t been without its problems – his tendency to want to disappear into Immersion had been the basis for many arguments, for example – but they’d shared a loss, and the healing as well, to a degree. Eventually Yuuri felt like he was fully in touch with his emotions again, and the tears finally came; and together with Mari he’d set up a butsudan that would remind them of the people who would always remain an important part of their lives.

_If I’d healed as much as I thought, I wouldn’t still be having nightmares._

Though it was the first he could remember in years. And he knew what had set it off. It was still eating at the back of his sore head now. His date with death, dealt by a man he’d never meant to offend, while most everyone else eagerly awaited the entertaining spectacle. A shiver passed through him.

_Stop thinking about it. You’ll give yourself another attack. _He kept his eyes on the peaceful flowing waters alongside him. A kestrel hovered over a field, and he heard the click of claws as a red squirrel scurried up a tree trunk. An idyllic landscape. That was what Sam had told him to do when he was anxious – find something calm, solid or enduring and focus his thoughts on that. Sometimes it worked. Fire was especially good, though he never quite understood why. Especially a small one to warm yourself by on a cold night. But a merry flame crackling in the grate wasn’t going to soothe him out of the problems he was facing now.

_Sam. _Yuuri hadn’t seen him in years. When he and Mari realised the anxiety could get bad enough to be crippling at times, he’d tried the counselling route again, this time with more success. He’d gone in with high hopes – a problem, a specialist, problem solved – which had been a mistake; there was no getting rid of those panicky feelings, though there were ways to try to manage them. However, Sam had been easy to talk to, and it felt like he cared.

In fact, the thing he’d ended up helping Yuuri the most with hadn’t been that particular problem at all, but in coming to terms with his sexuality. Yuuri had ignored that part of himself because he’d only ever wanted to explore it in the context of a romantic relationship, and he’d never had one. Eventually he’d become comfortable with it on his own, even though he’d never so much as kissed a real person. Maybe it was a strange situation, and maybe he wouldn’t be as good at those things with another person as he hoped, if his general social proficiency was anything to go by. But Sam had helped him to feel more like a normal, acceptable human being. Yuuri thought he’d probably be disappointed to see that standards had slipped in the past few years, and there were things himself he still didn’t like.

He didn’t like the fact that he was heading away from the castle now. That he didn’t know how else to cope with the feelings of claustrophobia and doom that had swept through him. That he’d made it worse by drinking himself sick; though as the morning wore on, that was gradually easing. _I just need some space and I’ll work things out, _he kept telling himself, but he wasn’t sure how far he believed it.

When he reckoned it was about midday, and his stomach had settled to the point where he felt hungry, he visited a village he’d spied in the near distance and tied Lady outside a whitewashed tavern there with a painted wooden sign featuring a plough. A few of his coins bought him bread, cheese, pottage and beer. The tables and stone-flagged floor were clean and tidy, and the air smelled of coal smoke, roasting meat, and something yeasty that suggested a brewery on site. Sitting at a wooden table, cutting slices of bread and dipping them in the stew, and watching the other humble-looking guests of the establishment, Yuuri got the strange feeling that he was in the middle of a _Swords and Sorcery _game, and when he emerged he would see dragons and elves and wizards.

The desire to share the experience with Phichit suddenly hit him as he mopped up the last of the stew, and his heart lurched. Phichit, Ailis, Tyler, Victor…training, duels, policing the countryside; it was all there, just below the surface. Now wasn’t the time to churn it up again. He knew he had to concentrate on completing the rest of his journey if he were to arrive before sunset.

He’d decided to travel to York, since he’d heard it was only a day’s ride away. A good place to lose himself, perhaps, and maybe a good one to find work for a while too, so his own supply of coins wouldn’t shrink too far. In addition, he knew the Ouse would lead him there, which meant the lack of maps and road signs wouldn’t be a problem. It would be all right, he told himself; the break he needed in order to keep a more permanent lid on the anxiety.

In reality, however, he knew it was unlikely to be so simple. He also knew that while he’d gained some confidence in negotiating this strange world of the past by living at the castle for almost two months, going to a city with the intent of working there would be something else entirely.

After resuming his journey, the first indication that he was approaching his destination was the changing nature of the breeze blowing over the river. Before York was even in sight, the uses it made of the main body of water that flowed through its heart were clear: a sewer-like odour drifted from it, which intensified as Yuuri continued north. He caught glimpses of what he assumed to be rubbish that had washed up along the banks: pieces of broken crockery, animal bones, and entrails and rotting meat; not exactly in profusion, but off-putting enough for him to move Lady further to the east of the river.

Not long after this, the grey stone city walls emerged over the horizon, and – _two _castles? One on either side of the river. Yuuri had only been aware of the one on the east bank, and little remained of that in his time. He guided Lady to a stop and stared. It felt for a moment like he’d been on a trip to modern York and had suddenly encountered its newly resurrected ruins, solid and imposing. Though of course this land outside the walls had been urbanised long before, as the city had grown beyond its original confines.

He spied a couple of men pulling a wooden cart toward the river; when they reached the water’s edge, they tipped it and dumped its heap of brown contents, then pulled it away. Yuuri’s stomach turned. York had maybe 12,000 people at this time, he remembered reading at the museum when he’d visited with Phichit. It didn’t seem like much compared to modern cities, but was second in size only to London; and with no sewer network or sanitary methods of waste disposal, maybe coming here hadn’t been such a good idea after all. What had he been thinking?

_That I needed to get away from the castle. I couldn’t very well go live on somebody’s farm, could I?_

_I’m sure it won’t be that bad. _

A major tributary joined the Ouse before he reached the walls: the Foss, a smaller river that also ran through the city. Though he knew he needed to leave the waterways altogether if he were going to find a way in, because there wasn’t one from here; the castles were there to keep people out. He recalled that the nearest major gate would be Walmgate Bar, the way he usually entered in his own time, and his heart fluttered as he wondered what it would be like in 1393.

With the crenellated wall perched on the mound to his left a short distance away, and the metal helmets of an occasional pair of guards crossing the sky in silhouette, Yuuri headed east, through fields and stands of trees. Soon he came to the Norman church that stood on the main road in his own time; it was little changed from now, with its tall spire and rows of many small arched windows. A pair of brown-robed tonsured monks entered through the front doors, and as Yuuri passed, the silence was shattered by bells pealing in the tower, with echoing rings from different locations inside the city. He guessed he was hearing the bells for vespers, which meant it was not quite four o’clock.

The main road to the gate was wider and busier than any other he’d seen. There were people like himself on horses, individuals and groups on foot, and many sizes of carts and wagons, both coming and going. He supposed it wasn’t so different from the modern city he knew, apart from the colourful flowing clothes and lack of motorised vehicles. However, he changed his mind when he was close enough to the gate to get a good view.

Had he really thought of it as fairytale-like the last time he’d come here? How could he have been so fucking clueless? If anything, it was the kind of fairytale in which they’d shove someone into a barrel full of spikes and roll them down a hill. Because poles were fixed to the top of the gate on which blackened heads had been stuck, jaws frozen in grimaces or dropping open in a silent scream, vacant eye sockets staring into some endless private hell. Yuuri gasped, clapping a hand to his mouth, and steered Lady to the side of the road, where he could remain still without being jostled.

_Oh my god. Jesus…_

_Get a grip, Yuuri. You knew they did this kind of thing._

But nothing had prepared him for the reality. Worse still, hanging on ropes from the top of the tall pointed Gothic arch that formed the entryway were severed arms and legs with tattered remains of clothing still attached. And these travellers were walking underneath it all as if it were as regular a part of their surroundings as field and river, wall and house.

_Maybe it is. I guess if I went through this gate or one of the others often enough, I’d just try to forget about it, too. _

Keeping his eyes averted from the horrors on display in front of him, he rejoined the traffic on the road, slowly guiding Lady forward. Eventually he came to a standstill while he waited for a guard to come speak to him, as they were doing with the other travellers before admitting them through the gate.

_Some things never change, even in hundreds of years. The British still love standing in a fucking queue._

And being told what to do by an official. A guard in a black cloak and helmet approached him, signalling for him to dismount. Yuuri did so, wondering what this was all about. If he’d thought about it, however, he ought to have realised he wouldn’t be allowed to simply walk through the gate without hindrance, as he was used to doing in his own time. All of these fortifications had been built for a reason, and it wasn’t to look picturesque.

“State your name and your business.”

“J – uh, John,” Yuuri said quickly, realising he should have come prepared with this kind of information. “I’m just visiting the city for a while.”

“Got kinfolk here, have you?”

“No.” Yuuri doubted he’d heard the word _tourist _before, and had no idea if the translator would do anything with it. “I’ve just never been here, and wanted to see it.”

The man regarded him with a pair of bored grey eyes. “I take it you’re not a freeman of the city, then.”

“What’s – um, no, I’m not.”

“Fine,” the guard said with a sigh. “Murage and pavage then, please.” He held out a hand, palm up.

“I’m sorry?”

“A penny each.”

“What – I have to pay to enter?”

The guard gave a surprised little smile. “The city’s defences and roads don’t pay for themselves. I would’ve thought a fellow like you would be used to it. Two pennies, or turn around and go back where you came from.” He gestured with his upturned hand. 

“Give me a minute.” Yuuri stuffed his gloves in a pocket and rummaged in his coin purse, finding two pennies, which he then handed over.

“Stay off your horse ’til you’re on the other side of the far gate. Have a pleasant visit, sir.” The man put the money in a purse on his belt and moved on to the traveller behind Yuuri.

_This is like waiting to enter a medieval theme park, complete with gruesome props._

The people in front of him shuffled forward, and Yuuri closed his eyes as he walked under the dangling arms and legs and into the stone passage between the outer and inner gates. Looming ahead of him was the double-turreted tower he knew well, though men with bows were stationed at the crenellated tops. At least there were no more severed body parts in sight as he passed through the second gate and into the city.

It took a moment for the crowd to disperse; he led Lady to the left, out of the stream of traffic through the gate, and took stock of his surroundings. A wide cobbled street. This area had been thoroughly modernised in his time, and he wouldn’t know where he was if it hadn’t been for the gate and the castle on its hill to the west. Rows of tall houses lined either side, many of them half-timbered, of wattle and daub or brick, gabled with slate or tile roofs, in some cases sloping downward until they were almost at head height. Most windows were shuttered against the cold, though a few containing glass offered glimpses into dark wood-panelled interiors. York had always been famous for its well-preserved remaining medieval buildings, and Yuuri had seen the streets of Kirkby Hallam, of course. But this was on a different scale entirely.

“I wonder who lives in all these places,” he muttered as he gave a gentle tug on the bridle, deciding to stay on foot for now while there were so many people around. It was a bewildering assortment: Men and women in woollen cloaks and the head-covering caps with strings like Emil wore, which he’d learned were called coifs, pulled carts, or had ponies or oxen to do it, many heading toward the gate; if they’d come to sell their goods, it looked like most of them had succeeded. Clergymen passed by, crucifixes and rosaries dangling from their belts. A man in a rich fur coat and red chaperon glided past, a falcon poised on his leather-gloved hand, while a woman in similar finery walked beside him with her own bird of prey. Children of different ages ran back and forth, some playing, some accosting travellers to offer rooms or beds for the night. Their clothes and shoes were worn, their hair tousled, faces dirty. A pig and two skinny dogs sniffed at something in a corner, while shouts echoed from further down the street: “Rushes fair and green, best prices in the city!”

Struggling to take it all in, Yuuri continued on his way. The houses soon gave over to a dizzying variety of shops, tightly packed together in small street-front premises. Many had a sign with a picture of what was sold there, like a knife or a candle, while others displayed three-dimensional objects such as a wheat sheaf or a barrel. Yuuri wasn’t sure what all of them meant, but any confusion was soon cleared up when the goods could be glimpsed in the shop window, or on display on a table outside. If he had plenty of money to spare, he was sure he could spend all day shopping and only experience a little of what the city had to offer. But he hadn’t even decided on where he was going yet, apart from instinctively following roads that led to the heart of the city. There were no street signs, but the layout was familiar to him, and when he came to a bridge, he knew it spanned the River Foss.

Wide and made of wood, it supported a row of leaning buildings on each side that appeared to be dwellings. Living on a bridge – ? Well, why not? When he attempted to continue forward, however, he noticed a pair of guards who were stopping people before they could cross; a small stone gatehouse nearby appeared to be their headquarters. As Yuuri expected, he was again asked for money, this time a “pontage” toll for the upkeep of the bridge; and he wondered how many more of these types of fees there would be while he was here.

A small crowd entered and exited the jumble of houses, and also what were clearly privies, if the smell was anything to go by. Yuuri was relieved that it wasn’t too noisome, until he realised why: the structures were suspended above the river. _Jesus Christ, _he thought, wondering if the boatmen passing below knew enough to avoid that particular area. Maybe that was why he’d seen roof-like covers on some of the vessels.

Toward the end of the bridge, he was assailed by another potent odour, as market stalls were being shut for the day; they’d been selling fish. Heads, bones, tails and guts had fallen onto tables and the bridge itself, and gulls were flocking to devour them. Yuuri was fighting nausea down by the time he was clear of the place.

A woman in a white turban walked up to him, carrying a wicker basket fastened to her front with straps that went around her shoulders. “Pie, sir?” she offered.

“What’s in them?” Yuuri asked out of pure curiosity, since the last thing he wanted to do was eat.

“The finest eel, sir, caught fresh today.”

He politely declined and continued onward through the crowds, beginning to wish he were in his little room at the castle, sitting in front of the fire.

_I made my decision. I came here for a reason. The last time I was in my room, I felt worse than I’ve felt in years. I’m not ready to go back to that._

With a start, he realised he was standing at the bottom of the Shambles; he recognised the buildings here. Wandering forward, he entered the shade between the leaning edifices. But his hopes of a pleasant predecessor to the modern artisanal shops and eateries he knew were soon dashed, for this was a butchers’ row. Wooden counters offered pink and red cuts of meat, as well as more esoteric things Yuuri had partaken of during meals at the castle: sheep’s feet, pig’s heads and trotters, calf’s brains. More cuts of meat – legs and sausages, mostly – were hanging on hooks from horizontal beams below the eaves. Some of the shopkeepers were closing for the day, having taken their goods inside, and were sweeping disgusting messes out their doors and into the street. Underlying the aroma of woodsmoke here was a sickly-sweet hint of decay.

Yuuri forced himself to carry on up the steep road, though he didn’t inspect the meats, or the messes in the street, too carefully. Wondering what kind of establishment occupied the building that was The Eagle in his own time, he walked with Lady to Low Petergate – and discovered to his surprise that it _was _The Eagle. A sign at the front showed as much, and he spied people with tankards at wooden tables when the door was opened.

“OK, that’s pretty juke,” he muttered to himself. “Stay here, girl. I’ll be back in a minute.” He hitched Lady to a nearby post and went inside to make enquiries, feeling almost as if he’d returned home when he noticed the large arched brick hearth with a fire blazing – the same one he’d sat next to with Phichit that night not so long ago. Or 728 years in the future, however you wanted to look at it.

The proprietor behind the bar, a middle-aged man in a white coif with a full beard and curly brown hair hanging to his neck, told him he had a room to spare for a gent such as himself, and that there were stables nearby on Goodramgate where his horse would be well looked after. Yuuri took her there, finding it similar to the stable at the castle, though not as big; and then shouldered his bag, wondering what to do before he returned to the tavern. The sun was quickly westering, the shadows cast by the tall buildings throwing the streets into deep gloom.

Maybe he had time to visit one more place, he decided. He retraced his way back to The Eagle and passed it, following the street to the northwest. Rising between the rows of shops and houses, down the road in the near distance, were the two west towers of the great Gothic minster, the stone motifs at their tops looking from a distance like filigree points on a crown. They disappeared briefly behind the nearby buildings as Yuuri walked – only to suddenly re-emerge in mammoth splendour, many times the height of a person, the edifice dwarfing its surroundings as it still did in Yuuri’s day; its golden stone glowed in the setting sun. As he circled round, he was surprised to see that the massive central tower was capped by a high wooden spire, of which it had obviously been denuded before modern times.

The crowds on the streets were finally thinning at the end of the day, and groups of people were filing out of the minster’s huge wooden doors. Pilgrims, maybe? It was hard to say. Yuuri thought it would be interesting to have a look inside, but perhaps another time when there was plenty of daylight. They probably locked it up at night, he guessed.

He remembered to clutch his bag against his body in case of thieves while he walked, gawking upwards; but what he didn’t do was mind where he was going. Something suddenly impeded his progress, and he looked down to see he’d bumped into a wooden table, one of several in a line. More people selling goods; if there weren’t shops around, then there were tables and stalls peppered everywhere, it seemed. Though Yuuri had only traversed the main roads so far, and he knew it might well be a different story if he’d taken any of the dark turns onto narrow dirt roads and alleyways that he’d glimpsed.

“Sir, God keep you!” the woman behind the table greeted him. She looked to be in her fifties, with a white cap and long grey cloak, underneath which was a dark green dress with sleeves that gapped at her wrists. She had pink cheeks, freckles, and grey eyes with fine laugh lines at the corners.

Yuuri took a closer look at the wares on the table – a scattering of stoppered glass and ceramic bottles, small wooden boxes, scrolls, and other knick-knacks. “Hi,” he said, suddenly feeling ridiculous. He was just about to tell her he wasn’t interested in buying anything when she pre-empted him.

“If you’re here for a pilgrimage, good sir, you need look no further for something special to take home with you. I have a large assortment of relics and holy items that will surely amaze you.”

_Surely not. _“Um – ”

“They each come with a tag of authenticity.” She picked up a small wooden box whose lid had been crudely painted in the style of a stained-glass window, featuring a haloed face. “A chip from a tooth of St. Andrew,” she leaned forward and whispered, brandishing the box. “Or…” She put it down and picked up another box, this one long and narrow, stained and varnished a mahogany colour. “A fragment of the true cross.”

“Where did you get all this?”

“On a trip to Jerusalem, sir. And on my travels in our own country. I have many connections.”

“Presumably they do, too,” he said, glancing at the people selling similar items at other tables.

“I’m not sure I can vouchsafe for the authenticity of _their _wares,” she said in a low conspiratorial voice. “But ask anyone here, and they’ll tell you that Mistress Audrey is trustworthy and true. That’s me, sir, and you’ll get a bargain besides – I’ll put in one of these rosaries for free with whatever relic you buy.” She picked up a string of pink beads with a silver cross dangling at the end.

“I really don’t think – ”

“Ah now, sir, you force my hand. The most miraculous item of all on this table might just catch your interest, I fancy.” She lifted a blue bottle as if it were infinitely precious and fragile. “_This _is from the shrine of our own beloved St. William, inside this very minster. Have you visited it yet, sir?”

“I didn’t know there _was_ a shrine in there,” he said honestly; for all he knew, there might have been a dozen in the Middle Ages. “What did he do?”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why bless you, sir, he performed a miracle in this city two hundred and fifty years ago. So many people were crowded on the Ouse Bridge that it collapsed. He called upon our Lord God Almighty to save the drowning, and no one was harmed.”

Yuuri blinked. “He was made a saint for that?”

“Well, he also performed a series of miracles after his death, but yes. I can see this is a revelation to you, sir. And what I’m holding…” She dropped her voice again, stroking the bottle in her hand. “…is an emanation from his blessed body.”

Yuuri stared, unable to think of a way to phrase a response that didn’t sound coarse to a lady.

“This holy water is from his sarcophagus.”

“You…you want to sell me the juices someone’s been stewing in for two hundred and fifty years?”

“Your reaction is understandable, sir, but I promise you, the waters are pure and sweet-smelling. They are indeed holy.” She pulled the stopper out of the bottle and inhaled deeply, a beatific smile crossing her face. Then she held the bottle out to him. “Go on – give it a try.”

What the hell had he got into here? But, when in Rome – ? He leaned over and sniffed, bracing himself to be thoroughly repulsed. Instead, however, the liquid inside smelled faintly reminiscent of lilac and frankincense. It was actually quite nice.

“This came from a sarcophagus in the minster,” he repeated sceptically as she replaced the stopper.

“Absolutely, sir. The miracle of the holy water became so well known, far and wide, that spigots were added to the sarcophagus through which it could be easily and plentifully tapped. Nowhere else in the world will you be able to buy such a relic.”

Yuuri admired her persistence, if not her verisimilitude. Once he was able to pin her down to prices, however, he could see why she’d been trying so hard. Buying any of these relics would make his purse significantly lighter. She seemed to expect him to haggle, but he’d always hated that, and was terrible at it. In the end, he agreed to buy a non-relic bottle of perfumed water from her stash of potpourri and sweet-smelling sachets and so on, which he strongly suspected of being the base for the saintly sarcophagus-water anyway. Clearly disappointed but nevertheless making a sale, she wished him a good evening before attending to another potential customer, and he tucked the bottle in his bag and headed down the road to The Eagle. As he walked, the chimes of the minster struck what he assumed was the sunset bell, accompanied by a mellifluous chorus of other churchbells across the city. 

_You’d be pleased, Sam. I could stand here for a long time and feel some sense of peace, I think. _

If you forgot about the severed heads and limbs at Walmgate Bar, and the impoverished-looking children, it might not be too bad a place to visit. As long as you had money. But Yuuri was conscious that his supply of coins was dwindling.

For tonight, as least, he had a place to stay. Though the proprietor of The Eagle eyed him as he neared the door in the dusky light.

“Almost locked you out, my good fellow,” he said, letting Yuuri inside. “I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Locked me out?” Yuuri echoed. “You lock up at sunset?”

“Course I do. Everybody does. That’s the curfew.”

“Does that mean everyone has to be indoors?”

The man laughed. “You’re not from round here, are you? I would’ve thought the same thing happened most everywhere.” He shut the door, slid a large deadbolt in place, and turned an iron key from his belt in the lock. “Come on over to the bar and have a drink, if you like.”

Yuuri followed him there and paid for beer served in a pewter tankard. The room was about two-thirds full, the clientele an assortment of people wearing colourful cloaks and hoods, and some with expensive-looking richly embroidered clothing. They were unlikely to be nobles, Yuuri reasoned, because presumably they would stay at each other’s castles or manors, though he supposed even they might be in need of an inn once in a while. A background rumble of quiet conversation was punctuated by the clang of pots and pans from what was presumably a kitchen beyond the bar; and in the air hung a mixture of woodsmoke, stewing meat, and body odour, though Yuuri was so used to the latter by now that it barely registered unless it was offensively pungent.

“What happens if you’re out past the curfew?” he asked, sipping his beer.

“Why, the nightwalkers would arrest you. Unless you were a man of good reputation. I don’t suppose they’d give you the benefit of the doubt, being a stranger in these parts, sir, so it’s best to be sure you’re indoors by dark.”

Yuuri made more small talk with the man, who introduced himself as Roger Morecambe, while he finished his beer; then he asked what they had to eat and was given something called pot pie, which turned out to be a crust filled with whatever their pottage of the day was, in this case hare and peas. It was simple but well-cooked and seasoned, and he had another tankard of beer with it; the proprietor had offered him wine, but he thought it sounded expensive. He was still trying to get a feel for costs, and what he could reasonably afford and what he couldn’t; and the worry was creeping up on him that if he stayed in this place for long as a paying guest with drinks and meals, he would find all too soon that he was broke.

Checking into his upstairs room, he discovered it was similar to his own at the castle; perhaps smaller, but also better furnished, with a desk and chair, a grey fur rug on the wood floor front of the fireplace, a comfortable bed with a soft thick blanket, and even a tapestry on the plaster wall, with a scene from a medieval feast of the type they’d had at the castle over Christmas.

Yuuri felt a sudden pang at the thought of what he’d left behind that morning and tried to ignore it, putting his bag on the bed, locking the door with the key Roger had given him and dropping it in a coat pocket, and returning to the bar area downstairs. Maybe he could try to do some of the investigative work he’d told himself he would while he was here.

Roger was a busy man, endeavouring to ensure the comfort of his guests, and Yuuri didn’t want to monopolise his time. However, after moving to different wooden benches around the room and eavesdropping on conversations while he nursed his drink, he soon gathered that the proprietor was the only local here; which made sense, Yuuri supposed. He’d already decided that idle pub conversation hadn’t changed much in hundreds of years, as he overheard gossip about friends and family, aristocrats, festivals and other gatherings anticipated for later in the year, what the roads were like in different parts of the country, and of course that old British standby, the weather; how it had been a relatively dry, cold winter, and how that was likely to affect this year’s crops. 

It was a while before most people had gone to their rooms for the night and he felt able to return to a more substantial conversation with Roger at the bar over another beer. Approaching strangers for chats like this felt as awkward as ever, but he’d got used to doing it with women at the castle, and Roger seemed to enjoy it, which Yuuri supposed came with the territory. He asked the proprietor if he’d noticed or heard about anything strange or unusual happening in the area in the past few months, but his answers were as straightforward as the question, and could probably have filled the front page of a local newspaper: thefts, an alderman in a scandal with a mistress, the price of wine shooting up due to a poor grape harvest.

“What about finding work here?” Yuuri eventually asked. “What’s the…um, what’s the employment market like?”

“Why, are you in search of work, sir?” Roger looked surprised.

“I think I’ll have to be.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. You looked to me like a man of means. Not to put too fine a point on it, but you will be able to pay for your stay, I hope?”

“Of course,” Yuuri replied, realising he’d gone and put his foot in his mouth. “I’ll show you, if you want – ”

“No need, sir, no need. But I wish I could give you a good answer. People hereabouts have been saying there’s no predicting it. Depends on what kind of work you want, I reckon. Do you have a trade?”

“Um, no.”

“Well, I was going to say there’s usually no shortage of work for tradesmen, what with…the sickness, if you get my meaning, having taken so much of the population two years ago. Probably get you a good wage, too. But if it’s unskilled jobs you’re after, I hate to say it but there’s always competition in a city like this. We don’t even have enough for our own to do, and you see ’em in the streets, begging and whatnot. But I wish you the best of luck, sir, I really do.”

Yuuri’s heart sank. He couldn’t think of any kind of trade he’d be able to transfer his skills to. There was no tech here for him to fix. He could translate, maybe – but for who? A scribe, then? Monks already did that. There seemed nothing else for him to do but –

_Be a knight._

He raked a hand through his hair, deciding to try one more topic. “Do you get much news here from Crowood Castle? It’s just…I, um, heard that it’s owned by a Russian family. That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

Roger took a moment to consider. “I suppose it is, at that. But I can’t say as I hear a lot about it. They tend to keep themselves to themselves over there, is the impression I get, and most folk here are more interested in the doings of important personages in the city, as I guess you’d expect. The archbishop, the duke, the mayor, and whatnot. We’ve got two castles of our own.”

“I guess so.” Yuuri finished his beer and was about to head up to his room when Roger thought of something to add.

“The son of the baron – Victor, is it? I remember the name, because it suits him so well. He used to have some fine fighting skills to show off, if I remember rightly. Can’t say as I’ve ever seen him myself. Didn’t actually hurt anyone; just put on a kind of display for a crowd, as part of a May Day festival or owt similar. I don’t think he does it anymore, though. It’s a shame. I’d have loved to see summat like that. Anyways, sir, don’t let me hold you up if you’re after getting some shuteye.”

“Sure,” Yuuri said quietly, adding a “good night” before returning to his room, where Victor’s beautiful face gazed at him with a smile when he sat down on his bed and closed his eyes. He wondered what kinds of displays Victor used to perform, and why he no longer did. And…_Oh God, what the fuck have I actually gone and done? _

He’d been forcing the reality of it away all day, but there was no longer anywhere to hide it, and it ricocheted right back at him.

_He’ll know by now that I’ve disappeared. They all will. And no one will be smiling about that. They’ll think I ran away because I’m afraid of Tyler._

_I’ve betrayed Victor’s trust. God only knows what he’s thinking right now. And all those kindnesses from Emil…I’ve left him without a knight. He’d only lost his last one not very long ago._

He lowered his head to rest it in his hands, feeling sick.

_I’m sorry, Victor…I know I didn’t make the best decision. But somehow I’m not sure you’d understand anxiety; the kind that incapacitates you. All I could think was that I had to get away, no matter how much I…I care about you. Or all the other things I’m meant to be doing; they didn’t stop me. It’s a miracle I didn’t have an anxiety attack when Tyler challenged me in the great hall. _

_Some knight I am. _

How would he be able to show his face at the castle again? _Go away and think it out, _he’d told himself. Only, he hadn’t got as far as thinking what he’d say when he got back. The baron wouldn’t be well pleased, for a start.

_Well, you got away, and here you are, Yuuri. Does it feel any better? Especially when you think of everyone you’ve let down and got picked at you?_

He took in a shuddering breath. It was probably late – he had no idea what the time was – but he hadn’t contacted Phichit yet, and didn’t want to compound his errors by worrying him, though he knew he at least ought to let him know he was alive.

Which was why, when he did so, he neglected to mention that he wasn’t at the castle. Or that a knight intended to slaughter him in a duel in four and a half months’ time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, _The Time Traveller’s Guide_ is largely responsible for what Yuuri sees and experiences when he first enters York – I’ve tried to make it as authentic as possible.
> 
> Saint William of York was real: his shrine was a popular pilgrimage site in the Middle Ages, and according to historical records – and what is shown in the stained glass in the minster – there were taps on his sarcophagus from which holy water flowed. I can’t vouch for the authenticity of the deeds attributed to him in life or afterward, however :)


	28. Chapter 28

Yuuri woke to the sound of knocking on his door – their version of a wake-up call here, because he still didn’t trust himself to become conscious at dawn, especially when it was necessary to keep window shutters closed against the cold. It was strange to think he wouldn’t be strapping on his armour, having breakfast in the main garrison room, and going off to train. Although he hadn’t been following that routine long, it was only now that he noticed how ingrained it had become.

There was also not the convenience of the garderobe across the hall; he would need to visit the outside privies or use the chamber pot under his bed. He hadn’t used one yet, and hoped he could continue to avoid it, so he donned his modern clothes and hurried downstairs. It also seemed prudent not to bother with breakfast, since the only exercise he’d be doing today was walking around the city; and besides, it cost money. He’d already discovered, in paying Roger’s wife Helen for the previous night’s accommodation, that a comfortable room and good food came at a steep price.

When he left the tavern, intending to return that night if he were unsuccessful in his task, he visited Lady to make sure she was all right, but also because he wanted to spend a few minutes stroking and talking to her. Unfortunately, there was little he could do with her here in the city, as everything was within walking distance, and the main streets were so busy that it would be awkward to travel down them on a horse. If he got a job, would he have to sell her?

_Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going to be here that long. Right? You’re just getting your head together for a while._

_Sure I am. Sure._

He spent the day looking for employment. Helen had told him to simply ask around and visit businesses that might take him on. The former was easier said than done, because he didn’t know who he’d ask, let alone where to look for someone who could help him. As for the latter, he was faced again with the difficulty that no one here would consider him to be a tradesman; and even if they did, Helen had warned him that he would have to join a guild, and they were particular about who they allowed as members. Apparently he was also too old to hope to be taken on as an apprentice, for which he would not be paid anyway.

_Do I believe I’m above doing certain jobs? Have I ever believed that?_

The one he’d had to ask Phichit to look up, gongfermour, came to mind, and he thought that to an extent, the answer might be yes. He decided he’d have to be utterly desperate to accept such a position.

_Be careful, Yuuri. People stuck in a city with no money left have been known to do desperate things._

As he wandered the streets, he discovered that like the Shambles, businesses and shops of the same kind tended to be clustered together in one place. One street was devoted to blacksmiths, and one to weavers and tailors. But as he’d never done any metalworking or sewing, he continued on, until he came across a row of bakers. The warmth spilling out of windows and doors from the ovens made him consider taking his coat off. It was pleasant, of course, but what was it like inside for the people who worked there?

Deciding he could reason himself out of trying for every job he considered if he let it happen, he entered one of the buildings and enquired about work. They looked at him with wide eyes and said there was no position for him here, but they’d be happy to sell him whatever he desired. Feeling ridiculous, he thanked them and left, and tried the next bakery along, with the same result.

_Of course. I’ve been so stupid._

He’d never dressed in the kind of finery he’d seen Victor and his father and other nobles wearing, but he knew that the material of the clothing in his projection was on the costly side and was meant to appear so; Emil had reminded him on numerous occasions that he was expected to dress according to his station. And a baron’s son did not go around asking for a job in a bakery.

Quickly, he ducked into a dark narrow alleyway between buildings, taking a moment to concentrate and mentally adjust the image he was projecting. He’d practised a few times in front of the mirror in his room at the castle, in fact, to try and discover what the limits of the tech were. It managed remarkably well with images purely from his imagination, as long as they weren’t too intricate or outlandish; he’d even recreated a version of the blue houppelande and tights and black chaperon that Victor liked to wear, deciding of course that they were more fetching on their real-life owner. And all he wanted now were plainer, rougher clothes that looked a bit worn. 

Now that he had Victor on his mind again, he wondered what he’d make of this; of the appearance he was taking on as he reprogrammed the projector, and of his search for a job here in York. But Victor didn’t understand. He couldn’t. Because he had no inkling of who Yuuri really was and why he was here, which was also a big part of the whole confusing mess.

His mind in a whirl, he prayed he wouldn’t have another anxiety attack as he tried other bakers on the street. They didn’t look at him in shock, at least, but they didn’t offer him a job either, saying they were already fully staffed.

Eventually he wandered to the Ouse, exhausted, where he stood and watched the hive of activity around him. There was a bridge to the north that was grander than the one he’d seen over the Foss, groaning with tall houses and, yes, more privies from the look of it; fortunately the area underneath was too far away to be viewed in detail. And from the number and variety of boats and ships alone, it was obvious that this was a prosperous city.

The water was brown, and it stank; and on top of that were more acrid smells from across the way when the breeze blew. Yuuri’s senses told him that he was looking at tanners’ workshops on the opposite bank; a whole community of them, in fact. They were pouring foulness into the river, as were a couple of mills, their wheels busily churning. He frowned at the thought that nature would have to endure such abuse, and sicken the people who made use of it in the process, for hundreds of years yet, before these industries were superseded by environmentally friendly ones and the messes cleaned up.

There was nothing to be done about it now, however, except for perhaps making sure he didn’t drink the water while he was here. The bank where he was standing was near large docks where men were loading and unloading ships; the place was populated with crates and barrels, ponies and carts, wagons, horses, and more dogs and pigs snuffling about. Yuuri had caught glimpses of enclosures near houses which contained farm animals, and it seemed that even in the city people undertook the task of raising their own food to an extent. As long as it didn’t get out to roam the streets, apparently. He’d come across geese and ducks and even chickens, but had assumed at first that they lived near a park or pond, until it struck him that even in his own time, no such things existed in the oldest part of the city. The only public spaces were the markets, which he hadn’t yet visited, assuming the traders would have no need of hired help.

Did he want to try to get a job here, working at the docks?

_Getting that lovely water splashed on me, and inhaling the fresh air? Who would I ask, anyway? I can’t see anyone in charge._

He told himself that if he stayed this reticent, he’d never succeed in finding work. But maybe something in a pleasanter part of the city would be available if he looked.

The rest of the day, however, was spent in a fruitless search, as he picked the most appealing establishments. Stables, groceries, candlemakers, shoemakers, breweries, even an armour-maker – he knew a little about that now; but they all claimed they weren’t taking anyone on. Yuuri considered readjusting his projected appearance but wasn’t sure what changes he could make that would improve his chances. He was a fit and healthy young man in ordinary clothing, wanting to do a day’s work for a day’s pay. But there were many others here who matched that description, and they all needed work too, he supposed.

Telling himself not to feel too dejected, he visited Lady near sunset and then returned to The Eagle, and to Roger and his beer. Supper was pork sausages with sautéed onions, fennel and carrots, and bread with butter. It was just as tasty as yesterday’s meal, and he didn’t mind giving up the coins once more for decent food and a nice room. With a little luck, he’d find a job the next day.

Only…it didn’t happen. Or the day after that.

By his fourth night in the city, he entered his room at The Eagle burning with shame at having been turned away more times than he could count, though he was offering to do just about anything that was not unsanitary, dangerous or morally dubious. Maybe they thought they’d have to pay him more than someone ten years his junior; he’d seen a profusion of both boys and girls working as servants – sweeping floors, cooking, serving food, fetching provisions. But he couldn’t seem to alter his age very noticeably in his projection.

It was difficult, though, not to take his lack of success to heart and begin to wonder what it was about him that people objected to. Finding a job wasn’t like this in his own time; seekers and employers could be matched directly or through agencies or the government via the Cloud, and there was flexibility in how many hours people worked, where they were based, what they did and for who. Training and education were readily available to enable you to choose a career that suited you at any time in life, while dull and repetitive tasks had been automated. Yuuri worked long days at the university, but that was because he wanted to; because the hours he spent at home could feel slow and empty. _Choosing _to do that, however, was different from begging for work like this.

_And whose fault is that? Mine. _

He’d bought street food the past couple of days because it was cheaper than eating at the tavern, though the kidney and ale pie he’d had for supper was disagreeing with him. Either that, or it was the effects of the gloom that was increasingly weighing him down. He couldn’t continue to stay at The Eagle much longer, and didn’t want to contemplate what his alternatives would be if he ended up both unemployed and broke.

Phichit knew something was wrong. He tried to get Yuuri to tell him about it during their evening communications, but all he could think to do was hedge. The truth would have to come out at some point, of course, but he didn’t feel ready for that yet. He was wilting inside from guilt about the information he was holding back, and everything else he’d shoved aside until he could work out what the best way of handling it was…if it existed at all.

_Right. I’m going to check out of this place tomorrow, _he told himself while lying in bed and staring at the fire, _and I’m going to have a job by the end of the day. I’m not going to stop until I find something. So help me._

* * *

“’Ey up, pet. Got a fella here says he’s looking for a job. We got owt for him to do?”

Yuuri was standing with the proprietor of the tavern he’d just entered, who’d come out from behind the bar to get a better look at him. A beefy man in his forties, he had strawlike hair, hazel eyes, a blue felt cap pulled over his head, and a voluminous light brown tunic. And a missing tooth that showed when he smiled, Yuuri noticed. A lady joined him from a back room, tying on a stained white apron over a somewhat threadbare brown dress. Her hair, a shade lighter than her clothing, was tucked under a white turban; and she studied Yuuri with small, dark, beady eyes. There was something potato-like about her, the body and the face, with those eyes set deep, and her mouth a red slash. And yet there was a spark of intelligence, too, that was lacking in the duller gaze of the man.

“John of Whitby at your service, ma’am,” he said with a bow, having received advice from Roger Morecambe about how to address a potential employer, and adding a Yorkshire town to his name to make it sound more authentic. “I’m in need of work, and was passing by your fine-looking tavern when – ”

“Tavern?” the man snorted. “We ain’t no fancy-pants place like that. This here’s a down-to-earth ale-house, and proud of it I am. I’m Jacob Maltby, owner of The Black Dog, and this is my lady wife Posy.” 

“Now just wait,” Posy said. “Honestly, you’ll be talking nineteen to the dozen before he’s had a chance to say boo to a goose.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow at the mixed metaphors, but quickly restored his polite smile.

“Why’s a bloke like yourself looking for work in ale-houses and taverns, then?” the woman continued.

He told them a story he’d made up, based on the little he’d learned about tenants on estates, about how he and his widowed mother had been turned out of their house by their lord and left to fend for themselves. It felt like an underhanded thing to do, trying to play on people’s sympathies in that way, but he couldn’t tell them the truth. Over the past few days, he’d learned that people expected him to be a tradesman when they saw him, perhaps because of his age and his state of health, and this particular lie offered an explanation for his lack of skills as well as his toned physique; they’d believe he’d been working the land as a farmer.

“Down on your luck, then, are you,” Posy said when he’d finished. “Well, it just so happens that we had a lad leave a couple of days ago. I think you’d do as a replacement.” She stared and nodded, as if she were considering goods on display in a shop. “It ain’t easy work though, mind. I’d need you here in the main room, serving guests; supper’s in a few hours. Though I’d have other things for you to do when it ain’t so busy. If you’re willing and able, we can give you a try.”

“I’d be very grateful, ma’am,” Yuuri said deferentially.

“Bloke’s well-mannered, you can say that for sure,” Jacob commented. He smiled a lot, Yuuri noticed, despite the missing tooth; and most things about him seemed a little larger than life: his belly, his loud voice, his equally loud laughs. It would be easy to believe that he fit the image of a genial pub owner. But there was something shark-like about that smile which Yuuri found off-putting.

“Show him to his room, chuck,” Posy said. “I could do with him down here straight away, so the sooner he gets settled in, the better.” She flashed a last glance at Yuuri before disappearing to the back room.

His instincts had warned him against coming in here, especially when he’d seen the state of the main room. Jacob was right about this being a “no fancy-pants place”. While the building looked a bit twee on the outside, with its worn timbers and leaning upper storeys –obviously old in a time that to Yuuri was already so – the inside had an air of neglect. Plaster was crumbling away from damp corners, floorboards creaked, and the breeze whistled through gaps in the shutters. The room was dimly lit by what he guessed were tallow candles on the tables and at the bar, and the floor was covered in a thick mat of rushes that were perhaps best not looked at too closely; Yuuri could see they were oily, and contained small nameless things that he dreaded being able to identify. The rough wooden tables were at about half occupancy, and the guests themselves looked ordinary enough, though there was more variety among them than he’d seen at The Eagle, and no one who could be construed as particularly wealthy; in fact, on the opposite end of the spectrum, there were several men in shabby clothes that would be little proof against the cold of winter outside. A miserly coal fire burned low in a small grate within a much larger stone fireplace, filling the room with its odour while struggling to heat it.

Having made a promise to himself, however, Yuuri followed Jacob by the light of a candle up a dim, narrow wooden staircase to a landing at the very top of the building, where the roof sloped precipitously overhead. There was just one door in this little place, which seemed like more of an attic with a cupboard. But then Jacob depressed the loose iron latch with a clink, and the door opened to reveal a small room with a narrow bed, a square shuttered window with a half-melted candle on the sill, and a grey stone fireplace which contained powdery ashes. The walls were white plaster, crumbling a little like the ones below; the floor rough-fitted wooden planks; the ceiling dark timbers which sloped so low that, to his dismay, Yuuri discovered it was impossible to stand upright as he entered. The only other items of furniture were a plain wooden chest, a stool with a white ceramic pitcher and basin, and a terracotta chamber pot half-shoved under the bed. 

“You’re lucky this is free up here,” Jacob said. “You get a room all to yourself, with a bed and fireplace and everything. You’ll need to fetch your own water and coal, but I’ll show you where in a bit. Just watch your head,” he added with a laugh, giving Yuuri a sudden slap on his back. Then, ducking over, he lit the candle on the sill with his own, and it shed a modest glow as if afraid to do a thorough job.

“Are there any keys for these things, so I can lock them?” Yuuri asked, feeling numb inside. “The door; the chest?”

“Oh! Now, let me see.” Jacob rummaged in a pocket in his tunic and produced an iron key, which he handed over. “That’s for the chest. You can store any valuables you have in there. No lock on the door, I’m afraid, but hardly anyone ever comes up here, apart from Sally who empties the pisspots in the morning. If you’ve got anything especially important that you’d like the missus and me to hold on to for you – ”

“Um, no, that’s fine, thanks.” Yuuri paused. “I wouldn’t mind a minute to just, uh, get moved in, if that’s all right.”

“Well, suit yourself, but her indoors wants you to get started downstairs, so don’t be too long.” With that, Jacob exited the room, leaving the door ajar. Yuuri could hear every step he made on the stairs as he trundled down.

As silence fell afterward, Yuuri sat on his bed, putting his bag down on the floor beside him.

_What the hell am I doing? I should never have come here. I just keep digging myself further into a hole._

But the coin purse on his belt wasn’t going to replenish itself. And if he returned to the castle, he would only compound his existing problems with the consequences of his latest actions.

_What would Victor think of me if he saw me now?_

_I…I miss him. No matter how dark things seemed, he was there – a light. I was trying to reach out to him, and then I ran away._

He took a deep shuddering breath, the numbness beginning to give way to something even worse: creeping despair.

If Sam had asked him why he’d left the castle, Yuuri could have told him, and he’d have understood. But the best motives in the world could still lead to disastrous decisions. He ought to have found some way of calming down and giving himself time to think; there must have been something he could have done. Then maybe other options would’ve become clear.

This really should not have been one of them, he could see that now.

Closing his eyes, he put his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

* * *

Posy ensured Yuuri was constantly busy throughout the day and evening, once Jacob showed him what to do. He had a crash course in the types of ales, meads and ciders the place sold, and how to serve food and drink and take orders. Then he was sent to get on with it as if he’d been doing this work for years. True, the job didn’t require a university degree to understand, but it was more unfamiliar to him than anyone here realised.

It wasn’t as simple as pulling a pint behind the bar or fetching a ready plate of food from the counter, waiting to be served. Yuuri had to go to the kitchen and get everything himself, which was a further challenge when he didn’t know where anything was; there was no refrigerator, and all the barrels and boxes looked the same, both in the building and the dingy alley, where he had the experience of watching a large rat scurry across his foot. The most popular drinks could be poured from casks behind the bar, but others had to be fetched from a dark cellar that smelled of mildew. He wasn’t careful enough with his candle while he returned up the stone stairs once, and the flame blew out; navigating the rest of the way in total darkness, with a heavy tray of full tankards in one hand, had him pausing to take deep breaths until the harrowing trek was over.

Jacob and Posy chatted with guests and occasionally issued orders, though in general they didn’t appear to be doing much. A girl worked the tables with Yuuri during supper hours, and other servants were based in the kitchen, cooking and cleaning; he’d been told to help them if they needed it. Most of his concentration was engaged in trying to keep food and drink orders straight, however, because by curfew all of the tables were full, and there were people standing as well. He was still wearing his modern coat, along with his other modern clothes, and was pleasantly surprised to rediscover the pen and paper in his pocket; he surreptitiously used those a few times to help him remember large orders. It was a risk, though, so he promised himself he would only do it while he was finding his feet here.

Which would be difficult while he was treading on the rushes. At some point, perhaps, he would volunteer to remove them completely and bring in new ones, if he were given the time and means to do so. There were patches, particularly near corners, that were strongly suggestive of bodily emanations and rotting food, which he learned to avoid. And to his initial shock, the male clientele seemed to think nothing of urinating into a chamber pot against a wall in full public view. Everyone behaved as if this were as ordinary as putting on a hat, and sometimes they even spoke to each other in the process.

A group of black-robed men, obviously clergy of some kind, retired to their bedrooms early, though many other guests remained, drinking and becoming merrier with each other, and often ruder with the servants. Yuuri kept conversation curt and business-like, or tried to, though it eventually became necessary to steer around questions about where he was from, whether he was related to the Maltbys, if he was “free” later; and comments about the quality of the food and drink – as if he had anything to do with it – as well as which of his features were the most pleasing. A group of three women seemed to think they had the right to eye him, pass judgement on him, and even pinch him; and he ended up being glad that he still wore his coat, projected to look like a rough woollen cloak, because at least it protected his backside from their groping. When he made a complaint to Jacob about it, however, the man just gave a hearty laugh and said he wished he was still young and fine-fettled enough to draw such attention from the ladyfolk.

When he was told during a trip to the kitchen to go fetch water from the well, Yuuri knew he had to find somewhere quiet where he could take a break. His room was the perfect place, even though the fire was still unlit; he hadn’t had time to try to attend to it himself yet. At the bottom of the stairs, he put down the buckets he was carrying, and was glad to see that the candle he’d lit earlier was still burning steadily in the niche here where he’d left it. He picked it up and was soon on the top landing, where he opened the low door and went inside.

The fact that it had no lock had been worrying him all evening. Drawing his sword, he used the tip to pry up the floorboard underneath which he’d stashed his time-travel sphere, along with his trainers, having exchanged those for his leather boots in order to brave the rushes and their foul contents. It was all still here, thank goodness. And presumably the clothes he’d brought with him from the castle had fared equally well in the locked chest.

Which _had _been against the wall near the fireplace, but now wasn’t. Yuuri gave a start and looked around the room, but there wasn’t anywhere it could be hidden.

_Who the fuck marched straight up here while I went downstairs to work?_

Fortunately none of his modern possessions had been inside, and his coin purse was safely secured to his belt. His leather bag was also untouched on the floor, though it had been empty anyway. But who would nick a whole trunk with all his clothes? Where had they taken it?

Had the Maltbys pretended to hire him just so they could rob him like this? Or had it been a servant who’d come up and seen an opportunity? But in that case, how had they known he’d put his clothes in the chest, unless they’d had a key?

He straightened quickly, forgetting momentarily about the low ceiling and bumping his head in the process. A sharp flash of pain was followed by a throb, and his eyes watered. He took more deep breaths, then grabbed the candle and proceeded back down the stairs and into the main room, where the Maltbys were leaning with their backs against the bar, both holding wooden tankards and laughing with the men at the table in front of them, most of whom had bright eyes and pink cheeks from the amount of drink they’d imbibed.

“Can I have a word with both of you, please?” Yuuri said in a low, firm voice as he approached them.

Jacob was guffawing at something one of the guests had said, and continued to do so for a moment before giving Yuuri his attention. “What’s that, eh?” he said distractedly, lowering his tankard.

“I said I need to speak to you. Both of you.”

“Is there a problem already?” Posy said.

“Yes, and it’s not something to discuss in front of…” He tilted his head slightly at the guests, who had quieted down and were looking at him.

With a sigh and a _this had better be good _expression, Posy led the way to the kitchen, followed by Jacob and Yuuri. Now it was the servants’ turn to stare.

“Get back to work, the lot of you – I’m not paying you to stand around gawping,” Posy snapped. Then she turned to Yuuri expectantly.

“The chest that was in my room’s gone missing,” he stated, watching them for their reactions. Neither appeared very concerned, though Posy raised an eyebrow.

“When was this, then?”

“While I was working down here. It had all my clothes in it.”

“What, the entire chest?” Jacob said, sounding amused. “Up and carried it off, did they – is that what you’re saying? Down them steep stairs?”

“Well, yes. You saw it; you gave me the key.” Yuuri pulled it out of a pocket and held it up. “Has anyone else got a key?”

Jacob shrugged. “Not to my knowledge. Wouldn’t stop anyone from getting in it, though. It’s only wood.”

Yuuri eyed them both and said, after replacing the key in his pocket, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Eh, I’ll go have a look round now,” Jacob answered breezily. “Must be some mistake, you’ll see.”

“Go on then, cock,” Posy told him, and he left the room, looking put out. “Now tell me,” she said, addressing Yuuri, “was there owt valuable in that chest? What was in it?”

“Clothes, like I told you. I suppose they’re fairly expensive. They’re, um, a better quality than what I’m wearing now.”

“Why didn’t you say? My Jacob offered to take any valuables you have and store them for you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but – ”

“Don’t say you weren’t warned, then.”

Yuuri paused. “What?”

“You could see for yourself that the door up there don’t lock.”

“Are you suggesting it was my own fault that I was robbed?”

“Now that’s a strong word to put on it. Like my Jacob said, it’s probably just a misunderstanding.” Before Yuuri could reply, she added, “But being as it’s your first day here, and I’m sure it’s unsettling for you and all, I’ll make some enquiries and let you know in the morning.”

“Why don’t I just have a look round myself?” Yuuri offered. “That way – ”

“Because this place ain’t yours, and you’re here by the grace of myself and my husband,” she said with a cold smile. “We’re the proprietors, and we’ll look into it for you, like I said. I suggest you find some patience in the meantime, and get back to serving my guests, if you still want a job in the morning.”

Yuuri blinked, taking this in. He bit back the accusations he was tempted to make and decided it was best to do as she said. For now.


	29. Chapter 29

Although he’d slept with his coat on, Yuuri shivered when he awoke. Golden sunlight was beaming through crevices around the shutters, a welcome sight even if the morning chill accompanied it. The thin blanket that had been left on his mattress hadn’t been much help. He’d have to make sure he lit the fire today; he’d done it a few times at the castle, and knew that carefully removing an ember from another fire with a pair of tongs and transporting it to his own was the easiest way to get it going.

His sleep-fogged brain only recalled the details of his current situation when he splashed icy water from the basin onto his face. It slapped him to his senses, and his stomach dropped.

Justin, Crowood Castle, knights, Ailis, Victor – they all seemed like part of another life. But he wasn’t going to dwell on that right now. He was going to get his clothes back.

He went downstairs, where servants were already busy with chores. A girl in a rough linen-coloured dress who looked about fifteen was carrying chamber pots out to the latrines, a job which Yuuri felt no one should ever have to do; and another girl who looked slightly older was running a mop over the flagstones in the hall, her lack of enthusiasm plain to see. Yuuri asked her where the Maltbys’ bedroom was and she told him, while eyeing him suspiciously. Would they be up and about at this time of day? Yes. Was there anything on offer for breakfast? She looked at him as if he were mad.

He took his time going to the bedroom, keeping a lookout for anyone who might spot him. Luck seemed to be on his side for once, however, and soon he found the wooden door that had been described to him, ajar. He peered around it to ascertain that no one was inside, and entered.

As was the case in his own room, the gloom was only pierced by stray beams of light through the shutters. He saw an unmade double bed with a patchwork quilt rucked up at the end, a few tables and cabinets, a chair. Stepping inside, he took a more careful look, including under the bed, which he gauged to be possibly high enough to store a chest. But if the Maltbys had taken it, it wasn’t here.

“Looking for something?” came Posy’s sharp voice from behind him.

Yuuri spun around. “Um, I was just trying to find you or your husband, to ask what I need to be doing. And what my working hours are.” He swallowed.

“And you thought we’d be abed, did you? Were you planning on waking us up?” Her eyes were shadowed in her face, her tone accusing.

“I was curious to find out whether you’d found my chest, too,” he said, managing to add more confidence to his voice this time, “or if you’d heard anything about it.”

“I’m afraid not. But I’ll keep an eye out,” she replied flatly. “As for your other questions, my Jacob will show you how to replace empty casks behind the bar with new ones from the cellar, for a start. I daresay there are a lot of tankards from last night to wash, too. And working hours is dawn ’til the last guest goes upstairs. You can have the odd Sunday off but you’ll have to ask first.”

Yuuri’s jaw dropped. He was expected to spend almost every waking moment working?

“There are some days we have no guests at all, and others when they’ve all cleared off or are upstairs by curfew,” she said, taking in his expression. “It ain’t often, but it happens.”

“But I can’t go out after dark here.”

She shrugged. “Some folk are just never pleased with anything, are they? I doubt you’re in much of a position to complain, seeing as how I’ve found you lurking in my bedroom doing Lord knows what. I could have you arrested for that.”

Arrested? Yuuri wondered if anyone in this city acted as police. There had to be, if they had nightwalkers. He made a mental note to look into it while he glared back at Posy.

_I’ve had people try to skewer me with a sword. You don’t scare me. _Apart from the fact that this might be his only viable source of revenue for now, and its loss was a threat that didn’t require a physical weapon. 

“However,” Posy continued in a friendlier tone, “let no one say I’m ungenerous.” She slipped a hand into the pocket of her dress and then reached it out, and in her palm were several silver coins. “This should go some way toward recompensing you.” Yuuri took the coins as she added, “I don’t mind paying out of my own pocket a ways, seeing as how I don’t want you working here with just one set of clothes. Might get a bit whiffy for the guests after a while.” She let out a coarse chuckle.

Yuuri wondered how that would be any different from the other unappealing smells that already clung to the main room, but he put the coins in his purse and said nothing.

“Go see Mistress Preston at the market; you can get decent clothes off her, cheap. Behind the Shambles. She’s got a sign at her stall with a pair of blue scissors painted on it; you should be able to find her right enough. Go on with you, then; I got things for you to do here when you come back.”

* * *

The market was much as Yuuri had imagined it. He supposed they never changed a great deal. In modern times, many had been replaced with shopping over the Cloud or items dispensed from vending machines, but they still did a good trade where he lived.

Although the sun hadn’t been up long, the stalls were full of merchants hawking their wares. Yuuri found Mistress Preston without difficulty, though he was dismayed to discover that the silver coins would only pay for a pair of rough tan-coloured hose, two baggy cream-coloured shirts, and a pair of braies. Still, it was better than nothing, and he didn’t want to spend any more of his own money just to buy something elegant-looking whose appearance he could already project if he wanted to.

Posy had been right about him only having one set of clothes, though they were rather different from what she believed them to be. He knew he couldn’t wear them all the time; they’d start to fall apart. They also needed to be washed, though he couldn’t imagine how he’d do it. But where could he safely store them if he wasn’t wearing them? Thank God he hadn’t put them in the chest. 

When he returned to the ale-house, he went straight to his room and pried up a few more floorboards, stashing his modern clothes under them for now and changing into the new ones. The cloth was roughly woven, and itched a little. Cinching his belt round his shirt, he thought he must look a bit like a pirate, but there was no mirror here for him to tell. He didn’t look forward to trying to shave without one.

Briefly sitting back down on his bed, his eyes wandered to the bare space on the floor where the chest had been, and it struck him then that he actually missed his clothes. They’d always felt like a costume to an extent, and took more time to put on and take off than modern ones, but he’d got used to them. They were warm and comfortable. But more importantly, they’d been part of his life as Justin at the castle. The more time he spent here, the more appealing that seemed, even though he’d wanted so much to leave it behind.

Telling himself not to think about that right now, he went downstairs with renewed determination to locate the chest and his clothes.

* * *

“Look, mate, I sympathise, I really do. But I don’t think there’s owt more you can do about it.”

Yuuri had snatched a quick conversation with a man who was delivering casks of ale; he was helping to remove them from the wagon and carry them down to the cellar. While they busied themselves with this, he’d explained about the theft of his clothes and asked if there was an official he could report it to. But it was the same set of questions he’d heard elsewhere: Was he a freeman of the town? Was he a resident? Well in that case, there probably wasn’t any help to be had, especially since he was only an ale-house servant.

“Isn’t there any justice here?” he finally blurted in exasperation.

“The mistress gave you money to buy new clothes, didn’t she? If you don’t mind my saying, I don’t get what you’re complaining about.”

He was still more pleasant to talk to than the other workers in the building, who seemed to permanently glower at Yuuri in suspicion. All apart from Jan, the cook, who was a Swede.

“They’re just on their guard because you’re an outsider,” the blond-haired blue-eyed man explained that afternoon while Yuuri was in the kitchen washing tankards and plates crusted over from the night before; he’d had to fetch water for the sink from a huge cauldron boiling over the fire in the room and add cool water from the cistern to it so that he didn’t scald his hands. “This is a walled city. They want to keep people out. Fellows like us are allowed to work here, but the pay is bad, and they tell us we’re taking jobs away from the ones who already live here.” He shrugged. “I say, if they’re better at it than me, that’s what they can do. But me, I’m not so bad.” He smiled as he rolled out dough for a large pie.

“Why did you come here?” Yuuri asked him, hoping it wasn’t too personal a question.

“My village burned down,” Jan answered matter-of-factly as he worked. “I was young and unmarried, so I thought I would make a new start someplace else. I’d heard people say this city was like my own. It used to be a big Viking settlement, you know. I think, however, it was long enough ago that it’s not so Viking anymore.”

_It changes a fair bit over the next 728 years too, let me tell you._

_And…shit, your village burned down? _Yuuri was suddenly reminded of what Victor had told him about his nursemaid, Irene. Maybe the real surprise, in the midst of all this, was that any friendly people existed at all.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Jan, however, apart from the fact that he was willing to be civil to him. The lack of emotion he expressed about the fate of his village could be a natural psychological defence. Or maybe people here took such things in their stride as part of life. Who knew?

Then all thoughts were driven out of Yuuri’s head as the population of the ale-house swelled for supper, and he spent a seemingly interminable amount of time dashing round serving food and drink. There was no way to tell how many hours passed. Not that it mattered, because his labour was owed until the last guest went upstairs. It felt like it would never happen. A man twice his age – and twice his width – who was sitting at a bench at a table leaned over at one point and hooked him round the waist with his arm, pulling him against him. He smelled of stale beer and onions, and seemed to want Yuuri to sit on his lap, though he was so drunk it was hard to tell. All Yuuri knew was that he needed to get away. But he’d already learned that if he complained to the Maltbys, they’d laugh, or tell him they wished they were as lucky, or suggest that if he was in the business of upsetting guests, they would no longer have a place for him here.

So he leaned down with a smile, making it look like he was sharing a good-natured joke with the man, and whispered into his ear, “If you don’t remove your fucking arm from me immediately, I will draw my sword faster than you can blink, and run it through you.” It took some time for comprehension to show in the man’s drink-dulled eyes, but eventually they went wide and he gave Yuuri a little shove away from him.

_That round goes to me, _he thought, exhaling. And then: _Oh God, that’s the very thing I wanted to get away from – being a knight. Threatening people like that. _

He tried to put it out of his head, though it wasn’t the last lewd gesture he received; and as the night wore on, the drunker and more belligerent the clientele became. When a fight broke out between two men who could barely stand to swing their fists, Yuuri kept to the shadows, while Jacob broke them up and kicked them outside for the nightwalkers to find and deal with. Though it occurred to Yuuri that the nightwalkers were presumably there to deter thieves, who might regard two drunken men reeling in the dark as easy marks. Fed up with everything he’d seen, he nevertheless found the fortitude from somewhere deep inside to remain polite while he continued to do his job.

Finally, when the last of the guests went to their rooms, Yuuri accosted Jacob, who was standing behind the bar, counting the day’s takings.

“Any sign of the chest with my clothes?” he asked, trying hard to keep the tiredness out of his voice.

“Eh?” Jacob looked up, only then seeming to notice Yuuri. “Sorry, no.”

Yuuri huffed. “Can you tell me how much I’ll be paid, and when, please? I don’t seem to have been given that information.”

The man quickly grabbed a coin off the top of a stack and plonked it down in a small pool of ale on the counter, not taking his eyes off his counting. “That’s for yesterday and today,” he said disinterestedly. “From now on, it’s weekly.”

Yuuri gingerly picked up the dripping coin with forefinger and thumb and stared at it. It wasn’t much. Even a week’s pay would only be a fraction of the cost of one piece of his plate mail.

_Did I really wear that? Every day, with other knights? _He’d got so used to it. But he’d only been in this time for two months, and he’d learned that familiarity could fade as quickly as it could be fostered.

_I’ll be forgetting what Victor looks like next. How his voice sounds. That we were ever…friends. _An empty ache inside of him suddenly made the coins, the missing clothes, the objectionable guests, and all the rest of it seem unimportant. _My beautiful shining knight. I miss you, I miss you._

His throat hitching, he placed the coin in his purse and left the room without another word. 

* * *

_I have to do this. I have to tell him._

Yuuri hadn’t contacted Phichit the previous night; it was the first time that had happened since they’d been communicating over the com. To his shame, it had taken him until this evening to realise the omission, while he was so busy waiting on tables that he could barely think. Phichit and Celestino would probably be worried – might even fear he was dead.

_Putting it off is only going to make it worse, Yuuri._

He sat in front of the little coal fire he’d built earlier in the grate, wearing his new clothes, with the blanket wrapped round him, and brought up the menu on the com.

“Yuuri…?” came Phichit’s sleepy voice. And then, “_Yuuri! _Are you OK? How come you didn’t check in yesterday? What’s been happening?”

And the soaring he felt in his chest when he heard his friend speak was suddenly worth all the opprobrium that might possibly come afterward, if not from Phichit then from Celestino. Yuuri hadn’t communicated with him over the com yet, but he could imagine the professor wanting to give him a piece of his mind.

“Phichit,” Yuuri murmured into the device. “Thank God. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yuuri, what’s happening?” Phichit repeated. “You’re not bleeding in a field, or locked up in a dungeon, or – ”

“No,” Yuuri said, surprising himself with a quick smile. As bad as his circumstances were, at least they weren’t as bad as that. “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you yesterday. It’s been…well, it’s difficult to explain.”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning. You never call me this late. Or early. After I didn’t hear from you again tonight, I thought I’d better tell Celestino. He’s doing his nut. With you being a knight and everything, it’s easy to imagine you getting hurt. You’re not, are you?”

“No. But, um, I have a confession to make.” After a pause, he said, “I’m not at the castle.”

“You’re not?”

“I haven’t been for…” He thought a moment. “Almost a week.”

“You what? I don’t understand – why didn’t you tell me? What’s going on?”

And so Yuuri told him. About how his worries about the duel to the death had continued to eat at him. How it had been hammered home to him a dozen different ways that he’d never be able to win, and how it all had led to one of the worst anxiety attacks of his life. He explained that he’d left the castle to seek work in York, and that he’d made enquiries of people here regarding any unusual local events, and about Crowood Castle; it sounded feeble, he knew, even to his own ears as he spoke. Phichit was quiet, apart from asking him to clarify a few points. He finished by explaining how he’d found a job at The Black Dog, though he didn’t say much about it; he doubted he deserved whatever sympathy his friend might express about his predicament.

“OK,” Phichit said after a long pause, when Yuuri was finished. And then he paused again. “OK.” Another pause. “Jeez, Yuuri, I don’t know what to say.”

“Phichit, I – ”

“I mean, you getting to see medieval York is pretty juke. But do you really think that’s where you need to be? How are you going to do anything about Ailis there?”

“Well, maybe she’s not even at the castle. Maybe she came here. Or went somewhere else. How am I supposed to know?” He gave a little sigh when Phichit didn’t immediately respond. “All right. I know she’s probably at the castle. And that I probably won’t find much out by being here.” He lowered his voice. “I…I’m sorry. But you know I have problems with anxiety. I had a hangover from hell that morning, I was imagining this angry knight slaughtering me in the arena while everybody cheered, and then it made me think about that skirmish I was in. I had a nightmare about it, and other awful things. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Yuuri – ”

“You don’t,” Yuuri carried on. “People don’t do this stuff for real in our time. They do re-enactments and play at it in Immersion. But this is nothing like that. I’ve spoken to people who saw their families die in front of them. I watched bodies being buried with limbs chopped off and arrows sticking out of them.” He ran a hand across his face and discovered moisture on his cheek. “Now I’m meant to fight this jack who challenged me, and why? Because I accidentally insulted him. It just…it felt like too much. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, I…I can get that, I think, Yuuri,” Phichit said more gently. “That’s, um, some pretty horrible stuff. You’re right, it’s hard to imagine what it must be like.” He paused. “But, you know, we really need you to be at the castle. Why are you working at a pub?”

“They call it an ale-house. And why do you think? I was running out of money. I couldn’t just put my feet up and give myself a holiday while I was here.”

“Well, that makes sense…How’s it going, then? What’s it like there?”

Yuuri bit his lip. “Let’s just say I can understand why people ended up forming unions. It’s isn’t safe, for me or any of the other servants, probably. We get abuse from drunk and lecherous guests. The only time I have off work is Sundays. But I know it’s my own stupid fault. I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

“So why can’t you just go back to the castle?”

Yuuri rested his forehead in his hand. “Because I wasn’t supposed to leave? Because they’ll all think I was running away from Tyler, and that I’m a coward? That’s the kiss of death for a knight, Phichit. You’re supposed to be honourable and trustworthy and all that stuff. I don’t know how picked the baron is at me, but I’m not sure I want to find out. And besides, I don’t know if I could, well, cope. I hate to say it, but it’s true. I can’t have another attack like the one I had the morning I left – and who’s to say it wouldn’t happen in front of someone next time?”

A long silence stretched. Then Phichit said, “OK. Why don’t we just try to think about the reason you’re there. What can you do to find Ailis? I don’t think it’s going to happen while you’re working at that pub, or whatever you called it. Look, I know you’re upset; I would be, too. What if you turned your projector off and, I don’t know, did something to disguise your Japanese features? Then you could go back to the castle but not look like Justin, and try to get a job there, maybe. Something that didn’t involve being a knight.”

Yuuri shook his head. “What am I supposed to do, wear a mask?” He sniffed. “I’m sorry, Phichit. Tell Celestino I’m sorry, too. I never meant for this to happen, and believe me, I don’t want to be here. I just don’t know what other choice I have right now.”

He ended the call soon afterward, neither of them any closer to an answer. The tears kept coming, slowly, as he sat and stared at the flames crackling over dark lumps of coal, and he sleeved them away.

_I’ve let everyone down. Phichit knows I as good as lied to him, all those times I called him without telling him I’d left the castle. Celestino will be flaming – or worse than that, he’ll wish he’d never sent me here, and had chosen someone else instead._

_I’ve let Victor down. And his father, and everyone at the castle. I promised I’d work hard and show them that I could earn my place as a knight there. I also promised myself I’d keep an eye on Victor, and try to save him somehow._

_Then I get an anxiety attack, and suddenly I’m throwing it all away. I keep thinking about how bad it was, and how I’m afraid of it happening again – but have I ever let that stop me before? Do I just quit living my life because of it? I’m sure Sam would’ve had something to say about that._

He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them.

_I…I need to put this right. I want to. I just wish I knew how._


	30. Chapter 30

Yuuri was kept busy most days from the moment he got out of bed to the moment he returned. If he’d thought it was exhausting training to be a knight, at least that had been healthy exercise designed to make him toned and fit, not back-breaking chores that kept him on his feet all day. Often he was asleep before he hit the mattress; but the night was always too short, and then it would be time to get up in the morning. As he was habitually sleeping past dawn, one of the servants came banging on the door to wake him. He would be allowed to drink ale when he got downstairs, but the only meals were dinner and supper; for the servants those usually consisted of pottage and a sop, sometimes with a piece of cheese.

As his fatigue and hunger grew, Yuuri’s thoughts were increasingly blunted, subsumed by the busy tedium of helping to keep the ale-house running. The sharp sting of guilt and loss that pierced him in brief moments of reflection was almost welcome, however painful, because it reminded him that he could feel – and that he needed to act. If he could just figure out what to do.

In the meantime, however, he continued to make sure he contacted Phichit every day, which usually meant finding a few minutes to sneak up to his room between chores, since he didn’t want to be calling at 2 a.m. again. Sometimes he ran errands for the Maltbys around shops in the town and at the market, and those were other opportunities. Phichit said he liked hearing the strange languages people were speaking, as well as the sounds of day-to-day life in the city from so far in the past: church bells ringing, the clop of hoofbeats, the town crier making announcements at the market cross, buskers playing a fiddle or a lute, and stray animals – dogs, pigs, chickens and goats, among others.

The fact that Yuuri was there at all was a difficult topic for discussion, however. Celestino had taken the com one day; Yuuri was surprised to find him answering instead of Phichit. He wasn’t as gentle or understanding either, as he reminded Yuuri of the importance of his mission – as if he’d forgotten – and told him he had to find a way to get back to the castle. Yuuri explained briefly what was preventing him from going straight there and left it at that, though he apologised sincerely for what he’d done.

The truth that complicated matters further, however, was that he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle trying to be a knight any better than he was handling being an ale-house servant. Nothing would have changed at the castle during his absence; Tyler would still want to kill him, and all the other dangers were waiting. He knew he had to be prepared to face those, and he wasn’t sure he was.

_Victor will be there, too._

_If he’s still alive. And if he still wants to know me after all this. Which I doubt._

Meeting him had felt like falling into orbit around a star, gradually pulling in closer and tighter, and loving every minute of it…which probably made it all the more prudent to stay away. Though that wasn’t working very well, either. The only thing stopping him from indulging in fantasies about being in Victor’s arms, and the brush and press of his lips, was his conviction that Victor himself wouldn’t want it.

_As it should be. _Though his heart refused to agree.

While he was in the city, he took his time with his errands, since those were his only opportunities to get out of The Black Dog. That meant he could visit Lady and continue to pay for her upkeep at the stable. The fees there, however, were higher than what he was being paid, and he knew the situation could not carry on much longer.

_I wonder if I could make a living in the woods, hunting and gathering. Then I could sneak around the castle too. On the outside, anyway._

_Jesus, Yuuri, you really are desperate._

He’d seen how people like Julius used a bow and arrow, quick and sure, and he knew he was not capable of such feats, even if he had the weapon. He wasn’t going to be able to stab any animals with his sword, either. And fishing – ? He’d never done it in his life. Besides, he suspected most if not all of the countryside belonged to nobles, who might have something to say about people poaching what they considered to be their food.

At the ale-house, he’d quickly lost any desire to make helpful changes such as clearing out the old rushes and laying new ones, and simply got on with what he was told to do. Most of the servants continued to ignore him, so occasionally he tried to speak with the guests, ostensibly to see if they could provide any information that might offer a clue to Ailis, but really because he still had a desire for pleasant human contact once in a while. It seemed, however, that there was one rule for the Maltbys in that respect, and one rule for everyone else; and when he was caught in conversation with anyone, they told him to get back to work.

Eventually he also gave up the lingering hope that he might come across the missing chest, or hear word of it. Whoever had stolen it – and he still suspected the Maltbys – had probably taken it away by now and sold it along with its contents, and the unfairness of it rankled in him.

He did, however, finally manage to get his modern clothes clean, though it required some ingenuity that he was almost too exhausted to muster. One night after he was finished working, he took a wooden bucket and poured boiling water from the kitchen cauldron into it, added some cold water from the cistern, and brought it up to his room along with a large wooden spoon. There he took his bar of soap and shaved off slivers with his knife, which mostly melted in the water. One at a time, he put in his shirt, trousers, pants and coat, swishing them with the spoon until they were as clean as he could get them. He ought to rinse it all, he supposed, but that would require hauling fresh water back up; and anyway, he quite liked the faint smell of roses from the soap.

By the time he’d gone to bed, his clothes were hanging near the fire from the mantel and slung over the table where the pitcher and basin, now on the floor, normally stood. But in the morning, Yuuri saw that the dead fire and chill air hadn’t completed the job, and he had no choice but to wear the still-damp clothes, with no intention of leaving them in his room to be nicked while they continued to dry. He tried to avoid going outside while he shivered in his wet coat; and by evening, he was sniffling and sneezing. Which was both surprising and disturbing, because he had nanobots in his system.

_OK, _he told himself as panic shot through his veins. _It’s just a head cold. Probably. People in my time get injections of updated nanobots for this, because the germs are always mutating. This is just something my system’s never experienced before. Like…_

_Like Dr. Croft._

_Holy fuck._

He’d dashed up to his room before a panic attack could start, and somehow managed to head it off by lying on his bed and crying. It was better than shaking and feeling like he couldn’t breathe, and soon he was able to get back up and go downstairs before he was missed. Maybe he’d discovered the one virtue of being overworked: he was too tired to be properly wound up about anything.

“You’ll put the guests off with that disgusting behaviour,” Posy said to him behind the bar an hour before supper time.

“I’ve got a cold; I can’t help it,” he replied, turning his head and sneezing as he poured ale from the spigot of a cask into a tankard. “Maybe I ought to go lie down,” he suggested, hating himself for seeming weak, though the idea was too inviting to go unmentioned. Sleep, he needed sleep. If he could get it while he was worried about being ill.

“Hardly,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I don’t pay my servants to skive in their rooms when there’s work to be done. Go to the kitchen and see what Jan can give you to do. If he ain’t got owt, come see me and I’ll find you plenty.”

Reflecting silently on the ignorance of sending him to spread germs in the kitchen instead of in the main room, he nevertheless complied. Once there, he found Jan hurrying to prepare food. The tall Swede wore a coif and a white apron which covered his chest and came down to his knees. The room wasn’t particularly warm despite the cooking fire, Yuuri noticed. Draughts crept into the old building from innumerable cracks formed where neat joins had eroded and warped over the years; there didn’t seem to be a cosy room in the entire place.

_Should I really be working in here, despite what I’ve been told to do? What…what if I’ve got the plague?_

Before his body could react with a new wave of panic, he told himself to stop being so silly. It was a head cold. A head cold. People with plague got boils and bled out of their eyeballs, didn’t they? He winced at the thought. But they didn’t cough and sneeze.

_Maybe that’s how it starts. Or maybe this is what Dr. Croft had, and now I have it too._

_Jesus, I’ve got to stop this. I got a cold from wearing wet clothes. That’s all it is._

“Is there something you need?” Jan asked him; and he realised he’d been standing there arguing with himself long enough for it to look strange.

“Um, no. Posy sent me in here to help you. Is there anything I can do? I know a bit about cooking. I…I cook my own meals, sometimes.”

Jan raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes? Let me think, then. I’ve already peeled and chopped the vegetables. Can you make a piecrust and roll it out?”

“Sure.” Yuuri sniffled. The stuffy kitchen had truly blocked his nose. Or maybe his cold was getting worse. “Where do you keep the butter and the – ”

Jan shook his head. “No, no butter in piecrusts. It’s too expensive.” He gave Yuuri a grin. “But I bet it tastes good. The lard is in the cupboard there.” He pointed.

Once Yuuri had the ingredients in front of him, Jan gave him instructions while he carried on with his own tasks, and Yuuri was pleased with the results, which were three large crusts that Jan filled with a thick rabbit stew. Afterward, Yuuri placed more crust on top, and Jan used a large iron spatula to put them on a shelf near the fire. 

“Those are good crusts,” Jan told him. “Maybe the guests will even want to eat them.”

“What, don’t they usually?”

Jan shrugged. “They’re like trenchers, just a container for the food. So, normally cheap and tough. I don’t spend much time making them. But you put care into it. I could use your help to make more for later.” He smiled. “And I’ll make sure we can each have a piece. You will like my rabbit pie filling, I think.”

“If I can taste it,” Yuuri mumbled with another sniffle.

He would have enjoyed the kitchen work more if he’d been well, and if he hadn’t been worrying about which germs he’d caught and what they might be doing to him, or whether he’d even be alive in the morning. But he shoved it all aside as best he could and helped Jan make more pies, as well as loaves of bread. There seemed to be a quota that the cook was aiming for, and once he was satisfied that there was enough food to last the rest of the night, he hung his apron up on the wall and declared the day’s work done. They said good night, and Yuuri decided he was going to go straight up to his room and lie down, Posy and her slave-driving work ethic be damned.

Once he’d done so, however, he found it difficult to decide whether to call Phichit. If he did, his friend would hear his rough, stuffed-up voice, and probably compound all of his own worries by drawing comparisons with Dr. Croft. Yet if he didn’t, Phichit would worry for different reasons.

Telling himself he would do nothing more to leave his friends in the lurch, he made the call, and was glad he did. Phichit seemed to take the news calmly, and so Yuuri was the one who ended up mentioning Dr. Croft.

“I’m pretty sure she knew early on that it was something bad,” Phichit said.

“But how _do _you know?” Yuuri pressed. “I was fine this morning, and now I’m not. I came down with this so fast – ”

“You’re not used to being ill, though, are you? Your body’s not used to fighting germs on its own, without any nanobots to help it.”

“Oh God,” Yuuri finally moaned.

“Will they let you have some time off there at that pub, to rest up and get better?”

“They wouldn’t give me time off if I _was _dying of plague.” Suddenly he remembered the rat that had run across his foot. He’d probably been in the vicinity of more, without knowing it. That mat of rushes downstairs…

“Yuuri, your nanobots are programmed to fight the plague. You _can’t _have it.”

“But what if this is some mutation they don’t recognise?”

“It sounds to me like you’ve got a head cold,” Phichit said reassuringly.

“Phichit,” Yuuri whispered, “I can’t stop worrying. I’d rather be run through with a sword than die like that. Can you…” He swallowed and looked into the flames of his fireplace. “Can you look on the Cloud and tell me what the symptoms are?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What if some of them are similar? Won’t that just make you more worried?”

“Please.”

He sighed. “OK.” There was a pause, and then he said, “It looks like the main symptom is inflamed lymph nodes, which are called buboes. These horrible…um, these bumps. They’re pretty easy to see. Have you got any?”

“I don’t think so. Let me check.”

After a moment, Phichit’s voice came again. “You’re not sitting there getting undressed and giving yourself an examination, are you? I’m not sure I need to be imagining that.”

Yuuri felt like he’d been caught in the act. He’d removed everything apart from his pants, and was quickly scanning every inch of skin he could see. “Well, what do you expect? I need to find out, Phichit! How would _you _feel in this situation?”

“Sorry, Yuuri.”

“No, I don’t see or feel anything like that,” Yuuri finally said with a sigh before he started pulling his medieval clothes on.

“There’s also fever, muscle cramps, vomiting of blood, gangrene of the extremities – your toes, fingers, lips and nose can turn black…”

“Holy shit,” Yuuri breathed; then he had a coughing fit.

“None of that’s happening to you, is it?”

“No,” Yuuri choked out, finally clearing his throat.

“That’s it, then. You have a head cold. I know it’s a pain in the butt right now, but you’ll get better. Really, I think you should just rest up if you can.”

They ended the call shortly afterward. Three years younger than him, and Phichit was trying to sound like a wise doctor. But then of course he would; he was doing his best to be supportive. Perhaps he was worried himself – after all, Dr. Croft hadn’t caught plague either, but she’d still died from her illness.

_He has a way of bringing me down to earth. Maybe that’s what I need while I’m here. I bet he thinks sometimes that this was never what he signed up for when he became a quantum physicist._

Yuuri folded his modern clothes and stashed them under the floorboards to save them for when he really needed them. Then he lay down and pulled the blanket over himself. If anyone came pounding on his door, demanding to know why he wasn’t downstairs waiting on tables, he was prepared to tell them where to get off to; but to his relief, no one did. They all must have noticed him coughing and sneezing, and perhaps didn’t fancy catching it themselves. Since he’d heard the word “quarantine” used in the castle when the topic of the sick sheep came up, it seemed clear that even if they didn’t know what bacteria and viruses were, they were aware that illnesses could be contagious.

But as he tossed around under the blanket, unable to get comfortable, with a headache from his blocked nose and a throat that was beginning to burn at the back, he couldn’t keep Dr. Croft from his mind. God only knew what passed for medicine here. Leeches and ground-up snakeskins and beetles, maybe. Had she tried any remedies? What had she been thinking and feeling as the reality of her predicament had dawned on her, alone in this place, far from help?

Was he dying, too?

_It’s just a head cold,_ he kept telling himself. But the fear was almost as painful as the symptoms. 

* * *

In the morning, his head felt like it wanted to explode, and his throat was so sore he could barely talk. But he’d lived through the night.

_Why am I so afraid all the time? _he asked himself while he splashed water from the basin over his hot, throbbing face. _I agreed to go on this mission in the first place. I fought those men on the bridge so I could protect Victor. I’m not a coward. So why am I acting like one?_

_I’m going to start taking control back. Bit by bit. _The first thing he’d do was face up to the fact that he might still die from this illness he’d caught, or he might die tomorrow or in a week or a month from something else. So be it. He was no longer going to allow the possibility to cripple him and send him rushing up to his room to head off an anxiety attack. This world was dangerous; that was a fact he would learn to cope with.

The Maltbys expected him to work while he was ill, though they didn’t want him near the customers. He couldn’t do anything with food with a clear conscience either, however, so he ended up cleaning and helping with laundry over the next few days. And he chose to face another of his fears as well, one that had been creeping up on him from his first day at the ale-house almost two weeks ago: he insisted on changing the rushes in the main room. The more he’d speculated about what might lurk at the bottom, the more he wished he could avoid them altogether, though that was impossible. He’d even had nightmares on a couple of occasions about falling and being smothered by them. Well, if they bothered him, they probably bothered other people as well, even if they weren’t as conscious as he was of the health hazard they actually posed.

To his relief, the Maltbys were pleased to hear his suggestion. They left him to do the work by himself inside the main room, but he’d steeled himself for it, and was even a little proud of how well he did, despite the horrors that were revealed near the very bottom: the desiccated remains of small mammals, mummified chunks of meat and piecrusts, dung, and other stomach-churning surprises. He’d got a pair of leather gloves and a pitchfork and simply got on with it. Jacob had told him that in fact the old rushes had been on the floor when he and his wife had taken over the establishment ten years ago. Had the job not been done because it was onerous? Disgusting? Or did no one feel it was necessary?

Jacob accompanied him on a pony and wagon to both dispose of the old rushes in a ditch and fetch new ones from a large storage barn on the other side of the city wall. Upon returning to the ale-house, while making occasional use of a cloth to mop his running nose and clammy face, Yuuri filled a bucket with hot water and cleaning solution from the small room off the kitchen they called a scullery, then set about scrubbing the encrusted flagstone floor with a stiff boar-bristle brush. He ignored his ever-present fatigue, and the aches brought on by his illness, telling himself that this was one thing, at least, that he was going to put right – for himself and everybody else who used this room.

“Here, sir, you shouldn’t be doing that on your own.”

The rough voice was a girl’s, and he looked up to see Daisy, a sixteen-year-old who was employed to clean and help serve customers. Yuuri had tried to make polite conversation with her before, but he’d never received much more than a quick muttered reply before she’d left him alone. She stood now with her blond hair tucked under her coif, in a gold-coloured dress and apron, looking as if she were still in two minds about the advisability of speaking to him.

“I didn’t see any volunteers coming to help,” he replied, resuming his scrubbing.

“You ain’t even well. You should be in bed.”

He looked up again and gave a little laugh. “Not according to the Maltbys.”

“Did they tell you to do this?” she asked, looking round the room, half of which sported gleaming wet grey flagstones. “Blimey, I never knew what the floor even looked like under there.”

“No, they didn’t. I thought it might be nice – um, I thought it might be pleasanter if this room was cleaned up, that’s all.”

“I’ll get a brush and help you.”

“There’s no need.”

“I want to, sir. You been busy with this all by yourself, and it’s not right you ain’t had no help.”

Yuuri sat back on his shins, sniffling and sleeving the sweat off his forehead. “Well, I won’t complain,” he said looking up at her again. “Thank you. And, um, it’s John. I didn’t think I’d be a ‘sir’ to anybody here.”

“Everybody’s ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ to me,” Daisy replied. “But OK, John. I’ll be back in a trice.”

They finished scrubbing the floor together, then Daisy helped Yuuri bring bales of rushes in from the alleyway where they’d been shifted from the wagon. Yuuri gave her the pitchfork while he used his gloved hands, and they spread the rushes around the room, which was soon filled with the scent of straw. It was fluffy and yellow and crunched underfoot, unlike the limp greyish mass it had replaced.

“That’s a big improvement,” Yuuri said, staring at their handiwork when they were done. “I suppose it’s time to fetch the trestle tables from out back and set them up, and – ” 

“I have an idea,” Daisy broke in as she scanned the floor. “Come on, I bet I can persuade the mistress to part with a few coins for it.”

Following her down the hall, Yuuri stood silently nearby as Daisy found Posy sitting in a chair in her bedroom sewing and asked if they would be allowed to go to the market to buy bunches of sweet-smelling herbs to sprinkle round the new floor covering. Daisy seemed to have a way of getting on her good side, and soon they were joining the last of the afternoon’s shoppers behind the Shambles, each of them carrying an empty wicker basket, before the merchants began closing their stalls for the day. Daisy took Yuuri to a lady who had stacks of herbs bundled together on the counter, tacked to the wooden wall behind her, and stuffed into little doilies and sachets made of pieces of satiny material in different hues, trimmed with bits of lace.

“Ain’t they pretty?” Daisy said, picking one up and sniffing it. Yuuri wanted to do the same, but with a runny nose, knew it was not advisable. “I like the lace, too. I’m saving part of my wages to get a lace collar, just a small one that’ll go round my shoulders. Then I’ll look a right fair damsel when I’m out with my sweetheart.” Her cheeks suddenly went pink. “Though I guess I oughtn’t be talking about that kind of thing in front of a bloke.”

“It’s all right. It’d suit you,” he said, hoping she’d construe his words as polite rather than flirtatious. “So what will those coins get us here, do you reckon?”

They soon had baskets full of dried lavender, rosemary, lemon balm, myrtle leaves, pine needles, and rose petals to take back with them. It reminded Yuuri of what he sometimes found added to bowls and basins of water at the castle. And he discovered that, despite the runny nose, a portion of the aroma was detectable from his basket as they walked. It seemed he’d turned a corner and was on the mend, and therefore not destined to die just yet.

He was glad to tell Phichit when he stole a quiet moment up in his room that evening.

“See? I told you. Head cold.”

“Did you tell Celestino about it?”

After a pause, Phichit replied, “I thought I’d better. I don’t tell him about personal stuff, you know. But this seemed…well, important.”

“As in ‘Yuuri might be dying from some disease’ important.”

“That’s not was I was thinking. Not exactly. Anyway, I’m glad you’re starting to feel better.”

Yuuri waited to hear something along the lines of, “But don’t you think you ought to be working on a way to get back to the castle?” The fact that Phichit said nothing about it was almost worse, because the guilt continued to stew inside him. So he mentioned it himself, promising again that he would return. Soon. Somehow. Though every time he tried to address the problem, all he could see was the angry baron condemning him to death or a dungeon or some other horrible fate.

“It’s hard to get your thoughts together here,” he said. “I’m busy, or tired, or ill, or all three, and the ideas just don’t come. I tell myself tomorrow will be better, but it isn’t. Most days are the same. Once you get used to being here and falling into step with everyone else, there’s nothing very special about it anymore. A day’s hard work here isn’t very different from a day’s hard work in any other place where they don’t have tech.”

“Jeez, Yuuri, that’s pretty bleak. I wonder if I could help somehow.”

“But you’re there and I’m here, so – ”

“I’ve looked up information for you, haven’t I? I’m your friend on your wrist; I’m there wherever you go.”

“Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve even said thank you yet. You’ve been great, Phichit. I appreciate it.”

“Maybe I _could _help,” Phichit continued, sounding bolstered by this. “Next time you’re having a hard time there, call me and just keep the com on. I’ll listen to it in the background. I don’t teach classes like Celestino does, so I can’t see how it’d ever be a problem.”

“You want to hear people talking Middle English to each other in different stages of drunkenness?” Yuuri said with a smirk.

“I’ve got one of Ailis’s translators now, for when I need it. It should work just as well as yours. It’d be like when you let me listen while you were at the market. What do you say? ‘A day in the life of Yuuri the pub slave, 1393’.”

Yuuri shook his head. “You’re mad,” he said with a laugh. “But we’ll see.” 


	31. Chapter 31

The fact that he continued to recover over the next few days was the best thing that had happened in a while, because he could be sure now that his body had successfully fought off whatever bug he’d caught. Even though he’d made a determined effort to force his worries out of his mind, the first morning he awoke with a clear nose and head was such a relief that for a moment he felt like getting on his knees and giving prayers of thanks. To who, he wasn’t sure. He’d never been a religious person, though he knew that wasn’t required in order to have spiritual beliefs. Maybe he was just getting used to seeing people go to mass, regularly swear by their lord and saviour, preach in public, and…buy sarcophagus water from hawkers outside of cathedrals.

Unfortunately, however, the boost in his mood was short-lived, because once the Maltbys saw that he was feeling better, they gave him plenty to do. He returned to waiting tables, hauling casks up and down the cellar stairs, shifting crates and sacks to and from the kitchen, and anything else that required hard physical labour, because his employers seemed to have cottoned on to the fact that he had strength and stamina. He supposed he hadn’t done himself any favours in that respect by cleaning and replacing their entire floor-covering for them while he was fighting off a cold at the same time, even though he’d had Daisy’s help. He could tell they were impressed, and they basked in the admiring comments from guests who appreciated the clean and fragrant room under the ever-present top note of coal smoke, though Yuuri noticed they never mentioned him as the reason, or gave him a word of thanks. He told himself not to expect it; that from their point of view, he should probably be grateful to them just for giving him a job.

It was only two nights after Phichit’s suggestion that he listen in over the com that Yuuri, feeling tired and struggling to find the mental wherewithal to deal with more guests, decided to take him up on the idea. He’d gone to his room shortly before the supper-time rush, added more coals to the fire so that it would be warm when he finished work, and called his friend, who still seemed keen.

“Honestly, it’s boring here, Yuuri.”

“How can quantum physics ever be boring?”

“When your boss has got you proofreading thirty-page studies for scientific journals, replacing old components in the lab equipment, and setting up experiments for his grad students? If you want to know, most of my ideas and discoveries happen when I’m at home having a cup of coffee or playing with my hamsters.”

Yuuri was suddenly struck with an overpowering desire to be with Phichit in his flat, playing with the small warm furry creatures too. It seemed like utter bliss. Until he wondered if he was just being selfish. “Phichit,” he said, “don’t cancel any plans you’ve got on my account. I…I hope you haven’t had to do that already. If you want to give the com to Celestino while you go out – ”

“It’s OK, Yuuri, really. But thanks. My social life isn’t anything the Cloud gossip mags would be interested in right now, but if it heats up, I’ll let you know. Besides, it’s interesting talking to you like this.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is. You’re in bloody 1393_. _What’s it like right now? Where are you?”

Yuuri looked around. “I’m in my room. There’s a little coal fire. I think it’s raining outside, but I can’t tell for sure. None of the windows here are glazed, so if you open the shutters, you let in all the cold air. Everything’s lit by candles, even in the middle of the day. If I try to stand, I hit my head. It’s…um, well in some ways it’s still better than what other live-in servants have. Most of them share a room and don’t get any privacy. One of the girls, Daisy, sleeps on a pull-out bed in the scullery. It kind of makes my flat in our time seem like a room in some posh hotel.”

“Blimey, OK. What are you having for supper?”

Yuuri shrugged. “I don’t know, but my guess is some kind of savoury pie with bread and beer. That’s usually what it is. When I get home, Phichit, I want coffee, chocolate, chicken tikka masala, pizza – ”

Phichit laughed. “Sure. No nutri-pills?”

“Fuck those. My tastebuds want to go on a rampage,” Yuuri laughed. “I feel better about having to go downstairs and wait on tables, anyway. If you still want to listen to that.”

“Bring it on, Yuuri.”

“You asked for it.” He left the com on as he made his way back downstairs.

“What the hell are you doing?” came Phichit’s voice.

Taken aback, Yuuri froze midway down. “These are creaky old stairs,” he whispered into the com. “And you can’t say anything, Phichit. Someone might hear you. Then they’ll think – I don’t know, that I’m bewitched, or possessed, or something. _Promise _me you won’t say a word.”

“Sorry,” came Phichit’s penitent response. “I promise.”

At first, Yuuri felt like he was giving a performance on stage, aware all the time of Phichit’s silent presence. He felt self-conscious, but told himself just to focus on his work. Posy had him helping Jan in the kitchen until things got busier in the main room. They were a good team, with Jan preparing the pie fillings and baking the bread, and Yuuri mixing the dough and rolling out the crusts. To make conversation, and to give Phichit something to listen to, he asked Jan to tell him about his life here in York. He was married to an Englishwoman called Matilda, he said, and had a son who was a carpenter’s apprentice and a daughter who worked as a maid in a manor house near the minster. Their own house was located, from the sound of it, among the shadowed streets of dirt and mud that formed warrens between the main roads, and a high stone wall divided it from a wealthy merchant’s house on the other side.

“They say there’s a pond and beautiful rose bushes in a garden there,” Jan said as he tasted a mixture in a pot, then went to the counter and took several pinches of different herbs to add. “I’ve never seen them. But it’s not so bad where we are. Matilda bakes bread and pies every morning to give to a market trader to sell for her, and she spins and sews. Me? Right now I dream of a good sharp knife.” He smiled. “This one I have here, the metal is soft and the blade is always getting dull. I get tired of sharpening it.” He tasted the mixture again and nodded in satisfaction, then looked at Yuuri, who was placing a crust in a large pie tin. “What about you? Where does your mother live? Is it far from here? Does she like it?”

The colour drained from Yuuri’s face as he tried to remember what he’d told people about his personal details. Of course – John of Whitby with his widowed mother. “She, um – ”

“Oi, the yakking in here tonight is beyond the pale,” Posy said, appearing in the doorway. “Are you two cooking or what?”

“My work rate doesn’t slow down just because I’m talking,” Yuuri said, trimming the spare crust overhanging the sides of the tin without looking up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a surprised little smile cross Jan’s face.

“Well that’s good to hear. Maybe you’d like to talk to the guests while you’re serving them, as long as you ain’t stopping to have a yammer. I need you in there; Daisy’s at sixes and sevens because she’s trying to wait on a full room on her own. I guess you ain’t noticed while you been mucking about in here – ”

“I’m not mucking about, and neither is Jan,” Yuuri said, eyeing her as he removed his apron and hung it up. “But if she needs help, I’ll help her.”

“Eh, don’t be so up yourself. And look sharp. There’s a big lot of pilgrims in there who all come together tonight and like their ale. We’ve got a reputation as a good place for people like that to stay, and I intend to maintain it.”

_God only knows how that happened, _Yuuri thought, saying goodbye to Jan and walking past the objectionable woman to the main room. Once inside, he could see what she meant about it being busy. The drink was flowing profusely, and Daisy was hardly still for a moment. Yuuri hurried over to her and asked what he could do to help, and she suggested that he fetch several tankards of mead from the cellar, then serve half the room while she served the other.

You wouldn’t have guessed from anyone’s speech or behaviour that they were supposed to be on a pilgrimage, he thought. Women were sitting on men’s laps, shouts and screeches and raucous laughter filled the room, and the attempts at humour Yuuri overheard relied on poking fun at just about anyone who wasn’t English, male, heterosexual, and able-bodied. It was going to be a long night, he concluded with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Jan had a kind word for him every time he went to the kitchen to fill food orders, though after he went home, Yuuri and Daisy were on their own with the crowd, the Maltbys’ disinclination to assist being nothing out of the ordinary. More challenging than serving tray after tray of food and drink was remaining polite with the guests, about half of whom were so drunk by Yuuri’s estimate that they’d struggle to stand on their feet. There was also a lady who appeared to be in her forties who, every time he passed nearby, made some remark about how fairly proportioned and manly he was, and pinched his bum through his tunic. Her audience of fellow women at her table tittered but made no comment. Eventually deciding that a moor infested with biting gnats would be a pleasanter place to be, Yuuri asked Daisy if she’d be willing to switch sides of the room so that she was serving the women.

“I know it’s hard to believe, since I’m a man,” he said to her while they quickly conferred in a corner, “but I really don’t enjoy having a guest feel me up.”

Her expression was solemn as she replied, “I don’t blame you. I get it almost every day. Folks think it’s supposed to be flattering or funny. One of these days I’m gonna take one of them pewter tankards and wallop someone over the head with it, so help me.”

After an initial jolt of shock at how often Daisy had to put up with such treatment, Yuuri kept himself busy and allowed his work to dull his brain, thinking it surely couldn’t be long before these people decided it was time for bed. Either that, or he would tell the Maltbys to continue serving them, since he and Daisy had work to do in the morning.

He had brought a large wooden tray to a table and was gathering empty tankards while taking more drinks orders when a corner of his brain registered a commotion halfway across the room. _Bloody drunken idiots,_ he thought, trying to memorise who wanted which kind of ale. But then the clamour increased, and he heard a voice he recognised – Daisy’s. She sounded distraught, and a glance soon told him why.

A tall man with blond hair down to his shoulders and a beard had grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him. She was attempting to free herself while he tried to kiss her, and the people at the table nearby were laughing as if entertained by it. One man was even encouraging him to give her more than a kiss to remember him by.

_She’s sixteen, you twat. _Though it wouldn’t matter if she were fifty, Yuuri fumed silently as he clunked the tray of empty tankards back down on the table in front of the surprised guests. No one was going to maul someone like this on his watch. He strode over to the man, who looked at him with a smile and a raised eyebrow while Daisy continued to struggle in his iron grip.

“Let her go and get back to your table,” Yuuri said to him.

“Why?” he laughed. “All I want is a kiss from this fair maiden. You’re beautiful, aren’t you, my dove?”

“Get off me,” Daisy gritted out. Then she spat in his face.

“You bitch, you dare – ?” the man grumbled, giving her a shake.

Yuuri quickly drew his sword and approached within striking distance. “I said let her go. _Now_.”

“Or what? Be damned, you rascal. Keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you.”

Yuuri took another step forward and raised his sword so that the point was pricking at the underside of the man’s chin, and he saw fear leap into the grey eyes gazing down at him. Daisy gave a sudden violent pull and reeled backward. Enraged at the loss of his prize, the man made a move to grapple with Yuuri, who anticipated it and shoved him firmly onto the mat of rushes, wishing for the first time that the old foul ones had been there to greet him upon impact. He continued to brandish his sword menacingly.

“When someone says no, they mean it,” Yuuri told him in a low voice. “You’d better learn to respect that and keep your bloody hands to yourself.”

“Here now, here now,” came Jacob’s hearty voice as he strode over to join them, followed by Posy. “Put the sword away, cock. There ain’t no call for that now, is there? He’s lying on the floor like a beetle on its back.”

Yuuri paused, still glaring at the man as his pulse raced, then sheathed his weapon. He glanced behind him to see Daisy standing in the corner, taking the scene in with wide eyes as she straightened her dress and cap.

“Give me your hand, my good fellow,” Jacob said, and he helped the man back to his feet. He clapped a hand on his back, offered him a pint of his finest bitter on the house, and led him over to the bar.

“What the hell you playing at?” Posy snapped, eyeing Yuuri, who became aware that the guests in the room, having fallen silent when he’d drawn his sword, were mostly continuing to listen, though a few had lost interest. “You walk around like some cock of the dales, with that big long flippin’ blade at your side all the time, and then go and attack a guest? What kind of savage are you?”

Yuuri opened his mouth to speak, then paused as the word choice registered, before saying, “Didn’t you notice that he attacked Daisy?”

“He didn’t attack her.”

“What else would you call grabbing her, refusing to let her go, and making unwanted sexual advances?”

“Unwanted what?”

“He was trying to kiss her and she didn’t want him to.”

“If I got riled every time a guest asked one of the serving girls for a kiss, I wouldn’t have a business left. It’s part of the job.”

“You’re a woman yourself – how can you say that?” Yuuri shot back, determined to hold his ground.

“Actually, last time I checked, yes.” There were some laughs from the room in response. “And I’ll tell you something else,” she added, her own voice growing firmer. “If you don’t like it, or she don’t like it, there’s ten other people in line for both your jobs. No one’s forcing you to work here. But if you _do _want to keep your position, I’ll thank you not to threaten to stick my guests with that sword. It’s twice now, chuck, and maybe even more that I don’t know about. But if I see it again or anyone else complains, you’ll be out the door on your arse. Got it? If you want to give me that belt of yours, I’ll make sure it’s kept in a safe place.”

_Sure, same as the chest with my clothes. _“It stays with me.”

“Suit yourself. But don’t say you ain’t been warned.”

Yuuri forced himself to remain silent, looking around and noticing that Daisy had vanished. “I’m going to find her and make sure she’s all right. Someone has to.”

“Then I want you back in here. These guests won’t serve themselves.”

_Maybe they bloody well ought to. I’ve had enough. _He choked back the words and went to seek Daisy, eventually finding her in the kitchen with a cup of beer, one arm wrapped around her chest.

“Are you – ” he began.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Her gaze rested on the floor; she glanced up at him briefly, then it returned there. “I appreciate what you did, but you heard what she said. That’s just how it is. You can’t draw a sword on every bloke that fondles a maid in a place like this. Everyone’ll think you’re barmy.”

Yuuri stood quietly, wondering what to say. It wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.

_What were you trying to be? Her knight in shining armour, without the armour? No one here wanted a hero to come marching in, trying to save the day. No one but you._

“I was just trying to help,” he told her quietly. “You said – ”

“I know what I said. I know what you said, too. Do you think it matters? As long as we’re here, this is what we have to put up with. I don’t expect to stay for the rest of my life, and I don’t suppose you do, either. Bloke as strong as you, and good with a sword, there must be better jobs you can get. How did you end up here, anyway?”

“Um, it’s a long story.”

“Tell me when we’ve got some time then, eh?” She finished her drink, put her cup in the sink, and walked toward the door. “But thanks anyway,” she said, pausing as she passed him. “I know you meant well.” Then she vanished into the main room.

Yuuri rested his hands on the counter. _I can’t do anything right, can I? I don’t belong here. How did this even happen? Why – _

“Yuuri?” came the ghost of a whisper. He stood quickly and glanced around, seeing no one. Then he realised.

Phichit. With being so busy, and then everything that had happened, he’d forgotten that he’d left his com on and that his friend had been listening.

“You’re still there,” Yuuri said, stealing into the scullery.

“Of course I am. I said I would be. Are you OK to talk?”

“I am now.”

There was a sigh. “Jeez, Yuuri. I can’t believe what I’ve been hearing. That woman you work for – how can you stand it? And then that jack who attacked the girl – and then they told you off for it – and then she – ”

“I know, I was there.”

“Well, yeah. But, jeez.”

“I don’t know how I’ve been putting up with it, either. I don’t think I can manage much more of it, but I need a plan for how to get back to the castle. Just marching back – well, riding my horse back – would be risking my life; I daren’t think what kind of punishment the baron would decide on for me.” He ran a hand across his forehead. “I landed myself in the shit. How I could’ve fucked things up like this?”

“Did you really threaten that jack with a sword, though?”

Yuuri paused. “Well, yes.”

“Like, you were going to stab him or something if he didn’t let the girl go?”

“I don’t know about stabbing. But I would’ve thought of something to make him stop.”

“Wow. I’ve got to say, if I needed a bodyguard, you’d be my first choice.”

Yuuri shook his head. “What are you like. Look, I’ve got to get back to work. It’ll probably be late when I go to bed.”

“Sure, Yuuri. I just wish I could do more.”

“It’s OK. I…I guess listening helps.”

They ended the call, with Phichit wishing him a good end to the night, though they both knew how ridiculous that sounded.

Yuuri wondered what Victor would think of it all. His mission, the choices he’d made, how he’d ended up here.

It was some time before he felt ready to leave the scullery and go serve beer. 


	32. Chapter 32

The following day, he woke with a shiver under his blanket, even though he’d worn his medieval clothes, as he usually did, as proof against the cold. Before he went downstairs, he put his modern coat on. Sluggish in mind and body after the previous night, he downed a tankard of thin beer and said brief good mornings to Daisy and Jan. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that thoughts weren’t coming easily to him. Sometimes they only made things worse.

It was a quiet day for once, so after he assisted Sally with some laundry, he was allowed to help Jan in the kitchen. They were almost out of barley flour, and Jan suggested to Jacob that Yuuri might fetch him a sackful from the mill, since he’d have no trouble carrying it back on his shoulder. He knew that Yuuri appreciated an opportunity to get out of the building, and that Jacob usually acceded to reasonable requests like this, while Posy was more apt to ask questions and put up an argument, her sharp little eyes glaring. Yuuri thanked him and left, though he wished he had an extra coat to wear on top of his own when the cutting breeze blew. He took a detour to visit Lady, who still looked fit and healthy, and wondered when he’d be able to ride her out of here. Selling her would be as good as admitting he was stuck here, and he was determined not to let that happen.

The mill he’d been told to visit was on the Ouse, and he got a clear view from the riverbank of the two castles to the south, further down the hill. It was no less amazing to him now than in 2121 to see grand edifices like these, and the minster, and imagine them being built with the primitive tech available at this time. There was no mystery to it, though. He’d seen people on wooden scaffolds with chisels and trowels and buckets of mortar; seen heavy stones and thick wooden beams lifted by ropes and pulleys. With little thought for the safety of the workers, Yuuri guessed such jobs must have been among the most dangerous; and builders were working around the town even today, with ice coating stone and street.

He wondered, as he watched a ship sail south between the castles, what those places were like inside. If they were similar to Crowood, with gatehouses and courtyards, great halls and kitchens filled with the scents of roasting meat or fish, herbs and spices, baking bread. If knights in plate armour and nobles in houppelandes and outrageous hats and shoes roamed their halls.

Yuuri felt a sudden wave of longing, and he realised he _missed _the castle, despite all the nonsense that went on there. People lived out their lives there, too – strove, and fought…and loved. And yet it seemed as much of an unreachable world from where he was standing now as it had when he toured the ruins of castles in his own time and tried to picture what they’d been like from the crumbling stones that remained.

Once he’d bought the heavy sack of flour, he slung it over a shoulder and carried it back to the pub, his breath steaming out in puffs. The main room, he noticed as he went through into the kitchen, was about a third full of guests who had come for supper, while Jan was busy preparing bread and pottage.

“Ah, John, thank you. Just leave the sack in the corner there for now. The mistress and master said they wanted you to serve the guests when you got back. But I’m sure they can spare a moment while you have your own meal first.”

“Kind of them,” Yuuri muttered, picking up a piece of flat bread. With a sudden idea, he sliced some cheese and laid it on top, then diced a strip of bacon, which he sprinkled on. Feeling in a gourmet mood now, while Jan watched curiously, he minced a clove of garlic and added that, along with a scattering of dried herbs. “Mind if I put this on an oven shelf?”

“Help yourself. I like the look of that combination. Maybe I’ll try it later.”

After five minutes on the hot stone near the fire, Yuuri’s supper was bubbling, and he removed it and talked with Jan as he ate, sharing some of his bread and paying little heed when Posy appeared briefly in the doorway to tell him to get his arse moving. But eventually he decided he’d better do as he’d been instructed, and joined Daisy to serve the guests in the main room.

“Take your time,” she told him as they filled tankards at the bar. “It ain’t busy today.”

Stepping his usual working pace down a notch, Yuuri took a good look at the guests. They were bundled in layers and hoods, though the ones sitting near the fire had removed theirs and placed them in heaps on the bench beside them. A group of clerics, probably monks. Two families with children. It was unusual for such people to choose an ale-house to stay at, but it happened.

His attention was particularly drawn to an adult man and woman, each wearing a brown wool cape, and an older man who might have been their father. His green hood was pulled over his head, but a network of wrinkles lined his face, as well as blotchy red patches that were nevertheless clean and whole-looking; scars, perhaps. They extended across his eyelids, which drooped, while he gazed blankly ahead even as he ate his bread; and Yuuri realised he was blind. A pair of wooden crutches leaned against the table next to him. Stifling a gasp, Yuuri saw only one foot on the floor, one leg extending from the bench. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the man to leave him in such a state.

Telling himself not to be rude, and to mind his own business, he carried on with his work. But since the Maltbys were nowhere to be seen, and things were slow, he eventually decided to try to strike up a conversation with the group.

“Have you travelled far?” he asked once the woman had given him an order for more drinks. He held a round wooden tray, wedged against his side, on which he’d gathered empty tankards, and gave a pleasant smile.

“Four days from Huddersfield,” the woman replied as if it had been a wearisome trek. “It only ought to take half that time, but with _him _along…” She tilted her head briefly toward the old man across the table from her, and let her words trail off.

“Um. Is this the end of your journey, then?”

“Thank God, yes. We’re dropping him at St. Leonard’s.”

By “him”, she seemed to be referring to the old man again. “Is that a church?” Yuuri asked.

“It’s an hospital what caters for old people and idiots. Costly it is, too, but needs must.” She sniffed and took a bite of bread. “Aintcha got some proper white bread here? This stuff’s as dark as a blackamoor.”

Yuuri stared in astonishment.

“It’s very well baked,” the man next to her spoke for the first time, apparently reading Yuuri’s silence as offence at the insult to the food. “Go on, eat it, Edith,” he muttered grumpily. “It don’t taste bad.”

“That ain’t the issue. It’s how they think guests such as ourselves don’t deserve anything better.” She flashed a defiant glare at Yuuri, while the man’s cheeks pinked and he looked down at the table as if he wished he could be anywhere else.

“I’ll go see what we’ve got in the kitchen,” Yuuri forced himself to say politely, turning and disappearing there.

_Idiots – I think she meant people with learning disabilities; that’s what some people used to call them. And a blackamoor. She thinks she’s being treated like she’s from a low class because I gave her brown bread. _He pressed his lips together tightly. Then he recalled the silent old man travelling with them, and despite knowing almost nothing about him, Yuuri’s heart went out to him. He wondered if it might be possible to speak with him, or if his condition precluded even that.

After sourcing some bread from Jan that was slightly lighter in colour, Yuuri brought it out to Edith, who grudgingly accepted it while letting it be known that she was still not content. The man again apologised, and made a show of how delicious he thought his own bread was, which to Yuuri felt equally cringeworthy. He went to stand beside the old man and said gently, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Don’t fuss over him,” Edith said. “He’s had food and drink.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind another pint of ale,” the man said calmly, finding the handle of his tankard and holding it up for Yuuri to take.

“Now don’t you go getting inebriated before we’ve even got you to the hospital,” Edith scolded him.

“The drink’s not that strong,” the man next to her said. “Just lay off, will you?”

“Well I ain’t paying.”

“Where do you think the money comes from? I’ll pay.” He slapped a copper coin down on the table and looked up at Yuuri with a mixture of defiance and embarrassment.

Yuuri took the coin without comment. “I’ll, uh…just get that ale, then.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jacob walk in, heading for the bar. Suddenly he had an idea. “If you have any complaints, or any other feedback you’d like to give about your experience here today, that man there is the proprietor,” he said, his smile more genuine now. “He’s always happy to listen. I’m sure he’d be very interested to hear your thoughts about the bread. In fact, he loves talking with the guests. You should tell him.”

He went to the cellar to fetch a tankard of their best ale, which was not what any of them had been drinking; and upon returning to the main room, the corners of his mouth turned up when he saw Edith in heated discussion with a flustered Jacob Maltby behind the bar, her husband or brother or whoever he was having joined them, though he was quietly examining the casks next to him.

“Your ale, sir,” Yuuri said as he arrived at the table, which was now unoccupied except for the old man. “Your companions seem to be busy. Do you mind if I join you for a moment?”

“The company’s welcome.” He gestured for Yuuri to sit, and he did so on the other side of the table from him.

_Oh god. I’m so bad at this. What do I say now?_

“Thanks for getting them two out of my hair for a few minutes.” The man continued to stare ahead into nothing while he spoke, but his voice was warm and conversational.

“What makes you think that was what I was trying to do?”

The man simply laughed, and Yuuri eventually joined in. “You mustn’t like your master much, to send them his way.”

“The mistress is worse,” Yuuri muttered with a smile as the man picked up his tankard and took a sip of ale.

“Great God almighty, them’s good suds. This ain’t what you gave me before.”

“There was some going spare.” Yuuri glanced over at the bar. The three were still busy.

“I appreciate it.”

“So are they relatives of yours?”

“Yes, for my sins. Edith’s my daughter, and Herbert’s her husband. My wife, God rest her soul, spoilt her from when she were a bairn, and I let her. More fool me. Ain’t been a day of peace in t’house since.”

Yuuri thought about this. “And they’re taking you to a hospital here? I thought they were for sick people.”

“Well as you’ve rightly observed, I ain’t sick. But I don’t know where you’re getting this idea of sick people in an hospital from, unless you’re thinking of lepers, and that ain’t one of my troubles at least. St. Leonard’s is the biggest hospital around; it’s next to the minster. You must’ve seen it, unless you’re new here.”

“I am. Are you going there to live, then?” Yuuri caught himself. “Sorry, I guess these are personal questions.”

“Ask away, my lad. It’s good to have someone to talk to besides that family of mine. To answer your question, yes, they’re unburdening themselves of me there.” He took another sip of ale, and lowered his voice as he said, “I guess I can’t blame them. I’m not much use to anyone anymore, and they’ll look after me at the hospital, I hope. No one there to call insults at me or make the evil eye when I pass by, though I don’t have to see them do it leastways.” He seemed lost in his thoughts and added nothing further.

Emboldened by his invitation to talk, Yuuri said, “Do you mind if I ask what happened to you? Were you, um, in an accident?”

After a pause, the man replied, “Ten year ago. I were delivering grain from our farm to the tithe barn. It were an ’ot dry summer, you see, and someone left a candle burning too close to some sacks of grain. Before I know’d it, everything inside were flaming like a torch. Three men were killed, and others such as myself were injured. I lost my sight, and my leg were so bad they had to cut it off.”

“Jesus,” was all Yuuri could think to say.

“I understand the scarring’s bad, too. I don’t think about it much, but I know how people react. Still,” he said, injecting a lighter tone to his voice that didn’t quite seem to fit, “God in his wisdom must’ve saved me for something. I’m still trying to figure out what it is. I were hoping you might be able to tell me about that hospital; I never been before.”

Yuuri was resting a hand over his mouth, wondering at the life this man must lead. “I didn’t even ask your name.”

“Henry Jago at your service. I’m a cordwainer, or used to be. Well, I still am. But I can’t make shoes fast enough anymore to earn a living from it.”

“You’re a shoemaker?”

“All my life. I just need a bit of help now. And more patience. I still make ’em for family and friends. But I guess you can understand where Edith’s coming from. I ain’t earning my keep, haven’t been since the fire.” He leaned forward and added in a conspiratorial tone tinged with frustration, “I can still do things. Help prepare food and cook it, fetch water, help wash. But Edith don’t let me most of the time. Says she’s embarrassed that her father’s doing women’s work. So what if it is? It’s important.”

“Quite right.”

“It were my own idea to go to the hospital. I think the only reason they didn’t send me sooner was that they’d have to pay. Edith, says I, I’ll be out of your hair and no more trouble to you. Then you both can get on with your lives and not worry about me, and so on, and so on. Well, I finally persuaded her. Can’t say as I’ll miss that damp smoky little house where I get a tongue-lashing from my own daughter too many times a day to count.” He seemed to have fallen into a stride with his story, playing with his fingers and tilting his head slightly upwards as he thought. “I hope things’ll be better at St. Leonard’s. I tell you what – I’m dreading having to go to mass three times a day, though.”

“Three times?” Yuuri echoed, aghast.

Henry Jago chuckled. “Can’t be helped, I suppose. These establishments are all run by the Church. And who knows – a bit of soul-saving prayer might not go amiss.”

“Oi, you, I ain’t paying you to sit here and pass the time of day with the guests.” Yuuri recognised Posy’s voice, and he turned to speak to her when Henry jumped in first.

“My good lady, don’t begrudge this lad a few minutes of his time to humour an old man. Business is hardly brisk tonight, from the sound of it. And anyway, if I were you, I’d find out what my two companions are telling your husband over there; I think there was a bit of a fuss.”

“Oh? About what?”

“My daughter was displeased with something about the food.”

“Oh.” Yuuri watched her march off to join Jacob, Edith and Herbert at the bar. Daisy, who was waiting on the other tables, glanced at him and smiled.

“Anyway, here I am, blithering about myself,” Henry continued. “It ain’t an easy life, and getting around can be a business. Takes two or three times longer to do everything than it used to. But I manage. Now – how about you? You ain’t told me your name either.”

“I…” Yuuri thought for a moment, then leaned in and spoke in a quiet voice, after looking around to make sure no one else was in hearing distance. “I’ve gone by a few names here, but my real one is Yuuri. I’m from a long way away. I…I panicked and ran away from where I was before I came here, even…” He sighed. Why was he telling Henry this? Maybe because he felt he’d keep the confidence, and then someone else here would know and understand, if only just a little. “Even though there were – are – people depending on me. I wasn’t sure how to fulfil their expectations. And now I don’t know how I can go back.”

“Hmm.” Henry rubbed at his stubbled chin. “I didn’t think you sounded much like an ale-house boy. You seem an educated gent to me. Wouldn’t these people you left want to see you again? Is it a family? Children?”

“No, nothing like that.” Yuuri bit his lip. “It’s hard to explain. They’re going to think I’m a coward for running away, and I’ll probably be punished. There are other ways my life would be in danger, too. But if I don’t go back, I’ll be ignoring some important responsibilities. And, um…” He huffed a small laugh. “You’re right, I can’t see a career as an ale-house boy in my future, either.”

“Sounds a right pickle and no mistake, Yuuri. I ain’t never heard a name like that before. Where’s it from?”

“A place called Japan. I doubt you’ll have heard of that either,” he said with a smile while trying to remember what it had been called at this time in history, but it eluded him.

“Well, Yuuri from Japan, tell me this – what will the consequences be if you carry on ignoring these important responsibilities?”

He looked down and swallowed. “People could die.”

“So you could die, or they could die. What’s the worst choice between the two?”

_Victor. Anyone else Ailis victimises while she’s here. For all I know, countless people in the future, if she changes it._

“When you put it like that,” Yuuri said, looking up at him, “you make it sound so simple.”

There was a pause. Then Henry said pointedly, “Well – is it?”

* * *

“I’m going back, Phichit.”

“Back where – to the castle?”

Yuuri was leaning against the wall at the side of his bed, staring into the fire. “Yes.”

“In disguise?”

“Yes. As Justin.”

“I wouldn’t call that a disguise, though I suppose it is, really. But didn’t you say they might kill you if you went back? And that you were afraid of having more anxiety attacks?”

Yuuri gave a small sigh. “Yes. But those are chances I’ll have to take. As far as the anxiety goes, I’ve been managing it for years. When it starts to get on top of me again, I’ll try to remind myself to…I don’t know, maybe remove myself from the situation without travelling to the next city. Or not fly into a panic, and remember that ‘this too shall pass’ – a counsellor once told me that, and it’s hard to do, but maybe it gets easier with practice.” He got the feeling he was saying these things mostly to bolster his own courage, and paused a moment. “And maybe…maybe I’ll be able to convince the baron I’m sorry for what I did and that I don’t intend to do it again. Maybe someone will put in a good word for me. They might understand about me being distraught after Tyler’s challenge; I’m not sure.”

“You never thought they would before.”

“I know.”

“Then there’s that duel to the death.”

“That’s not something I’m going to forget about any time soon.”

“Celestino and I kind of need you not to be killed.” It was said with a note of irony, but Yuuri recognised the seriousness underneath.

“Believe me, I’m not keen on that either. I know my mission is important. But that’s one reason why I have to go back. Ailis is at the castle, she’s got to be. And I have to be there with her, if I’m going to stand a chance of catching her.”

“_One_ reason why you have to go back?”

“Well…I also made promises that I’ve been breaking. I have to try to fix that.”

“Yuuri, you’re not still hoping to change Victor’s death date, are you?” When Yuuri didn’t reply, he added, “We talked about that – ”

“I know. But what if you found out something like that about someone you…you cared about? I can’t let it happen if it’s in my power to stop it, Phichit. I won’t.”

There was a long pause. Then Phichit said, “Well that’s your choice to make. You just, um, you sound very certain about what you want to do all of a sudden. Did something happen to cause that?”

Yuuri blinked and stared at the fire. “I guess you could say I met someone who helped me put my own problems into perspective.”

* * *

He went to the market first thing in the morning, buying kitchen supplies for Jan, but also hoping to find a few treats to send with Henry. Yuuri had spoken with him a while longer the previous night before Edith and Herbert had returned; they had been plied with drink by Jacob and Posy until the woman seemed to have forgotten why she’d been rankled in the first place. Out of curiosity, Yuuri had asked Henry how shoes were made, and what his job had been like in the past, and what kinds of styles people tended to want. He had names for the extremely pointy ones now: Crakows and poulaines; and they both shared a laugh about them before Posy had ordered him back to work. But not before he was informed that Henry and his family were setting out for St. Leonard’s in the morning.

They were at a table drinking beer when Yuuri returned from the market. Hardly any of the guests ever ate breakfast, unless they had the money for the extra meal and needed the energy for a long walk, but Edith seemed to like her creature comforts. With a start, Yuuri saw a ceramic hand warmer on the table next to her. It was the first he’d seen since the one he’d shared with Victor, which he’d left in his room at the castle.

“I hope you all had a good night’s sleep,” he said by way of greeting as he approached.

“Well no, now that you ask,” Edith answered. “My mattress – ”

“Ah good,” Yuuri spoke blithely over her. “I thought you might enjoy these on your journey today.” He produced the small basket he’d been carrying. “Freshly baked white bread rolls. Courtesy of the Maltbys.”

Edith and Herbert half-stood and stared at the contents, looking pleasantly surprised. That gift had come from the money Posy had given him to take to market. What he had for Henry, however, he’d bought himself, and he wanted to get him away from the other two before he gave it. Thinking of a way to do it was proving difficult, however, until Henry came to his aid.

“Well, my lad, if you intend to stay awhile here in the city, I’d like to make you a pair of shoes, if it’s all right by you. I’ve brought all my tools with me.” He lifted a leather bag on the floor next to him. “They’re coming with me to the hospital. I daresay there might be a few people there in want of a good pair.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense. You’re the first person I’ve had a decent conversation with in ages. I been a bit worried about going to that hospital, truth be told, but it’s kind folk such as yourself who can put a bloke at ease and remind him there’s goodness in the world. And besides, judging from the clomp of them boots you wear, you could do with a good soft, comfy pair of indoor shoes. I just need to measure you up.” He began to reach inside his bag.

“Um, why don’t we go to a table of our own, so we don’t disturb your companions here.” Yuuri turned to Edith. “Won’t be a moment.” He saw her take a bread roll and bite into it, with Herbert following suit, as Henry took his crutches and then followed him to a table across the room. There was a scattering of guests at other tables, and little danger of being overheard by Henry’s relatives here, as he sat down on the bench and the older man settled next to him.

“Have you got room for these?” Yuuri whispered, placing a small sack in his hands. “Custard tarts. I thought you could take them to the hospital with you.”

A grin lit up Henry’s face. “Oh my dear boy, I can’t remember the last time I ate one of these. You’re too kind.”

“They’re not exactly shoes,” Yuuri laughed as Henry carefully placed the sack inside his leather bag.

“Speaking of that, take them boots off and let’s get your feet measured.”

Yuuri did so, keeping half an eye out for the Maltbys in case they wanted to tell him off for shirking again. He also noted with interest that the tape measure Henry uncoiled was a thin soft leather strap with notches cut into the side at regular intervals. He counted these with his fingers while he held the strap against his feet; and when Yuuri asked him if he needed something to record the measurements with, he was impressed to hear that Henry always committed such things to memory.

“It were a bit tricky in the heyday of my career, mind you,” he said, “but not so hard now. Yours is the first order I’ve taken in a while. By the by, I’ve got some pieces of leather in my bag – fancy choosing which you want?” He drew out a stack of squares of different colours and thicknesses, and Yuuri ran his fingers along them, feeling he hardly deserved such generosity, though he had every intention of paying for the shoes when they were done.

“_Are _you staying in the city, Yuuri?” Henry asked.

“You’d better call me John,” he said. “If certain people found out who I really am, I…well, it wouldn’t be good, though I don’t suppose there’s much risk here.”

“I like saying your name. It’s musical, almost.”

Yuuri paused and looked at him. “Thank you. And, um, I don’t intend to stay here in York, no. But I won’t be far away. The place I came from is Crowood Castle, and I’ve decided to trust to luck and go back.”

“A castle?” Henry echoed in surprise. “Don’t tell me you was serving drinks there.”

Yuuri chuckled. “No. I had them served to me. I was a knight.”

Henry sucked in a breath. “Sweet mother a’mercy. You’re fooling with me.”

“No, it’s the truth. Another knight challenged me to a duel to the death, and no one thought I could beat him. I didn’t think so, either. So, um, like I said, I panicked. But I’m going to go back and train, if they’ll let me, and hope I stand a chance.”

Henry huffed and shook his head. “It’s a funny old world. But good on you, son. I tell you what. Give ’im hell, Yuuri. Then come see me at St. Leonard’s, and get your shoes, and we’ll swap stories of our adventures.”

Yuuri stared at him; and when a smile appeared under the hood, Yuuri laughed and promised he would. 

* * *

_Henry remembers all his customers’ shoe sizes. A bunch of numbers. I can’t even remember a simple shopping list._

Yuuri pulled the collar of his coat closer around his neck as he walked quickly down the streets back to the Shambles market. While he’d remembered all the food supplies that Jan needed, Posy’s skeins of wool had slipped his mind. But they weren’t exactly required for the running of the ale-house, and he couldn’t see why she didn’t just go and get them herself. He’d been tempted to tell her as much while she lit into him for his omission, but eventually he decided to simply leave the building and get it over with. Though he was regretting not having gone to his room for his hat. The tops of his ears were starting to feel numb from the cold.

Strange how saying goodbye to Henry that morning had felt like losing a friend. They’d known each other less than a day. But Yuuri had found him compelling. He wasn’t sure he’d fare as well in such a situation, and didn’t want to try to imagine it. It amazed him that the older man was still able to make shoes, though perhaps it shouldn’t. People with disabilities in modern times were given whatever support they needed. _Support _being the operative word. There were no restorative medical procedures here, no tech; and from what he’d seen of them, Edith and Herbert would be a nightmare to live with. No wonder Henry had decided to live somewhere else. Yuuri wondered when he’d be able to return here to visit him at the hospital. That was assuming he’d have his life and his freedom to do so. 

_You’ve made your decision. What will be, will be. Don’t give yourself another anxiety attack about it._

The usual noises of the market soon reached his ears, as traders bundled in layers and hats hawked their wares. Passing the tall white stone pillar with steps circling its base and a cross at the top which marked the site of the market in traditional fashion, he spotted the haberdashery stall he was in search of and headed toward it.

Before reaching it, however, he came to a standstill as sounds of a commotion came from around the corner. The clop of hoofs, shouts, some kind of trumpet. They didn’t have parades in these days, did they? Had some kind of public event been scheduled? But as he glanced around, Yuuri saw many other bemused faces as people turned in curiosity toward the road from the north that he knew in modern times as Silver Street. The trumpet blasts grew steadily louder.

Finally, a boy dressed in the finery of a page from a castle, with fur robes and bright green hose that tapered to points at the feet, emerged with the crude-looking brass instrument at his lips, followed by a small retinue of noble-looking men on horseback and on foot. Rich cloaks and sleeves that trailed heavily, embroidered gloves, chaperons and fur-trimmed hoods, all of it exuded wealth. A horse at the back of the procession was being led by two men; Yuuri caught an initial glimpse of a shining white coat with black polka dots. He’d seen a horse like that at the castle stables; they were beautiful animals. But on closer inspection, he observed that a person was draped over the saddle face up, with ropes lashing them in place.

“What the hell?” he breathed.

“Looks like they’ve caught a criminal,” a woman next to him commented, sounding keenly interested.

With their slight build, the prisoner looked like a woman or a child. Even on such a cold day, they’d been left with nothing but rags as clothing; Yuuri couldn’t tell from this angle whether they even had shoes on their feet. Arms and legs and face were smeared with mud, the pale skin underneath like marble. Short fair hair. Were they still alive, or were these men bringing a corpse into the middle of town?

Yuuri watched in horrified fascination as the procession neared, the page once again blasting on the trumpet. The surrounding crowd gave way as the first of the horses reached the market cross.

_A familiar-looking horse. This slip of a person. There’s something familiar about this. What is it? _His skin began to crawl as he wracked his brain for the information that eluded him.

A hand pulled him backward by his coat so that he, too, made way. And as the dappled horse passed before him, its helpless passenger staring upside-down with terrified green eyes, Yuuri gasped as he finally recognised who it was.

Julius. 


	33. So Lost in You (Part 5)

A man with curling black hair down to his shoulders and a tidy beard and moustache came to stand at the side of the page near the market cross. His luxuriant brown fur cape hung down to his calves, and he had a matching hat pulled down to his ears. Looking around as the horse Julius was roped to was led to him, he pulled off his black velvet gloves and prepared to address the swelling crowd. Yuuri rushed toward him before he began, but another man in front of him quickly drew a sword, halting his progress.

“What’s happening here?” Yuuri demanded.

“Take him off the horse and keep him trussed,” the man said to the others nearby, and they began to untie Julius, who watched their actions silently. Then the man turned back to Yuuri and asked in a voice that contained both contempt and mild amusement, “Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yuuri replied. “Why have you got that boy tied up? Do you know who he is?” When there was no immediate answer, he added, looking around, “Tell me what’s going on.”

The man chuckled. “I doubt you have the authority to give orders to me or anyone else, churl. Go to, be off with you.”

Yuuri began to move forward again, only to have the sword brandished at him. “That’s Julius, Sir Victor Nikiforov’s squire. Where’s Sir Victor? Does he know what you’re doing?”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” the man said dismissively as the wobbly Julius was helped to stand. He was wearing a rough sack with holes cut for arms and the bottom cut off for his legs, with a rope tied around his waist. Patches of dark mud clung to his pale skin. Yuuri was relieved to see he still had boots on his feet, but it was precious little clothing in the cold, and the boy was shivering, green eyes flitting to and fro – and then they alit on him.

“Justin!” he cried; but two men had a secure grip on him, and he was still bound by the ropes.

“You see? He knows me,” Yuuri said. “Why – ”

“I said get back and leave us in peace,” the man replied. “If you create a public disturbance, I’ll have you arrested.”

“But – ” Yuuri was silenced by the point of the sword poked at his face. He could draw his own, of course, but he would be no match for all of these men, and so he hung back in frustration even as Julius struggled, his spirit seemingly rekindled upon recognising him.

“Who is that?” Yuuri asked a woman in a wimple standing next to him, tilting his head at the one who’d ordered him away.

“That’s Master Dalrymple, the sheriff,” she replied in a low voice. “You don’t want to go bothering him or his men. They’ve caught a criminal and are taking him to be punished.”

Yuuri gasped. “What are they going to do to him? He’s just a boy! And he’s the squire of Baron Nikiforov’s son!”

“You must have him mistaken for someone else; looks like an evil little ragamuffin to me. Probably been pilfering from somebody, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but the page blew another blast on his trumpet, and then the sheriff said in the loud, smooth voice of someone who was used to public speaking, “Good people of this fair city, it is with the deepest sorrow that I present to you to this criminal who has been living in our midst.” He gestured to the men who were holding Julius, and they dragged him forward. There was a murmur throughout the crowd, and Dalrymple continued, “Do not let his humble appearance fool you. This is a cunning beggar and thief who preys upon the innocent as they travel over road and through wood. I caught him attempting to filch my coin purse while I was returning home with my men. What would you have me do with this villainous knave?”

To Yuuri’s horror, loud jeers poured from the crowd, as well as enthusiastic suggestions from men and women, young and old.

“Hang him!”

“Stretch his neck!”

“The whipping-post!”

“Chain him up in the dungeon!”

“Put him in the pillory!”

Julius blinked, and Yuuri was certain he could see tears silently slipping down his cheeks. He surged forward, though he met with the sword point again. “There’s been a mistake,” he said urgently. “I don’t know how you came across him. But he’s Sir Victor’s squire – was he travelling with his master? If not, release him into my care, and – ”

“I told you,” the sheriff growled, approaching him until they were eye to eye, “I found him in the woods trying to rob me.” His gaze travelled over Yuuri. “Who are you, who dare to be so bold?”

“I’m Sir Justin Courtenay, knight of the Nikiforovs,” Yuuri announced, a fire leaping within him. “And I demand you let this squire go. He’s not a thief.”

A chorus of laughs encircled him, from the sheriff and his men as well as the crowd. “The serving boy and the beggar, with delusions immensely beyond their stations. I ought to teach you a lesson after I’ve seen to this fellow, but you amuse me more than my lord’s jester.” More quietly, so that only Yuuri could hear, he added, “One more word out of you, jack my lad, and I’ll have your head on a spike.” Then he gestured for his men to follow him and the page, and they headed down the street.

Heart racing, Yuuri followed. Julius was prodded by his guards to move, and his black and white horse was led away. The crowd continued to bay while Yuuri was swept along with them, keeping the boy in his sights.

They hadn’t gone far before they stopped at a church Yuuri recognised as St. Crux. And with a shudder, he realised where they were: Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma Gate. That was what the short street was called in modern times. People laughed; tourists came to take photos. Because here in 1393 – as was plain to see now – stood the city’s whipping post and pillory.

Yuuri fought through the crowd to get a better view. Where _was _Victor? But the two of them combined would still be far outnumbered – and it was probably not advisable to attack a city’s sheriff. Yet he couldn’t just stand here and watch Julius be harmed and possibly killed. His hand remained poised over the hilt of his sword, even though he knew that drawing it would be foolhardy.

“Since you’re such a lively gathering,” the sheriff announced, “my judgement is that this criminal will be put in the pillory for three days and nights, left to your goodly judgement. Do what you will to him during that time, to teach him the error of his ways.” With a wave of his hand, his men opened the pillory and untied Julius, then forced him over to the wooden contraption, where he stood with his head resting at the bottom of the main hole, his hands on either side. The top was slammed down and fastened shut, and the sheriff said to the crowd, “My men and I will take our leave. Allow us to depart and then have at it, my good law-abiding folk.” He made a bow and then went on his way, his men following with Julius’s horse.

“Let him out – he’s innocent!” Yuuri shouted, trying to shove his way forward, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd, who had begun throwing objects at Julius: vegetables, liquids, and what looked like dung off the streets. Julius screwed his eyes shut, wrestling uselessly to free himself, his face a picture of pain and misery. A tear trickled down Yuuri’s own cheek to see it, and he redoubled his efforts, although a guard was standing nearby.

“Let me through, damn it, let me – ”

“Here, stop that!” a burly man he was trying to plough past turned and grumbled. “You ain’t supposed to touch ’em, and you can’t release ’em – only the sheriff’s allowed to do that.” He gave Yuuri a shove with his shoulder. “Clear off. He deserves what he gets.”

“He’s the baron’s – ” Yuuri began to protest, but he was interrupted again.

“I don’t care if he’s the baron’s lap dog. Though I can’t see how anyone like that could possibly be a squire, any more than you could be a knight. You’re mad, you are. Now piss off.”

Julius cried out again, and the guard menaced his sword at someone in the crowd. “No glass or ceramic, no stones, nothing hard – you know the rules. Now mind.”

_I can’t stand here and let them do this. _Yuuri was filled with the desire to march straight up to Julius’s wooden prison, pull it to pieces, and carry him away if he could.

_Think, think, think – what can I do?_

Then the spark of an idea ignited his brain, and he turned and ran.

* * *

“Who did you say you were again?” The helmeted guard outside the castle gate eyed Yuuri.

“Sir Justin Courtenay, son of Baron Courtenay. I need to speak with your master.” He assumed he ranked well above the person he was addressing in the feudal hierarchy, and had tried to look the part by projecting Victor’s blue houppelande and hose underneath a rich fur cape, complete with the black chaperon that went with it. He wished he’d thought of doing so at the market before he’d spoken with the sheriff, but everything had happened so quickly that the possibility hadn’t occurred to him. Well, he would do his best to make up for it now. Assuming that someone of authority must be here, he’d raced across the city and approached the main castle.

“’Tis a strange request, sir, if you don’t mind my saying. Are you here by yourself?” Yuuri nodded. “I hope you weren’t expecting his grace to be here. If you had an appointment, then – ”

“Who is this person?” came a voice from the gatehouse corridor behind the guard, and a man with a blond beard and wearing sumptuous furs approached, his pointy-toed hose matching Yuuri’s in style, though they were red. He spoke in a bored drawl, and when he held his hand up in what appeared to be an idle gesture of faintly annoyed curiosity, many rings glittered.

Yuuri repeated the information, and said he’d come on an urgent mission to speak to someone who was in charge of the law in the city.

“That would be Sheriff Dalrymple, since his grace the duke is presently away. I am his steward, the authority here until he returns. Pray, what is this urgent mission?”

Yuuri told him about the sheriff appearing at the marketplace with Julius, and how he was sure a grave error had been made. “Sir Victor must be looking for him, and when he discovers what’s happened – ”

The steward’s brow wrinkled. “You say this mud-besmeared slip of a lad in sacking is a squire? I don’t see how Dalrymple could possibly make such a mistake.”

“Hasn’t – hasn’t Victor ever come here?” Yuuri ventured, assuming aristocrats visited each other. “You must’ve seen him – ”

The man gave an impatient wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, the Nikiforovs have been here on a few occasions. We rarely have dealings with each other, however, and you can’t expect me to recall some squire who tagged along. I don’t know what you’re on about, sir, but I have no time to spend on contesting the sheriff’s decisions regarding a beggar, or whatever he is. Now, if you’ll excuse me – ”

“The duke – ” Yuuri jumped in. “ – where is he? When do you expect him back?”

“He’s gone hunting in the Dales to the west,” sighed the steward. “I expect he and his sons will be away for another week yet. Now I really must – ”

“The castle across the river, then,” Yuuri blurted, grabbing at any feasible possibility he could think of. “Who lives there?”

“It hasn’t been in proper use for over a hundred years, and is in the hands of the archbishop.” After a pause, the steward added, “He won’t overrule the sheriff, but you might get him to say a prayer for the soul of this ‘squire’ you’re so concerned with.” And with huff, he walked past Yuuri and was greeted not far away by a small group of official-looking people who obviously knew him well.

“I think that will be all,” the guard said to him with a steely glare. 

* * *

Yuuri returned to Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma Gate on his way back to The Black Dog, projecting his own simpler clothing so as not to stand out. The crowd had largely dispersed, though people were still hurling physical and verbal insults at Julius as they passed by. He was sickened by the way the lad was standing limply, head hanging, hardly appearing human underneath all the filth that had been pelted at him. The stones under his feet and the church wall behind him were also coated in it. The guard – a stout man with shaggy straw-coloured hair and beard, wearing a simple metal helmet – continued his vigil a short distance back, and he kept a close eye as Yuuri approached.

_Maybe I could overpower this jack. But there are a lot of people around. They might try to stop me, and then I’ll be a prisoner. I can’t help Julius if that happens._

“I just want to speak to him,” he said to the guard; and at the sound of the words, Julius looked up and saw him.

“Justin. J-Justin, oh god, get me out of here, please get me out, please – ”

“Quiet, you,” the guard grunted over the plaintive cries. To Yuuri he added, “It’s against the law to speak to the prisoner.”

“I don’t see what harm it could do.”

“Them’s my orders. You’d best be moving along.”

Yuuri took a closer look at the man. There was a flash in his hard blue eyes, and the suggestion of a sardonic smirk, that indicated he might be open to the right kind of persuasion. Deciding to take a chance, he fished in his purse for one of his final few precious coins and sidled up to the man, who instantly rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Just for a few minutes,” Yuuri wheedled in what he hoped was an enticing voice. “No one will notice.”

The guard looked offended for a moment, and Yuuri began to fear he’d made a mistake; but then his hand darted out and snatched the coin. “A few minutes,” he mumbled. “Make it quick.”

Yuuri hurried over to Julius and reached out to touch his face, ashamed of himself for the revulsion that churned through him. The boy was utterly filthy, caked in countless unidentifiable foul substances; the air was redolent with rotting vegetables and shit.

A sniffle issued from the lad, followed by a small sob. When Yuuri looked closely, he could see that Julius was shivering more violently than before. “Hey,” he said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out his handkerchief, “look up.”

Julius obeyed silently, and Yuuri wiped what he could from the pale tear-stained face, then folded the cloth and stuffed it back into his pocket.

“I…I…” The small, thin voice was made staccato by chattering teeth. “I thought you’d run away…that I’d n-never see you again.”

Yuuri gave a quick sigh, the confirmation of the opinion at the castle coming as no surprise, but biting all the same. “I’ve been here the whole time. Julius, were you with Victor? Is he – ”

“No,” the lad replied, obviously finding it hard to speak. There was a blue tinge to his lips. “H-He’s back at the c-castle. I…” He muttered something incomprehensible. Yuuri put a hand on his cheek, and saw those green eyes stare up at him. “I was h-h…” He swallowed and started again, a determined look flashing briefly in his eyes. “I was hunting. Minding my own business. Those men f-found me. Too many f-for me to fight. I guess I made them angry. Th-they robbed me…everything I had…and brought me here.” He sighed with the effort it had taken to say this, and hung his head again, his shoulders continuing to shake.

“The sheriff and his men robbed you?” Yuuri whispered in amazement.

“Fucking scabby curs,” was the faint reply, and Yuuri grinned at the Julius he remembered.

“They took your clothes and – and got you muddy? What – ”

“They wanted me to look like a beggar so no one’d b-believe I’m the master’s squire. No one here knows me well enough by s-sight.”

“Jesus.”

“W-where have you been?” He gave Yuuri a brief questioning glance.

“Serving ale at a place called The Black Dog.”

A rattle passed through Julius that might have been a laugh. “Fucking barmy.”

The guard was staring at them. Yuuri stared defiantly back, then returned his attention to Julius. “I wish I could give you my coat, or a shirt or something, but I don’t think they’d let me.” He added in a whisper, “I’ll come back for you. I just need a little time.”

Julius breathed out. “I’m n-not going anywhere.”

* * *

Yuuri ducked around the corner of the wood-timbered building beside him, hugging to the wall and the shadows as two men strolled past, barely discernible in the deep of night apart from the faint silver glimmer of moonlight on their helmets.

_Nightwalkers, _Yuuri thought, watching them as they went on their way. They didn’t carry lanterns. He hadn’t dared to either, trusting that the half-moon would remain uncovered by cloud and show enough to enable him to find his way. The leaning buildings were a jumbled black maze, and he was glad of his knowledge of the streets, though even that was unreliable at times in the shadows. Occasionally he passed a house with uneven shutters that spilled a thin yellow glow onto the street nearby, but it was the only artificial light to be seen; and these were few and far between, as the hour was late.

Finally he was nearing the church of St. Crux, its yellow walls washed a faint flat grey, tall windows black apart from the Gothic tracery woven through them like spider webs. As he approached Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma Gate, he could dimly make out the figure of Julius in the stocks, and his ears detected a faint groan and sniffle. He wondered how many hours the lad had been standing here crying while the guard looked on. There was no sign of the bloke now, though Yuuri continued to keep a cautious eye out as he crept forward.

He’d put his trainers on because they made less noise than his leather boots while he walked. His modern coat was useful in such situations as well, because it wasn’t bulky, which meant he could strap his sword belt around his waist on the outside, enabling him to draw his weapon faster. Not that he was hoping to do so. Stealth was what had got him past the nightwalkers to this street, and another bribe might do for the guard, if necessary. But there seemed to be no one around apart from Julius. Perhaps, he thought with a flutter of hope in his chest, they didn’t expect anyone to approach the prisoner in the middle of the night. He’d completed his work as usual at the ale-house and sat awake in his room, knowing his best chance at freeing Julius would come when everyone was asleep.

To be on the safe side, however, he lurked in the shadows between two buildings once the pillory was in view, and waited and watched. Finally, having seen and heard nothing, he hitched his bag on his shoulder, and with that and the tool he’d borrowed from the ale-house, trotted silently across the street. Soft, thin moans tumbled from Julius’s lips, but he didn’t look up, and Yuuri wondered at his state of mind after all this time, as well as his health, having stood out here in the cold wearing only a sack and a pair of boots. Putting the tool down and removing his bag, he pulled out his mustard-coloured cloak and stroked Julius’s face. It was as cold as stone.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “Julius, can you hear me?” His voice, though only a soft whisper, shattered the silence.

Julius moaned again, and Yuuri draped the cloak over his bent back. They were going to leave him like this for three days? If he wasn’t dead by then, he’d be close. “Bloody savages,” he murmured.

The sound of metal sliding against leather caused him to whirl around, and he spied a guard striding toward them. It was difficult to make his features out in the gloom, but when he spoke, Yuuri recognised the voice as belonging to the same person he’d bribed hours before.

“Seems a bloke can’t even go take a piss without someone trying to sneak up. Who the hell are you, and what are you doing with the prisoner?”

There was no crowd present to prevent Yuuri from attacking the guard this time, but there was also no predicting how good a fighter he was. “This boy is innocent,” he said. “It’s unjust and cruel to leave him here like this. Your own sheriff attacked him.”

“Who are you, turning up in the middle of the night to say such things? I’m putting you under arrest for suspicious behaviour. I do believe you intend to help this scrawny thing escape.”

“Then we understand each other. I was here earlier, having a word with Julius while you…pretended not to notice.”

There was a pause; then the guard said in a quieter voice, “Oh. The servant who claimed to be a knight.”

“That’s me,” Yuuri answered, somehow managing an air of confidence he did not feel. “I’m willing to make your co-operation worth your while again.” He reached into his purse and took out a silver penny, which he held up.

The guard chuckled mirthlessly. “A penny for me to let him go? Do you know what kind of punishment I’d face, even if I made up a good story?”

Yuuri took out three more pennies. “A day’s wages for me.”

“But not for me. I recall saying a moment ago you were under arrest. I don’t mind adding ‘attempted bribery’ to your list of crimes.”

_You hypocritical pillock. _“Fine. A shilling – and that’s my final offer.” He returned the pennies to his purse and took the coin out, holding it up. It was the only really valuable one he had left, worth three days’ wages, and it would be sorely parted with.

“Two pounds, or you can kiss your own freedom goodbye.”

Yuuri stared. Two pounds would buy a stick of chewing gum in his time – but in this, it was beyond the wildest dreams of a common labourer, even though he’d been spending similar amounts at the castle for items such as his armour before realising just how dear they were. He racked his brains for a solution that didn’t involve the two of them trying to kill each other – and then an idea struck him.

“I have something that might interest you more. Come over here, where the moon’s shining.”

“What you playing at? You think I was born yesterday?”

“Look.” He pulled something from his coat pocket. The guard approached but remained at a distance, sword raised. Yuuri lifted up the little notepad, then held it out and passed it over.

“What’s this?” the guard asked, flipping through the pages. What – is this writing?”

_He’s looking at the ale-house orders I jotted down, _Yuuri thought with an inner chuckle. “Yes. I did it with this.” He handed his ballpoint pen to the man. “You can see it’s too small to be a weapon.”

“What the…” the man whispered. He was squinting to see. “I can tell it’s letters, but I can’t read nor write, save for my own name.”

“What’s your name?”

“Thomas of Cowthorpe.”

Yuuri stuck his hand out, palm up, and Thomas bemusedly placed the pen and pad in it. With a quick scribble to get the ink running – thank goodness it still did – he turned to a blank page, peering carefully, and wrote the name in large bold letters, then gave the materials back.

“Sweet Jesu,” the guard said, sucking a breath in through his teeth. “How’d you do that? Is this magic?”

“Hardly.” Yuuri would have laughed if it hadn’t been for the limp form of Julius nearby, who was now completely silent. “Enjoy them. Now – ”

To his surprise, Thomas hastily pocketed the items and poked his sword at him again. “Fellow has something like that on him, stands to reason he has more. Tell me – what’s to stop me from taking everything you have?”

“You’re supposed to be the law in this city,” Yuuri couldn’t help saying, taking a step back and realising he’d underestimated the degree of avarice this man possessed. “_Are _any of you the law, or do you just use that as an excuse to do what you want?”

“You insolent knave,” Thomas growled. “I’ve had enough of you. Stand to, and turn out your pockets.”

“No,” Yuuri said, feeling something inside of him give way as he drew his sword, which glinted in the moonlight.

Thomas snorted, holding his own weapon steady. “Very well, if that’s the way you want it. They can find your dead body lying in the street, come morning.”

He lunged forward, and Yuuri blocked the blow, shoving him backward. With a snarl, Thomas came at him again, and a second time he parried. His blood raced as his feet danced and his muscles limbered up; soon he was delivering blows that the guard, with disbelief in his eyes, was defending against. Metal rang against metal, echoing down the empty streets, and before long, Yuuri sent his foe’s sword clattering to the ground, followed by the man himself, with a thud. He held his sword steady above the throat, thinking of Julius, of the corrupt men of this city, and the people who had condoned what they’d done, using the boy as target practice. And just for a moment, a small voice whispered inside his head that he could kill this man, now, and show what he thought of it all; carry out a bit of justice of his own, and ensure in the process that no one knew what had happened to Julius once free of his prison.

He wouldn’t do it, of course. But the very fact that the voice was _there _made Yuuri shudder. With a quiet gasp, he stepped back, though he did not lower his sword.

“I’m at your mercy,” Thomas huffed, holding a hand up in surrender. “Please. No more do I doubt your claim to be a knight. Spare me, I beg of you.”

Swallowing, Yuuri took a moment to calm himself and marshal his thoughts. “Get up,” he said firmly. “Take off your sword belt and drop it to the ground.” The guard obeyed. “Now give me one good reason why I shouldn’t run you through.”

“I – I swear that I won’t tell a soul you were here.”

“I think we both know how trustworthy a promise from you is.”

“Please…I have a family.”

Yuuri’s stomach turned at the pathetic nature of the whole situation. He heard a high-pitched groan from the pillory and turned his head to look – and it was all Thomas needed. With a bound, he fled down the street before Yuuri could think to react, and was quickly lost in the shadows. If he’d seen a clear need to pursue, he might have stood a chance, but his attention was still on Julius; with the guard having vanished, for now at any rate, he knew he needed to seize his chance and hurried over to the lad.

“Julius? It’s Justin. I said I’d be back.” 

Another small groan – and then a voice, though very weak. “Can’t feel my hands. My back…it hurts.”

He was conscious, then. It was a blessing after so much time in the cold, trapped in this position, which must be deliberately uncomfortable. Yuuri had been hoping he might be able to get the key to the pillory from the guard – who, he realised, had also departed with his pen and paper – but he had a backup plan in case he needed it, and picked up the tool he’d lugged with him: a sledgehammer. There was a lean-to full of such implements outside the ale-house, and he’d chosen the one that appeared to have the most destructive power.

“I’m going to break the lock,” he said. “I’ll be careful.”

“You’d better,” Julius whispered hoarsely.

Yuuri swung the sledgehammer back and brought it forward in an arc, its momentum driving it into the cast-iron lock. With a small explosion, the wood surrounding it cracked, but held. However, it was no proof against a few more well-aimed swings, and soon chunks of iron were hanging from a splintered mess on the side of the pillory. Dropping the hammer, Yuuri lifted the top, and Julius winced as he tried to move.

“Take your time.” Yuuri draped the cloak over the lad’s back and pinned it in place with the brooch, then braced an arm around him as he slowly stood.

“Still can’t feel my hands,” Julius said through gritted teeth.

“We’ll get you in the warm soon. Can you stand?”

“I don’t know…let me try.” But as soon as Yuuri dropped his arm, Julius wobbled and leaned against the remains of the pillory.

“Here,” Yuuri said, dashing away momentarily to pick up Thomas’s belt and sword, “you’ll need this. Maybe you couldn’t use it if you wanted to right now, but I can’t carry everything.” He sheathed the sword, then strapped it around Julius’s waist. “If you can walk, I’ll get you into the ale-house where I’ve been working. No one should be up at this time of night, and I’ve got my own room.”

Julius nodded, and Yuuri put an arm around him again. Many of the substances that had been pelted at him had dried, but a miasma still lingered that tempted Yuuri to gag. He forced the urge back and guided Julius slowly the way he had come, keeping to the deepest shadows and pulling the lad round a corner once when he heard the custodians of the curfew approaching. They covered the remaining distance without incident, the cold night air seeping into Yuuri’s bones. It was a marvel how Julius had managed to fare so well for so long, and not for the first time was he reminded that appearances could be deceiving; the willowy youth was clearly made of stern stuff.

Leading them into the narrow alleyway at the side of the ale-house, Yuuri deposited the sledgehammer against the wall by the lean-to, then admitted them through the little side door to the back hallway that he’d left unlocked, turning the key once they were inside. A candle still burned in the wall nook in which he’d placed it earlier; a sign that no one had come this way since he’d gone, or they would likely have blown it out. He picked it up and helped Julius over to the stairs that led to his attic room, whispering in his ear to take his time, because they creaked. Passage in this direction was never going to be noiseless for the stealthiest person, but there were no bedrooms immediately nearby, and the night must be well advanced by now, both of which counted in their favour.

Yuuri stopped himself from instinctively warning Julius to watch his head when he went inside, noticing that he was able to stand clear of the danger with space to spare. As soon as the squire spotted the glowing coals in the grate, he went straight toward them, tripping in his haste over feet that didn’t seem to want to move the way they were directed to. Yuuri fed more coals on the fire, stoking it as high as he dared within the confines of the little fireplace, and two pale fine-fingered hands instantly emerged from under the borrowed cloak to soak up the heat. The distinctive smell crept into the room on tendrils of black smoke that escaped the chimney, and the room was full of the sound of popping and clinking as the embers caught the new fuel.

Yuuri sat down next to Julius for a moment; there was still much to do, but this was the first chance he’d had to speak properly with him and determine whether he needed medical help.

_And in 1393 that would be what, a course of leeches? An exorcist? _“How are your hands and feet?” he asked.

“How do you think?” Julius mumbled. Yuuri saw he was shivering still, despite the cloak and the fire.

“Can you feel them? Can you move your fingers?”

Julius gave them a stiff wiggle, nodding slowly, and Yuuri wondered if conversation between them was going to continue to be this awkward. But the lad had just been through a harrowing experience, and loquaciousness was an unreasonable expectation; in Julius’s case, it usually was paired with invective anyway.

“Did those men hurt you?” Yuuri asked. “I mean, are you cut; are you bleeding anywhere?”

Julius shook his head. Green eyes blinked. Then he whispered, “Thank you.”

“Look, um, you’re a bit of a mess, so I found the biggest bucket I could carry and brought it up earlier,” Yuuri said with a glance at it in the middle of the floor. “I filled the cauldron downstairs and stoked the kitchen fire before I came to get you, so with a little luck, there’s plenty of hot water. I’ll have to fetch it up with smaller buckets, which might take a while, but you’re welcome to sit here in front of the fire while you wait.”

He received another nod in response, and went to the small table upon which the pitcher and basin normally perched, where he’d left a wooden tray with one of Jan’s pottage pies, a piece of cheese and bread, and a small jug of beer and a cup – an advantage of being friendly with a cook who didn’t question his sudden seemingly voracious appetite for a late-night snack. He brought it to Julius and placed it on the floor next to him. “If you can manage to eat or drink anything…” The relieved look in Julius’s eyes was evidence enough that the meal was welcome.

Leaving the room, Yuuri crept back down the stairs to the kitchen to find everything in readiness as he’d left it; thank goodness he’d managed to stay awake long after the Maltbys and servants and guests had gone to bed, correctly assuming that it had been the best time to smuggle Julius into the ale-house. It had all taken some planning, but the worst of it seemed to be over now.

Or so he thought, until he realised what a long, tedious chore it was to carry buckets of water up the stairs, two tin pails at a time, while trying to avoid making a sound. He lost count of the number of trips. But Julius was positively filthy; and though there weren’t any bathtubs on the premises to Yuuri’s knowledge – he wasn’t even sure what a medieval one looked like, or if they existed – he could at least furnish something large for the lad to wash in, even if it meant a little extra work for himself. Julius watched his progress from his place on the floor while he took large mouthfuls of food and gulped down the beer.

_Last two, _Yuuri thought as he cautiously approached the top of the stairs yet again. _Then I can sit and rest. _There was already a stack of cloths and a bar of soap in the room; hopefully everything Julius should need. “Julius, I – ”

His words died in his mouth as he came through the door and saw that the lad had removed his cloak and was standing inside the bucket, having untied his rope belt and pulled the sack he’d been made to wear halfway up his body.

And with a flaming blush, Yuuri realised he’d been correct in his suspicions.


	34. Chapter 34

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” he stammered, putting the pails he’d been carrying down on the floor with a slosh and averting his eyes.

There was a silence, and splashing. Then Julius said, as if this kind of thing was normal, “Don’t tell me I’m offending you.”

“It wouldn’t be…um, well I’ll give you your privacy. There’s extra water here for you. I’ll go downstairs and come back later, and knock on the door first.”

He heard a little huff as he hurried out of the room, softly closing the door behind him. Once in the kitchen, he stood in front of the fire, drank the remains of a jug of thin beer, and gathered his whirling thoughts. Firstly, about his fight with the guard; he’d been lucky to go up against someone who was obviously so bad at his job. And about the brief question in his mind of whether he should kill him.

_Really, Yuuri? You have to avoid killing anyone here, even Ailis if at all possible. Remember when you studied Macbeth at school? How he had an attack of conscience about the first person he killed – but each murder got easier, until it didn’t matter to him how many people he put to death. Is that who you want to be? Bragging about your conquests like Sir Charles?_

He couldn’t see that happening, but who really understood what the dark side of themselves was capable of until it was prodded into the open; the horrors they’d feel justified in committing – or simply no longer cared about?

_Maybe I’ll find out what other people are capable of when I go back to the castle. _He didn’t want to think about that, either.

Though he had to admit he was interested in the fact that Julius had been presenting as a male when he was biologically female, even though it had been embarrassing to walk in on him when he’d been half naked. Gender fluidity and transgenderism were accepted as a normal part of someone’s identity in his own time. But in 1393? What would Julius expect him to do or say? 

Yuuri hoped he’d given him enough time to finish his ablutions by the time he climbed back up the stairs and gently knocked and announced himself, opening the door after he heard a faint “Come in.” When he did, he made a point of not looking in the direction of the bucket.

“It’s all right,” came Julius’s voice from near the fireplace. “I’m done. You act like I’ve grown an extra head or something.”

Yuuri hadn’t had the chance to tell him he’d bought some clothes from the market earlier in the day which he hoped would fit, since he knew Julius would need something to wear, and his own clothes would be too big. He’d placed them ready on the bed, however, and the squire, now sitting on the floor, had obviously found them and put them on – light brown hose and a plain white shirt underneath the cloak. He’d strapped the guard’s sword belt back on as well.

“Mind if I join you?” Yuuri asked.

Julius gave him a weak smirk. “It’s your room.”

The fire was throwing out some welcome heat, the orange glow from the coals spilling over Julius’s fair hair, now clean, as was the rest of him, which was more than could be said for the grimy bucket and cloths he’d washed with. But he seemed to have had his dignity restored, and had cleared the tray of its contents; it sat on the table with only a few crumbs remaining on the plate.

“How are you feeling?” Yuuri asked, sitting down across from him.

Julius stared at him as if in search of an answer, then looked at the fire when he spoke. “I’ve been better. That hot water hurt like hell, too.”

“It wasn’t that hot; I added cold to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d got frostbite.”

“I just hurt all over. But I’ll be fine.”

Yuuri watched him for a moment, wondering at this, and whether the squire believed it himself. “Do you want to tell me more about what happened to you with the sheriff?”

Julius shrugged. “I like going out hunting. The master was busy, so I decided to spend an afternoon on Boudicca, practising with my bow – ”

“Boudicca – that’s your horse?”

“Do you disapprove?” He turned his head toward Yuuri, but his expression softened when he saw his smile. Then a shadow of concern passed across his brow as he asked, “Do you know if she’s all right? Where they took her?”

“No,” Yuuri answered, deciding truthfulness was best. “But I might be able to look into that. So those men attacked you?”

“That bloody sheriff and his mates. Some fucking lawman. He just kept laughing, telling me I could scream all I wanted when we got to the city, but no one would believe I was squire to some knight.” He looked down. “When they made me take my clothes off and put the sack on, I did it fast, next to my horse, and I don’t think anyone saw me, or…I might have fared worse.”

Yuuri shuddered at the thought. After a pause, he said, “You weren’t as careful with me.”

Another shrug. “It’s not important. It _was _an accident, but I was that keen to get all the filth washed off me. And you might’ve saved my life, so…” His voice trailed off. “I know you won’t tell anyone.”

Yuuri stared again, wishing he had more insight into what was going on in Julius’s head. He trusted him that much? He couldn’t remember ever hearing anything from him at the castle other than insults and sarcasm. “Does Victor know?” he asked.

Julius burst out laughing. “Of course he knows. Do you think I could hide something like that from him? I believe he guessed from the start, but he never said anything. Just waited for when I was ready to speak of it.” Fondness glimmered in his eyes. “Nobody else knows, though. Not at the castle. I _am _fifteen, but my real name is Julia.”

“What do you want me to call you, then?” Yuuri asked. “In private like this. He or she, Julius or Julia, or – ”

“Julia, when it’s just you and me. Or if the master is around as well. It makes an agreeable change to hear my right name spoken. I’m a girl, as you saw, so you may as well address me as one. Actually – I take that back. Condescend to me, and I’ll show you I’m every bit as good with a sword as a man.”

“I believe you. But…” Yuuri sighed as he tried to find the right words. “Are you…do you…you don’t identify as a male?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

His cheeks pinked. “Do you think of yourself as a man, even just sometimes?”

She – because that seemed to be how Julia thought of herself – laughed as if she’d never heard anything so outrageous. “Of course not. I often wish I _were _a man, because then I could’ve become a knight without the deception. But I assure you, I’m completely aware of my sex.” Continuing to smile, she added, “Are you of yours?”

“Well, yes.” _I must sound like an idiot. She has no idea what I’m on about. _“It’s just that…no matter what people look or act like on the outside, sometimes they feel differently on the inside. There are women who…” His cheeks were burning now, but well, there _wasn’t_ any shame in this. “…who are more…” How to explain it to someone from this time? “…in touch with the male side of themselves, and men with the female side of themselves.”

“You know,” she replied after a moment, her tone lighter now, “I’ve never heard it put that way, but I think I understand you. Have you met Percy Steggles?”

“I suppose he’s a good case in point,” Yuuri said with a sudden grin as he recalled his conversation with the keeper of the wardrobe in the stable.

“Upon my word, I seem to have been surrounded by it at the castle.” She looked at him pointedly. “Did you see the mummers at Christmas? Women aren’t allowed to be players; they’re not allowed to do just about anything that’s actually interesting. So the men must take the women’s parts in the plays. I think some of them really quite like the clothes and the make-up.” She snickered.

“Nothing wrong with that. Where I’m from…” _Men wear as much face paint as women,_ he almost said. _Bloody hell, Yuuri, remember where you are and who you’re talking to. _“Um, well, yes, I see what you mean.”

“My full name is Julia de Montfort,” she explained, taking on a conversational tone. “The eldest of my siblings is Luke. I have four sisters, all older than me. I think my parents were hoping for another son, but after my mother had me, they gave it up. It costs a fortune in dowries when we get married, you see. And anyway, they still have Luke.”

Yuuri nodded. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside her, and she was eager to tell him about herself now. And he was genuinely curious.

“I knew from when I was young that I was a good fighter. My brother sparred a little with me just for fun, but he recognised that I had talent. So did Henry, our trainer. He taught me things. But no one took it seriously. They expected me to grow out of it and be a proper lady. Well, I wanted to be a knight.”

Yuuri listened in fascination. Underneath the bravado and gushing enthusiasm that he supposed were typical of someone her age was a determination he couldn’t help but admire. “What made you want to do it?” he asked. “Become a knight, I mean. Even if you’re good at it, you’ve killed people.”

Confusion crossed her face. “I don’t _enjoy _killing anyone, but it’s part of being a knight, is it not?” Her eyes narrowed. “That battle at the bridge – would you have wanted us to let them cut you and the master to pieces? We were defending you.”

Yuuri nodded, unsure how to answer.

“Do you have a quarrel with that?”

“No.”

“Anyway,” she carried on as if Yuuri hadn’t interrupted, “I told my mother what I wanted to do. I said I’d pretend to be a boy, and since pages and squires usually get sent to different castles, no one would have to know. I couldn’t believe it when she agreed!” Her eyes sparkled. “She said I should do what I was good at. And she persuaded my father to let me go, too. I had to give my word, though, that I’d carry on living as a man; that I was serious enough about this to stick with it, and not come back in a few months or a year when I got bored or decided it was too tough. That was three years ago. It was late to start as a page, but nobody minded after they saw what I could do with a bow and sword.”

“Was this at Crowood Castle?”

“Not at first. But I went on a visit there, and Sir Victor saw me sparring with the other squires, because the pages couldn’t hope to beat me. He said he was impressed – and then he asked me to be his squire.” Now her expression was positively radiant. “The best knight in the whole country asking me to serve him and train with him! He’s the best master anyone could have, too. I still can’t believe my good fortune.”

Yuuri thought the mystery as to why, despite what she’d just said, she was so prickly much of the time, was becoming clear. It stood to reason, as a youngster and a woman in a man’s world, that she felt she had a lot to prove. But her loyalty to and admiration of Victor were obvious as well; he’d said as much himself. Perhaps that made her jealous when others demanded his attention. Maybe she expected them to pass some kind of personal standard she’d set for them first; and Yuuri guessed he hadn’t met it himself, maybe even now. Not that it bothered him much, but it was as well to remain on her good side…and she was even likeable at times like this, he decided.

“How is he – Victor?” he ventured.

Julia’s features hardened. “How do you think?” Yuuri looked at her quizzically, and she went on, “He searched all over the castle for you, and then rode further afield. God only knows why. Everyone knew you’d scarpered because of the duel with Sir Tyler. Nobody thinks you’d win, of course – I guess you realised that. But a knight doesn’t run away from a challenge. It’s dishonourable.”

“Oh God,” Yuuri groaned, putting his head in his hands. When Julia remained silent, he eventually looked back up and said, “I was hung over, and…and made a mistake. And then I didn’t know how to put it right.” He gave a small huff. “Although I’ve just decided to go back, and…hope the baron will be merciful. I can’t see what else I can do.”

“You should apologise. And if the lord hears about how you helped me, maybe he won’t kill you.”

Yuuri stared.

“Older folk are always telling people like me to take responsibility for our actions,” she carried on. “You left the castle without a word, and every time the master returned after failing to discover where you’d gone, he was much distempered. Did you spare a thought for him? If you will insist on behaving as you did after the banquet the night before you left, then that’s what you ought to do – take responsibility.”

Yuuri continued to sit in silence, digesting the strange experience of being lectured by a teenager, and also pondering on her words about Victor. He hadn’t thought – hadn’t _wanted _to think – about what his disappearance would do to him. That maybe their friendship mattered to Victor as well as himself. That he’d _care._ The notion was both heartening and disturbing, because it meant he’d hurt him.

And…what had he done after the banquet in his drunken stupor? He didn’t dare ask. The truth would probably make him want to jump on the next ship he could find to France, or someplace even further away. South America. Antarctica.

“I spared a lot of thought for him,” he murmured. “I never intended to stay here. And now I think I have a duty to do something about this corrupt sheriff, if I can. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with what he did to you. He’s probably done it to others, too. They told me at the castle that the duke is out hunting in the Dales; if I can find him and speak to him, maybe he’ll listen.”

“If he’s in the Dales, he could be anywhere.”

“He’s out west – but anyway, let me worry about that. We need to get you back to the castle, though. And I hate to say this, but it’s going to have to be as soon as possible, because that guard must have heard my name and where I’m working, so this is the first place they’ll come looking for you.”

Julia let out a small sigh and looked back into the flames. “Whatever I need to do, I shall do it. But without Boudicca…”

“I borrowed a horse from the stable where I’m keeping Lady,” Yuuri told her. “I would’ve let you ride her if I could, but – ”

“You’ve done plenty for me already.” In a softer voice, she added, “Not many people would be so kind. Are these your clothes I’m wearing? They seem small for you.”

“The cloak is, but I got the other things from the market,” he replied. “I, ah, always assumed I’d be able to release you somehow, so I was able to plan it this afternoon, while…” _While you were suffering in the pillory in front of people passing on the street, and I was helpless to do anything about it._

“I liked the food,” she said, glancing over at the empty tray.

“I made the crust today myself. We’re a bit of a team, the cook and me,” Yuuri said with a small smile. “Though I guess I won’t be learning anything else from him now.”

“Really?” Julia raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Most knights I know can roast a piece of meat over a fire, or perhaps make a pottage. Where did you learn the skills of a pastry chef?”

“There’s a lot you can learn if you put the time in and ask the right people,” he replied with a shrug. “Anyway, I’d better get your horse ready; we ought to travel while it’s still dark, so you can go through the gate first thing when it opens.”

Leaving her to continue to warm herself, Yuuri took a lantern with him to the mews which housed the animals belonging to the guests and the Maltbys. When he’d discovered its existence, he’d quickly ruled out keeping Lady there, especially after what had happened to his clothes. The horses had little room in their stalls, and the place was dirty and unkempt. But it had served to sequester a borrowed animal for a few hours. He made sure the saddle was still secure; although he was a novice at horse care, he could make sure a strap was done up correctly. Then he tied a small canvas bag to the back, hung the lantern on a hook protruding for the saddle, and led the cream-coloured stallion out to the alley, where Julia was waiting in the shadows, the hood of her cloak pulled over her head. 

“Are you sure you’re fit to travel?” he asked. “After – ”

“Of course. I’m training to be a knight, not a lady-in-waiting.” She huffed as if it were a stupid question, though Yuuri wasn’t sure that it was. Telling himself to trust that experience might already have been a stern taskmaster for her before today, and maybe he ought to take her at her word, he asked a final question before they left regarding what possessions had been stolen from her, so that he could report the theft to the duke once he found him. Her fine clothing, and gold jewellery she’d been wearing underneath. Her money and weapons. Yuuri knew what a blow the loss of the latter would be to a fighter, but at least she had a sword now.

He explained that the sack he’d attached to the saddle contained food, drink, and a little money; enough, hopefully, to see her back to the castle. She listened in silence; then he vaulted onto the horse and helped her do the same, so that she was sitting in front of him while he wrapped an arm around her as if she were a child – which hopefully was what anyone would think if they were seen.

The lantern, swinging gently as the horse walked down the quiet streets, lit their way for a while, until a grey haze gathered and grew on the eastern horizon, and the air stirred as if waking to gather itself into a breeze for the new day. Yuuri was conscious of the clop of hoofs on the cobblestones. But he seemed to have been correct in assuming that the nightwalkers would have completed their vigil by now, as most people woke at dawn and went about their business. By the time they were approaching Walmgate Bar, a handful of other horse riders and carts had joined them. Yuuri suddenly realised that he hadn’t ventured this way since he’d entered the city – had it only been a couple of weeks ago? But he would be spared the horror of having to pass underneath the severed limbs this time.

Their progress halted by the closed gate, Yuuri guided the horse to stand to the side and wait, where he was hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion; neither of them had had the chance to catch a wink of sleep. Was it possible to nod off and fall from your horse? He had a vision of it happening to Julia next to the river.

_Stop fussing over her. You’ve seen her at the training grounds. Victor wouldn’t have chosen her as his squire if she couldn’t handle it. Can you say the same about yourself?_

“Julia,” he said to her in a low voice, “I need you not to tell anyone at the castle that I’m here.”

“What?” came the response. “Why?”

“I…I need to work this out in my own time. I don’t know what’s going to happen with the duke, and I don’t want someone coming here trying to find me – or arrest me, or whatever they’re likely to do. But I promise I’ll come back when I can, and I’ll try to straighten everything out.”

She gave a nod; and with a clang, followed by the squeaks of pulleys, the portcullis was raised. Yuuri jumped off the horse and paused, wondering what to say. Unhelpfully trite expressions came to mind. Take care. Have a good journey. See you soon. Instead, he told her, “The Cross Keys Stable on Goodram Gate – that’s where this horse is from. His name’s Caesar. Someone will need to bring him back,” he added unnecessarily.

“I’d better go,” she said, her face in heavy shadow under the hood. Yuuri took the reins in his hand and readied himself to walk the horse to the gate when she muttered, “Uh, thanks for everything.”

“Sure.”

“You’re nothing like how I remember you.”

He figured he had an idea of what those memories contained regarding the real Justin, and remained silent.

“You’re better now. What happened? To change you?”

After a moment’s thought, he replied, “The duel with Victor made me realise what an idiot I’d been before, and that I’d better, uh, act more like a chivalrous knight if I wanted to keep a head on my shoulders.”

He heard a small _hmph_. “You have a lot to learn if you think taking off to this place was chivalrous. But well, if it wasn’t for you…Anyway, you’re doing all right, I suppose.”

A small grin crossed Yuuri’s face, and he led the horse to the gate. It seemed the toll was only levied on incomers, who were already filing through the passageway laden with goods to sell. He and Julia looked at each other for a moment. “Goodbye – stay safe,” he said. With a small nod, she guided the horse through the passageway, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he watched her pass unhindered to the other side of the walls and down the road.

_Yuuri the pub slave does good, _he thought, recalling Phichit’s words. He’d have something more interesting to tell him tonight. Though for now, he was determined to return to his room and get some sleep – and if they tried to sack him for it, for once it wouldn’t make a lick of difference.


	35. Chapter 35

“I need to find the Duke of York,” Yuuri told Roger Morecambe as he sipped his beer at the bar.

“Oh, is that all?” the man replied with a genial laugh. “You’re a rum one, if you don’t mind my saying, sir. First it’s a job you’re needing, and now this. Is he not at his castle?”

Yuuri shook his head. “And his steward resented the few words we had together. Still, I _would _go if someone could guide me, because I don’t know where to start looking. The Dales are a pretty big place.”

Roger paused between wiping tankards with a cloth, looking thoughtful. “There’s a posh hunting lodge out there where he’s been known to stay. I daresay that’s where he is. He loves his hunting, does the duke.”

“This lodge wouldn’t be on a main road, I suppose,” Yuuri mumbled. “Are there any maps of – ”

“You don’t half say some queer things, sir. Maps? If you asked a monk, maybe they’ve got something rolled up and stored in a monastery. And if it’s a main road you’re after, the only one round here is the old Roman one.”

“Ermine Street,” volunteered a voice, and Yuuri turned his head to see a be-aproned man a bit younger than himself, with brown hair in a bowl cut similar to Justin’s, emerging from the side door and joining them at the bar.

“This here’s Seamus,” Roger introduced him. “Does odd jobs for me. Also the world’s biggest busybody,” he added with a grin. “Knows everyone and every place round these parts.”

“Can’t help it – it’s me background as a link-boy,” Seamus answered in an Irish accent. “You have to know what you’re about when you do that job. Why, I guided the archbishop himself across town one night. Never forget it – ”

“He’ll be yammering at you from now ’til sundown if you’re not careful,” Roger said.

“So shoot me and truss me for a wild pig,” Seamus laughed. “It ain’t busy today and I’ve been workin’ me arse off since sunup.”

“What’s a link-boy?” Yuuri asked, ready to plead the ignorance of an out-of-towner if the question surprised them.

“Ah, well you remember what I told you about curfew here?” Roger answered. “Link-boys get paid to guide folk who are allowed on the streets at night. They escort them with a torch to wherever they need to go.”

“A rushlight,” Seamus corrected him. “Not as posh, but gets the job done. Anyway, why are you wantin’ to know about Ermine Street?”

“It’s this gent who wants to know. Though not about the road. He was asking how to get to the duke’s hunting lodge in the Dales.”

“Ah, I know where that is, to be sure.”

“Could you tell me?” Yuuri said, perking up.

“Better still – for the right price, I’ll show you.”

* * *

The “right price” had turned out to be Yuuri’s last shilling, though it included provisions for himself and Seamus and their horses. It was better spent on this than on bribing a guard; but as they travelled through dreary grey drizzle across empty misted and muddy lands, he wondered what he’d got himself into. He’d removed his modern coat, stashing it in his bag in exchange for his beeswax-treated woollen one, but it wasn’t perfect proof against the weather, and moisture dripped down his face while the wind tried to freeze it. He hoped the electronic components he’d packed, along with all his other possessions, were securely protected from the damp; he’d wrapped them in layers of clothing to make extra sure.

As they travelled, his thoughts wandered back to the morning. Sleep had been an impossibility because once he’d forced his tired brain to consider his situation, he’d realised that if the sheriff’s men wanted to search the ale-house for their escaped prisoner, there was enough in his room to implicate him. He therefore raced back and threw the sack she’d been wearing on the fire, followed by the grimy cloths she’d washed with. Other linens he removed and placed in the laundry basket in the scullery, then he put the empty food and drink tray in the kitchen, and last of all was the reverse chore of emptying the bucket, pail by pail, until it was light enough that he could lift it and take it downstairs.

To his surprise, however, no officials came looking for him. He felt certain that Thomas of Cowthorpe would be the type to tell anybody anything as long as there was something in it for him; but if he hadn’t in this case, Yuuri wasn’t going to complain. Once he’d cleared his room of the debris of the previous night, he set about packing his things. Wearing his modern clothes, he went to find his employers, and encountered Posy speaking with Daisy and Jan in the kitchen. They all turned to look at him in surprise as he stood holding his stuffed travelling bag, having projected an image of himself in his ordinary medieval clothing.

“Here, where do you think you’re going?” Posy said, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve just been telling everyone we’re expecting a big group of pilgrims tonight. There’s a lot of work for you to do.”

“You’ll need to give it to one of the dozen other people you’ve told me would snap up my job in an instant if I didn’t want it,” he replied. “I’ve got an urgent trip to make, and I won’t be coming back.”

“What? Just like that? Where the bleedin’ hell are you off to, then?”

“So if you can give me the wages I’m owed, I’d appreciate it,” he said, ignoring her questions.

“Funds are short. I can’t pay right now.”

_If there’s anything you can make complicated for me, you’ll do it._ “I’m sorry about that, but I could do with the money, and – ”

“You’ll need to give me some time,” she insisted.

“Fine. I’ll be gone for a few days, I expect, and then I’ll come back to collect my wages _and _my lost clothes, since that’ll give you extra time to look for them.”

“I told you, that chest were nicked. How am I supposed to find it here? Them clothes of yours have been sold by now, with the thieves enjoying the proceeds.”

It sounded to Yuuri suspiciously like a confession. “Then the thieves had better plan on paying up.” He was proud of the commanding tone he thought he was achieving, but with no actual power to back up his words, he might as well have been whistling a tune for all the difference it made. She finally left the room with an exasperated shake of her head, and he said a quick goodbye to Daisy and Jan, who gave him some pies to take on his way. Promising he’d see them once more, he walked out of The Black Dog a free man.

The air, always tinged here with coal- and woodsmoke, and occasionally the aroma of frying fish from a stall down the road that seemed to be a predecessor of the chip shop minus the chips, suddenly seemed to smell sweeter. He would no longer have to kowtow to that unpleasant couple in exchange for a pittance. The only problem being that a pittance was just about all the money he had left. And somehow he had to find the duke.

All that planning he’d put into helping Julia escape…and now that it was done, he realised he didn’t have any idea where he should go. If he tried the castle again, he doubted they’d send someone to escort him out of the goodness of their hearts. Because he’d projected the image of a well-dressed aristocrat when he’d gone there, he guessed they’d either expect him to have a guide already, or be willing to pay handsomely for one of their own to show him the way.

And so he ended up back at The Eagle, hoping Roger might be able to help. When Seamus joined them, it felt like his lucky day. Business was slow, Roger said, and he could spare his helper for a few days, as long as Yuuri could pay him. It would be about the last thing he’d be able to spend money on, and images swam in his mind of himself stranded in the Dales, with the duke nowhere to be found, no food, no drink, no shelter. He could be riding out to his death.

_So what else is new? I promised myself I’d take these things in my stride. I can’t let this crooked sheriff get away with what he’s been doing. Maybe the duke knows about it; maybe he’s rotten to the core, too. But I have to try._

The Dales were different from how they were in his own time. The heather-covered moors exposed at the tops of hills were familiar, but there was an abundance of trees the likes of which he’d never seen in this country; though to his surprise and disgust, Seamus informed him that it was illegal to cut down a single one without the duke’s permission. So much for any hope of them sitting by a fire to warm themselves; though when the sky dimmed and the rains came, even an expert would have been hard put to light one anyway. Yuuri knew, too, that with villages being scarce and his money almost gone, staying overnight at an inn wasn’t an option. He wondered if there was anything in the world as bleak as a rainy English day in early February; some things never did seem to change.

As garrulous as Roger had claimed Seamus to be, it was impossible for them to say much to each other, bundled up in their coats with their hoods pulled close. They stopped once only, for a bite to eat under a rocky overhang, and then carried on until day slowly blended into night and they could no longer see well enough to press forward. The horses seemed glad of the exercise at least, and it was good to be reunited with Lady; but Yuuri was cold and stiff from having sat in the saddle all day, and he doubted he’d get the chance to dry anything out overnight, as the air was heavy with damp. 

“Here we are, sir,” Seamus said cheerfully as they reined up against a tall protrusion of grey boulders wedged into the steep side of a hill; though his tone sounded a bit forced, Yuuri thought. “Around this way, and we can get out of the wet.”

Yuuri followed him to a cleft in the rock, through which they passed, and discovered a dry cove inside. Near the entrance, where the remains of the daylight enabled him to see, Seamus lit a lantern with a kit from his bag that made a spark, and placed it on the floor. “Told you I knew my way around,” he said proudly.

Yuuri’s heart had sunk at the prospect of spending a long winter’s night here, but he didn’t want to seem ungrateful. And it was good shelter under the circumstances – protected from wind and rain and the eyes of any passers-by, however unlikely those were.

They ate a cold meal, drank beer poured from a wine sack, and talked for a while. It was such times, Yuuri thought, that brought it home to him how out of touch modern people were with the world around them. Climate control usually ensured that days like this didn’t occur, though occasionally there was simply no stopping them. And the number of hours of daylight meant little to a society used to artificial lighting. But he had soon learned the rhythms of life without it: get up at dawn and sleep when the sun went down, or make do with the light of a candle or fireplace. Evenings tended to be social times, whether it was Monica and the ladies and pages at the top of the turret, or the fighting men in the main garrison room. Seamus clearly expected this as well. Hedging around any questions about himself, Yuuri therefore allowed his guide to be content with telling him about his childhood in Ireland, and how his family had come to England with that of a wool merchant they served.

“Business isn’t as good as it used to be, though,” he concluded. “They didn’t have a place for me to work at the house, so I’ve found jobs around the city where I could. I’ve been at The Eagle for nigh on half a year.”

“What would you do if you could have any job you wanted?” Yuuri asked out of curiosity, watching him, wreathed in shadows as he was with his cheek glowing gold from the lantern.

“Any job I wanted?” He chuckled. “I’d be the feller who lifted the king’s robes behind him so that they didn’t get muddy. Sounds like an easy kind of life, that does.”

“You wouldn’t want to be the king?”

“Now, there, you’re gettin’ a wee bit pretentious.” They both laughed. “But really, if I thought about it, I wouldn’t mind bein’ a sailor. I’d love to go on the seas and see foreign lands.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Well, York isn’t exactly a port city. And I don’t have any skills.” He shrugged.

Yuuri thought about all the stories that existed of boys in history running away to be sailors. “I’m sure it isn’t hard to learn if you can find someone who’ll take you on and teach you. You say you have experience with different jobs, and you’re young and strong. I bet they would.”

“Maybe at that,” Seamus replied with a smile. “But for now I’m after helpin’ you to find the duke.”

_I’m rubbish at this, _Yuuri decided as he briefly left the cove a little later, ostensibly to relieve himself, though it was also the only way he’d be able to talk to Phichit in private. _There’s no real mobility between social classes in this day and age. You can expect to die in the same station you were born in. Why was I even asking Seamus about what he wanted to do? The menu of choices is in front of him, and I don’t suppose it’s very big. But maybe being a sailor isn’t impossible. _

Fortunately the rain had eased to a fine mist, and he was able to stand outside and speak to Phichit, though he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face and only went along the rocks as far as he dared by feel. He told him what had happened with Julius, now Julia, and about quitting his job, and coming out to the Dales.

“So you’re calling me from some deserted moor in the dark of night?” Phichit said.

“If I catch a glimpse of the Hound of the Baskervilles, I’ll let you know. But, um, this is the wrong moor, so…”

“I can’t believe all that stuff happened to you in the space of a day. You’re a hero.”

“I – what?” Yuuri stopped abruptly.

“You saved a damsel in distress. Like the other night, when you pulled a sword on that jack for messing with the barmaid. I said I’d be happy to have you as my bodyguard. Remember? Wait ’til Celestino hears.”

“No, Phichit,” Yuuri said urgently. “I’m not. Really, I’m not. No hero runs away from a challenge to a duel.”

“He does if he knows he’s not going to win, and he’s having the anxiety attack from hell. I totally get that, Yuuri. I mean, I can’t say that going to York was the cleverest thing you ever did, but I really – ”

“No. No more excuses.” He was surprised to feel his eyes well up for a moment. Phichit needed to understand this. “I let everyone down. I broke promises. Victor’s been scouring the countryside for me – ”

“He has?”

“ – and I let you and Celestino down, too. Don’t deny it. I feel terrible about it all.”

After a pause, Phichit said quietly, “That still doesn’t change the other things you did. The good things. Everyone makes mistakes; I think you’re being hard on yourself. I mean if I was there in your shoes, I can’t imagine – ”

“Is that what Celestino said? That I’m being hard on myself? Or did he have a few more colourful things to say about it?” The quiet that answered him was all he needed to know. “Quite right he was, too. Look, it’s cold out here. I’d better get back inside. I’ll tell you if we find the duke.”

“Good luck, Yuuri.”

“Thanks.”

Seamus was asleep when he returned, and Yuuri wondered how he’d managed it. Despite his layers of clothing and the blanket he wrapped around himself, the tips of Yuuri’s fingers and nose were icy, the earthen floor was hard, and he shivered occasionally. But the lack of sleep from the night before was catching up with him, too, and gradually he fell into a daze that crept slowly toward slumber, his mind filling with strange and incongruous images on the way that he would normally chase from consciousness, though he was too tired to do so now.

Of Victor, riding Alyona through the countryside, searching for him. Talking to Julia about him. _Will he forgive me for what I did?_

He allowed himself to imagine the answer was yes, and that Victor was next to him, and they were sharing their warmth through the night. He could still just about conjure the soft sound of his voice. Those blue eyes, their mischievous sparkle. The way his armour glittered in the sun as he danced with his sword…what it would be like to kiss him. To run a hand through his hair. To…

But the pleasantness of the thoughts seemed to be what he needed to find slumber at last, and he knew no more.

* * *

Another day’s journey, though this time the sky was white instead of grey, and the rain held off. Yuuri and Seamus were able to travel with their hoods off and talk occasionally, the latter pointing out landmarks that indicated their location as they went along. A river, a copse of trees on a hill. The remains of a stone circle or a barrow; Yuuri had seen a few of them here, as yet untouched by the plough. An occasional hut or peasant’s house. Finally, as evening was beginning to fall, he spied a grand-looking structure peeking out from a patch of trees in the distance: a large two-storey wattle-and-daub building painted red, with a slate roof, large mullioned windows, and a yellow stone chimney on each end, both of which were emitting grey smoke that threaded through the air.

“I wonder who lives there,” he said, pointing it out to Seamus.

“Sure, that’ll be the duke’s huntin’ lodge.”

“Hunting lodge? It looks more like a manor house.”

“Well, the duke is royalty. He’s the son of the late King Edward.” He laughed. “You won’t be seein’ him sleepin’ in some shepherd’s hut.”

He was going to meet a prince? If he was in residence, anyway. It looked like they might be in luck. There was a buzz of activity outside the lodge, with grooms leading horses, and other people going to and fro in rich furs and colourful hats, hose and gowns. The yip and bark of hounds echoed over the hills.

“I need to change my clothes,” Yuuri said. “I think they’ll expect me to look my best.” Excusing himself as he disappeared behind a stand of pine trees with his leather bag, he projected the blue houppelande and hose, and black chaperon, along with a black fur coat trimmed in ermine. It hadn’t worked any magic as such at the castle in York, but it had possibly enabled him to receive the brief audience with the steward.

When he emerged and rejoined Seamus, his guide stared at him with wide eyes. “I wouldn’t have recognised you, sir. You look…well, perhaps the duke will be amenable towards you.”

Yuuri said he hoped so, and they approached the lodge. He felt curious eyes upon him as he met with the two guards stationed at the ornately carved wooden door in the front. “Good evening,” he said, feeling the usual sense of awkwardness flood him. “Is the duke here? I need…um, I’d very much like to speak with him. It’s important.”

“His grace has been out hunting all day and is weary,” the guard on the right said. He wore full plate armour and a blue cloak embroidered with silver; even the guards at Crowood Castle didn’t stand around in such finery.

Beginning to feel like he’d stepped into a fairytale, Yuuri said, “Please. I’ve travelled two days to find him. I’m Sir Justin Courtenay, son of Baron Courtenay of Stanebeck, and this is my guide Seamus. I have news about William Dalrymple, the Sheriff of York, that his grace needs to hear.”

That seemed to do the trick, he thought with relief as the guards glanced at each other, and the one he’d been speaking to opened the door and disappeared inside. The three of them stood in uneasy silence until he returned, with a nod to his companion, who held the door open.

“Before you go in, you’ll leave your weapons with me.”

Yuuri was barely able to suppress a smirk, being suddenly reminded of a scene from _Swords and Sorcery _where the party of adventurers visited a castle and were asked to do just this. Of course each one had to announce the name of their beloved weapon, and list its virtues, and insist to the door-keeper that the venerable object be well looked after. He’d never bothered with it himself, and he couldn’t see any reason to start now, unsheathing his sword and handing it over; and Seamus did the same.

The guard beckoned for them to follow him inside, ushering them up a set of stone stairs leading to the top storey. And when Yuuri’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw marvels.


	36. Chapter 36

Most of the floor was given over to one great room, with groups of important-looking people scattered around, attended to by a profusion of servants with jugs and trays. A long dark table ran along each wall, both groaning with platters of meats, pies, breads, cheeses, sweets, tureens of soup, and a profusion of sauces. The nobles were either helping themselves or sending their lackeys to get them what they wanted as they ate buffet-style, some standing while others occupied one of the many cushioned wooden chairs, several of which were clustered around small tables. Hunting trophies lined the timbered walls high above, antlers and horns curving and jutting out into the room; some of the slaughtered stags must have been bigger than anything Yuuri had ever seen. Tapestries of hunting scenes hung underneath, and the polished floor was covered with thick fur rugs.

The metallic clink of knives against plates punctuated the hum of conversation. Yuuri’s mouth watered at the aromas of roasted meat, freshly baked bread, lemon and rosemary and garlic, ginger and cinnamon; he hadn’t realised until now how much he’d been missing the castle food. It would have been tempting to imagine he’d walked into an upmarket mock-medieval restaurant in his own time, something for wealthy tourists, if it hadn’t been for the wooden dais at the end of the room featuring a throne-like chair in which the man who was presumably the duke sat, surrounded by nobles clad in every colour of the rainbow. They had turned to look at the visitors approaching in the company of the guard.

The duke, who appeared to be in his early forties, with short wavy dark hair topped by an exotic-looking pink and blue conical hat, awaited them quietly. His posture, with his legs crossed and hands resting idly on the armrests, suggested nonchalance, though Yuuri did not miss the sharp glint of his dark eyes as they examined him and Seamus carefully. 

“Sir Justin Courtenay, son of Baron Courtenay of Stanebeck,” the guard announced as they walked to the dais. Yuuri felt the stares of the nobles, curious and distrusting.

_What is it they say – ? When you’re intimidated by an audience, imagine them all without their clothes on. Maybe I could imagine that this lot have suddenly been transported to the middle of York in my time, surrounded by flying cars and hoverboards, holographic advertisements and buskers playing crack music. Just an ordinary day for me, jacks. As important and in control as you think you are, you wouldn’t know what the hell kind of planet you’d just landed on. _

He suddenly wanted to smile, and felt a wave of confidence wash over him. “Your grace,” he said, bowing low, Seamus beside him doing likewise.

“Sir Justin,” said the duke in a smooth, slightly drawling voice that reminded Yuuri of the assured, entitled tone which people with old money, from old schools with old connections, used even in his time. “I don’t recall having met your father the baron, and yet we’re such close neighbours. I wonder how that’s been allowed to happen.”

An older man wrapped in heavy furs, who looked to Yuuri like he’d stepped out of a painting in some palace, bent down and whispered something in the duke’s ear, and he raised an eyebrow.

“It seems we’re behind the times. I wasn’t aware that your lands belong to the Nikiforovs now – as, presumably, do you. Congratulations on your remarkable achievement of staying alive in a fight with Sir Victor. I suppose it’s the Nikiforovs we ought to visit with…and remind of how important it is not to overstep one’s authority.” He paused, rubbing his chin while he continued to stare at Yuuri. “Perhaps after my nephew the king visits them this June. I daresay they’ll be busy enough until then, if they plan to give him the royal reception he’s accustomed to.” 

Yuuri thought he detected threats veiled in the polite speech, but they’d have more impact on the baron; none of this made any difference to him. “They’re looking forward to it,” he said. “I’ve come to see you because – ”

“Ah yes, something about Dalrymple. Pray tell me, what’s the old boy done? I trust he’s been a proper custodian of the city while I’ve been away. Do you have a grievance with him or his men?”

“Yes, I do, your grace. He robbed Sir Victor’s squire, who was minding his own business, hunting by himself in the woods.”

The duke sat up as the aristocrats surrounding him took a sudden interest in the conversation. “Robbed, did you say?”

“Yes – right down to the clothes he was wearing. Then they pulled a sack over his head, smeared him with mud, tied him to his horse, took him to town, and put him in the pillory, claiming _he _tried to rob _them_.”

Silence had descended upon the room. The duke’s brow was clouded. With a sudden thought, he tilted his head up to speak in hushed tones to the older man who was presumably his adviser.

“I’m not well acquainted with Baron Nikiforov’s family,” the duke stated, glancing around at the men near him on the dais. “Does anyone know ought of this squire?”

There were blank stares and shakes of heads. It seemed, Yuuri thought, that the Nikiforovs tended to keep to themselves and did not socialise much with others of their rank; at least not these people. But if they had been using Victor to seize the lands and wealth of surrounding noble families, he could understand why it would make the duke uneasy.

“He’s fifteen,” Yuuri said, “and is going to be a good knight. But the sheriff and his men overpowered him, and used the fact that no one knew who he was, or would believe he was a squire in the state he was in, to…well, to abuse him.”

“These are serious accusations,” the duke mused, his eyes searching Yuuri’s. “Tell me, is this young man still in the pillory?”

“I…” Oh. He hadn’t been prepared to be asked this particular question. And it was no good lying, because it would be easy for the duke to discover that the prisoner had escaped. Perhaps Thomas of Cowthorpe had spread word by now that Justin from The Black Dog, who fancied himself a knight, had been responsible. It wasn’t the name anyone else here knew him by, but the physical description would be the same.

“I would hear more of this,” the duke continued as Yuuri searched for words, “but over a meal. You’ve delayed me from partaking of this fine fare, of which there will soon be nothing but crumbs if I don’t have a portion. Come,” he said, standing, “you and your guide shall sup with me, and answer my questions more completely. It seems my sheriff has been rather a naughty fellow, if you’re to be believed.”

“I speak truly, your grace,” Yuuri insisted; and then he wanted to slap his hand over his mouth for his boldness. He knew that if someone questioned your word, they were insulting you. The last thing he wanted was to cause these people to treat him with derision; he’d already experienced enough of that at the castle and in the city. But he had to be careful not to insult the duke in return. This man might even be responsible for the heads and limbs on display at Walmgate Bar, he thought with a shiver.

“Well. Let’s see,” the duke replied, walking over to an area in the corner of the room lit by a torch bracketed on the wall. There was a small table that would be a prized antique in a modern living room, Yuuri thought, surrounded by carved chairs with red satin cushions. The duke sat down in one of these, and his adviser, who had silently trailed in their wake, sat next to him. Yuuri was gestured into a seat as well, and Seamus stood to the side, reminding him a little of Emil. A small fleet of servants dashed to their attendance, pouring drinks into silver goblets and taking orders for food from the duke, while others laid out glimmering plates and bowls etched with fine geometric designs. Yuuri felt momentarily bewildered by it all.

“Allow me to introduce Sir Gregory Ingram, a family friend and my faithful adviser,” the duke said, flashing a fond smile at the man in furs, who nodded. Yuuri had felt his gaze upon him from the moment he’d walked in; he reminded him of a bulldog protecting its master. “Don’t hover in the shadows there, my dear fellow,” the duke added, addressing Seamus. “You must be hungry. Join us.” He beckoned to a chair, and with shining eyes the young Irishman sat down slowly, as if not entirely convinced the chair was real. Soon there were platters in front of them of the same fine delicacies Yuuri had spied on the tables, and the duke indicated that they should help themselves as he and Sir Gregory were doing.

“Now. I didn’t wish to speak too freely in front of the room; such topics aren’t seemly for public discourse,” the duke said as a boy dressed in bright green and yellow hurried over to carve the chunk of meat he’d placed on his plate with his knife. The affected politeness that had been present in his voice was gone, replaced with a sombre tone that felt to Yuuri like it was more genuine. “Tell me everything. Leave nothing out. And then I’ll consider your words.”

Yuuri did as he was bidden, feeling awkward as he helped himself to food and drink. His appetite would normally begin to fade in situations such as this, though the quality of what had been left on the table before him was every bit as good as what he’d had at Crowood Castle, if not better, which meant that his taste buds longed for it even if his stomach didn’t. There was some kind of game fowl that had been roasted to perfection, with a dipping sauce that was both sweet and sour, and he ended up reminding himself that it was rude to eat too much of anything, which was a shame really. And then, as he focused on telling Julia’s story to this powerful man and his vigilant adviser, he began to lose his desire for what was on his plate. Seamus, he noticed, was experiencing no such ambiguities, and ate his meal with gusto, to the seeming amusement of the others.

When he got to the part about freeing Julia from the pillory, Yuuri’s appetite really did desert him, and he drank his wine instead. He didn’t mention the guard, and hoped he wouldn’t be asked about it, because that was a potential problem no matter what he said, whether it was that he’d fought and overpowered him, or offered a bribe that had been accepted. Fortunately, however, he was not interrupted as he explained about the sledgehammer job to the pillory and taking Julia back to his room at the ale-house, then helping her on her way. Sir Gregory’s eyes were narrowed, though the duke wore a bemused expression.

“I see,” was all he said for a moment. Then, “You must have been very confident about what this young man told you, to have behaved in such a way. You do realise you’ve broken several laws of the city.”

“I know him and his master, Sir Victor,” Yuuri said, ignoring the latter half of his statement. “Victor would be horrified by how Julius was treated.”

“I daresay.” The duke held his cup up without looking, and a servant instantly refilled it from a jug. Silence descended while the he sipped his wine thoughtfully. “I think it’s time I shared a confidence, Stanebeck,” he said eventually. “If this were an isolated incident, I would be more sceptical of your claims; you’ll admit it’s a great deal for me to take on hearsay alone. However, this isn’t the first complaint I’ve received about the man. It would appear that he takes liberties while his superiors aren’t present to look over his shoulder. I have no hard evidence of this as yet, but…I’ve had my suspicions for some time.”

Hope leapt in Yuuri’s heart, but before he could reply, the duke raised a hand. “Let’s not be premature. I’m willing to take your claim seriously, and look into it.” He turned to Sir Gregory. “It would be prudent, I think, to send one of my sons back with this fellow.”

“Neither will like it, your grace,” Gregory answered. “They’ve been enjoying the hunt and will not want to return early to the city.”

“They’ll do as I say whether they like it or no,” the duke responded, huffing a laugh. “Edward would be best, I believe. He’s the eldest, and has more of a weighty manner, which will be suitable for investigating this sheriff of mine.”

“If someone returns straight away,” Yuuri ventured, “and searches his residence, maybe they’ll find some of the things that were taken from Julius. I have an inventory.”

“That would be the sort of evidence which would prove Dalrymple’s guilt beyond a doubt,” the duke said with a nod. “Gregory, tell Edward I want a word with him.”

The adviser got up and left with a quick bow, and the duke gave Yuuri a curious look, saying, “You’re a strange fellow. Not only do you break prisoners out of pillories, but you work in ale-houses as well. I must admit I’ve been wondering what would possess you to do such a thing.” He took a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving Yuuri’s. “Enlighten me if you will.” It was a command rather than an invitation.

Pink crept across Yuuri’s cheeks. Even Seamus was staring at him now, waiting for an answer. He began to wish he’d thought to turn his com on, just so he could know that Phichit was there to listen. _I wonder what the duke would make of a version of the truth. Maybe I could gauge from that what Baron Nikiforov’s reaction might be when I return. _

He swallowed, feeling the familiar threading anxiousness in his veins, and briefly told the story of how Tyler had challenged him to a duel to the death. To his gratification, the duke was aware of Tyler’s prowess and needed no convincing that he would be a hopeless foe for any but the best to overcome. Both eyebrows crept up his face, however, as Yuuri told him about leaving the castle and finding a job in York.

“I’ve seldom heard a more singular confession,” the duke said when Yuuri was finished. “You’re entertaining me, my dear fellow; though if you were a knight of mine, I’d have you executed for such a deed.”

Yuuri’s breath caught and his hands clutched at the chair arms. _Not here, not now. No panic attacks. What else would I expect him to say? He thinks I’m a coward. They all do. That’s no surprise._

“Unless there were mitigating circumstances,” the duke added, eyeing him. “As perhaps there are here. Your noble defence of this squire, for example. And the fact, I hate to say, that you’d be facing certain death against Tyler Beaumont.” He paused, as Yuuri forced himself to breathe and felt his body begin to relax. “You do realise that if you forfeit this challenge, as you seem keen to do, you’ll bring shame upon the family you serve unless another knight fights in your stead?”

Yuuri straightened, his heart giving a lurch. “I…no. No, no one told me that.”

“Then unless you return, I imagine Victor will fight Tyler.”

“To the death…in front of the king,” he whispered.

“That’s the arrangement, is it?” the duke said, settling back and cradling his goblet of wine. “What a spectacle that would be. Yes, my nephew would enjoy watching the two of them, I’m sure. Tyler and you, perhaps not so much. You’ll forgive me if I say that your own abilities have not been praised far and wide as have theirs – which presumably is why you’re so concerned about being made to fight.”

“Yes,” Yuuri murmured. “But Tyler challenged _me_. I can’t let Victor do that; I can’t make him risk his life just to fix my mistake.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” the duke said approvingly, holding his cup up for another refill. “Maybe there’s some chivalry in you, after all.” 

* * *

“You’ve been hobnobbing with the king’s relatives? That’s juke, Yuuri, that’s – ”

“Really?” Yuuri interrupted. “They’re insanely rich people who lord it over everybody else. We’re better off without them in our time, don’t you think?”

“But you’re meeting these real figures from the history books,” Phichit said. “It’s amazing. The Cloud’s got stuff on your chap. Edmund Langley, First Duke of York. Died of influenza in 1402, at the royal palace where he was born. The princes were all soldiers; he was in charge of troops in France and Portugal. Oh, and Ireland – you’d better not tell your guide. He founded the House of York in the Wars of the Roses, and his brother John of Gaunt, First Duke of Lancaster, founded the House of Lancaster. Oh wow, listen to this – Edward, that nineteen-year-old jack you’re with, will command the right wing at the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, during which he becomes the highest-ranking English casualty.”

“Stop,” Yuuri said firmly. “Just stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop telling me how these people die. I mean, I know they die, everybody does. But you sitting there saying that, spooling out the rest of their lives for me while I’m here with them, it’s…eerie.”

Yuuri had brought his lantern with him to find a place in the woods where he could talk to Phichit without danger of being overheard. Edward seemed to have the right to be taken in anywhere he wanted while he was journeying, and they’d arrived to spend the night at the luxurious manor and outbuildings of a franklin, a rare member of the medieval middle class; the man was like a lord himself, renting his house and lands from the duke and administering to them and all the tenants. This much Yuuri gathered from asking the retinue of servants and soldiers who were accompanying Edward, himself and Seamus through the Dales and back to the city. Edward would probably expect him to know these things, Yuuri figured, and he didn’t want to have to spin the amnesia tale to yet someone else.

One night sleeping on a makeshift bed in a communal room downstairs in the hunting lodge, and one night in the main room of the franklin’s house next to the fire along with Edward and three other knights who were part of their party, with Seamus and the servants sleeping in the barn; Yuuri had been given no choice in the matter. And then they’d be returning to the city tomorrow. The duke’s adviser had been correct about neither of his sons wanting to leave. Edward had attempted to argue, in vain, and had stalked off in a fit of pique; and during the journey he had said little as he rode on his black horse alongside Yuuri. Wearing a fur cloak over full plate armour, he had a pale face, watery blue eyes, and a scrap of light brown beard matched with thick wavy hair like his father’s. And yet underneath the mien of a spoiled aristocrat was the light of intelligence; Yuuri could imagine this young man, with his easy sense of command and proud bearing, leading military troops.

_And dying at Agincourt twenty-one years from now, _he thought as the chill night breeze fluttered his fringe and rustled the tree branches above him. _We all have a date with death. It seems mine’s just a little earlier than most. Am I going to let that keep frightening me?_

He shivered. Yes, it did still frighten him, and would potentially be the source of more anxiety attacks; that hadn’t changed. But maybe it could. To some degree, anyway.

_I’ll have to pack a lot into four months of living. Complete my mission somehow, that’s the main thing. Redeem myself in the eyes of everyone who knows I ran away. And Victor – _

_No. _The thought hit with an insistence that surprised him, as did the others which tumbled after it._ I’m not going to settle for just a few more months of admiring him and wishing things could’ve been different. I want more. But how – _

“Yuuri? Are you there?”

He blinked, an image of Victor in the training field disappearing to reveal the black of night and a clear and starry sky. “Sorry, Phichit. Just…a lot to think about. I want to make sure, if I can, that I’m better prepared to deal with…with whatever comes my way than I was before, when I panicked. And, you know, I don’t really want to be slaughtered by some jack in the middle of a muddy field. Knowing I’m going back to the castle soon, it feels like I’m marching to my death. That’s if the baron doesn’t have me killed first.”

“Easy, Yuuri. You’re going to give yourself another anxiety attack.”

“Tell me about it.” He took several slow breaths. “At least I helped Julia, and maybe the sheriff’s in for a nasty surprise, too. I can hope.”

“Sure,” Phichit said gently. “When do you think you’ll be going back to the castle?”

“I’ve been told we should be getting to the city at about midday, if we start riding at dawn. Um, it’s about an eight-hour journey from there to the castle, so it’d probably be best if I could stay overnight somewhere, but I’ve only got a few pennies left after paying off Seamus; not enough for another night at The Eagle, anyway. I’ll see what happens.”

“It’s weird to think that’s the same pub we drank at before you left. I could go there right now if I wanted to.”

“I wish I could meet you. We could enjoy all the medieval ambience, minus the threat of death, and then go back to our flats, and normal life.” He paused. “What I wouldn’t give for a piece of that right now.”

“OK, Yuuri, I’ll tell you what. You have a nice horseback ride with the king’s cousin tomorrow, and get delicious food cooked for you, and drink wine all day. And I’ll go to the university and take my nutri-pills and count photons and study diagrams of particle collisions – oh yeah, and Celestino wants me to clear out his desk for him. I’ve got the better deal, you know it.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Good night, Phichit.” 


	37. Chapter 37

He was relieved to see, as they approached the city the following day, that they were not going to enter through a gate that displayed severed body parts. Instead, they were headed for a tower built into the north wall on the east bank of the Ouse. Edward again rode with him in the vanguard of the procession, along with the other knights, though Yuuri was the only one of them without armour. He supposed it was a silent concession to his rank as a nobleman, but it obviously didn’t extend as far as conversation. Edward wasn’t rude to him as such, but he had treated him as if he were mostly invisible, apart from curt requests or brief small talk to break long silences. Maybe there was a knack to associating with nobles that he himself lacked, though it had never been like that with Victor.

With the city wall well in sight, and the sun glittering on the water, Edward finally turned his head to speak to him. “Lendal Tower is the closest entrance to the sheriff’s house,” he said. “I don’t want him to have any warning of our arrival; we shall go straight to his residence and see what there is to see.” His gaze continued to rest on Yuuri. “I hope for your sake, sir, that there _is _something to see. Dalrymple won’t take kindly to false accusations being made against him.”

“And I’m telling you,” Yuuri replied, “as I told the duke, that he and his men attacked Sir Victor’s squire – a fifteen-year-old boy on his own. As formidable as he is with his weapons, I doubt he stood much of a chance against them. And they were going to leave him, half naked, in the pillory for three days and nights. Does that sound like justice to you?”

“If he was guilty, it’s lenient,” Edward said in a clipped tone. “The usual punishment for thieves is to cut off a hand.”

Yuuri’s heart sickened as he imagined Julia suffering this grisly fate in front of a baying crowd. “Let me go there with you, and I know we’ll find some kind of evidence. I’m sure Julius isn’t the only person he’s attacked and robbed.”

A shadow of concern crossed Edward’s face, but he fell back into silence as they approached the tower. The guards on duty recognised the duke’s son instantly and greeted him as he carried on along the path, which turned into a narrow walkway between the tall tower and the river, the stench of which was all too familiar to Yuuri. Their horses walked in single file, harness jingling, while the silhouettes of archers behind the battlements moved to and fro against a pale blue sky. Soon they were on the other side, and Edward signalled for the procession to pause.

“Knights and soldiers, stay with me,” he said. “Everyone else, you know your way to the castle; you can return to your duties there.”

As they did so, and Edward turned to confer with his knights, Seamus approached Yuuri on his horse. They’d hardly had a chance to speak since they’d arrived at the hunting lodge, having been physically separated most of the time due to their social stations. Yuuri had found it irritating, because the Irishman had been a pleasant travelling companion.

“This looks like the partin’ of our ways, if that’s all right with you, sir,” he said. “Wherever you’re goin’ next, I suppose you’ll know how to get there. And Master Morecambe will be wantin’ me back to help him.”

“Of course.” Yuuri nodded. “You’ve, um, you’ve been brilliant, Seamus. I know the weather on the way out there was pretty foul, and I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“Sure, you’ve paid for it and everythin’. And I got to spend the night in a royal huntin’ lodge with a fine meal and all. I’ll be tellin’ the other lads about it for a while, make no mistake.”

“Thanks – and good luck.”

Seamus smiled and reined his horse in the direction of The Eagle, and Yuuri turned to find Edward watching him.

“Dalrymple’s house is the next street along. Ready to help me find this evidence?”

* * *

_Come on, come on, it’s got to be here, I know it. So where is it?_

As Yuuri searched the dusty loft of the townhouse, echoes of commotion elsewhere in the residence travelled through the square in the floor through which he’d fed a wooden ladder. By the light of his lantern, he shifted wooden boxes and casks, old pieces of broken furniture, stacks of cloth in sacks, cracked pots and jugs, a wagon wheel missing a spoke. Throughout history, it seemed, attics were destined to be the dumping grounds of those with too many possessions, or who couldn’t bear to get rid of them even when they were knackered.

What a perfect place to hide ill-gotten gains. The problem was, Yuuri wasn’t finding them. Each chest he came across had a large iron key protruding from the latch, and when he opened them he only found more useless stuff, apart from one which contained rich fabrics perhaps waiting to be fashioned into clothing.

Downstairs, bumps and clangs indicated similar searches in progress, while Edward spoke in a tone of diminishing patience with a protesting William Dalrymple and his wife. A cacophony of voices floated from different parts of the house.

“Complaints have been made, Dalrymple, and I intend to investigate. I expect no hindrance from you or your household.”

“My husband’s the most righteous man you could know – this is an insult, sir, an insult to our entire family! What have we ever done to antagonise you?”

“Move aside; I need to look in here.”

“Master, what’s happening?”

“Lord a’mercy!”

Yuuri had looked around the little farmyard area, surrounded by a high wall, and found nothing but hissing geese, a goat that tried to eat his coat, and a shed full of old tools and cobwebs. He’d searched under beds and in cupboards. Edward had remained firm with the Dalrymples, though he eyed Yuuri with growing frustration every time he passed by. Eventually, wondering if there was storage space at the top of the building, he’d gone up all the flights of stairs he could find and been rewarded.

Only, it wasn’t a reward if he didn’t find anything here.

“I shall demand compensation from the duke for this intrusion,” the sheriff was declaring heatedly.

“You’re in no position to make demands, and I suggest you remember yourself,” came Edward’s voice.

_Think, think, think. _Yuuri looked around the room. He’d examined everything up here, everything. Pried at the floorboards. Carefully scanned the walls. About to give up and double-check the cellar, he was struck by an idea and raced down the ladder and the stairs, and past Edward and the Dalrymples.

“How long is it going to take you to admit you haven’t found what you’re looking for?” the sheriff’s wife said.

“Stanebeck,” Edward called after him, “what – ”

“I need to see something,” Yuuri shouted in reply, scurrying back to the farmyard, where he was mindful of staying out of reach of the ravenous goat. He carefully studied the attic floor from this perspective, then dashed back into the house, retracing his steps.

“Lord in heaven, save us,” the woman exclaimed in exasperation. Ignoring her, and the stares of the soldiers and knights as they completed their own fruitless searches, Yuuri quickly returned to the loft area, judging where he was standing in relation to the view of the farmyard he’d had moments before.

“Something’s off,” he muttered. “Something’s not right here. Where is it…?”

He picked up the lantern from where he’d left it on the floor and walked slowly around the room, scanning. Then he had it. _This _side of the house, over here…He crossed the room to the far wall that overlooked the main street outside. This wall. Was it possible – ?

He ran his hands along the vertical timbers that comprised it. A wall covered with solid wood was unusual for this time period, he’d noticed. Most buildings were made of wattle and daub, stone or brick, and that included the interior walls. It was strange, though he couldn’t detect anything suspicious about it as such. Just smooth strips of wood.

_I wonder. No one’s here; they won’t see me._

Pulling his toolkit out of his coat pocket, he extracted the laser pen and switched it on, its faint electronic hum incongruous in the ancient loft. Standing close to the wall, he aimed the small silver tool at the wood and pressed the button that controlled the beam. Carefully guiding it, he cut a hole, then poked at the circle of wood with a finger – and his heart leapt to find that it popped into an empty crevice behind.

That was it. Someone had fashioned a fake wall here, and the recess was just large enough to be noticeable if you looked closely. He held the lantern up to the hole he’d just created, but the light was only swallowed by the darkness on the other side. Pocketing the pen, he hurried back downstairs and told Edward what he’d discovered, and he was sure he caught a look of alarm on the Dalrymples’ faces before either of them could smooth it over with looks of indignity.

“What do you keep in that room?” Edward enquired sternly of the sheriff.

“I’m not aware of any room up there other than the main one,” the man replied. “If there’s a gap between the walls, it’s because of how the house was built. What do you propose to do, tear the place apart?”

“I’m weary of your insolence,” Edward snapped back at him. “Stanebeck, lead us to this wall, and we’ll see for ourselves.” He gestured for his waiting men to follow as Yuuri turned and went up the stairs again with a mixture of triumph and trepidation – for it was entirely possible that the sheriff was telling the truth, and all he’d found was an empty recess, the result of shoddy architecture or careless builders.

_Please let me be right. For once, let something go my way. Because I don’t want to think about what’ll happen if it doesn’t._

When they had all gathered in the loft, Yuuri shone the lantern over the hole. “I don’t know how to access it,” he said, examining the wood once more. “There’s got to be a door here.”

“There isn’t any door,” the sheriff said. “And what’ve you done to the wall?”

“Search this wall from top to bottom,” Edward ordered his men, and they all joined Yuuri in running their fingers over it, looking for a lever or a crevice.

“Here, my lord,” one of the knights said, placing his fingers just so along the edge of a panel and pulling. The wood gave way a little, and the men on either side of him hurried to help prise the opening wider. Soon a black doorway gapped before them.

Edward shot an accusing glance at the Dalrymples, who stood frozen, their mouths hanging open; then he approached Yuuri, took his lantern, and went through the aperture. It was only a brief moment before he reappeared, his mouth a thin line.

“Arrest these two,” he commanded.

* * *

If Yuuri hadn’t been nursing the substantial worry about what his fate would be when he returned to Crowood Castle, he might have decided he was experiencing more of a sense of peace than at any moment since he’d left his own time. But perhaps that was still the case, now, while he remained in the city. Having finished his business at the duke’s castle, he’d had the sudden urge to ask if he could climb to the top of the tallest tower and discover what he could see. Two archers in leather armour and metal helmets patrolled the battlements, occasionally glancing at him but otherwise leaving him alone.

To his surprise, the vista wasn’t very different from that of the modern city. The roofs of orange tiles and slate, narrow ancient streets, the two rivers, the walls, fortified towers, the minster. A great deal more smoke hung in the air, however, and the busy boat traffic and activity on the riverbanks as cargo was loaded and unloaded were unknown in modern times. The medieval buildings, no longer confined to clusters amid modern cement and steel structures, were packed so densely in places that they looked from above like more of a phalanx than a series of separate roofs. It was easy, too, to make out the difference between the well-maintained cobblestone main streets and the muddy warrens that comprised the alleyways where most ordinary folk lived. Yuuri had never realised, either, just how much of the city was taken up by walled-off enclosures surrounding merchants’ houses, churches and monasteries. Maybe as much as half of it, though you wouldn’t guess from wandering at ground level. The house- and privy-lined bridges could both be viewed from here too, and the Shambles market, though tiny Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma Gate was hidden behind St. Crux to the east. He didn’t really want to see it, anyway; not right now, and probably never again.

_Maybe I’ve made a positive difference in this city for once in my life, _Yuuri mused as he watched the boats glide back and forth along the Ouse. The sheriff had been preying on people and amassing stolen riches for some time, from the look of it; and with what he must have thought was a cunning hiding place, he clearly felt in no hurry to dispose of them too quickly. But whether he’d been waiting for the right black-market price or to give the items as gifts, or just wanted to gloat over his hoard like a dragon, who knew.

The taciturn Edward had made a show of his anger and disgust, wrapping a hand around Dalrymple’s bejewelled livery collar and yanking it off. With that action, he’d announced that the erstwhile sheriff was heretofore stripped of every rank and title that he’d enjoyed, and would be placed in the pillory until the duke decided on his ultimate fate. He’d then told his knights to ride out and round up all of the men who had formed the sheriff’s gang and followed his orders, while his soldiers split their numbers between fetching carts in which to take the stolen goods to the castle, and escorting Edward and the sheriff to the pillory. Amid the whirl of activity, when Yuuri asked about horses, he was told there was a private stable down the road owned by the family – and there, he discovered with a smile, was Boudicca, safe and sound.

It was a strange procession that wended its way from the Dalrymples’ house to Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma Gate, though no page boy announced it with a trumpet this time. Yuuri sat quietly on Lady while he watched a vast crowd collect around Edward, whose re-enactment of the scene days before when the sheriff had placed Julia in the pillory gave him a shiver of déjà vu. Poetic justice it might be, but he had no desire to watch anyone, no matter how deserving, get pelted with filth by an ugly crowd, and was glad to be able to leave with Edward and his men.

The treasure was carted straight into the castle, to a room off the side of the main hall where official-looking people joined them and were apprised by Edward of the events that had transpired. Then, to Yuuri’s surprise, Edward came over to speak to him.

“Our chamberlain, Lord Buxton, has a list of the items you said had been stolen from the squire,” he told him. “You may endeavour under his guidance to discover what remains of his possessions, and the portion will wait until you or their owner are ready to travel with them. I take it you were planning on leaving soon?”

Yuuri nodded. “Thank you, my lord. And, um, for leaving your hunt to come here with me.”

The first smile Yuuri could remember seeing on the man’s face lit it up now, and for once he briefly looked boyish. “My dear fellow, I wouldn’t have missed this for a month of Sundays. I daresay it’s more exciting than chasing a fox whilst fighting off the cold, don’t you?” He patted Yuuri’s shoulder heartily. “Good show, Stanebeck.” Then he turned and was gone, leaving Yuuri to confer with the chamberlain, and to wonder whether Edward had quietly enjoyed the whole experience. People in his position were perhaps used to putting on acts as easily as they changed their clothes. Though again Yuuri’s thoughts wandered toward Victor, and how genuine he’d always seemed. 

_I wish you could be standing next to me now. Both of us, away from all this feudal absurdity. Just enjoying the view, and each other’s company. _Yuuri wanted to look forward to seeing him upon his return to the castle, but was not sure what reaction to expect from him, or his father, and had always been tempted to fear the worst.

_Whatever that is, I’ll take it. Sometimes there are just things you have to do, no matter how you feel about it, because they’re the right choices to make._

He made his way back down the turret stairs, through the castle and out the front gate, briefly making stops as he did so to gawp at the opulence surrounding him, which was even greater than that of Crowood Castle. How different it was to be standing outside on this occasion, with the river in front of him, no longer desperate to find aid for Julia or feeling tethered to his job at the ale-house. Before he’d left the treasure-room, the chamberlain had told him he’d been directed by Lord Edward to give him something for his troubles, and placed a small leather bag tied with a drawstring in his hands. He’d opened it when he’d got to the top of the tower – and discovered that his financial difficulties would be behind him for a long time to come, if he were sensible about his spending habits.

What was left of the afternoon, then, appeared to be his to enjoy. He took Lady back to the Cross Keys stable, with the thought in the back of his head that he’d spend the night at The Eagle if they had room for him. Maybe he ought to go say proper goodbyes to Daisy and Jan today – though now he had money again, he could buy a little something for each of them first. The Shambles market wasn’t far away; most stalls should still be open.

His heart was light as he walked along. How that could be, when returning to Crowood Castle as he purposed to do the next day still seemed like a death-march, he wasn’t sure. Suddenly eager to tell Phichit what had happened, he switched his com on as he continued toward the market, his hand hovering near his cheek in a gesture of apparent thought while he spoke quietly. It turned out that Phichit had left work early that day and gone to an Asian market not far away from where he himself was now; and he was so taken with what Yuuri was telling him that he almost dropped his armful of vegetables.

“Why are you buying so much food?” Yuuri asked him as he heard clicking and crackling noises that seemed to indicate Phichit was redistributing what he was carrying.

“My family’s coming to visit me for a week. My parents don’t like nutri-pills.”

“Oh.”

“That’s juke, Yuuri, catching the sheriff like that. Don’t ever try and tell me again that you’re a crap detective. If you can just go nab Ailis now – ”

“I wish it was that easy. But, Phichit – maybe you should give your com to Celestino while your family’s there. I don’t want – ”

“Are you kidding? I’d miss this too much.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “I always got the feeling I was pestering you.”

There was a pause. “Did I ever give you that impression?”

“Well no, not you personally, but – ”

“Then stop thinking it. It’s not like you call me all the time. But even if you did, there’d be a good reason for it. This is more interesting than anything else in my life, Yuuri.”

Yuuri had never thought about it that way before. “Really?”

“My best friend’s 728 years in the past, having an incredible time of it. Not good, necessarily, and I know some of it – well, maybe a lot of it – is shit from your point of view, but I’m just gobsmacked to hear about everything you get up to. Even what you’re eating, what you’re wearing, what the weather’s like. So no,” he concluded, “you’re not pestering me.”

After a silence, Yuuri said, “Thank you.”

“OK, so now we’re clear on that, there’s one thing you _could _do for me that you haven’t done yet, but it’s not really your fault, because I know it’s not your thing…”

“What?”

“Find the prettiest person in the market and describe them for me?”

Yuuri laughed.

* * *

The sun was sinking low in the sky, a pale smear of yellow, when he headed back to The Black Dog. He’d been carrying his overstuffed travelling bag with him since leaving Lady at the stable, having wandered all around the market with it, and was looking forward to taking the weight off his shoulder for a while. Maybe Jan would have a pie to spare for him in the kitchen, and hopefully Daisy wouldn’t be too busy. He even fancied a bit of the beer. The character of an establishment’s owners didn’t always predict the quality of the goods they sold, and he knew just which casks contained the best-tasting suds.

The white trainers he was wearing were utterly filthy by now, though. He should’ve thought to sneak them into the washtub the last time he’d cleaned clothes with Sally. Everything else he wore – the coat, the athletic clothes, even his pants – he’d managed to take care of. Though at the moment he was projecting his “Yuuri the pub slave” style, having decided the aristocratic one, while suitable for meeting with the duke and his son, might seem a wee bit pretentious in the ale-house, as Seamus would’ve put it.

It was a new sensation, he realised, feeling pleased to be approaching the place. Just in time to nip in before curfew as well, with the shadows deepening. He decided he would see if the kitchen door in the alley was open, and surprise Jan.

The surprise was his, however, when two men sprang out at him from behind the corner, brandishing their swords and shoving him into the muddy street. His hand flew to the hilt of his own weapon, but before he could draw it, his wrist was grabbed and pulled away, and a knee pinned him in place over his stomach. The other man attempted to grab his bag while he struggled, helpless to stop him.

“Get off of me,” he choked out, putting all his strength into a sudden twist of his body in an attempt to throw off his attacker.

“Oh no you don’t,” the man said, bending Yuuri’s wrist back until he grunted in pain.

“What do you want?” he asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

“A friend of mine told me there was a blond-haired cove by the name of Justin who worked at The Black Dog,” the man holding his bag said in a mock-light conversational tone. “Who had money, and strange and wondrous things.” He chuckled as he unbuckled the flap of the bag. “Me and my mate here, we had to satisfy our curiosity. What do you keep in this bag, Justin, eh?”

“It’s what’s on his belt that I’m interested in,” his colleague said. “Look, he’s got a coin purse. Keep whatever tat you find in there; I’m having me some of this.”

Yuuri struggled again, but the man was a solid weight, and in the next instant the edge of a sword was grazing his neck. “No more of that, jack my lad, or I’ll slit your pretty throat.” His breath was tinged with onions, and he smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a month. Yuuri recoiled. His bag – if they emptied it out, they’d find the time-travel sphere. He couldn’t let them have that.

“Thomas of Cowthorpe,” he huffed. “Was that who told you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said onion-breath.

“Did he show you what I gave him?”

“What d’you mean? What did you give him?”

“It was only something small,” Yuuri said in the best honeyed voice he could manage. “I’ve got something even better. Let me show you.”

Onion-breath laughed while his comrade looked on, intrigued. “Go on, Bert, let’s see. I can only find clothes in the bag so far. Maybe he’s got summat better.”

“I told you, he’s got a coin purse; that’s all I’m concerned about.”

“You’ll love this,” Yuuri said. “If I give it to you, will you let me go?” he added, mixing into his tone a touch of desperation and naivete.

“If it’s good enough? Sure,” the man with his bag said in an exaggeratedly genial voice.

“It’s in my pocket. If I can just – ”

“No tricks.” Bert jabbed his knee further into Yuuri’s stomach. His hold on his left wrist was vice-like as Yuuri reached into the pocket that contained his toolkit. Finding the laser pen by feel, he gently pulled it free, then slowly took it out, watching his attackers’ eyes widen.

“What on God’s green earth is that?” the one with his bag asked.

“It’s a special kind of tool. Look, I’ll show you how it works.”

When both of them leaned in, he pressed the switch, and a thin blue line shot into the darkness. Before the men had a chance to react, he flicked the laser across Bert’s cheek, producing an instant red welt. He yelped and jumped back – and taking his chance, Yuuri dropped then pen, scrambling back and drawing his sword in a flash. As soon as he’d sprung to his feet, however, Bert’s colleague dropped his bag and shoved him off balance, as Bert came at him with his weapon.

_I can’t take two of them on at the same time, _Yuuri thought in a panic, grappling with them both. Bert was trying to twist his sword out of his grip. _They’re going to kill me._

“You bleedin’ little cur,” Bert growled, the slash on his cheek standing out dark and angry in the twilight. “I’ll chop you to pieces for that.”

From the darkness resounded a familiar voice, laden with threat: “You’ll take your hands off him, _now_, or my sword will be the last thing you’ll ever see.”


	38. Chapter 38

The three of them turned to stare – and Victor, plate armour gleaming under a fur cloak, sword poised in front of him, stepped forward out of the shadows. Yuuri’s attackers gasped, their weapons clattering to the ground as they spun on their heels and dashed away as if they’d seen a wraith. The ferocity of an encounter with a wrathful Victor was still fresh in Yuuri’s mind from the duel in which he’d landed – but this time, thankfully, it was directed at someone else; and as those blue eyes fell upon him, seeming to catch the last of the light, the avenging angel vanished, shoulders relaxing and features softening as he sheathed his sword.

“Victor,” Yuuri breathed.

“Justin, thank God I found you.” He approached and stood in front of him. “Are you hurt?” 

Finally recalling how to move his mouth, Yuuri said quietly, “Um, no. But it’s getting too dark out here to see.”

“We need to get indoors. This ale-house wouldn’t be my first choice of shelter. Come with me to the inn? You can get cleaned up there and rest.”

Yuuri looked down at his mud-splashed hands and sheathed his sword, then knelt and closed his bag. Surreptitiously grabbing his laser pen, he quickly tucked it into the purse on his belt; he’d used it twice now for purposes it had never been meant for, and it would be as well to keep it handy in case he needed to do so again. “I was going to see some people inside,” he said, standing and shouldering his bag. “But that can wait.” He added, “Thank you.”

“It’s a shame those rogues won’t have the law on their heads this time. I thought it was more important to make sure you were all right.”

“I didn’t know you were here. How – ”

Just then, the footsteps and conversation of a small group of travellers approached the ale-house, along with a boy of perhaps eight carrying a bundle of reeds alight at the tip, which produced a flickering yellow glow as he walked. Yuuri watched them enter the front door, one of them giving the boy a coin before joining his companions inside. Victor trotted over, armour clanking and long fringe flopping, and Yuuri followed.

“Can you take us to The White Swan on Stonegate?” Victor asked.

“Can I ’eck, sir,” the boy replied with a wide smile. “Follow me.” 

Yuuri assumed this was a link-boy, from what Seamus had told him. As they walked along, Victor made easy small talk with him, and the youngster seemed delighted to be escorting a real knight. Yuuri struggled to find words himself; he would certainly never condone a young child doing such a job, especially when he’d had proof enough today of the criminal elements the city contained.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“My name, sir? Tim, sir.”

“Have you been doing this job long?” He felt Victor’s eyes on him as he spoke.

The boy shrugged. “Can’t rightly say. A year, maybe?”

“Are you usually by yourself like this?”

After a pause, Tim replied, “I’m a link-boy, sir,” as if that were explanation enough.

Yuuri wondered what else to say. _Do you have family? Do you go to school? _But they were personal questions, or ones with obvious answers. Of course he didn’t go to school; that was for the wealthy. And he may or may not have family, but he couldn’t be living in ideal circumstances if he was doing this job.

When Yuuri looked up, he saw that they were nearing a tall brick building with wooden timbers running in crisscross patterns through it; lanterns hanging on hooks outside the door spilled warm light onto the street, and a sign with an elegantly painted white swan proclaimed their destination.

“The White Swan, sirs,” Tim said, opening the door for them and holding it as they went inside. Victor gave him a gold coin and thanked him with a smile, and the boy’s eyes lit up.

“Thank _you_, sir,” he enthused, pocketing the coin.

“Here, Tim,” a man called from behind the bar, “more clients waiting for you, my lad. Oi – stay there, don’t bring that torch in here.”

Victor turned his smile to Yuuri and nodded toward a grand set of wooden stairs with a red carpet running down the middle. Though _everything_ here was grand, from the candle-laden chandeliers in the bar to the smartly dressed servants in tunics and hose. Yuuri felt like he’d walked into a fancy hotel as he followed up the stairs.

“It’s not exactly the castle,” Victor said, pausing in front of a carved wooden door a little way down the hall on the first floor, “but for travelling purposes – ”

“It’s a lot fancier than what I’m used to,” Yuuri murmured, admiring all the detail that had gone into things people would ordinarily overlook – patterned rugs, carved wainscoting, wrought-iron torch brackets on the walls that looked like vines with leaves.

_Yuuri Katsuki, get your head together. He believes you’re a baron’s son. The real Justin might think this place was a tip compared to where he lived._

“I suppose it is,” Victor replied, opening the door with a key and going inside.

Yuuri followed, put his bag on the floor, and stood and stared. He thought his room at The Eagle had been sumptuous, but this was obviously meant for aristocrats. It was spacious, with more ornate wooden trim, a Persian area rug, large pieces of elegant furniture – including a canopied bed that looked like it would comfortably sleep several people – and a fireplace of yellow dressed stone housing a warm, merry blaze. Victor seemed at home here, hanging his cloak on a peg on the wall before unstrapping his sword belt and leaving it on a table; but before Yuuri could think what to do or say, there was a knock at the door.

“Come,” Victor called, and a young woman in a pink gown and turban, and man in a red tunic and yellow hose, appeared in the doorway. “Bring food and drink, please.” Then Victor looked at Yuuri. “Do you have a preference for anything?”

“The pheasant stew is our special dish tonight,” the woman suggested with a smile and a little curtsey.

Realising an answer was expected of him, Yuuri mumbled, “Um, that sounds nic – that sounds delicious, thank you.”

“Meat, bread, some vegetable pottage, a jug of good wine,” Victor said to her. “I think that’ll do. And send someone to draw a bath, please.” He paused to consider. “Some extra linen, too. Justin, is there anything else you require?”

“Um…no, thank you.”

Victor nodded to the servants, and with a bow and a curtsey they departed, leaving the door open. Yuuri realised he was fingering the strap of his bag like a lifeline, but couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“Are you sure you’re uninjured?” Victor asked with a concerned expression, coming to stand in front of him, his armour quietly clinking. The light from the fire, and a candelabra near the bed, warmed his hair and face, and made the metal plates he wore into shimmering mirrors.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri managed to say. “Thanks to you.” _Some knight I am, letting them gang up on me like that._

“If this isn’t to your liking, being here – ”

“No – no, it’s good. I, um…it’s just very unexpected. I’m not used to all this…anymore. I’m not sure I can pay – ”

“There’s no need; I’ve already paid for the room. You’re welcome to join me.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said, wondering what that meant. Spend the night? There was only one bed. Granted, it was huge, but…_oh God_. “How are you even here?” he blurted. “I mean, I’m glad you are. But – ” 

Two female servants strode in with the largest wooden bucket Yuuri had ever seen and placed it in front of the fire. Two men immediately behind them were carrying pails full of steaming water, which they poured into the bucket. Then they left, and Yuuri stared after them. An older woman came next with a jug and two small silver-rimmed wooden cups without handles, like sake bowls, which she silently left on a table with a bow before departing.

“Maybe it’ll be easier to talk later,” Victor said, studying his expression. “Please, sit down and help yourself to anything they bring.”

Yuuri did so, pouring a cup of wine. It was weak, but that was fine with him; he didn’t want a buzzing head while he was trying to make sense of everything that was happening. Victor seemed to be making an earnest effort to be friendly, though confusion flickered in his eyes.

_I’m not surprised. He probably thinks I should be ordering the servants around like a pro._

As they continued to come and go, filling the bucket and bringing food to the table, Yuuri sipped his wine and watched them, though his attention was mostly focused on Victor, finding it difficult not to stare as he removed his armour piece by piece, placing each one inside a tall wardrobe. Another everyday activity for him, surely, when Julia wasn’t around to do it for him.

_Julia. I need to ask him about her._

But did people here speak freely in front of servants? The only way must be to imagine they weren’t even present. Yuuri drew a line at treating people like that, however. Maybe this was what Victor had meant when he’d said it would be easier to talk later. He considered sampling some of the dishes in front of him, which looked and smelled wonderful; but he was remembering the feel of Emil removing his own armour, and how intimate it had seemed, and how he’d told him as tactfully as he could to stop. How he’d longed to do it for Victor. His breath hitched as he watched – somehow it seemed like he was undressing, even though he was fully clothed, with a dark blue tunic and matching hose underneath. And yet it felt like there was an impossible chasm between them, too, marked out by the rich Persian rug in the middle of the room, and all the other ridiculous accoutrements here for nobles. How, Yuuri wondered, could he ever put up a pretence of being part of this world?

“Are you not hungry?” Victor said, coming to sit in a chair across the table from him after removing the last piece of his armour. “Is the food not good – ?”

“I…I haven’t tried it yet,” Yuuri answered. _Why are you being so nice to me when everyone knows I ran away? Don’t you have me down as a coward as well?_

“Let’s see, then.” Victor took his knife from his belt and cut a piece of bread off a loaf, then decided to hand it to Yuuri, who took it out of politeness, dipped it in a bowl of sauce, and took a bite.

_It’s wonderful – like all the food that’s cooked for wealthy people here. But why is this so difficult? We ate together when we were camping. We talked, we…we opened up to each other. But I have no idea what to say to you now. _In the background, while his thoughts rattled, splashes of water into the tub near the fire blended with the near-constant footsteps of servants.

“It’s very good,” he said, watching Victor cut a piece of bread for himself, which he also dipped in the sauce.

They ate in silence for a moment. Victor speared a piece of pheasant from the stew and chewed it, then grinned slightly as he pushed the bowl toward Yuuri, blue eyes holding his own. Yuuri felt like he was drowning in them. He made himself copy Victor’s actions, taking his own knife and trying a piece of pheasant, hardly tasting it. Studying his reaction, Victor poured more wine into their little cups, then took the lead for the rest of the meal. It became a kind of unspoken game, where he tried a bite or a sip and then offered some to Yuuri. Simple and polite on the surface of it, though the way Victor’s eyes followed him seemed…_knowing_. Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure what it all meant, but he felt an arousing tension that pulled and tantalised – all the while telling himself to stop imagining things and keep his composure. They hadn’t even had a proper conversation since Victor had emerged from the darkness in that alley. But when they reached for a candied ginger from a bowl at the same time, and their fingers touched briefly, Yuuri felt a tingle that almost had him falling to pieces inside.

_This is pathetic. It’s all in my mind. Besides, there’s absolutely no way I can try to start anything with him, especially here and now._

The servants were still filling the bucket. It was going to take them all night, it seemed.

“Justin,” Victor said, “I know this is personal, but…”

Yuuri braced himself inwardly.

“…you mentioned a concern about paying. It made me wonder if anyone had told you that your father’s been sending you a monthly stipend.”

“Father?” Yuuri echoed blankly. _Baron Courtenay, Yuuri, wake up._ “Oh. No, I didn’t know. He has?”

“The castle purse takes a portion of it, but you get to keep the rest. There should have been two months’ worth paid by now; I’ll check with John. I imagine it must have been a worry, buying new armour and clothes without knowing how you’d be able to replenish your funds.”

“I…yes, thank you. That’s very kind.”

“It’s no more than your due.” He paused, then added quietly, “I don’t make the rules, however I might feel about them. I wouldn’t have chosen to take you away from your castle. But…well.” For once, Victor seemed to be at a loss for words. “If you hadn’t come to us, I wouldn’t have got to know you. I…I’m glad – ”

“Sir,” a female servant called from near the door, “my apologies for interrupting, but your bath is drawn. Would you like us to add anything to it? We have the essences of dozens of herbs and spices, plus rose petals, violets, lemon balm, peppermint…”

“Justin?” Victor said.

“Yes?” he answered. “Oh – you want me to choose?”

“The bath is for you.”

“It is? Oh.” He thought for a moment. “In that case…something that smells of roses?” He watched the woman curtsey and leave.

“I thought you’d appreciate a bath after those thieves had you down in the mud,” Victor said. “If you were used to bathing at your castle, I’m sorry to have deprived you of it.”

“No, it’s…it’s OK.”

“You haven’t taken your coat off. Are you warm enough?”

Yuuri blinked. He hadn’t removed his modern coat in front of anyone here, and had got into the habit of being uncomfortably warm at times as a result. What would happen if he did it now? How far did the projector’s influence extend? Maybe it would be safe enough in this room, with Victor, to try it.

“I forgot,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Indeed. I’d like to talk more about it.”

Yuuri stood and removed his coat, keeping at least one hand on it at all times, then sat back down with it on his lap. Victor’s brow clouded, however.

“I don’t recall seeing you in those clothes at the castle. They suit you, but…” Victor’s words trailed off and he looked at him in confusion.

_Of course. With the clothes I’m projecting, I must look like a commoner to him. There’s no easy way to say any of this. _“I’ve been working at an ale-house here,” he stated, wondering what Victor would make of this. “The one I was outside of when I was attacked.”

Victor’s gaze was steady. “I know.”

“You do?” He digested this for a moment. “Well, almost as soon as I started, my clothes were stolen; I’d stored them all in a chest in my room, and someone took it. My employers claimed to be investigating, but for all I know, they took it themselves. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed, and an angry spark leapt into them. “I see. I wouldn’t mind having words with them, then.” He added, “With your permission.”

Yuuri nodded. “I was going back anyway – I wanted to say goodbye to a few people there before heading back to the castle, though…well, I’ve had some concerns about that…”

“I can imagine.”

The servant returned at that moment with a crystal vial from which she pulled a stopper; then she shook a few drops over the water, announced the bath was ready and that the servants would leave them now, and departed after the ubiquitous curtsey.

“Peace at last,” Victor chuckled. “I’ll lend you my clothes to wear for the journey home, so that you have something more…fitting for your status. Not that it bothers me, you understand, but it might help to create a certain impression on your return.” He went over to his wardrobe. “Don’t let me delay you from getting into the water. Now, what would be best…?”

Yuuri stood and froze. Victor expected him to bathe in front of him?

_This, and the fact that we seem to be in this room together with one bed…are these cultural differences; is that why he hasn’t said anything? _He thought about how most servants had to share quarters wherever they lived. In the ale-house, he’d seen multiple people occasionally sharing beds and hadn’t thought about it at the time; maybe, especially when the nights were so cold, and space could be at a premium, they didn’t always have an amorous motive. And Julia hadn’t even asked him to leave the room while she’d washed, he suddenly realised; he’d automatically assumed that she’d expect him to. Because he was applying the customs of his time to hers.

_There’s less privacy here. It’s easy to forget when I have my own room. I think most people would consider that a luxury. And if they’re willing to stand in broad daylight outside a tannery, or in the middle or a crowded room in a pub, and have a piss in front of anyone who might happen to see, perhaps their ideas of shame and modesty are different from ours, too._

But he still couldn’t bathe in front of Victor. He simply couldn’t risk him catching a glimpse of his modern clothes. And apart from that, well…the things it could possibly lead to, or at least tempt him to try to do…he didn’t want to speculate right now.

“Justin?” Victor had laid a small pile of clothing on the bed and was looking at him with a worried expression.

“I’m sorry; just a lot to think about from today. Do you mind if…um, would it be all right with you if I took a bath by myself? Just to clear my head for a while. Then…then we can talk.”

Victor looked taken aback. “Oh…”

“I don’t mean to kick you out of your own room,” Yuuri added hastily, feeling like he was digging a deeper hole for himself. “I just – ”

“No, that’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Really.”

“Thanks. I won’t be long.”

“No, please, take all the time you want. I…I’ll be downstairs.” And with a quick smile, Victor was out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

_Yuuri, you have a knack for scoring own goals._


	39. Chapter 39

“Is there anything else you desire, sir?” the proprietor of The White Swan asked, standing attentively next to Victor’s table.

He shook his head. “Your service is exemplary, thank you.”

“I’ll be just over there if you need me.” With a small bow, he left.

Victor poured himself a cup of wine – a proper large cup, not one of the dainty little mazers they’d given them upstairs – and took a gulp. Something strong-ish and dry, to fortify him.

_Is there anything else you desire, sir?_

Yes, though it wasn’t in the man’s power to give it.

A certain enigmatic, alluring knight with a gaze that would look right _into _you, and who never lost the power to surprise and confound.

He’d already surprised several times today, the first without even being present, when Victor had arrived in the city to discover what had happened with the sheriff. And later, when he’d found Justin in the hands of those villains…well, he’d sworn off violence apart from under extenuating circumstances, but this most certainly qualified, and he’d been prepared to run them both through with his sword if need be. How quickly that anger had drained out of him, however, when they’d fled and he’d got a proper look at Justin for the first time in weeks, and discovered that he was unhurt.

_Seeing you again was like the sun coming out after days of rain. I thought…I hoped…you might feel the same about me._

_Maybe not. It seems I was mistaken somehow._

His eyes suddenly filled with tears as he stared at the fire, and one escaped to trail down a cheek. There were few other guests in the large drinking area of the inn, but even so, he didn’t want to make a spectacle of himself, and wiped his face with a handkerchief, then sipped more wine.

_Imagine someone of my position behaving like this. My father would have something to say about it._

_But he danced with me. He made me feel like I was the most special person in the world. I remember his smile and sparkling eyes like it was yesterday._

Justin had imbibed an impressive amount of wine that night, to be sure. But it hadn’t robbed him of the ability to show off that innate grace he possessed. Victor couldn’t look away. And then Justin had taken his hand, and the time had spun into meaninglessness as the two of them wove a small world around each other. Justin had a wonderful, guileless, unselfconscious way of laughing that had been a revelation. It had still been echoing in Victor’s head as he’d searched the countryside for him, and then come to the city.

Had it been so unreasonable to hope to experience it again?

Justin was still the knight he remembered – soft-spoken yet candid, kind-hearted and determined, sensual in an offhand way that suggested he might not even be aware of it. But he was also nervous, reticent, and seemingly bemused. Victor had had no ulterior motive in asking him here. He’d wanted to look after him. It wasn’t uncommon for fellow travellers to share a room. Though if Justin had shown…_enthusiasm_ for it, he would willingly have matched it himself. Oh yes.

So that was the final surprise of the day. It seemed that Justin had had second thoughts about wanting to pursue whatever had been building between them. The man was surrounded by mystery, like a ship in the fog.

_Maybe I should be reflecting on this more. How long does it take to unlearn old habits? It’s easy to seduce; to join someone in bed. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again unless that person was someone I loved._

_Do I love Justin?_

_What does it feel like to love someone in that sense? How can I be the age I am and not even know?_

_If I understood more about him, perhaps I’d be more certain._

As the wine warmed his veins, and he looked into the flames in the fireplace, it struck him how little he actually did know. Justin didn’t seem to like talking about himself. He said nothing about his life before coming to Crowood. Victor had always assumed it was because it had been a wrench for him to leave, and it hurt too much for him to think about – or maybe even the opposite; that he hadn’t been happy there, and didn’t want to dwell on it. But it bothered Victor that he couldn’t get any accurate sense of the experiences that made up this man who’d been increasingly present in his thoughts, and in his heart. Why was he so close about it? Was there some secret he was protecting, or was he just very private and guarded? When would he decide to be more open?

_Maybe never. I’m not sure he even wants to be here. _

_We haven’t so much as talked yet about why he left the castle. There’s so much left unsaid._

It was obvious that Justin had not wanted anything to do with Tyler’s challenge. That was understandable. Coming here was not. Especially after the request he’d made that very night before he’d gone. That was someone trying to make the most of things; someone daring to be optimistic.

_Not someone who wanted to run away. Yet he quite possibly saved Julia’s life; not only that, but he took such tender care of her, when I well know she’d been treating him with little respect. She was deeply affected by it, even if she did her best to hide it from me. Then riding out to see the duke as he did…I wonder if he’s aware of what a dangerous and powerful family that is._

All of it heaped on top of the lingering question of how anyone had once thought it fitting to name Justin “le Savage”.

_I’m not giving up on you, my handsome and beguiling knight._

But it was with a heavy heart that Victor finished off his wine, giving the man what he hoped was plenty of time to relax in the bath, by himself. Because he’d made it abundantly, if politely, clear that he had not wanted anyone else in the room with him.

* * *

Victor raised his hand to knock on the door and opened his mouth to speak, then paused. It sounded as if Justin were talking to someone, though he didn’t hear a second voice. A servant must have arrived, he decided, and went ahead and knocked.

“Justin? It’s me, Victor. Is it all right if I come in?”

After another pause, during which he heard a few more words hurriedly spoken, Justin called an assent, and Victor opened the door – to find him alone. He’d been sitting on the bed in the clothes he’d given him – a blue tunic embroidered with silver, and tan hose – but stood suddenly, looking flustered.

“I thought someone was in here with you,” Victor said, entering and shutting the door behind him.

“I was…um, talking to myself. I do that sometimes. Just looking through my bag and trying to find some things.”

Victor blinked. He’d never heard Justin talk to himself before, but then they’d never shared a room, either. And speaking of which, he was beginning to wonder if he’d inadvertently scheduled a night of torture for himself. That tunic looked magnificent on him, even if the sleeves were a little long; and then there were the mussed wet hair and pink cheeks…Victor swallowed in a dry throat and fought off the urge to walk over there and make his feelings very clear. With some words, maybe, but mostly with lips. And tongue, and hands, and…

_I don’t even know what my feelings are myself. And I’m not going to take advantage of the situation like that. It could ruin everything. _He sat down in a chair. “Was your bath to your satisfaction?” he forced himself to say. A faint scent of roses lingered in the air from the perfumed water.

Justin came forward uncertainly, pausing to toss a couple of logs onto the fire, then sat down in a chair next to him. It felt very different from sitting across from each other, with the barrier of the table gone.

As Justin served himself a mazer of wine, he said, “It was luxurious. Thank you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Victor laughed. “But I’m glad you liked it.” He poured himself some wine, though he hardly needed it, realising as the silence stretched on that it was up to him to make something of this moment, if he were serious about wanting a real relationship with this man. Something more meaningful than stilted politeness or physical yearning. To reforge their connection somehow.

“Julius told me about what happened,” he said, sipping his wine. “He’s not in the habit of breaking confidences, but in this case he thought I ought to know. You…didn’t want me to find out you were here?”

“No, it’s not that,” Justin said quickly. “It…it’s complicated. I was planning on going back to the castle soon anyway, like I said, and…well, I guess I was afraid that if the baron found out where I was, he might send someone after me.”

“I would’ve made sure it was me he sent.” Victor paused for thought. “But I’m not convinced he would’ve done that, especially after what you did for Julius. I got the impression he’d been taken care of by someone here.” He grinned.

“How is she?”

Justin’s eyes held his own, and Victor knew it was no idle slip of the tongue. “So you know about that,” he said, sipping more wine.

“It, ah, came out while she was here, yes. She told me a little about her family and how she wanted to be a knight.”

“She’s a remarkable young woman.” Victor held his mazer up and turned it in the firelight so the silver rim glimmered. “Rough around the edges, but very talented.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

“To answer your question, then, she arrived safely at the castle, and has been making every effort to show me she feels fine, though I didn’t think it was wise for her to return here with me so soon after her ordeal. I’d had an unexpected summons from one of our bailiffs and was away for a few days, and it was only when I got back that I discovered what had happened to her here in the city. I suppose you can imagine how I felt, and I had every intention of seeking justice on her behalf. I came as soon as I could, with the horse you borrowed in tow…” He put his mazer down and smiled. “…only to learn that you’d already gone and spoken to the duke – at his hunting lodge, no less; and then caused quite a stir when you arrived in the city with Edward and his men. I had no clue about any of this at first, until I noticed a crowd as I was passing on Alyona, having returned the borrowed horse, and discovered the sheriff in his own pillory. I could hardly have achieved a more desirable result if I’d been here earlier myself.”

To his surprise, instead of enjoying the praise, Justin wrinkled his brow. “It’s a barbaric practice,” he said. “No one should be put through that. And it brings out the worst in everyone. The things they throw – ”

“I know. But there’s something to be said, sometimes, for public humiliation. It can be a good deterrent, and there’s no permanent harm done.”

“Maybe not physically – though even that depends on what people throw, how long the prisoner’s exposed to the elements…”

“If you’re thinking of Julia – ”

“I’m thinking of anybody.”

Victor paused, wondering about this. “And yet a genuine criminal ought to face consequences for what he’s done, don’t you agree? You’ll know that the usual penalty for a merchant who’s been selling bad beer, for example, is to be put in the pillory or stocks and have it poured over his head, yes? Can you think of something better?”

“Several things,” Justin said instantly. “He can pay a fine, if he can afford it. People who were made sick by the beer can be brought to him so that they can tell him face to face what happened to them and how it felt. That way he might learn more empathy. He can put a plan together for what he’ll do to avoid the same problem in the future; and if none of it works, he gets his licence revoked.”

Victor became aware that his jaw had dropped, and shut it. “Are these things you did at the manorial court at your father’s castle?”

“No,” Justin said, swirling the wine in his mazer and staring at it, “but they’re common sense where I…um, well I’ve seen it happen, and it can work. It’s more humane, too.” He looked at Victor. “Wouldn’t you say?”

After a pause, Victor answered quietly, “Perhaps, yes.”

Seeming to have decided he was satisfied with this, Justin continued, “So how did you find me?”

“A mixture of information and luck, I think. I left the pillory and went to the castle to enquire about what had happened, and spoke with Edward. He had some interesting things to tell me. He thinks quite highly of you.” He smiled. Though it hadn’t been an audience he’d expected to have on this trip, and as he’d anticipated, the duke’s family were not comfortable with Andrei Nikiforov’s confiscation of the Courtenay lands. That was a problem of his father’s own making, however, and there was no reason to worry Justin with it. No one need worry, in fact, if Andrei learned to be content with his holdings – an endeavour which Victor was prepared to enthusiastically support.

“I understand they’re keeping Julia’s possessions at the castle for now,” he continued when Justin’s only acknowledgement of his words was the ghost of a smile and a faint blush, which were distractingly endearing. “So I rented my room here and went to look for you. Julia had mentioned The Black Dog to me, and it seemed as good a place as any to start. If you weren’t there, I was hoping maybe someone might be able to inform me of your current whereabouts.”

“I…I’m sorry to have put you to so much trouble.”

Victor looked at him, wanting to meet his gaze, but Justin was staring into his wine cup. “We can take Julia’s horse and possessions back to her,” he said sombrely, “and bring news that William Dalrymple has been found guilty and punished, thanks to you.” He added, “I think it’ll go a long way toward making up for the impression that was left when you disappeared from the castle.”

Now a pair of nervous brown eyes strayed up to meet his, and he decided there was sometimes nothing else for it but to ask a direct question and hope for a direct answer in return. “Why did you leave, Justin?” he said quietly. “Why were you working at an ale-house? And…why did you tell Tyler he was nice? Help me understand,” he pleaded, giving him an earnest look. “I searched for you. Your father’s castle. Villages. Eventually I would’ve come here to the city anyway, though you’d left your armour at the castle, and that was one thing that would’ve made you stand out.” He pressed on, feeling a sense of relief about putting these things that had been weighing on him in the open. “I was worried. I…I feared we’d lost you. Did you not tell anyone at all where you were going?”

Justin fidgeted with his mazer, apparently formulating a response as different emotions chased across his face, and finally those dark eyes fixed on him solemnly. “I wanted to go back to the castle,” he said. “Please believe me, Victor. It didn’t take me long to realise I’d made a mistake. I…um, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind that morning. I was hung over, I felt like I’d just been given a death sentence, and I’d had a terrible nightmare about…well, it was very upsetting. Those are some things that drove me to leave.”

_And yet you danced the night away with me like you hadn’t a care in the world. But – was that another reason why you left? Because you regretted it?_ “Justin – ”

“There were other factors, too. This idea of having to fight Tyler for no good reason – and it _isn’t _a good reason; the word ‘nice’ means something else where I’m from – made me think about what else we have to do as knights. You’ve told me about them yourself, and what they’ve done to you. Killing should only ever be a last resort, not some sport for the wealthy. What if we’re called to battle, or to hold a siege against a castle full of innocent people? Pointless wars to serve the vanity of noblemen, or the king shuffling the puzzle pieces he owns in France…” His gaze held Victor’s as he leaned in slightly. “What kind of life is this?”

Victor stared. “The life we were born into,” he answered. “We had no choice. We would’ve been soldiers if we hadn’t been knights. Even the king and his family fight.” Before Justin could respond, he added, “I’m not saying it’s what I want; you know how I feel about it. But if your own feelings are that strong, I’ll fight Tyler in your stead. You needn’t – ”

“No,” came the swift response. “I can’t let you do that, Victor. I had time to think things over at the ale-house – I was running out of money and needed a job, which was why I went there – and came to terms, I think, with the idea of having to face Tyler. That was before the duke told me you’d be expected to fight him if I refused. I just needed…well, some way of being able to return to the castle without your father, um, wanting to put me to death on the spot.”

“He would’ve had to do it to me first.”

Justin’s eyes went wide at this, and Victor’s heart softened further as he thought he was beginning to comprehend what had been in his mind. _You’ve been suffering, I can tell. I wish I could reach out, right here, and hold you and kiss you. _

“I’m not cut out for this life,” Justin murmured; and Victor recognised a version of the words he’d spoken himself one tipsy evening not long ago.

“I’m not sure we’re cut out to do anything else, Justin. Perhaps residing in this city for a time, the way you have, has shown you that. It might be possible to live at another castle – there are always friends or relatives. But I can’t see how it would improve matters. We wouldn’t have the same responsibilities as we do here, of course, being the eldest sons, but our status as knights would be general knowledge, and we’d be expected to be ready to fight.” At the look of surprise on Justin’s face, he added, “You didn’t think I’d considered alternatives before? Ideas have come and gone with me for years. I’ve never found one that would work, which is why nothing has changed.” He paused. “I know what it’s like to want something different, even though most people would only perceive it as cowardice.”

“How do you carry on?” Justin asked, eyes pleading for an answer.

After some thought, Victor replied, “By doing the best I can, I suppose. Being merciful. We’re also blessed to be living in a time of relative peace, and I believe it’s correct to say that my father would realise the foolishness of attempting to take more lands. So…is a life of training and tournaments such a bad alternative?” 

Justin placed a pensive hand over his mouth. “Yes and no,” he said after some consideration. “There’s no guarantee the peace will last. Or that we wouldn’t have to join in some skirmish, like we’ve done already. And people still get hurt in tournaments, don’t they? Though I have to say there’s part of me that wants to find out how good I could be, as long as I wasn’t fighting anyone to try to injure them. Training hard.” He huffed a laugh. “I guess it’s going to be satisfied, because I’ve got a duel to the death coming up with one of the best knights in the country.” Refilling his mazer, he took a moment to drain all the wine in it. “I’d better be pretty damn good. I can’t say I’ve missed Abelard, but…well, sparring with him’s better than working for the Maltbys at the Black Dog.” He shrugged.

“Justin…” Victor said softly, “…what if you didn’t have to work with Abelard? As your regular trainer, anyway.” He paused as a curious gaze met his own. “What if you worked with me instead?”

“With you?” he echoed in surprise.

“I could be your trainer.”

“But how? I could never ask…”

_Really? But you did. With a fair bit of drunken bravado. _“I want to. I’ve sparred with Tyler many times myself.” He added, his gaze firm, “And I believe you could be good. _Very _good. Maybe even…well, that remains to be seen,” he mused. “But maybe, after all, it’s not such an impossible idea that you could win against Tyler.”

Justin clearly didn’t agree. “I’m walking toward my death, Victor. I don’t want you to waste your time just so you can watch it happen.”

“I don’t believe it _would_ be a waste of my time. Besides,” he added, “you’re disciplined when you’re working on your own, and Abelard will still be there. However, I have every intention of helping you prepare for the duel.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Justin said quietly. “I ran away. I let you down; I let everyone at the castle down. You have courts to run; things to do for the baron and the estate. I can’t – ”

“I’m very mindful of the uses my time needs to be put to. Leave that to me.”

Justin studied his face in wonder. “I can’t believe you’d do this.”

Victor wanted to give a quick reply, but nothing he could think of seemed to suit the circumstances. _I’d like to hope we could become very close. And that what we had together would outlast Tyler’s stupid challenge. That in itself would be worth my time. Training you would be no hardship, Justin. It would be a pleasure. _He could reach for flattery and flowery language in political situations. With guests at meals. But right now, it was impossible to find a way to express himself to this man whose own feelings were far from clear. If he was any judge, however, there was one thing Justin did need: help, from someone in the best position to offer it. And more besides, if he decided he wanted it. Victor wasn’t beyond trying to gently persuade him of that as well.

“Believe it,” he said simply.

Justin continued to stare. Then an incredulous smile crossed his face. “I…well, it’s very generous of you. Does this mean you really think I’d be allowed to train back at the castle? What about the baron – won’t he want to punish me for leaving?”

“We’ll both speak to him. He’ll be pleased with what you’ve accomplished here. And as stern as he can be, I think even he would understand something of what it must have been like to be thrown into the challenge as you were. If you make an apology, the way you did to me after you and I fought, it might see you through.” He ran a finger around the rim of his mazer with the ghost of a grin.

“It’s strange to think you and I were fighting,” Justin said with a small laugh.

“It’s a strange world at times.”

“Yes…and then you found me here, just when I needed you.” A rosy hue was creeping into his cheeks. “I can’t remember if I thanked you.”

“You came to my aid when I needed you, too. But there’s nothing owed; there never will be.”

“I’m ashamed of how I behaved. I should never have left the castle.”

“What’s done is done. We’re going back, anyway. And it…” Victor bit his lip and looked down. “It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“Probably an improvement,” Justin muttered with a wry grin.

“No. It lacked your spirit.” Victor looked up and met his eyes again. Yes, definitely brown; brown like soft, warm furs on a winter’s night. How could he ever have thought they were blue? “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Justin said on a quick breath. He seemed surprised at himself and choked off further speech, sitting back in his chair.

Victor searched for words; but then there was a knock at the door. Reluctantly, he said, “Come,” and a trio of servants entered to clear the table. Victor told them to leave the wine and not worry about the bath water until the morning. While they busied themselves, Justin went to stand by the fire, warming his hands in front of it. He seemed curiously uncomfortable in front of servants, Victor had noticed, which had been difficult to comprehend, as there must have been no lack of them at his father’s castle. When they completed their task and had vanished, he moved to get up with the intention of joining Justin by the blaze, then thought better of it. What he wanted to say could be said from here; hopefully then it would sound like more of a request than a demand.

“It’s been good to have your company again,” he said. “But it’s up to you whether or not you want to stay here.” Justin turned to look at him, silhouetted by the fire, his expression unreadable. “There’s space for an extra guest, but I can request a separate room for you, or you’re free to return to wherever else you’ve been staying. They seem to have the link-boys well organised downstairs.”

Why was it taking him so long to answer? No man had ever turned down an invitation to share his bed. Though this wasn’t meant as _that _kind of invitation…well, not unless Justin wanted it to be, and his lukewarm reaction seemed to indicate that he didn’t.

“I…didn’t intend to make you feel uncomfortable,” Victor said with a rush of heat to his cheeks. _Me, blushing? _“I apologise if I did.” He began to rise from his chair. “I’ll just – ”

“No – no, it’s me who should be apologising,” Justin interrupted. “I’m not used to…all this. That’s all. But, um, it’s kind of you to ask me to stay.”

Aware this wasn’t a definite yes, Victor said, “Well. There’s plenty of room in the bed. Or I can sleep on the rug – ”

Now Justin laughed. “No, don’t. It…it’s fine. Really. And thank you.”

_We’re back to the stilted conversation. How have I handled this so badly? _“All right,” Victor said with a smile, standing with an air of nonchalance he did not feel, and which he supposed was not very convincing. “I’m going downstairs for a few minutes. With the wine jug. You see, there are some things I can do on my own without servants. Another is visit the latrine. And maybe sneak over to the kitchen and see if there’s anything interesting I can find to bring back. Please, make yourself comfortable. Perhaps we can pass the evening with tales of your adventures here in York.”

It was a mystified smile he received in reply to this little speech.

* * *

Justin had pulled a chair up in front of the fire when Victor returned with a wooden tray on which was a jug of hypocras; two dainty pies stuffed with currants, pine kernels, honey and spices; and a tiny bowl of cloves. Leaving the tray on a small table he brought over, he then got a chair for himself and settled down.

Watching Justin’s reactions to these things was almost as interesting as partaking of them. He sniffed at the hypocras and sipped tentatively before his face lit up. The same happened with the pie, though it took some coaxing for him to bite into it, as he declared that the design pressed and cut into the top was too beautiful to be eaten. And he genuinely seemed to have no idea what to do with the cloves, until Victor explained they could be chewed for clean teeth and sweet breath. Eventually Justin decided to try one; and the face he made when he bit down on it was so comical that Victor failed in his efforts not to laugh. But then Justin joined in himself, before remembering he had a mouth full of clove, and continued to chew with that wide-eyed look of shock and puzzlement.

_Why do so many ordinary things seem so strange to you? _Victor mused as he swallowed the remains of his own clove. _My family may be Russian, but we’re very English in speech, manner and custom. Surely life can’t be so very different at the Courtenays’ castle. And with being so widely travelled, you must be used to trying new things. Why, whenever I feel like I’m getting to know you better, do you surround yourself in deeper mystery?_

His ideas about justice and knighthood were intriguing. Unusual. Victor speculated that few people would understand them, and many might find them strange and offensive. Had they been gained from abroad as well?

Unable to suppress his curiosity any further, while they were each savouring a cup of hypocras, he said, “I know I asked you about what you’d been doing here in York. I’m still interested in that, but…I’ve also been wondering about your travels.”

“My travels?”

“These languages you’ve learned; the trace of an accent. You must have been out of the country a fair bit…?”

“Oh, yes, um…that.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Victor said hastily.

“It’s all right, you’re not prying.”

Victor wasn’t entirely sure, from the look on his face. But he’d been given a verbal invitation in a way, so…“Tell me about the most distant land you’ve visited, then. Where is it; what’s it like?”

Justin blinked. He swirled the wine in his cup. Was it so difficult a question? Or had he been to so many different places that it was hard to decide which to choose?

“If I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t tell another soul. Not your family, not Julia. No one.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. There was no further explanation for the insistence on the secrecy. But he simply had to know what was on Justin’s mind. “I give you my solemn word.”

After another pause, Justin took a sip of wine and looked at him. “A very long way to the east – beyond Europe, beyond the place you know as Russia, there’s a distant ocean, and an island chain. It’s a country called Japan.”

Victor sat in stunned silence. “You…you’ve been to this place?”

Justin nodded. “It’s a whole different culture. Different food, clothing, religions, ways of seeing and doing things. The people would look different to you, too. Most have dark hair and…” He thought a moment. “The face tends to be…rounder. And the eyes…” A finger briefly hovered over a corner of his own. “Well, most are dark, though the shape can vary. Teardrop…half-moon…it’s hard to explain. But they’re different from what people are used to here.”

“Please,” Victor said eagerly, “tell me more. I never knew.”

And so Justin did. Not about his own journey and stay there, Victor noted, but about the place and the people. He desperately wanted to know why Justin had gone – how he’d discovered the existence of this place to begin with, and what he’d done there, and why he’d returned here instead of choosing to remain. But he was as secretive about this as he was about everything else in his life before he’d come to Crowood Castle. Victor respected his privacy enough not to insist on answers, but he practically ached with the frustration of it.

Justin said he spoke the language also, though he wasn’t as fluent as he would’ve liked to be. When Victor asked to hear it, he thought for some time.

“It’s always hard when someone wants you to say something in another language. You feel put on the spot. What do you say? _Hello, how are you, my name is_?”

“I wouldn’t mind. Please.”

The vaguely amused expression on Justin’s face suddenly dropped away as he seemed to think of something. And then he made the most amazing sounds.

_Omoitsutsu_  
_Nureba ya hito no_  
_Mietsuramu_  
_Yume to shiriseba_  
_Samezaramashi wo_

“It’s beautiful,” Victor whispered. “What does it mean?”

“I’ll tell you one day,” Justin replied with a small grin. Then he took another sip of wine and said, “Your turn. Tell me about someplace you’ve been?”

“None of it’s as exotic as Japan.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“All right,” Victor conceded. “Let me see…”

He decided to tell Justin about a trip to Rome he’d taken with his parents and Chris’s family, the Giacomettis, as a pilgrimage. It perhaps wasn’t the best choice of anecdote, because the religious significance wasn’t as important to him as it was to the older generation, and it certainly wasn’t the most fun he’d ever had while travelling; but it was the furthest afield he’d ever been. And yet Justin could match even this, it turned out.

“I love all the ancient Roman ruins there,” he said. “The Forum, the Colosseum…My favourite’s the Pantheon, though. The way they used the different colours of stone to make patterns…and the architecture of the dome is genius.”

“When did you go?” Before he could answer, Victor laughed and said, “When you weren’t in Japan, obviously.”

“Well, yes. But I haven’t spent that much of my life travelling, even if it sounds like it.” He yawned, seeming to have nothing to add to this.

“The hour’s late, and we have a journey ahead tomorrow,” Victor said, placing his empty cup on the stand next to the wine jug. 

“It’s been a long day for me too, I suppose.”

“I daresay. It’s not every day you bring a corrupt sheriff to justice with the aid of the king’s uncle and cousin.” Victor was smiling; but when he turned to look again at Justin, some of the colour had drained from his face. He’d been eyeing the bed, though his glance had quickly skated away from it.

_Is it so horrifying an idea for you? _Victor wondered briefly, his lighthearted mood beginning to evaporate. _Or are you nervous? I wish I could know what was going through your mind._ “I have comfortable furs; I’ll sleep on the floor,” he offered.

“No – really,” Justin answered hastily. “This is just taking some getting used to. But it’s fine. I…I’m good.”

Victor nodded, standing and placing more logs on the fire. “You’re welcome to retire in your own time, then. I’ll leave the key in the door in case you want to make a trip outside, and I like to keep a small lamp burning next to the bed; I’ll just attend to that,” he said, trying to feign nonchalance again.

“Thank you,” came the soft, belated reply.

While he fetched his oil lamp out of one of his travelling bags and went to light it at the fire, Victor wondered with a sense of unease what he ought to wear to bed. He usually slept nude or just in his braies, under the warm luxurious blankets that were one of his indulgences. That wouldn’t do for tonight. In fact, as uncomfortable as it would be, maybe he ought to just wear what he already had on, minus his boots of course.

All thoughts were suddenly chased away, however, as he turned around, holding the lamp, and saw Justin standing on the far side of the bed, unbuttoning the blue and silver tunic. Intent on his task, he slid it off his shoulders, revealing smooth rippling muscles aglow in the warm light from the candelabra.

Regardless of what decisions Victor had come to in his mind, his body had other intentions. It was also speculating about whether Justin was going to remove more items of clothing, and which ones, and what he would look like underneath, and dear Lord, how much Victor wanted to make love with him.

That was the thought, and the feeling, he’d been pursuing all this time, he realised with a frisson. His intention in taking someone to bed had always been to have a good fuck, both of them enjoying it, both satisfied at the end. And while he imagined he’d enjoy it with Justin too, he wanted more than anything to simply be that close to him, their arms wrapped around each other, sharing a wonderful intimacy. Yet those desires also fed the more visceral ones. He could feel the tension of it in his abdomen. Why had he put himself in this position tonight?

_Because I hadn’t realised how intense it would be._

_I can behave. This is no different from bathing with other knights in a stream, or changing clothes in a tent. I’ve done those things many times._

Approaching the bed, he placed the little oil lamp on the table near what was obviously going to be his side, and then proceeded to blow out the flames on the candelabra. Wondered what Justin was doing; forced himself not to look.

“This is fit for a prince,” he heard Justin mutter, and finally he allowed himself to turn around. Justin had neatly folded the clothes he’d been lent and put them on the table on his side of the bed. He was wearing a plain long-sleeved linen shirt with the top gapping open, and braies. Mind you, braies were never going to be alluring when they weren’t teamed with a clinging pair of hose; but in Justin’s case, they revealed a good flash of toned leg before he slipped under the dark blankets, closing his eyes for a moment to bask in the sensation. When they opened again, they watched him, but Victor couldn’t be certain what was in them, and he didn’t dare to guess.

_All right. Me too, then. _Again adopting an air of nonchalance – he ought to be good at it by now, he thought – he unbuttoned his tunic and slipped it off; and if he took his time and made the slightest bit of a show of it, he decided it was permissible. He’d never been self-conscious while undressing in front of anyone, and was determined not to start now. Soon he matched Justin with a linen shirt and braies, and climbed under the blankets, allowing himself one last look at his bedmate. The blankets had been pulled up to his chin, and he was resting an arm behind his head on the plump pillow, appearing relaxed in all but his gaze, which Victor wanted to believe showed a spark of desire, though it might just be wishful thinking.

“Good night, Justin,” he said with a flash of a smile, hoping he wasn’t overdoing the politeness.

“Good night, Victor.” No smile in return from Justin. Only those large eyes following him. The shadows had settled deeply in his hair in the lamplight as well, and it even looked longer, though low light at an angle could produce strange effects.

Victor turned over so that he was facing the door, tucking a hand under his pillow, willing himself to forget that there was anyone else here, which was of course impossible. In the stillness of the night, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and Justin’s quiet, steady breaths. And yet that was all it took to remind Victor, over and over, of who was lying there next to him, so deceptively available. It would be easy to turn over, brush a cheek with a hand, move his lips close, and take full advantage of their current situation.

_Take advantage. No. It’s not fair to him, or to me. _An image flashed in his mind of himself training Justin in the field at the castle, a barrier having sprung up between them because their actions this night had somehow turned out to be a mistake, regretted by one or both of them.

That would be far more painful than what he was feeling now, Victor was sure. But even so, it seemed an interminable time before he found the elusive slumber he quietly, desperately searched for, between a quiet sigh and a tear.

* * *

_A beautiful, shining angel. _

Yuuri lay in the softness of the bed, watching the little flickering flame of the oil lamp cast a faint sparkle on pale hair and skin. Knowing for once that it was all right to stare in this intimate moment that wasn’t. Wishing he could gently brush that long fringe out of Victor’s face, and look into his clear blue eyes, and let his own confess the fire inside of him. 

_If I’ve confused you, I’m sorry. I never meant to mention Japan. But if I’m going to be able to tell you anything more about me, it might have to be like that, because you can’t know who I really am. _

A new idea entered his mind then, as he contemplated the peaceful sleeping form with his back to him. Victor could potentially be a source of support. Not just in helping him to find Ailis, but to talk to, to share with. What would he make of the tech; of what he really looked like? Then, if Victor decided he wanted him, it would be for his own self, not this Justin Courtenay persona.

_No one has ever wanted you before, Yuuri. What makes you think such an extraordinary man would be interested in you in that way? _

_Besides, what if you revealed everything to him, and he hated it, and wanted the old Justin back – the one you’re pretending to be now? How would that feel? This blue-eyed English knight with the strawberry-blond hair in a bowl cut. Not a Japanese man from the future._

_But most important of all, it would be a selfish act. A woman who’d kill with a laser gun to protect her secrets. A relationship that could be over before it had hardly started. _

Yuuri let out a quiet breath, his eyes fixed on the tiny hairs on the nape of Victor’s neck.

_The more I feel for you, the more irresponsible it seems to tell you the truth – how crazy is that? _

He’d had to be honest enough with himself to admit that being platonic friends was not an option, from his own point of view anyway. It hadn’t been one from the moment he’d first set eyes on Victor…despite the fact that he’d been trying to kill him at the time. It seemed so absurd now. And as if Yuuri needed a reminder, the sight of him getting ready for bed tonight had felt like exquisitely dying, if such a thing were possible.

He’d never bargained on any of this when he’d accepted his mission. On being a knight, on having to fight a duel to the death…on meeting Victor. There surely wasn’t anyone else like him, in any time or place.

_I can’t believe I was willing to throw it all away for the sake of some passing anxiety attack, and a nightmare, and a hangover. I promised I’d do what I could to protect you, Victor, and I will. _

_And…you’ll be my trainer._

His heart leapt again as he recalled Victor’s words. It was incredibly generous of him. And it proved that he cared – as did his searches for him across the countryside and here in the city. And the forgiveness that seemed to have come so readily for his abrupt departure from the castle.

It was enough to make him hope that Victor _could _hold something in his heart for him. And to fear it, because of the temptation that it posed. He felt it now, infusing his blood, enticing him to do things he would never have thought he had the nerve for, even in his modern life, with anyone.

Being given Victor’s clothes to wear hadn’t helped. They’d been washed, and smelled of rosemary and lemon and lilac. Yuuri would’ve preferred Victor’s own scent; he’d been yearning to discover what that was, but could never find a context in which it had seemed permissible to come that close to him. Even so, the rich fabric had been against Victor’s skin – just the thought of it was heady; and he’d be putting it on again tomorrow.

Lying here like this…it was almost maddening. How could he say no to Victor’s offer of a room and bed for the night? Which meant he was now in a position to do something simple that could have profound consequences. Reach a hand out and stroke that fringe. Run the backs of his fingers down Victor’s cheek. Just touch his arm, catch his attention, and then pour all of his feelings into his gaze.

Victor would look at him in wonder and then in understanding, and that would be all it took for their relationship to immediately change; for them to give each other permission to take it to new places. Would he seek out Victor’s lips, and the pleasures on offer there, even though he was utterly inexperienced at it, or would he run a trail of hot kisses down his neck? How would Victor react? What would his moans of desire sound like?

_Jesus, what am I doing to myself? _His breaths had quickened, and he felt himself growing hard. _I’m perving over this poor unsuspecting jack next to me. If I really honestly cared about him, respected him, I wouldn’t be doing this._

He always made himself stop before he got this far in his imagination when he was on his own, for the same reasons. It had become challenging, however, as he’d felt more drawn to Victor but had no ideal outlet for his physical needs. Fantasising about anyone else wasn’t appealing anymore. In addition, the thought of servants discovering private things about him as they did his laundry made it awkward to pleasure himself and clean up afterward, which meant he no longer did it very often. Frustration seemed to be an inherent part of just about every facet of life in this place.

If he’d been able to take the edge off of things, he wondered if lying here like this might have been less problematic. He was determined not to do anything that would spoil the relationship he and Victor already had. But his body could be so insistent.

The poem by Ono no Komachi came to mind. He’d mentally switched off his translator so he could recite it to Victor in Japanese. Even in this time period, it would be considered ancient. When he was a teenager, wishing some perfect lover would magically appear in his life, he’d enjoyed reading things like this, perhaps because they expressed what he’d always felt about harbouring an ocean of love in his heart if only he could find someone to share it with.

_Was it because I fell asleep_  
_Tormented by longing_  
_That you appeared to me?_  
_Had I but known I dreamt_  
_I should have wished never to awaken._

He’d told himself at the time that it was childish. But how could he be so sure? He’d hidden himself in Immersion. Most people knew more than he did about real life, it had seemed. 

He was going to force his nobler feelings to stay to the fore, he told himself, and simply relax and get some sleep. It was the best thing for them both.

But Victor lay beside him…and Yuuri burned long into the night.


	40. Chapter 40

As was often the case, he returned to consciousness only gradually in the morning, the time before and after waking a surreal haze. This wasn’t The Black Dog, or a cold campsite, or a hunting lodge. A warm, soft bed. And oh…_oh_…Victor…where had he gone? There was no one next to him now.

It seemed he’d been out of bed and dressed before Yuuri could prop a sleepy eye open, and was standing at the table drinking wine. So yesterday, and last night, had been real. _This is supposed to be the intimate act of accepting all the other person’s foibles the morning after the night of passion, _he thought wryly, though with a touch of embarrassment as well. _Bed hair, rumpled clothes, brain not fully functional yet, need the toilet, need to scrub my teeth. _Only, the passion had been missing, and that was supposed to make up for these other things, wasn’t it? Not that he’d know.

But none of it seemed to bother Victor. He said a bright good morning when he noticed Yuuri was awake, and then they went through their morning routines, Yuuri feeling more comfortable as he took Victor’s lead in behaving as if it were all perfectly ordinary. Afterward, they had a small bite to eat before leaving the inn.

The first place they went was The Black Dog; Yuuri knew everyone there would be up by now. While they walked through the city, Victor again wearing his armour under his fur cloak, he double-checked with Yuuri that he didn’t mind him speaking to the Maltbys about his missing clothes.

“Whoever took them must’ve sold them by now,” he replied. “I’d be happy if I never saw the Maltbys again. But I’d like to say a proper goodbye to Jan and Daisy, and I bought something for each of them.” It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t have anything to give Victor, after all his kindnesses. But there was no time to wrack his brains about it just now.

When they arrived at the ale-house, Sally had propped the front door open and was sweeping the hall. She said good morning to him, then gazed upon Victor with wide eyes.

“Sally, this is Sir Victor Nikiforov. Are Jan and Daisy around?”

She nodded, gripping the broom handle with both hands.

“Good morning, madam,” Victor said with a smile, and she deflated in relief, seemingly deciding he wasn’t going to attack. “I’d have a word with your employers, please.”

She nodded again. “This way, sir,” she mumbled, showing him in, and casting a final flustered glance at Yuuri before they disappeared down the hallway.

Smiling to himself, Yuuri entered the main room and found Daisy wiping down the tables. Her mouth dropped open when she saw him.

“Look at you,” she breathed. “In them fine clothes. And – was that a _knight _I caught sight of when you came in?”

He’d undone the front of his coat, and she’d seen the clothes he’d borrowed from Victor underneath. He’d forgotten about that. “I’m a knight, too,” he said, “from his castle. I, um, was challenged to a duel to the death and…and left. I had a lot to sort out. But I’m going back with Victor now.”

It was a moment before Daisy took this in. “You know, if you’d told me that when you was working here, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Yuuri chuckled. He removed his bag, placed it on the table, and rummaged in it.

“So if you’re a knight, what the bleedin’ hell you been doin’ workin’ here? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Earning a living, same as you. I was almost out of money.”

“That even happens to gents, does it?”

“If you’re calling me a gent, then I suppose it does.”

She opened her mouth to reply when clattering and raised voices came from down the hall, one Victor’s and one Yuuri recognised as Posy Maltby’s. He heard her scream.

“Here, don’t wave that sword at me! I ain’t done nothing!”

Yuuri and Daisy crept closer to the doorway, where they could see Victor glowering at her, sword in hand. It was pointing down at the floor, but the look on his face was thunderous.

Before anything else was said, the cellar door flew open and Jacob Maltby clambered through, holding his own short sword and looking like he was ready to fly to his wife’s defence – until he saw Victor, and froze and gawped like a fish. But only for a moment, before he attempted a show of bravado.

“Who do you think you are, drawing a sword on my Posy?”

“Sir Victor Nikiforov.” The politeness in his voice when he’d spoken to Daisy had vanished. “I do believe I’ve discovered a den of thieves. Do you know what I do to thieves?” He raised his sword and angled it at him. “All kinds of things, none of which you’d like.” He glanced at Posy. “Women as well as men.”

Posy gasped, but Jacob still had a bit of bluster left in him. “What do you mean, thieves? I ain’t been thieving off no one, nor has Posy.”

“Really? Not according to a man recently in your employ, who lost a whole wardrobe the day he started work. He’d stored it in a chest, and the chest vanished.”

Understanding grew on Jacob’s face. “What, you mean John?”

“John?” Victor echoed.

“That’d be me,” Yuuri said, stepping into the hall, aware of Daisy’s eyes on them all. Jan had joined her now from the kitchen, watching in equal amazement. “I told them my name was John of Whitby.”

“That ain’t your name?” Posy said.

“No, it’s Sir Justin Courtenay.”

“_Sir?_” she said; but then she studied his appearance. “What kind of game are you two playing? Why’d you come here in the first place? Were you trying to spy on us?”

“I don’t spy, madam,” Victor snapped, his clear voice echoing off the walls; and she and Jacob both quailed. “Nor does Justin. He came here hoping to earn an honest living. Now.” He lifted his sword again, waving it slightly as he spoke. “One or both of you will produce the full set of clothing that was taken from my fellow knight. In a trice. Along with anything else he may be owed. Or…” He paused, then gave them a glittering smile. “…you won’t want to find out what happens when I get angry.”

As they both scurried away, practically tripping over themselves, Yuuri couldn’t suppress a little smirk. When he turned, he saw the same expression on the faces of Daisy and Jan. Posy was bustling toward them, pushing past and dashing behind the bar. Yuuri glanced at Victor, who simply gave him a satisfied grin and a wink; and then he followed Posy, who had unlocked a drawer and grabbed a handful of coins. She counted several out with shaking fingers, then looked at him with frightened eyes.

“I believe these are the wages you’re owed?”

Yuuri extended his hand and she gave him the coins she’d counted. They must add up to at least three times what he’d been expecting to be paid. “Thank you,” he made himself say.

“I apologise for not seeing to it sooner. We were so short of funds for a while there, you see. Weren’t we?” she called in a louder voice as Jacob appeared at the top of the cellar stairs, lugging a chest. _The _chest, from the look of it. _You sly rogue._

“Weren’t we what?” Jacob called back, puffing for breath as he put the chest down on the floor in front of a stern-looking Victor.

“Short of funds.”

“When?”

“These past few days,” Posy said in a voice tinged with panic.

After a pause, he answered, “Oh…oh yes, we were.”

“Bring that chest in here,” Victor said, coming to join the others in the main room. Jacob did as he was told, putting it down next to Yuuri. “I hope, for your sake, everything’s here,” Victor added, eyeing the proprietor, though he’d sheathed his sword.

Yuuri turned the key in the lock – they’d obviously had a spare, after all – and was greeted by the sight of his own clothes, like an old friend. Quickly sorting through them, he said, “This looks like everything. They didn’t get around to selling it yet.”

“Oh no, no, why should we do anything like that?” Posy said in a voice dripping honey. “Them clothes was put in the cellar by accident – wasn’t they, cock?” she said, looking at Jacob. “I remember it now. The chambermaid – ”

“I don’t want to hear about the chambermaid,” Victor told her with a glare. “I’m insulted by the stream of lies that’s been pouring from your lips and your husband’s since I walked in. How a couple of villains such as yourselves have succeeded in running this business, God only knows. But I’ll be reporting your lax security to the duke next time I see him, who might advise visitors to stay elsewhere. The sheriff is currently indisposed, thanks to my colleague, who’s recently had him arrested and put in the pillory. In fact, perhaps you’d like to visit him there and see what happens to criminals.” After a pause, he added, “Leave us.” Posy and Jacob exchanged anxious glances, then hurried out of the room together.

Yuuri stared at him as if he were a god come down to earth from the heavens. Daisy and Jan were exchanging astounded smiles. “Did you really do that to the sheriff?” Jan said in awe, looking at Yuuri.

He nodded. “Victor, this is Jan; he does most of the cooking. And Daisy, who waits on tables and does a lot of other things besides.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Victor said, as pleasant with these two as he’d been fierce with the Maltbys.

They shifted to a table, and Yuuri and Daisy brought tankards of the best ale on trays from the cellar. While they drank, Yuuri got the presents out that he’d bought the previous day: lacy sachets of herbs for Daisy from her favourite market stall, and a sharp new knife for Jan. Both were clearly surprised and delighted, and Jan made a quick trip to the kitchen, returning with a loaf of bread on which he used his knife, cutting everyone a slice and announcing to Yuuri that it had been years since he’d owned a tool so fine.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said through a mouthful of bread, blue eyes sparkling.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you both,” Yuuri replied. “I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like living here without you around. Well, I don’t _want _to imagine.”

“I ain’t never met a real knight before,” Daisy said to Victor, then sniffed one of her sachets again and fingered the lace around it. “You didn’t half put the wind up them two. So how did you gents meet?”

“He tried to kill me in a duel,” Yuuri said breezily, while Victor, next to him, raised a quick enquiring eyebrow. “But we made up.” And at this, Victor chuckled and sipped his beer.

“Well if that’s the kind of life you blokes live, you can leave me out of it,” Daisy declared.

“So if you’re a knight,” Jan said to Yuuri, “where did you learn to be a pastry chef?”

“Pastry chef?” Victor echoed.

“Oh yes,” Jan carried on. “He and I, we made a good team – didn’t we, John? Sir Justin, I should say. If I’d known you were a knight, I would’ve asked you to teach me some sword skills.”

“I could do with learning more of those myself,” Yuuri muttered.

Victor grinned. “We’ll fix that soon.” As he finished the contents of his tankard, he reached into the purse on his belt. “I’ve taken up part of your morning,” he said to Daisy and Jan. “You must be busy people.”

“It ain’t busy,” Daisy said. “What’s the point of it all if you can’t stop and have a natter once in a while?” She leaned forward and said to Yuuri, “They got a boy to take your place. A real arse-head. Rude to the guests, and complains about going up and down them stairs to the attic room. I said I’d swap and he could sleep on my pull-out bed in the scullery, but for some reason he weren’t keen.” She snorted.

“Please, take this in payment for your time,” Victor said, placing two gold coins on the table, “and as a token of gratitude for looking after Justin. I’m glad to see friendly faces in this place.”

Daisy and Jan refused to accept the money at first, but it was a fairly transparent show of politeness, since Yuuri suspected the extra funds would be very welcome for both of them. Soon, when everyone had finished their beer, they were standing and giving him brief hugs while saying he and Sir Victor were welcome to come back and see them anytime. Then Victor found room in his bag while Yuuri removed his clothes from the chest, and with warm farewells they both left the ale-house, along with a gift of pies from Jan for a meal during the journey back to the castle. Yuuri felt a tug at his heart as he waved goodbye and walked with Victor down the cobbled road, now busy with people taking their goods to the market.

“You’ve done so much for me,” he said as they made their way to the stable to collect their horses. “I don’t know how to thank you.” And then he realised he was echoing Jan’s own words to him.

“Seeing justice done is thanks enough,” Victor replied with a grin. “Though seeing you content is even better.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure how to reply, but he was moved, and wondered how he’d ever been lucky enough to meet this man.

And so, after a further trip to the castle to collect Julia’s possessions, including Boudicca laden with bags, they set out on their way. It was a pleasant sunny day, warm for the latter part of February, and they rode alongside the river while Yuuri told Victor more about his time in the city and at the ale-house. Victor nodded when he mentioned Henry Jago.

“It’s good his family were taking him to St. Leonard’s. They’re quite a highly regarded establishment.”

“I’m glad. I can’t believe he still makes shoes. He even said he’d make me a pair; he took my measurements and told me to come back and visit him.”

“You must’ve made a good impression,” Victor said with a smile. “Like you did with the maid and the cook. I don’t know many knights who’d willingly associate with people from the lower social classes like that.”

“Their loss, then.”

“Quite. We’ll have to return sometime, and you can introduce me to your friend, Master Jago.”

“You’d come back with me?”

“Of course. My family has dealings here once in a while, and you could accompany me, if you wanted.”

“I’d like that,” Yuuri said, wondering if they’d go through the business again of sharing a room and a bed, and finding the idea more tantalising than he knew he ought to. 

Those long, lonely nights holed up in his tiny attic room, thinking about what he’d left behind and what the future might have in store, seemed to be fading into darkness along with their pain. And Yuuri’s chief fear about returning to the castle had been allayed as well. Victor had lit a spark of hope in his heart that he realised he hadn’t felt since the moment he’d picked up Tyler’s gauntlet.

When they dismounted later to eat Jan’s pies and have a drink, Yuuri reached deep into his bag. It wasn’t much, but it was still something he could give.

“I didn’t buy you anything at the market yesterday,” he said to Victor as they sat side by side on a fallen log, the Ouse flowing on its lazy course nearby, “because I wasn’t sure you’d forgive me for what I’d done. I…I didn’t know if I’d live through today, especially once I see your father.”

“Justin – ”

“But do you think you’d have a use for this?” He handed over the blue bottle he’d been holding.

“What is it?” Victor asked, intrigued, as he took it.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure. But it smells good.”

Victor removed the stopper and inhaled, closing his eyes and smiling. “It does. I could sprinkle this on my sheets, maybe.”

Yuuri swallowed at the image that brought up, kicking it out of his mind. “I bought it from a lady who was selling things outside the minster.”

“Not one of the holy relic hawkers.”

“She was, though she didn’t claim this was a holy relic. She was trying to get me to buy sarcophagus-water – ”

Victor burst out laughing. Yuuri thought it might have been the first time he’d heard such a sound from him, heartfelt and ringing with mirth. “Oh dear yes, I’ve heard about that. People believe in it, or she wouldn’t be in business.”

“Well, she gave it a good try, so I bought a few things anyway. That was before, um, before I realised how limited my coin supply was.”

Victor tucked the bottle into his bag. “Thank you.” There was a long pause, and his voice became softer. “I…I’m glad we’ve had these two days together, Justin. I feel I know you better.” Another pause, as his eyes searched Yuuri’s face. “You’re kind, and intelligent, and I don’t care what anyone else says – you’re courageous. It’s there in your heart.” Choking slightly on the last word, he added, “I’ll speak to my father on your behalf. And together we’ll make sure you’re ready to defeat Tyler. I promise.”

His words seemed to weave a spell, and Yuuri wanted more than anything to allow himself to be ensnared by it; to lean over in that moment and kiss him. But remembering everything he’d gone through the previous night regarding why he couldn’t, why he mustn’t, he simply whispered a thank you. And the moment passed. He told himself it was the right thing to do, though his heart protested, as it always did.

As they mounted their horses and continued on their way, Yuuri asked Victor about training, and received a great deal of information about swordfighting techniques. He was grateful for this and listened attentively, counting it as his first proper lesson from Victor, though it was hard to picture what he was talking about at times without being able to get off his horse and actually use the weapon. He was surprised when the silhouette of the castle reared on a hill as they rounded a bend, wondering how the journey had seemed to go so quickly; and they headed straight for the stables.

Julia was in the field, training with Abelard and the other squires, and when she saw Boudicca she dashed up to her and hugged her neck.

“Where was she?” she asked, looking at Victor and then Yuuri.

“The sheriff had her stashed away in his personal stable,” Yuuri told her. “Then the duke’s son kept her at his castle for you. She’s been well looked after.”

“She’d bloody well better have been,” she said, giving the horse another hug and then stroking her mane.

“We’ve got your other effects too,” Victor said. “Why don’t you go through them now, while there’s still daylight. I daresay you’ll prefer to have your own sword back – ”

“Won’t I ever,” she muttered, rushing over to the bags strapped to Boudicca’s saddle. Before opening one, however, she paused and looked up. “Thank you, master,” she said. “And…and you too,” she added, glancing at Yuuri. “I’m much obliged.”

While Yuuri reunited with Emil, who was keen to hear about his travels, Victor stabled Boudicca with Julia and assisted her in looking through her saddlebags. Then they both came to join Yuuri and Emil, standing outside Lady’s stall.

“I’ll speak with my father and arrange a meeting,” Victor said, looking at Yuuri. “Tonight, if at all possible. I know everyone will want to put this behind them, and that it’s been on your mind. Try not to worry, and trust me.” With a grim smile whose purpose seemed to be reassuring, he returned to the castle with Julia, carrying her saddlebags. Yuuri stared after them.

“Come, sir,” Emil said, “let’s go get your own things unpacked, including these clothes you’ve brought back with you. I must say, this is some finery you’re wearing now. Did you purchase it in York?”

“It’s Victor’s,” Yuuri murmured distractedly.

After a silence, Emil said, “Oh. Well, shall we go? It’s nigh on time for supper, and I daresay you’ll be hungry after your journey.”

“Emil, I don’t even know if I’m going to live through the night if the baron’s angry enough at me.” He suddenly had an urge to tell his squire to bring him enough wine to drink himself into oblivion, because at least then he’d be anaesthetised physically and emotionally before the axe came down on his neck. But he’d done that before in an attempt to deal with his problems, and it hadn’t helped. He had to turn up at this dreaded meeting sober.

Emil accompanied him back to his room, where they organised his possessions before going to the great hall. Yuuri couldn’t eat, but he drank and answered Chris’s questions about his sojourn in York; though as with Emil, he avoided mentioning he’d been working in an ale-house, not wanting to have to delve into explanations that might just puzzle them further, and not wanting to lie to them either. Chris knew about what had happened to Julia, though what had transpired with the duke and Edward and the sheriff was news to him, and he was intensely curious. Yuuri obliged him as best he could, but it was difficult to tear his thoughts away from the unknown fate looming over him.

The baron’s expression at the high table was giving nothing away while his son sat in conversation with him, but then it rarely did, and Yuuri could only hope Victor was trying to persuade him to be lenient. At the end of the seemingly interminable meal, as the Nikiforovs crossed the hall to exit, Victor stopped by Yuuri’s table and told him to come to his father’s chambers, quickly explaining where that was. His face was grave, but he gave a small smile and a nod. When it was Yuuri’s turn to leave, he made his way alone through a part of the castle he’d never seen before.

The corridors were busy with servants and an assortment of important-looking people; Yuuri passed several who had been present on the dais with Victor at the manorial court, including Matthew Everard the steward, who looked at him in surprise but then hurried silently on his way. The ceilings here, instead of plain planks and beams, were richly carved and stained, matched by the wainscoting and shutters across the windows. All of these things in Yuuri’s wing of the castle were functional, while here they were opulent. The floorboards were expertly fitted and polished, and there were occasional tapestries and paintings on the walls, the favourite motif being the Nikiforov sky-blue coat of arms with the golden lion on its hind legs.

With Victor’s directions in his mind, he stopped outside a large oak door with a Gothic arch at the top. He was about to knock when a guard approached him from further down the hall, a hand poised over the hilt of his sword.

“Do you have an appointment, sir?”

“Um, yes. I’m meeting with the baron and Sir Victor. They asked me to come.”

“Wait here.” Keeping Yuuri in view, he opened the door. A snatch of conversation drifted from within.

“…peace with the duke,” came Victor’s voice.

“Sir Justin to see you, my lord,” the guard said.

“Send him in.” The deeper voice of the baron.

The guard watched with flinty eyes as Yuuri stepped inside; then the door was firmly shut behind him, and he took in his surroundings. Another room with colourful motifs running along the tops of the walls, tapestries, a white marble fireplace with a warm blaze. The baron and Victor sat in chairs across from each other at a heavy table littered with papers, scrolls and quills. Light from the chandelier glinted in Victor’s fringe below his black cloth cap, and the baron’s gold livery collar gleamed against his red gown.

Feeling oddly as if he were attending a job interview, Yuuri was glad of the extra dose of confidence from the clothes Victor had allowed him to borrow. Then wondered if the baron would recognise them as his son’s, and what he would make of that.

They both turned to look at him, a warm and encouraging flicker in Victor’s expression, while the baron’s was grim. Yuuri swallowed. “My lord Baron Nikiforov,” he said, bowing low, hoping to take the initiative, “I’m grateful to you for seeing me at such short notice.” He went on, “I wanted to apologise – ” but the baron cut him off, dark eyes sparking.

“Allow me to speak in my own chambers, knight.” After a pause he continued, “You were given certain freedoms here, and you abused them. I’ve fed you, housed you, and given you the services of a skilled trainer – and you repay me by running away.”

Yuuri didn’t know whether to reply to this, having only just been silenced. Victor was unmoving in his chair, his eyes downward.

“I know full well you have little hope of defeating Tyler Beaumont. But you live by a code of chivalry – one which you’ve broken on numerous occasions, though this is the most heinous example I’ve witnessed.”

Yuuri’s heart began to hammer while his throat constricted. “My lord – ”

“Silence,” the baron growled. “It seems, however, that you have advocates here at the castle, my son being chief among them.” Victor looked up at this. “Your actions regarding his squire Julius have been noted. And it seems you’ve assisted in bringing some much-needed justice to the city of York. Victor has informed me of what transpired there. It will have been to our benefit for a representative of our noble family to have curried favour with the duke and his sons. Whether or not that was your intention, it was nevertheless useful.” He was silent for a moment, and Yuuri waited until he continued, “It’s rare that I’m called upon to weigh such extreme actions against each other. But Victor thinks highly of you – highly enough to want to spend his valuable time training you, I understand.” He stroked his goatee. “There’s also something to be said for your expert command of Russian, which pleases my own vanity. It’s a poor reason to warm to someone, but I must confess it has a certain appeal to which I’m vulnerable.”

Encouraged by this, Yuuri knelt on the wooden floor and lowered himself until his face was almost touching the boards. “I beg for mercy, my lord,” he said, hating the obsequiousness of it all. “Though I don’t deserve it. I’m ashamed of my actions and deeply regret them. I give you my word as a knight that I’ll never leave the castle that way again, or – ”

“On my own head be it,” Victor finished for him.

Yuuri looked up at him in amazement, and blue eyes sombrely met his own.

“I trust Justin with my life, Father. And he’s saved mine as we’ve fought side by side. Give him another chance, and he’ll do our family honour.”

“Get up,” the baron said to Yuuri, and he did, forcing himself to meet the dark-eyed gaze of the man in front of him, who gave a sigh. “We all make mistakes. I’m a forgiving person, it seems. But this is the last time. If these circumstances repeat themselves, I will have you put to death, and there will be no cosy audience with me in my chambers first. _Your_ head, not Victor’s, will be put on a spike. Do I make myself clear?”

“C-Completely, my lord,” Yuuri answered with a shudder.

And so he was dismissed, returning to his room to sit in front of the fire, attempting to calm himself as he watched the flames. If he panicked again like he had the morning he’d taken off to York, it would be catastrophic – but that very thought would just stoke the anxiety, he knew. Yet Baron Nikiforov had let him off without punishment.

And Victor…Victor had been _wonderful_. Yuuri figured he’d probably saved his life. Again. Somehow that did more than anything else to banish the anxiety to the dark corner in which it usually lived, out of his conscious thoughts. 

After explaining everything to Phichit, who was very pleased to hear he’d been allowed to live, Yuuri decided to go out to the main garrison room and deal with his inquisitive colleagues sooner rather than later. On the whole, they seemed to understand why he didn’t want to fight Tyler, and were glad he’d decided to return and face him. There had been a whirlwind of questions and suggestions at first.

“Get him drunk beforehand. If he’s so far gone he can’t tell his dirk from his dick, you might stand a chance.”

“Is it true that Sir Victor will be training you? He’ll shove your arse to the ground so many times, you’ll think you were riding your horse nonstop for a week. Can I watch?”

“How about some more of that mad dancing you did the night before you scarpered?”

Yuuri winced at this confirmation of his fears. He’d made a twat of himself. They didn’t seem to mind, but he wasn’t about to start dancing in front of them here.

He found the dark, quiet corner in which he often sat, where it was easier to go unnoticed by the others, and sipped a tankard of beer Emil had given him, wondering what time it was. It felt late. How strange to be here again, with his squire serving him; he’d quickly got used to doing the same himself for the guests at The Black Dog. And the young man didn’t seem to possess a resentful bone in his body, not even asking for an explanation as to why he’d disappeared from the castle without a word. Upon his arrival at the stable earlier, and receiving a friendly greeting from him, Yuuri had felt a surge of guilt and surprised himself by giving him a brief hug and saying he was sorry, and he wouldn’t be doing it again. When he’d told Emil that Victor was going to be training him for the duel with Tyler, his eyes had lit up, and he’d expressed a hope that he’d be able to learn from him too.

Yuuri cradled his tankard and idly watched and listened, wondering how he could be missing Victor already. Strange, he thought as his eyes flitted over the shadowed men talking and laughing at the tables in the garrison, how sometimes day could follow day in a seemingly endless procession, each slow and empty; and yet so much could happen in the space of twenty-four hours. And now that things were returning to normal in a sense, he felt oddly disappointed. Catching glimpses of Victor at the training field, or when he visited the garrison at night…after what they’d just shared, it was a wrench to imagine going back to that.

_You may just have to put up with it, Yuuri. Because if you care about him, you can’t involve him in your mission. Get any closer to him and that will be a real risk._

But he’d be seeing more of Victor now. They’d be training together. That was something new and exciting.

_And dangerous. You’re going to have to display more self-control than you ever have in your life. _

He contemplated his empty tankard, wondering if he should have another beer or go to his room for the night. A room in which he could stand up. That still felt like a novel experience. With a garderobe across the hall, and a copper water pipe. A five-star medieval hotel, practically. He ought to be grateful – why didn’t he _feel _grateful? Maybe he would just go and get one more beer.

“Sitting on your own again?”

His eyes flicked upward, and there was Victor, looking as if he’d just walked in from the cold. He held the neck of his citole in one hand, while Julia came from behind and took his cloak.

“I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” Too late, Yuuri realised he’d made it sound as if he’d been waiting in hope. Which he had, but Victor didn’t need to know that.

“Well, I’d been on a journey, at the end of which was a consultation with my father, who doesn’t tend to put people at their ease, even me. This seemed like a good way to relax.” When Yuuri nodded, he added, “Come join me?”

Yuuri was on his feet before he knew it, walking with him to a stone bench near the fireplace, where they sat together.

“Julius, some wine, if you’d be so good,” Victor said as he tuned the instrument. “For both of us.”

“Yes, master.” She eyed Yuuri, then turned and went to the far end of the room where the drinks stood on a table.

“Now…” Victor paused with a small smile as his fingers stroked lightly down the strings, teasing out a gentle melody. “…tell me what would please you.”


	41. Eros and Agape (Part 6)

Yuuri groaned when he heard the knocks on his door the next morning. Sundays were the only days he was able to get a lie-in, and that was because most everyone went to the chapel for mass. This was not a Sunday.

“It isn’t locked, Emil,” he mumbled, turning his projector on as he ran a hand through his hair and sat up.

“Good morning.”

Yuuri blinked, and Victor came into focus as if he’d never left the garrison the night before, though he was wearing his armour this time. He carried a sack which he deposited on the floor with a clank. Yuuri watched, wide-eyed. Victor had never visited him here before.

“I had your armour put in Percy’s care in the secure room of the castle while you were away. Emil told me there’d been some concern about your old set having gone missing.”

“Oh. That was kind, thank you.” Yuuri threw off the covers, shivering in the cold morning and suddenly realising he was only dressed in his shirt and braies. Victor had seen him like this at the inn, though. And it wasn’t as if what he was wearing was revealing, very much. But it was just the two of them. In his bedroom.

“I hope I wasn’t intruding in here the morning you left,” Victor said, looking around. “I was, um, searching for a clue as to where you’d gone.” He spotted the hand warmer on the mantel and smiled, ghosting his fingers over it. “I hope I’m not intruding now.”

“No, of course not,” Yuuri said, trying to sound nonchalant as he grabbed his hose off the floor and sat on his bed to pull them on. He slowed his actions as he sensed Victor’s gaze on him, averting his eyes while the material slid up each leg, as if somehow that cancelled out the behaviour and allowed him to get away with it at the same time.

_What am I doing? Is this what I meant when I told myself I’d have to display self-control? Good start._ He noticed the silence and turned his head to see Victor quickly looking away. Were his cheeks pink, or was it just his imagination?

“I…I ought to apologise for your basic accommodation here,” he said, staring at the fireplace. The coals had died to ashes overnight, and he took a poker and stirred them into a hint of life. “I’m sure it’s nothing like what you were used to – ”

“At my father’s castle,” Yuuri finished for him, tying the tops of his hose to the waistband of his braies. “Honestly, I don’t mind. You should’ve seen where I was living at The Black Dog.”

Victor glanced at him, then tossed some tinder on the remaining coals, and with a crackling noise they began to spark. “I’m sorry to hear it.” He stirred the sticks until little flames were leaping at them. “I also came by this morning because…”

Yuuri had stood, removed his shirt, and was looking through a chest for a tunic to wear. As silence fell again, he picked a blue one, then draped it over his arm and turned to look at Victor. He wanted to think it was desire he saw in those bright eyes and warm cheeks.

_He isn’t even seeing me. He’s seeing Justin._

_Jesus Christ, Yuuri, get a fucking clue. You know all the reasons why you shouldn’t be doing this. It’s probably all in your head anyway, and Victor would be horrified by it._

He quickly pulled the tunic on and began to button it mechanically. “Because…?” he prompted.

Victor seemed for a moment to have forgotten what he’d started to say. “Um, because I said I’d take you to sort things out with John as soon as we got back. About your stipend. John de Lacey. He’s our chamberlain.”

“I know,” Yuuri said with a grin. “Thank you.”

Victor tossed a couple of logs onto the fire, which elicited a pleasant warm blaze. “I’ll leave you to get ready, then, and go wait in the main room. No hurry.” With that, he turned and let himself out.

Yuuri would have given anything to find out what had been in Victor’s head just now, but he made himself focus on his morning routine. Once he’d donned his armour, he joined Victor, and together they went to see the chamberlain. Lord de Lacey confirmed that Baron Courtenay had paid the money he owed, and explained with an apology that due to a clerical oversight, Yuuri’s stipend had not been given to him. Emil would henceforth be dispatched to collect it at the end of every month. Yuuri felt bad about him having to make a journey just for that, and even worse about the baron being forced to make the payments – a man he’d never met, and who believed that his son was lost to him anyway, having been forced into service at Crowood Castle. 

_I think I might have more money now than I did when I got here. Lucky me. When there are people like Daisy, Jan and Sally scraping a living, who probably can’t hope to improve their lot very much. And all these peasants on the estate. Even if you have a benevolent lord, servitude is still servitude._

He glanced at Victor as they walked from the castle to the training field. _The benevolent lord. It doesn’t seem to do him much good, either, having that kind of power over people; ordering their executions. He doesn’t even want it. Does he? _

“A penny for your thoughts,” Victor said once they’d passed through the castle gate and were making their way down the hill.

“Oh. Um…I was wondering how it’d be best to start out this morning. You know, with training.”

“Well, one thing seems obvious to me,” Victor replied in an easy voice. “You’ve been out of practice for a few weeks. Back to exercising, for a start, and get those muscles limbered up.”

__Y_ou sound like my old P. E. instructor. _What else had he expected, though? Fitness was important.

“I could do with it myself, after two days of riding,” Victor added, catching the expression on his face. “You do some laps around the field, and I’ll join you once I’ve had a word with Abelard and Julia.”

Yuuri followed the instruction, quickly falling into a rhythm. The clanking of the armour as he ran; its reassuring weight, protecting him like a tortoiseshell; the satisfying burn of muscles during a good workout – like returning to everything else here, it had become strangely familiar, and strangely missed. When Victor appeared after a while, running beside him, he wondered what kind of trainer he would be. How much time was he planning to devote to this? And how would it change their relationship, if at all?

_You worry about everything it’s possible to worry about. Just be thankful he’s doing this for you._

Victor, here with him, no longer an ephemeral presence difficult to pin down. One day after another. He felt a sudden swoop of joy at the thought.

Later, when they returned to the stable, they’d both worked up a sweat despite the cold day. The clouds, through which an occasional spot of blue peeked, were a woolly grey, possibly threatening rain. As the breeze chilled Yuuri’s damp forehead, he realised he wasn’t used to being outside all day anymore either, away from a roof and a fire. The Black Dog had provided those things at least. But this was worth it, and more.

“Well, laddie,” Abelard said, approaching with sword in hand, “you found the bollocks to come back, I see. Sir Victor here’s been telling me he’s gonna train you a wee bit. I cannae say I mind. You need all the help you can get, ya wee roaster. If you want a real challenge, come see me and I’ll give your whiskers a shave.” He waggled his eyebrows and emitted a loud hoarse laugh, then sauntered into the stable.

“He’s just trying to encourage you,” Victor said, watching him go.

“He’s got a funny way of doing it.”

He was prevented from further comment by Julia, who emerged from the stable and came to join them. “I’m ready, master,” she said, stiffening her back, eyes glinting eagerly. “What are we doing this morning?”

“_You _are practising with the quintain – as we agreed last night, remember?” Victor replied.

“But I told you I did that yesterday. I’m good at it. I don’t need – ”

“Then change the variables. A faster speed for Boudicca. A longer or a heavier lance.”

Her face darkened. “But – ”

“I need to work with Justin for a while. We discussed this as well,” he added in a teacherly voice. “You _need _to do those things, because the knights you encounter in a jousting tournament will usually be heavier and stronger than you. You have to be able to put up a fight against them.” He gave her a brief glower and tilted his head toward the stable. “Well?”

After a pause, she bowed and followed his instructions.

“I must have a word with her about her insolence,” he murmured. “I know for a fact that she’s grateful for what you did for her – ”

“It’s all right,” Yuuri said. “So, what did you have in mind to work on?”

“I thought maybe we’d spar a little, to start out. Show me what you can do. We did that once, I know, but it was brief. I want to get a better idea of what you could improve on.”

“Abelard’s shown me a few things. I’ve also kept your advice in mind, and tried to address the areas you mentioned.”

“My advice?”

“Put more of my body into it. Get faster on the attack and try to be less predictable. Improve my fitness. Though yes, I’m sure I lost a little while I was away.”

“You remembered all that?” Victor said, then smiled. “Well – good. That’s good. It’s sound advice.”

“So, shall I show you what I can do?”

“In a moment. We ought to stretch first.”

“Stretch?”

“I know Abelard doesn’t bother, but I’m not Abelard. It’ll improve your agility and make it less likely that you’ll pull a muscle. Come, do what I do.” He walked over to the wooden fence nearby and straightened a leg to stretch his calf.

Yuuri stared for a moment, mesmerised by the way Victor moved in his armour, so natural, so easy.

“This isn’t a show,” Victor laughed, pausing to look at him. “You’re supposed to be doing it too.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri muttered, joining him at the fence and copying his actions, though he doubted he could match the suppleness and flexibility Victor was demonstrating. He began to think about other uses they could be put to, and felt a pulse of desire at the same time as he silently berated himself. “Have you trained anyone before?” he asked while they stretched one arm and then the other behind their heads. “I know there’s Julia – ”

“Well, yes, I’ve worked with squires, chiefly my own. But they’re young, and I don’t have the time to do it for large portions of the day. Abelard does a great deal with them.”

“But if that’s the case,” Yuuri said in sudden concern, “where are you going to find the time to – well, to train me?”

Victor smiled. “It’s possible. As I said, as long as you’re all right to do things on your own or with others occasionally…”

“Of course.”

“I think I could be a good trainer. You’ll have to let me know how I’m getting on. Now,” he said, drawing his sword with a smile, “have at you, villainous knave. Taste my blade.”

Yuuri snorted. “Is that your plan – put me off my guard by making me laugh?”

“I’m offended,” Victor said in a mock-hurt voice. “This is Abelard’s tactic, isn’t it? Insult you into attacking me ferociously.”

“And as you said, you’re not Abelard. Thank God for that.” Yuuri drew his own sword. “All right, you dog, you fiend, you…cankerous cur. I’ll make you pay.”

“Cankerous cur?” Victor echoed with a raised eyebrow. “_You’ll _pay for that affront, sir.” He raised his sword and backed up to give them both space.

Yuuri began with some confidence, feeling safe under Victor’s supervision. And was quickly reminded just how good Victor was. It was impossible to even get close. How had he ever managed to cut the coin purse off his belt that day? It must have been a fluke. And when he was shoved to the cold hard ground several times with a clatter and a bump to his tailbone, over which his armour did not extend, he began to feel positively frustrated, though he knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t even beat Abelard at sparring, and Victor was in a class of his own.

As Yuuri stood, aching, Victor came to join him. “That’s a good start. There are several things we could work on.”

“Right.” Yuuri removed a gauntlet and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“The most important one, though…” Victor paused until Yuuri was meeting his gaze. “…is that you’re behaving like you’re afraid to hurt me – why is that?”

“That’s what you told me last time,” Yuuri murmured.

“Oh? Ah yes, I remember. And for good reason.” Victor leaned on the fence and looked at him earnestly. “You can’t beat someone, even at sparring, if you don’t try.”

“I _am _trying.”

“Are you honestly afraid you’re going to hurt me?”

_Yes. _“No.”

Victor blinked. “I don’t believe you.”

Yuuri glared back. “All right, then. The truth is that I hate this whole situation – the fact that I’m training to try to kill someone. And now I’m supposed to practise on you, someone I – um, a friend. I don’t _want _to hurt you, of course I don’t.”

Considering this, Victor answered gently, “I know. But how do you expect to beat Tyler if that’s what you’re thinking? That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Yuuri nodded. “Then you have to train like you mean it. Otherwise there’s no point in doing it.”

_There are a lot of things I want to do with you. Running you through with my sword isn’t one of them._

Victor let out a little huff. “Just consider what I’ve said. Let’s head to the great hall for now, shall we? It’s close to dinner time, and you’ll have more energy after a good meal.”

Yuuri ate well for once, hoping to prove Victor’s words true. They resumed sparring afterward, but he felt as if he were making no headway. Then they switched to reviewing some of the techniques Victor had described to him on the journey the previous day, and Yuuri practised those.

He’d seen that Julia had been training in the field as well. She was concentrating on the quintain, and took instruction from Abelard along with the other squires, occasionally coming over to ask Victor if there was anything he needed. Her lips were pursed and she was glowering, and Yuuri wondered what was bothering her, suspecting that he knew the answer.

He sprinted up and down the hill when Victor returned to the castle, and lifted heavy sacks in the stable; the former would take some time to get used to again, though he’d actually improved his performance with the latter while he’d been in York. He had a short break during which Emil joined him with a sack of beer, and Yuuri invited him to drink with him while he explained what he’d been doing with Victor and what he’d learned. Then Victor returned, and they sparred again until the sun was dipping toward the horizon. Though Yuuri wasn’t sure if you could properly call it sparring. Victor blocked all of his attacks seemingly without difficulty, and then discussed tactics and ways he could improve. As keen as he’d been to start his training, when he reflected on how the day had gone, Yuuri felt a bitter sense of discouragement.

He only realised he’d been looking down at the ground, his attention half on what Victor was saying while the other half was trying to convince him he wasn’t a failure at this, when a finger touched the underside of his chin and guided it up to meet Victor’s gaze. Thoughts immediately ceasing, Yuuri felt the pad of Victor’s thumb brush his lower lip.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” he said softly. “This was your first day. And I’m not an easy person to beat. These things take time. Though perhaps I should be standing here insulting you some more. If you get angry enough, maybe you’ll want to attack me.” He smiled. 

“No,” Yuuri said quickly. As he struggled to think what he could add to this, Abelard dismissed the squires a short distance away, and Julia strode purposefully over, followed by a bemused Emil. Victor’s hand dropped away, though Yuuri’s lip continued to tingle.

“Master,” she said, “I don’t understand. You haven’t done anything with me all day – you’ve spent most of it with him.” She gave Yuuri a heated glance.

“Which is what I told you would happen,” he answered. “Tomorrow – ”

“You’ll be with him again. You said you were going to _work _with him, not be a proper _trainer _for him. You’re _my _trainer!” She looked again at Yuuri. “Sir, I mean no disrespect, and I won’t forget what you did for me.” Then she whirled to face Victor. “You were gone for days, too – to see the bailiff, and to go to York. How – ”

“I’ve gone on journeys without you before, and you’ve managed very well here at the castle. It’s unreasonable to begrudge me a little time for other things. You aren’t neglected.”

“It’s not just that. You’re the best knight in the land.”

“I’m not sure about – ”

“You are, master. And I earned the right to train under you. Has _he_? He ran away from you in a bloody duel! And _then_ – ”

“Julius, your impertinence is unacceptable.” There was an edge to his voice now that caused her to stop and stare, her expression hurt. Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her speech, but it had seemed more tactlessly impassioned than manipulative; though it was that too, he thought.

“A squire should always speak to his master with respect,” Emil said quietly to her.

Her expression softened and her cheeks pinked. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said to Victor. “I didn’t mean – but I still – ”

“Couldn’t help overhearing your conversation,” Abelard said as he joined them. “There’s a solution to this that could make everybody happy.” They all looked at him, and he said, “Have a competition.”

“A competition?” Victor echoed in puzzlement. Yuuri’s stomach lurched; he didn’t like the sound of this – though perhaps Victor wouldn’t either.

“Yes. These two gobshites can have it out in front of everybody; they like a bit of entertainment here, they do. Not against each other though, because Justin here would just twat your squire. Each of ’em can spar with _me_, and they can be judged on their skills.” He smiled, looking pleased with himself.

“He wouldn’t twat me in a thousand years,” Julia insisted. “But there’d be no contest, regardless. I’d win.”

“Maybe you would at that,” Abelard said. “Why don’t we see? Then the winner could say they’ve earned the right to be trained by Sir Victor.”

Julia glared at him. “I already have.”

“Can’t he train us both?” Yuuri said with a feeling of horror that was growing by the moment. “I thought that was the plan anyway.” He’d been doing his utmost to be patient with her, but he couldn’t help adding, “I’ve got a duel to fight – ”

“Do you think you’re the only one it happens to?” she retorted. “It’s part of being a knight! That’s what we do. In fact, the last duel you were in, _you _were the one declaring it should be to the death – against the master! It’s a bit rich of you to be asking him to help you do the same thing to somebody else, if you ask me – ”

“Which no one has,” Victor said to her. “Justin’s proved that he’s learned the error of his ways since then. Would that we were all willing to so when we make mistakes. And perhaps I should remind you that while I was impressed by your show of skill and was happy to take you on as my squire, there was no formal proof of your right to that position.”

Her jaw dropped. “Master – ”

“Victor, I don’t – ” Yuuri began.

“Abelard,” Victor said over both of them, “this idea of yours is growing on me.”

“What?” Yuuri and Julia exclaimed at the same time.

Victor smiled at them. “A competition to show off your skills, and prove that each of you has earned the right to be trained by me. Though I think it should include more than a session of sparring with Abelard. Knighthood and chivalry encompass other things, too. I’ll consider it tonight and announce the rules tomorrow.”

“Good, because he won’t stand a chance against me,” Julia blustered.

Yuuri’s heart was hammering. How could everything have gone so wrong so fast? “Victor,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking, “does this mean you’ll stop training me if I lose?”

Julius looked at him. “It’s only fair, if that’s the rule for me.”

“It needn’t be anything as extreme as that for either of you,” Victor mused. “It ought to be more of a chance for you both to show everyone what you can do.”

“I’m looking forward to this already,” Abelard put in, grinning. “But right now I’m gonna make sure I don’t miss my supper. I’m starving.”

Yuuri decided he wasn’t. In fact, his appetite had vanished completely.

* * *

He forced himself to sit through the meal so that it didn’t appear as if he were hiding, but afterward he spent the evening by himself in his room, which amounted to just that, he knew. At the moment, though, he didn’t care. How could they do this to him?

He’d been making sure lately that no one had been around while he’d contacted Phichit, opening his door and peering out into the dark hallway first, listening intently. That was how Ailis had got Dr. Quincey, when he thought it was safe to talk on his com. Thank God it had only been Victor with him at the inn, though that could have been catastrophic enough. When he called this time, he said he didn’t think his first day of training with Victor had gone well – especially when it had ended with the announcement of the competition.

“What will you have to do?” Phichit asked. “Maybe it could be interesting.”

“No, it isn’t. I don’t even _know_ what we’re supposed to do yet, though it sounds like we’ll be judged by our display of skills against Abelard, among other things Victor’s going to decide on, apparently.”

“If he’s your trainer, maybe he thought it’d give you some incentive to improve.”

“I don’t need any more than I’ve already got. I just can’t believe, when I thought I was finally going to get some help, this is what happens. Because of a girl who’s almost ten years younger than me. I mean, I respect that she’s Victor’s squire. She’s amazingly talented, I’ve seen it myself. She’s young, and used to getting his attention, and he’d been gone for several days, so – ”

“So she was picked when she saw you two together today?”

“You could say so, yeah.”

“But _was _it her fault? You said the idea came from the full-time trainer there, what’s-his-name.”

“Abelard. But Victor didn’t have to agree to it, did he? Now we’ll both be training with him. And the answer I was given about what’ll happen if I lose was…ambiguous. One thing’s certain – Julia won’t stop being Victor’s squire if _she_ loses. Me? I could lose everything I’ve gained – Victor’s respect, his time, his interest. I’m not anxious, Phichit. I – I’m picked.”

“Wow, Yuuri. That’s not like you.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“It takes a lot to get you in that mood. Usually it’s because something isn’t fair to somebody else. I think it does you credit.”

“But this doesn’t, is that what you’re saying?”

There was a long pause before Phichit replied, “You sound like someone who’s jealous.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “Jealous of what?”

“OK, so, Victor’s squire hadn’t realised how much time he’d be spending with you, and she already hadn’t seen him in a while, and got picked about the sudden change, saying you hadn’t done anything to deserve it. She’s fifteen, Yuuri, and she’s devoted to this jack, and she’s presenting as a bloke just so she can be there and train. I guess I’m just surprised that doesn’t seem to be registering with you.” As Yuuri’s eyes widened, Phichit continued more softly, “You like Victor, don’t you. A lot. In fact, um, tell me if I’m wrong, but…I think you fancy him.”

“Yes,” Yuuri sighed after a moment’s consideration, deciding there was no point trying to hide it. “But ‘fancying him’ makes it sound like a crush. I…” He swallowed. “I’m not sure how I can describe what I feel, with everything that’s mixed up in it, and the fact that I have no experience with this kind of thing; nothing to compare it to. But it can seem overwhelming sometimes. You should see him, Phichit, and maybe you’d understand.”

“Wow. Does he know?”

“I don’t think so. I’m aware of all the reasons why it’s not a good idea to try to start anything with him, even if he wanted to, so you don’t need to list them for me – ”

“Hey, OK, I wasn’t going to. It’s just, maybe he _really _doesn’t know, then, because you peeled off to York.”

“What?”

“Well, maybe he thinks you’re not that bothered if he’s around, you know? So why should he be worried about whether or not he’s training you? Has _he _given _you _any signs that he’s interested?”

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair. At first it felt like Phichit had been helping him to clarify things, but now it was all turning into a muddle again. “He seems to care. Well, he’s made it obvious that he does. I hope I’ve done the same. But anything romantic or sexual…” He sighed again. “Maybe I’m not very good at this, but I can’t say I’ve noticed any definite messages from him one way or the other.”

“He’s still training you, though, isn’t he? For now? That’s better than before, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose so. Yes.”

“You’ve learned things from the other trainer, and you’ve done a lot on your own, so…well, it’s hard for me to say this stuff, because I’m not there, and maybe I don’t completely understand the situation. But why not do your best and try to win? Perhaps you’ll learn something useful.”

Yuuri took a minute to think about this. “Because they believe I’m a knight when I’m not? I’ve been doing this maybe two months, not counting the time I was in York. Pretending is one thing. _Living_ it is another. I just don’t have the confidence.”

“Then keep practising and it’ll come. I bet Victor will be a good trainer, from what you’ve said about him.”

Yuuri smiled. “I hope so. I don’t know – he’s pretty fierce when someone crosses him. I’ve got firsthand experience.”

“Great, then he’ll keep you on your toes.”

“You’re incredibly optimistic, you know that?”

“I’m just trying to balance things out.”

“Meaning I’m incredibly pessimistic?”

“You said it, not me.”

Yuuri shook his head. “You know what I’d like more than anything else right now? To be sitting at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee.”

“By yourself? With nothing to look forward to besides another day at work?”

Yuuri bit his lip. “That’s a pretty devastating summary of my life there, Phichit.”

“So make the most of what you’ve got now.”

A moment passed while Yuuri stared quietly into the flames. “Maybe.”

“Well you can’t go to York this time, so be that hero you were from the Immersion game you used to play. Would _he _back down from a challenge?”

A crooked smile crossed Yuuri’s face. “You’re trying too hard now. But I appreciate it anyway.”

“Just trying to help.” 

“You’re pretty good with advice,” Yuuri said, the smile fading into a grin. “And perhaps you’re right. I let these things get on top of me, and I ought to try to stand up to them more, and deal.” He paused, gathering the conviction he needed to speak his next words sincerely. “I can deal with _this_. I can work my heart out and…and win.”

“That’s juke, Yuuri. I know you can do it. Let me know how it goes. With Victor and his squire, and your training and everything.”

“Sure.”

“And, um, I know you hate it when I say this, but – ”

“Remember why I’m here,” Yuuri finished for him. “Is that it?”

“Well, yeah. Just keep an eye out, OK?”

“Believe me, Phichit – if Ailis does something, I’ll be on it straight away.”

“OK. Good luck, Yuuri.”

“Thanks.” _I hope I won’t need it._


	42. Chapter 42

Yuuri and Julia stood side by side in the training field, the chill wind whipping at their hair. Tattered grey clouds scudded across the sky, remainders of the heavy sleety rain that had knifed down overnight and into the morning. Yuuri was relieved it had stopped; he was tired of trying to clean mud off himself without being able to properly shower or bathe, though he figured the squires got the worst of it by having to clean their knights’ armour every day.

Victor rested his hands on the golden crossguard of his sword, the tip poking into a clump of grass, as he looked at them. Yuuri noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes that was usually a pleasure to see, though maybe not so much today, considering the purpose of this meeting. His conversation with Phichit the previous night had helped, however, and he was determined to do whatever was asked of him and make the best of it. Similar sentiments were visible in Julia’s expression.

“I’ve decided there will be three parts to this,” Victor was explaining, his long fringe lifting from his left eye and plastering itself across his forehead in the breeze. “My father has declared that he’ll judge who wins each.”

_How fair and democratic, _Yuuri thought.

“The first part will involve swordfighting. Since Abelard offered to spar with each of you, that’s what you’ll do. You won’t be judged on the number of your wins – if indeed either of you is able to beat him – but on your skill and tactics. The second part will require you to display your equestrian skills; specifically, the quintain and tilting at rings on your destriers.”

Yuuri had expected something like the first part, but not the second, and his heart sank into his feet. He could do those things, but not well, and he wondered how much time they’d be given to train before the competition took place. He glanced at Julia, expecting to see a smug smile on her face, but to his surprise she looked disappointed.

“Why can’t we joust like proper knights?” she said.

Victor raised an eyebrow. “You’re young yet, and would be too easily knocked off your horse. This will allow you to demonstrate your skills in a different way.” As she considered this and seemed to see the sense in it, he added, “It’s important to be aware of your limits and take care of your body. If I said yes to everything you’ve told me you wanted to do since you came here, you’d be battered and broken, if not dead, by now.”

“Yes, master,” she mumbled.

“The third part of the competition,” Victor continued in a quieter voice with a hint of a smile as he leaned forward slightly on his sword, “is an artistic event in the spirit of chivalry. I’ve given the castle minstrels two versions of the same piece to learn from one of the music manuscripts in the library. They’ll know the tune and be able to play both versions in a few days. Each of you will need to visit them, listen to your song, and decide what you want to do with it while the musicians accompany you. Sing, dance, play an instrument yourself, tell a story, recite a poem, whatever seems appropriate to you.”

Yuuri was taken aback, as was Julia, judging by her reaction. “Why is this necessary?” she said. “Surely it’s more important to be able to wield a weapon.”

“And chivalry underpins what we do as knights, or else we may as well be barbarians,” Victor answered, eyeing her. “You should know. Honour, bravery, courteousness, honesty, knowledge, an appreciation of the arts. It would be as easy to ask why we play musical instruments rather than using them to bash each other over the head.”

Julia snorted. “As for the songs, both are inspired by the theme of love; specifically, as the Greeks defined it, eros and agape – sexual and selfless love, respectively.”

“Good – I choose eros,” Julia said. Yuuri relaxed a little; he was sure he could be inspired to do something on agape, even if artistic expression wasn’t something he would have expected as part of a knightly competition. Mari, his parents…

“It’s not your choice to make,” Victor told her. “Your song is agape, and Justin’s is eros.”

“What?” they said together.

“That’s not something I identify with,” Julia insisted.

Victor narrowed his eyes. “Then maybe you should try. Are you telling me you have no use for selfless love, given or received? If you thought about it, I suspect you might change your mind.”

“I can’t do that in front of people from the castle,” Yuuri protested, recalling the musicals in which he’d performed – for no one, because they had been in _Dance Diva_, an Immersion game. Bad enough to have to do this at all. But _eros_? Was Victor out of his mind?

“I have every confidence that you can, Justin,” Victor said, giving him a look he struggled to interpret.

“But – ”

“The competition is scheduled to be held two weeks from today. It’ll take place at the arena. Now, Julius, I’ll work with you first. Justin, you can start with the stretches we did yesterday, and follow that with exercises to improve your strength and fitness – the ones Abelard gave you, or your own, whatever works. All right?”

“Um…”

Victor gave him a quick nod. “You can do this.” Then he walked to the other side of the field with Julius.

Yuuri stared after them for a moment, then went to the fence nearby. He was used to others sharing the field with him, either working on their own training as the day went by, or frequently because they were on a trip to the stable either to fetch a horse or return it. But there seemed to be more curious looks this morning from people who had paused in their activities to watch. Perhaps word of the competition had spread already.

He wondered how far his friendship with Victor would extend into their training relationship. It was clearly not going to stop Victor from giving him things to do that he might not like. Well, that was as it should be. As long as they were things that would be of benefit. A competition to gratify his young squire, which included a requirement that Yuuri come up with some kind of performance for a song about eros, was highly questionable in that regard.

Though he knew the main reason for his negative thoughts was that despite what Victor had said, he doubted he _could _do this. He’d only just learned how to ride a horse, for fuck’s sake. His swordsmanship skills were nothing out of the ordinary. And how was he supposed to perform in front of Lord and Lady Nikiforov, and a whole audience? His throat hitched.

_No anxiety attacks. I decided last night that I’d go along with this and try my best. If I have to keep reminding myself, I will. Victor must have faith in me, because he wouldn’t set me up to fail. I’m not sure yet what he’ll be like as a trainer, but I know that much._

Positive aspects of the situation, then? He’d get to use a sword, and that was his best weapon, the one he was most comfortable with. He wasn’t _that _bad with a lance, either; maybe he just needed practice. And he knew he could dance. That ability was there to be tapped. He just had to put something together and be brave enough to perform it. If he worked hard on all of these things, then maybe, just maybe, he stood a chance.

And so he stretched and exercised, putting all his effort into it as he negotiated the slippery, muddy ground, recalling how he’d done this when Abelard had been training him, knowing he could cope with it on his own. Afterward he rode Blaze, not with any intention of practising jousting skills, but to improve his horsemanship; and Emil was there to help and encourage him. By dinner time, Yuuri felt like he’d made a solid start to his new training regimen, while reassuring himself that there were obviously plenty of useful things he could be doing that didn’t involve Victor, who could then be free to work with Julia or attend to his business at the castle. Even so, he was looking forward to being with him and receiving more of his instruction.

That was, until it happened. Like the day before, he struggled to make any headway in sparring, and had to admit to himself that he was beginning to feel stabs of irritation at the unfazed way Victor fended off his attacks, having to remind himself that if they’d been any good, he would have received a different response.

_This is what I wanted. What else should I expect? If I were beating him, I’d know it was because he was going easy on me. I have to keep trying._

Eventually Victor suggested they take a break from the sparring and practise with the lance. He asked Yuuri to show him how he’d been holding it and aiming at the quintain.

“Is that what Abelard told you to do?” he asked as he watched.

“No, not exactly. I haven’t had any formal instruction.” Yuuri shrugged. “It seemed obvious what to do – it’s _doing _it that’s difficult.” The wooden lance he was using was about twice as long as he was tall and deceptively heavy, requiring both precision and strength to wield.

“Did you not joust at your father’s castle?”

“No.”

“You surprise me.” Victor came to stand beside and slightly behind him. “All right,” he said, his voice close to Yuuri’s ear. “You have an arret – the hook here on your breastplate, if you hadn’t noticed.” Long, pale fingers glided across the metal. “To help you position the lance – you rest the base on it.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this?” Yuuri muttered with a frown. “I was wondering why that was there.”

“I think they must have assumed you knew,” Victor said with a little laugh. “This ring near the base is called a grapper. It fits against the arret and stops the lance from sliding backward in your grip during impact. You haven’t been using them, I take it?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Well, that’ll help.”

“Of course it will. Now let’s look at how you’re holding the lance.”

While the weapon rested on Yuuri’s arm, neither of them wearing gauntlets, Victor gently prised Yuuri’s fingers up and guided them to rest in different positions. “That’s better,” he murmured.

Yuuri closed his eyes, willing his cheeks not to pink.

Victor took a step back. “Have you been told to come at your target with the lance at an angle, gradually lowering it as you go?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I’ve been trying to hold it steady while I move forward, but it’s difficult.”

“It would be; you’ll feel it jostling about.” He paused and added, “I can’t understand why no one ever taught you these things. Anyway, if it helps, you can ride on the wooden horse while you concentrate on using the lance – ”

“That thing the pages sit on, that the squires pull along with ropes?” He laughed. “I’d die of embarrassment.”

Victor looked at him sombrely. “We all have to start somewhere. There’s no shame in doing whatever’s required to improve.”

After a pause, Yuuri answered, “That contraption would just get stuck in the mud today anyway. I’ll take my chances on Blaze.”

Victor nodded. “Let’s see you, then.”

And, unfortunately, he did. While Yuuri knew he was doing better with the quintain, and managed to snag a couple of rings hanging from posts, he was in no position to attempt to win a competition at this. Being smacked by the heavy bag hanging from the quintain bar as it spun round, in front of Victor, again and again, and tumbling several times off his horse, was frankly humiliating.

Eventually Julia and Emil joined them, with a light misty rain now falling, and reminded them it was almost time for supper. Julia’s eyes were still angry sparks when she looked at Yuuri, perhaps because he’d taken Victor’s attention most of the afternoon, but her manner was less belligerent today at least.

“You’ve worked hard,” Victor said to him with a grin. “And you’re making progress. You must be hungry. Let’s go change out of these muddy things and get ready for the meal.”

“You go,” Yuuri said abruptly. “Emil can bring me some leftover food later.”

“Master?” Emil enquired in surprise.

“I, um, want to use the daylight that’s left. The sun won’t be setting for a while. I want to keep practising.”

“I think you’d be better off taking a break,” Victor told him. “You can come at it fresh in the morning. You’ve earned a rest.”

“It’s OK, really. Please, go on. I’ll be fine.”

Victor studied his face, then nodded; and with quick goodbyes, the squires accompanied him to the castle.

Yuuri stood in the gathering gloom, mist wetting his face. The wind had died down, though the chill and damp permeated every layer he wore. But this was what he had been wanting: while everyone else was leaving for supper, he had the training ground to himself. Vaulting onto Blaze, he took his lance from its rest on the stable wall and returned to practising.

He knew that Victor wanted to help him; with his expert eye, he could tell him what he was doing wrong and how to fix it. However, Yuuri had also quickly discovered that he hated being watched while he was trying to learn something relatively new; it made him feel like a bug under a magnifying glass, with every flaw emphasised. Here, now, with no one to see, judge or criticise, he had his own space to do what he wanted, and fail – and chalk up some successes as well. That he was managing to spear any rings at all on his lance was a minor miracle, he thought; though there were ten here, and he wasn’t sure he had the ability to get them all no matter how hard he ever tried. Swordfighting definitely came more naturally to him than this. However, before he finished for the day, with just enough light left to show him his way up the hill to the castle, he’d managed to spear three rings in one go – a record.

“Shame about the mud, though,” he said to himself as he passed through the gatehouse and into the courtyard. A yellow glow spilled from the window of the great hall, and through the nearby archway drifted the sounds of a harp and the rumble of conversation punctuated by laughter and the clinking of plates and knives. The scents of fish, galangal and dill drifted on the air; it was Friday, and Fridays were fast days throughout the year. Perhaps they’d have some of his favourite almond milk flan; he’d have to ask Emil if he could scrounge some up.

But first, he was going to attempt to remedy the bathing situation; his time in York had given him an idea. He went to the ground-floor room of the turret near the kitchen and found a wooden bucket that looked sturdy and waterproof, then took it to his room and set it down in front of the fire. This was going to take some time, but it was easily spared this evening. That copper pipe in the hall would be handy; much better than marching to and from a well, as had been the case at The Black Dog. He suspected the well-water might be cleaner here than in the city, too.

He’d only poured a few pitchers into the bucket before Emil arrived with a tray of food – which, Yuuri saw, contained a slice of almond flan.

“You think of everything,” he said, his mouth watering as he also saw strips of fish, roasted root vegetables, a hunk of bread, and a baked apple stuffed with currants, cinnamon and honey. “Thank you, Emil.” He took a bite of the flan and hummed, his eyes fluttering briefly shut.

“You’re welcome, master. Did your practice go well?”

Yuuri nodded as he polished off the flan. “As well as I could hope, anyway. I’ve only got two weeks to get ready for the competition; I want to make the most of it. I wish the sun didn’t set so early this time of year.” Though perhaps he might be able to work on the artistic part in the evenings, once he’d heard his song and decided what to do with it.

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Emil eyed the bucket. “Are you ill, sir?”

“What? Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering why you wanted a bucket in here. Is it something I can help with?”

“Ah, no, but thanks all the same.” Yuuri poured himself a cup of beer from the jug Emil had brought. “I wanted to have a proper wash for once, that’s all. I got filthy out in the field today.” He paused, looking guiltily at his pile of muddy armour on the floor. “When I’m done, I can wash that, too.”

“You mustn’t waste your time on such things, sir. That’s a squire’s job.”

Yuuri gave a small sigh, then took his knife from his belt and speared a piece of fish, savouring it as he chewed. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be able to stomach anything aquatic again after the constant fasting during December, but once a week was manageable, and Fernand’s cooking really was superb.

“Why do you get all the shitty things to do?” Yuuri said as he chewed. “The squires. You can’t tell me you grew up thinking, ‘I want to clean muddy, sweaty armour and fetch food and drink and be a general dogsbody for some bloke, that’s my passion in life.”

Emil laughed, the strings of his maroon coif jumping. “I’ve never heard anyone put it like that. But then, I want to be a knight myself, and I’ll have a squire to do those things for me.”

“But I don’t _need _someone to do those things for me. Not that I don’t appreciate it,” Yuuri added hastily as a look of surprise crossed Emil’s face. “You do a great job. It’s just, why does one person need another one to be a lackey for him? No one deserves that.”

“I don’t quite follow you, sir. Everyone who’s in a position to do so has a servant.”

Yuuri looked at him, then shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll finish my dinner and fill the bucket up – and I _don’t _want you doing that for me; I can manage it fine on my own. You enjoy your evening.”

“If you say so, sir, though I’m only planning to go to the main garrison room.” He glanced again at the bucket. “It seems a great deal of effort to go to. When the warmer weather comes, we usually bathe in the stream. The noble family have proper large bath buckets, of course – perhaps you’re missing yours from your father’s castle?”

“They do? Um, well, I like bathing, yes.”

“Once in a while, we’re allowed baths ourselves here in the garrison. Though it’s…not an activity that might be to your taste.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Yuuri asked, pulling the soft baked apple apart with his fingers and taking a piece.

“It’s more like an evening of revelry. I’m not sure how clean the men get as such, but there’s a great deal of food, wine, and usually prostitutes from the village.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows.

“It’s common belief that if fighting men can assuage their needs in that way, they’re less likely to cause trouble.”

“Is that what _you _think?” Yuuri said with a small smile as he ate.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Emil replied, going to Yuuri’s pile of armour, which he picked up in his arms. “Anyway, sir, enjoy your supper. I’ll return this to you later.” And with that, he disappeared out the door.

Yuuri finished his food and had another drink. _Orgies in the main garrison room? I hope I’m making assumptions. Maybe the men take the women back to…where? How many of them have private quarters? _He was suddenly glad he hadn’t inadvertently stumbled upon an evening of this yet, and was grateful for having been forewarned. He wasn’t sure he could bear to see people using each other like that, never mind what they liked to get up to in groups. Prostitution had been virtually eliminated in his own time with the realism that Immersion offered, though he’d only ever used those types of programs a few times out of curiosity, and because he wanted to learn what the hell he was doing. He’d decided years ago that the only way sex would be meaningful to him was in a relationship with someone he cared about. Which was why, he supposed, at age twenty-four, he was still waiting for the chance.

So the noble family had bath buckets? If they were like the one at The White Swan, they must be luxurious. Did Victor use one?

_Yuuri Katsuki, why do your thoughts always seem to gravitate in his direction?_

And yet the idea of sharing a bath with him made the time fly as he filled his own modest-sized bucket, only big enough to stand in. Who knew that being clean would feel so good, thanks to a container full of cold muddy water?

It was only as he got under the covers later, relaxing in the glow of the fire, that it struck him that he would be fighting for his life against Sir Tyler Beaumont in the arena in less than four months. He shivered despite the warmth…and it was a long time before sleep finally found him.


	43. Chapter 43

Emil was watching as Yuuri and Victor clashed swords, the sound ringing out across the training field. Yuuri wished he would find something else to do. Another embarrassing session of easily blocked attacks and being knocked to the ground. He felt his confidence slipping in the discipline he thought he was best at, and he got the impression that Victor was becoming a little frayed as well, though he was trying not to show it.

“Why do you keep attacking when you’re not certain it’s going to succeed?” Victor said when they stopped. “Defence, always defence. Attacking makes you vulnerable. You’re coming within range of being hit, and any overextension caused by a parry or a miss…well, if you were fighting for real, it could result in a quick death.”

Yuuri nodded, thinking about how he’d seen Victor and the other fighting men demonstrate this. No one had ever told him. There were a lot of things he didn’t know, it seemed. They’d never been necessary for _Swords and Sorcery_.

“You’re swinging your arms too wide when you strike,” Victor continued. “Make it sharp and fast, and get straight back into a guard position.

“A cut comes from your whole body, not just your shoulders. A step should follow when you move your sword, which should finish on the side of your back foot. Don’t start to step before you move your sword, or it’ll create an opening for your opponent.

“If your opponent goes for your legs, you’ll see he’s exposing his head. That’s why you must remember always to attack your opponent, not just his weapon. Of course you won’t cut anyone’s head off if you’re sparring – touching their neck with your sword will be enough.”

Thrown to the ground yet again, with a wet and muddy arse, Yuuri slapped his sword into the puddle next to him, sending a splash of black water into the air.

Victor looked down at him with a frown. “Who taught you to fight, the jester?”

The words were like a kick to the stomach. Victor’s shoulders slumped and he hurried forward, holding a hand out to help him up. “I’m sorry, Justin,” he said more softly. “That was uncalled for. It isn’t your fault; whoever trained you has a lot to answer for. They should’ve made sure you knew these things almost from day one, and I’m angry on your behalf about the poor instruction you seem to have received. A baron’s only son deserves better. Well, anyone does.”

Yuuri took Victor’s gauntleted hand in his own and stood after grabbing his sword from the puddle. “I’m sorry, too,” he mumbled, cheeks flaming as he felt Emil’s eyes on them both.

“Don’t be. Let’s work on getting some of these stances right. Your balance is beautiful, and it’ll come to your aid if your feet are in the right place.” Victor sheathed his sword and went behind him, and Yuuri felt his hands posing him as if he were a living statue, explaining the reasoning behind his actions all the while. The edge to his voice had gone; he was encouragement and smiles now. Yuuri held the words “beautiful balance” in his head, liking their sound and what they meant coming from Victor, who was turning out to have high expectations. And the touch of his hands, even on his armour, was distracting. He had to keep reminding himself to focus.

When they finished, Victor walked to Emil at the fence, Yuuri following. “You know the guard positions well, don’t you?” he said to the squire, who nodded. “Will you make sure Justin knows them, too, while I work with Julius?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Yuuri. “Emil will see you right. Then have a good dinner, and we’ll go somewhere a little more interesting to spar this afternoon, you and I and Julius.” With a quick grin, he turned and left.

“Jesus, Emil,” Yuuri sighed, leaning against the fence. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“I can’t say I understand why, sir,” Emil replied, vaulting over the fence to stand next to him. “You’re clearly learning. Sir Victor is a demanding instructor. He wants to make sure you know the basics.”

“And you were hoping to learn from a knight, not to serve a knight who needs to learn from you.”

“It won’t hurt me to review these things. They’re the bread and butter of swordsmanship, and it’s good to revisit them once in a while.”

“Will you show each of them to me?”

“All right.” Emil drew his sword and demonstrated each guard position, telling Yuuri what they were called.

“I’ve tried most of those already,” he said in surprise. “Abelard showed me what to do, though he didn’t say they were specific guards.”

“He perhaps expected you to know. A young squire would know them, so…”

“You’re sure you don’t mind doing this?”

“Of course not, sir.”

Yuuri minded a bit himself, however. He’d been demoted from working with Victor to training under his own squire. Well, that was what it felt like, though he’d got the idea that whatever Victor did as a trainer was meant to be pragmatic rather than a punishment.

He took instruction from Emil until dinner time, apologising again for the reversal of their circumstances, but Emil insisted he was a fast learner and was obviously taking to the discipline well. After the meal, Yuuri met Victor and Julia in the stable and rode into the countryside with them, wondering where they were headed. The morning cloud had cleared and a bright but cold sun shone down on them, glimmering on their armour. Yuuri lost himself in his thoughts while Julia chattered to Victor about the latest gossip she’d heard in the garrison; and then they came to a halt near a tall rocky outcrop where a small stream spilled over the lip of the cliff and trickled down to a pool. Moss grew heavily over the grey rocks, and winter-brown bracken feathered their edges, while rich green grass carpeted the sides of the pool. It was the sort of place Yuuri could imagine in a fairytale – and here were the knights in shining armour to complete the picture, he thought with a little smile.

“This is one of the best places to practise footwork,” Victor said as they dismounted. “You’ll notice all the crevices in and between the rocks, and some places where you can almost see stairs.”

Yuuri’s heart dropped as he imagined trying to fight Victor while making sure he didn’t slip and fall into the pool. But balance was one of his strengths, wasn’t it?

“You want us to spar with you on the rocks?” Julia asked.

“Indeed,” Victor said with a grin.

“Zounds,” she breathed. “Can I go first?”

“All right. Justin, I want you to watch. Think about the tactics we discussed this morning.”

And so he did, finding a perch on a cold and clammy flat stone. The trickle of the water over the rocks and into the pool mingled with the clank of armour and ring of swords, Victor pausing every so often to instruct Julia when he won a round of sparring. He seemed gentler with her, Yuuri thought with some irritation. But then she was only fifteen, and had quite a slight frame. Despite that, however, she was light on her feet, extremely accurate with her aim, and astoundingly quick. There was confidence and determination in her eyes that he wished he felt himself.

“Your turn, then, Justin,” Victor said as he sent Julia to sit down and watch. She gave Yuuri a pleased smile as she joined him.

“Beat that. I wonder how long it’ll take before you fall in.”

“Cheers,” he muttered, standing.

“It’s very shallow,” Victor informed them. “If anyone did fall in, there shouldn’t be any danger.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Yuuri said, approaching him.

Victor raised his sword. “No. Because I don’t expect you to fall in.”

Yuuri drew his own weapon and readied it.

“The boar’s-tooth guard. Good one to start with here. See if you can get me to back up onto the rocks. Think about how you’re placing your feet.”

Yuuri tried. He seemed to be making Victor work harder than he had been in the training field, but they went several rounds and he was never any closer to winning. The best he could say, he supposed, was that he felt quite proud of his nimbleness on the damp and mossy rocks, which allowed him to evade many of Victor’s attacks. But they always ended up with him on the ground, trapped against a rock, or pinned against Victor’s sword. He glanced at Julia a few times, expecting to see a smug expression or even for her to laugh; but she was watching intently, her eyes carefully following their actions.

“I want to see your best effort this time,” Victor said, standing before him; they were both halfway up the cliff face now. “Show me what you can really do, Justin. Give it everything you’ve got.”

“I am.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“You don’t think I want to win?”

“_Do _you?”

Yuuri pressed his lips into a firm line and raised his sword. Their weapons rang as they clashed – once, again, and again. There was a hard glint in Victor’s eyes that Yuuri had seen before, and had feared at the time. He tried to answer it with one of his own, using all of his strength and dexterity, refusing to be intimidated. At first he seemed to be forcing Victor back; but the tables were soon turned, and Victor pressed him down the jagged path, finally pinning him over a rock. Yuuri’s back slammed against the hard surface with a clatter, and there was Victor’s face over his own, fringe hanging down, still holding his sword as his other hand pushed against Yuuri’s breastplate. But it wasn’t anger or disappointment Yuuri read in his expression; it was worry.

“_Fight _me, damn it,” Victor almost hissed. “Why won’t you?” Then he stood and raked a hand through his fringe. “This isn’t working,” he muttered, seemingly to himself.

Yuuri sat up. He didn’t like the sound of that at all. But there was little to be done about it at the moment, as they were obviously finished for the day, Victor leading the way to their horses.

Arriving at the stable, they turned the animals out to pasture, and Victor excused himself to have a word with Chris and Charles out in the field. Yuuri watched him go, unable to escape the dark certainty that he’d disappointed him.

“I don’t understand why you look so dejected,” Julia said to him. “I’ve never beaten him, either. Hardly anyone can. He expects the best out of you and is wroth when you don’t give it. And why shouldn’t he be? Training with him is a rare privilege.”

Yuuri looked at her. But before he could reply, she added, “I don’t believe you shamed yourself. I honestly thought he’d have you over and into the pool, but you’re gaining ground on him. And I’ve never seen anyone so fucking well balanced, apart from the master himself.”

Yuuri looked into her earnest green eyes, his capacity for speech having evaporated. Then Victor came back over to them.

“Justin, Chris and Charles have agreed to spar with you for the rest of the afternoon, if you feel up to it.”

“Of course,” he said. “But why – ”

“Good. Julia, I want you to practise with the other squires while I watch Justin. You’ll get more instruction from me tomorrow, I promise.”

She nodded and raced away. Victor gave Yuuri a quick parting glance, then went to stand near the fence.

_I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. Why is he making me do this?_

“Ah, Justin, my dear fellow,” Charles said with a glittering smile as he approached. “It appears to be my task to instil a bit more humility in you. Are you ready for me to rub your face in the mud?”

“I’d like to see you try,” Yuuri replied, drawing his sword.

They moved a little further from the stable into the field, and commenced. Yuuri tried to forget about Victor watching him. Charles beat him twice. Then in their third round, Victor began to call out pieces of advice.

“Justin, iron door guard – bring your sword through to the centre – that’s it!

“If there’s no room to make a full cut, try a slice.

“Regain the initiative as fast as you can after defending – don’t give him time to come after you again.”

Charles laughed grimly as he and Yuuri circled each other. “Seems you have expert help in the audience. Hardly fair, if you ask me, but it troubles me not – on the ground, dog.”

Now Yuuri heard Chris’s voice coming from the same direction as Victor’s, clearly meant for Charles’s benefit: “Give him a thwart-cut, my good man, and see how he likes it!”

Wondering what the hell that was, Yuuri kept his eyes on Charles’s sword while Victor said, “Now, Chris, you’re going to confuse them.”

“Charles won’t be confused. Anyway, he ought to have an advocate, if you’re supporting Justin.”

“I don’t – ”

“Into the wrath-cut, Charles! He’ll never see it coming. Well, I suppose he will, now that I’ve mentioned it…”

“Chris!” Victor admonished him.

Yuuri held a hand up. “Hang on,” he said to Charles, who was on the balls of his feet with his sword raised, looking for a way to attack. “I want to find out what this is all about.” Then he turned and approached Victor.

Charles followed, glaring at Chris. “I’ll thank you to leave me in peace to dispatch this base cur. I need no training from you.”

“Really?” Chris answered with a smile, leaning back on the fence next to Victor. “You don’t recall being beaten by me yesterday, then?”

“What was he talking about?” Yuuri asked, ignoring the other two knights. “Emil just went over the guard positions with me, and you’ve been teaching me other tactics, and none of them were called ‘thwart-cut’ or ‘wrath-cut’.”

“I told you it would be confusing,” Victor said to Chris with a frown.

Chris shrugged. “If he doesn’t know the difference between the two schools, it’s not my fault.”

“What two schools?” Yuuri asked.

“The Italian and the German schools of longsword fighting,” Victor answered. “Each has different philosophies, terminology, guard positions, and so on. Though at the heart of it, they’re not that different. Both work well.”

“We follow the German school here,” Chris said.

“_You _do,” Victor added quickly. “Johannes Liechtenauer’s system. I prefer Fiore dei Liberi’s. For one thing, he offers three times as many guard positions, and I like having more options to choose from.” He smiled and returned Yuuri’s gaze. “The names of anything I teach you are from his system. Chris is using Liechtenauer’s.” He glared at him. “You are not to interfere in ways that may be confusing to Justin, and certainly not while I’m standing here teaching him things myself.”

“Just trying to help.”

“You can help by sparring with Justin when Charles is finished.”

“Will I be _allowed_ to finish sometime today?” Charles said in a bored voice. “I’m looking forward to good food and a warm fire.”

“Justin,” Victor said, “get this lazy devil back on his toes and give him something to think about.”

“You do me a discourtesy, sir,” Charles grumbled.

“I’d welcome you to challenge me to a fight, but you’d lose. Go see if you can defeat Justin.”

“Again?” He sighed. “Very well. Come, knave,” he said to Yuuri, “I have yet to rub that face of yours in the mud.”

They resumed circling each other, this time with Victor and Chris watching silently. Yuuri wasn’t any more comfortable with the scrutiny than before, but it was a relief to be facing Charles, and later Chris, instead of Victor himself.

_I’m in danger of failing in Victor’s eyes – he’s already got me fighting other people instead of him – and of losing the competition. If I’m going to be a real knight, and defeat Tyler, I’d bloody well better start acting like one._

He took a guard position, keeping an eye on where his opponent’s sword was and how he was positioning himself.

_I’m a knight. _Yuuri forced all his senses on the alert, summoning the controlled aggression he knew he needed if he was going to fight successfully. _I can’t be afraid of this anymore. And I’m not just acting. This is who I have to be. _

_It’s who I am._

Charles raised his sword and came at him. Slow, predictable. Yuuri stepped to the side at the last minute and rammed him off balance with his shoulder, at the same time cutting upward with his sword and knocking Charles’s weapon out of his hand, which went flying into a puddle. Charles waved his hands in an effort to stop his momentum from propelling him into the mud, and skidded to a halt, a look of surprise on his face.

Clapping sounded from the fence, and Victor called, “Good show, Justin! Keep it up.”

“I wasn’t paying proper attention,” Charles muttered, picking up his dripping sword. “Right, my lad, this is serious now. Have at you.”

Heartened, Yuuri circled again. And, after more of a battle this time, he won. As time went on, he was forced to concede the majority of rounds to Charles, but he was amazed to discover he was still scoring wins with some consistency.

“I’m feeling off today,” Charles announced as he pulled his fur coat over his mud-spattered armour when they finished. “I’m going to go lie down before supper.” And with that, he stalked off.

Victor’s eyes sparkled, and Yuuri felt pink creep across his cheeks.

“Now Victor,” Chris said, “let’s not give this boy false confidence. I’ve been standing here getting cold, waiting for my turn to make sure he remembers his place.” He smirked, his eyes flashing challenge.

“Justin?” Victor said. “You’ve had a long day already. Are you – ”

“Bring it on,” Yuuri said. “I’m not tired.”

“It seems I may have misjudged your level of stamina at first,” Victor observed with a small smile and a nod.

Yuuri’s blush deepened, and he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from lifting.

“Good,” Chris said, “because I’m not tired, either.”

They went several rounds together, Yuuri again scoring some wins – which he’d never been able to accomplish before with Chris. In fact, it introduced a new, though not entirely unwelcome, problem: he was beginning to feel so flushed with the thrill of victory at last that he was starting to make careless mistakes. Pulling his thoughts back together, he managed to win one more round before Victor decided to call it a day.

“Well done,” Chris said as they sheathed their swords. “I’m not going to claim otherwise by saying I feel ‘off’ – but I’ve had better days. Even so,” he added with a shrug, “you’re improving, I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you.”

They headed back to the fence, and Yuuri’s heart leapt when he saw the delighted smile on Victor’s face.

“Justin, that was wonderful.” Almost before Yuuri knew what was happening, Victor pulled him into a tight hug, their armour clanking. He’d never felt anything quite like it, both hard and soft, metal shells and skin. Yuuri rested his chin on Victor’s plated shoulder, watching Chris give him a bemused grin and then disappear into the stable. All words had flown from his mind, and there was only warmth inside of him, and this moment. 

All too soon, Victor stepped back, though his hands still loosely gripped Yuuri’s arms. “Your performance with Charles and Chris today has been at a whole new level,” he said, the pleasure in his voice plain to hear.

“It helps a lot to understand the reasoning behind the moves,” he answered. “What they’re called, what they’re for, when it’s best to use them. I wish I’d known before.” 

“Well, you’re learning now. Keep going. I want you to spar with Chris and Charles for a few more days, though I’ll still be here to help you learn technique. Then we’ll see what you can do with me.”

_There’s a lot I’d like to do with you, _Yuuri thought, feeling lost in those bright blue eyes. _I wonder if beating you in a swordfight is ever going to be one of them._

* * *

Yuuri put everything he could into his training over the next few days. He reviewed the guard positions with Emil, and also requested his help with Blaze as he endeavoured to improve his horsemanship skills. If his squire was honestly not humiliated by his knight needing basic training from him – and Yuuri was increasingly convinced that was the case – then he would take advantage of the fact. When he had the privilege of Victor’s attention, he wanted to make the best possible use of it, not ask him how to rein his horse or remind him what a fendente was.

One thing he refused to do, however, was hook spurs on his sabatons; no animal should be forced to do anything through threat of pain. Emil thought he was mad, he could tell, but it would hardly be his only eccentricity in the squire’s eyes, and so he asked Phichit to look up ways he could guide a horse without them. It required more subtle signals from his thighs, feet and posture, but both Blaze and Lady were responding well; they were intelligent animals. He discovered that he was also beginning to anticipate how his horses would move, as he learned more about their temperaments. While it made riding more enjoyable, it was difficult do much of anything else at the same time, especially with a long lance at speed. Yet the situation seemed to be improving if for no other reason than that he had started to feel the horses were more his friends than obstacles to be overcome; the time he spent grooming them between bouts of training no doubt contributed to this. 

His record was now four rings. But he’d once seen Julia spear all ten with her lance, which had elicited a small triumphal celebration on her part. He’d also been informed that there were points to be scored for how fast the horse went, and knew he had a great deal of work to do.

Chris and Charles continued to spar with him, as well; and now that they’d realised he was offering serious competition, they’d upped their games. Yuuri still bested them on occasion, however. When he did everything right and it all came together, there was a flow to his movements that usually resulted in success of some kind. But it was more than that…it like when he danced in Immersion. Or maybe he was just getting big-headed about a few wins against real knights.

Victor watched some of the sparring, and gave Yuuri advice on how to improve. Offered more hugs when he did well, and seemed to prefer a hands-on approach to showing him how to adjust his positions, all of which Yuuri began to look forward to, even if it was distracting at the same time. They’d never made physical contact regularly like this before, and Yuuri hadn’t had Victor down as a tactile person, but he’d obviously been wrong. Though it also made it difficult to be patient when Victor spent most of his time with Julia or at the castle. He still came to the main garrison room sometimes in the evenings, as before, which gave them a chance to talk in more relaxed surroundings, and Victor taught him songs while he played his citole. But Julia was often there too, and always some of the fighting men. The time they’d spent together in York, just the two of them, seemed to have receded quickly into the past.

Winter still had its teeth in early March, and one day the bright sun was snuffed out by an impenetrable white blanket that thickened as the hours passed, until flurries appeared out of a sinking grey twilight. Overnight, the wind picked up and rattled the shutters; and when Yuuri emerged from the castle in the morning, it was to the discovery of knee-deep snow. Everyone seemed to accept it stoically, however, and simply stomped their way through. The courtyard was already crisscrossed with tracks from people, horses and carts, Yuuri noticed as he walked to the gatehouse. Unfortunately, the metal plates of his armour conducted the cold straight to his legs, and he began to feel as if he were wading through an icy stream.

It was a relief to see that the squires had shovelled a great deal of snow out of the way in the training field. The surface of the ground would still be slippery, but there would be no need to worry about frostbitten legs; though when Yuuri spotted Victor, he groaned inwardly. A frostbitten upper body might still be a possibility, then, because he seemed to have decided this was a good day for going shirt-free and being – what was the word he’d used? – _in__vigorated_ by the cold.

“I’m going to exercise with you this morning,” Victor announced. “I need it. Sparring is helpful in a way, but it doesn’t beat a good workout.”

“What, in the snow?” Yuuri said, eyeing a landscape that looked like an iced cake, the snow clinging to trees and bushes and coating rooftops.

“Is that a problem for you?”

“Like hell it is,” he said, and Victor laughed.

Once Yuuri had denuded himself of his upper-body armour and tunic, they began in the stable, lifting heavy bags of grain as if they were proper weights. Victor showed him exercises that used different muscle groups, until he felt a burn in just about every area of his body. Outside, the sun was shining once more, but a chill breeze blew, and Yuuri shivered as Victor led him to a tree that had branches at an ideal height for chin-ups. He’d asked Yuuri to put his gauntlets on for this, but his chest and arms were still bare.

_OK, Victor. We’re both manly in the cold. I hope that’s impressing you. Because I’m so fucking freezing that I can’t appreciate the aesthetic of you being half nude next to me._

“Ready to run?” Victor said, dropping down from his branch.

Yuuri hugged his arms to his chest, then realised what he was doing and dropped them. “Again, I have to say – in the snow?” He looked down at his metal-covered feet and shins.

“Watch your step.” With that, Victor trotted off to the side of the field and began to jog slowly, obviously waiting for him. Yuuri turned to glance at the stable, where several people were saddling horses, and at the area of the field that had been cleared, where Abelard was instructing the squires. The Scotsman caught his eye and laughed and waved his sword. _You’re the only other person who does this shirtless-in-the-cold thing with him. I’m certainly not giving it up in front of you. _With a deep breath that was meant to be fortifying but instead just filled his lungs with cold air, he ran after Victor, feet crunching through the snow.

They did several laps of the field. It warmed Yuuri up a little, but not much. He was sure the entire upper portion of his body was numb. And his legs were sore from picking their way through snow that was probably best negotiated by a good pair of Canadian-style snowshoes. To his relief, Victor finally led them back into the stable and Alyona’s stall, where they’d both left their clothes, armour and coats. Victor draped Yuuri’s coat over his shoulders, then did the same with his own.

“You did well,” he said. “I’m impressed you held out that long. You really do have stamina.”

“Fuck, Victor, it’s cold,” Yuuri said, hugging his arms to himself underneath his coat, though he gave a shaky little smile.

“I know. Ah, here comes Julia.”

She hustled over to the stall gate, all skinny legs and bushy coat, holding a hand warmer, this one a glistening crimson colour with tiny golden leaves embellishing it. “You wanted me to fetch this once you’d done nine laps, master,” she said, handing it to Victor. “I counted.”

“You’re brilliant. Thank you.”

“I’m not such a weakling that I couldn’t join you, you know. I can endure cold and hardship and – ”

“I think you’ve already proved that,” Yuuri said to her; and she fell silent, blinking at him.

“Join the squires for now, please, Julia,” Victor said. “I’ll work with you before it’s time for dinner.” With a nod, she jogged out of the stable.

“I could do with about ten of those right now,” Yuuri breathed, looking at the hand warmer.

“You’ll be all right. Here, we’ll share.” Victor cupped a hand underneath the warmer and held it out, and after a pause Yuuri wrapped his hands around the sides with a little sigh of contentment. Victor laid his left hand on top, the thick gold signet ring on his pinky glinting.

Yuuri wasn’t sure what was better, the warmth from the coal or Victor’s touch. Not fleeting this time, like when he showed him how to stand or hold a weapon, but still and steady. Alyona shifted next to them, while swords rang from outside in the field. What could he say that wouldn’t give his desire for this man away? But he couldn’t resist moving a little closer, so that their coat sleeves were touching. He thought perhaps Victor would be full of training advice, but his blue eyes simply stared down placidly; and then Yuuri felt a thumb brushing slowly back and forth over his fingers, the simple action kindling a blaze inside him, his breath sticking in his throat. Was…was Victor…_flirting_ with him? Surely not.

He seized on the first topic he could think of. “Your ring,” he said in a hoarse voice. “It’s beautiful.”

Victor’s thumb stilled, and he looked down as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it, though Yuuri had never seen him without it. “Thank you.”

When nothing more seemed to be forthcoming, Yuuri added, “It’s a signet ring, isn’t it?”

Victor nodded. “You don’t have one yourself?”

“Um, no.”

Victor lifted his hand and eyed the ring, shining pale gold with the Nikiforov coat of arms engraved on top, the light fading from his eyes, his expression unreadable. “It…it was…” he murmured, his voice trailing off. He closed his eyes briefly, then dropped his hand to his side and said in his ordinary tone, “Justin, I wanted to tell you that I’m going to have to leave on estate business for the next few days.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said quietly.

“I’m not even taking Julia with me; you both need to stay here and train for the competition. I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. These things crop up sometimes. Some of our tenants aren’t faring well over the winter, and I need to see what can be done to aid them.” He paused. “I’ll come back as soon as I can. Please, promise me you’ll work hard. I’m sure you will.”

“Of course. I promise.”

Yuuri gave him a grin that he hoped looked convincing, while his heart sank to his feet.


	44. Chapter 44

Something as simple as Victor’s absence mustn’t be allowed to throw him, he told himself. Victor was counting on him to keep training. Two days passed, and he stuck to the regimen that had become his habit, while the snow was reduced to slush and then seeped entirely into the sodden ground. Hard exercise, including chin-ups and the weight-lifting with sacks of grain that Victor had taught him. Sparring with Charles and Chris; they were adjusting to each other’s strengths and weaknesses now, and Yuuri was learning that swordfighting incorporated as much strategy as it did physical skill. He had Emil drill him on guard positions until he could rattle them off by heart and assume each one, though of course that didn’t mean he understood how to put them all into practice. Sometimes he watched and learned from what Abelard taught the squires. And he took Blaze out for regular rides, gradually becoming more comfortable in the saddle at faster gaits. Picking up a lance and spearing rings with it at those speeds, however, continued to prove a challenge.

He had another minor problem that he’d never anticipated, and which perhaps no one in the history of the world had encountered before now. He hadn’t been overweight when he’d come here, but he’d toned up a fair bit; he could see it when he turned his projector off and looked in the mirror. The life of a knight encouraged a slim waist and well-defined muscles, it seemed. In fact, his modern trousers had started to slip on the few occasions he wore them, and he had to tie the string at the top extra tight. Yet Justin’s projection was a static image; it wasn’t going to lose or gain weight, and he’d only been able to tweak it in small ways. Conceivably, he could end up with a body like an Olympic athlete’s, with the strength and skill of one to go with it, and still appear to be plain, ordinary Justin. 

_That’s not so bad, I guess. I just wish I could look like plain, ordinary Yuuri. _He wondered again what Victor would make of that.

On the third day of his absence, after morning exercises, Yuuri groomed Lady and then went out to the training field, wondering what to work on. Julia was stretching and striking poses with her sword, pausing between activities and looking a little forlorn. There was no sign of the other squires or Abelard. Wondering whether this was a good idea or if he’d end up regretting it, Yuuri walked over and joined her.

“Where is everyone today?” he asked.

“I saw Emil visiting the blacksmith,” she replied, stretching her arms by holding her sword like a bar over her head. “Some of the others went to the village for supplies. I don’t know what everyone’s doing all the time, I’m not their keeper.”

Yuuri glanced around. “Since we’re the only two people in the field at the moment, do you want to practise together?”

She stopped and stared at him. “Practise?”

“There must be something we can do with swords. I wouldn’t try to knock you over or anything – ” But he could see straight away that his words were poorly chosen.

“Knock me over? You think you’d even get the chance?” She tilted her chin up and told him in a lecturing tone, “You’re making the same mistake that so many of these muscle-bound male fighters make. There’s a lot more to swordfighting than _strength_. Precision. Dexterity. Strategy. Timing.”

“I agree.”

“Well, then.” She paused when he said nothing further. “What, you still want to fight?”

“Why not? If you feel up to it.” He gave her an encouraging grin.

“I’d be ‘up to it’ if it were the middle of the night and I were half asleep. I’d still twat you.”

Yuuri laughed. “All right, then. Try it.”

She did try – and they were well matched, Yuuri thought, unsure if he was pleased about this. _Fifteen-year-old girl_, part of him chided. But then, _Prodigy. _He thought it was only sensible to avoid putting too much power into his strikes, no matter what she said. But she ensured that it was rare for him to score a successful attack. Once when she blocked him, pushing him off balance at the same time, she somehow managed to race to the side and give him a whump on his arse with the flat of her sword.

“That’s for being a cheeky beggar,” she said with a smirk.

“Me? How?”

“You still don’t think I’m any good, do you?”

“I never said that. And you wouldn’t do that to Victor.”

She huffed a laugh. “Quite right I wouldn’t. I wish he’d get back,” she added, her smile drooping into a frown.

“I miss him, too.”

She eyed him for a moment, then sheathed her sword. “Anyway. I know you’re holding back with me, that’s why you’re a cheeky beggar. But they all do that. Because I never _will _be as strong as most men. I ought to try lifting grain sacks and see if it helps.”

“Maybe it would. And I’ve seen you with a bow – you’re superb.”

Her expression softened as she looked at him. “It’s not going to help me in the competition. We have to use swords.”

“I know. But a bow’s a very handy weapon. I’ve been useless at it every time I’ve tried.”

She snorted. “You looked as if you didn’t know which side the arrow should be fired from.” 

“Will you show me?”

“What, which side to fire an arrow from?”

“How to use it properly.”

“Have you got ten years?” When he didn’t reply, she began to stride to the stable. “All right, if you want. I just need to find it. I’ve been working so hard for this competition that I haven’t used it in ages.”

Yuuri followed her and watched as she searched through various chests until she pulled out a bow and a quiver. She handed them to him, then picked up a stand and a target, a white circle with concentric red rings painted on it. Once in the field, she set up the target, then took the bow from Yuuri, and to his surprise, grabbed several arrows with her right hand and fired them all within seconds, like a machine gun. Each one thunked in or close to the middle of the target.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

She stared at her handiwork as if she weren’t quite satisfied. “The target’s not that far away, and I should be getting all my arrows inside the inner ring.”

“How do you hold that many in your hand and fire them like that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” She gave him a confused look as she walked to the target and pulled the arrows out, Yuuri following. “Don’t tell me no one taught you archery at your castle, just like you didn’t joust or raise your sword to a goose.” Then she turned to him. “I _know _you must have done things with your sword, because you fucking waved it at me here. I still haven’t forgiven you for that.” She shoved her arrows into her quiver and marched back to where they’d been standing before.

“I don’t remember doing that,” he ventured, wondering if it would help to say so.

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you telling me you were so befuddled with drink that you don’t remember calling me an irritating little bull’s pizzle, and poking the tip of your sword into my tunic over and over? Your squire at the time started acting like he didn’t know you.”

“You’re right, that was a completely dishonourable thing to do.”

“You don’t say. How the master restrained himself from bashing you on my behalf, I’m not sure. Perhaps because he was too busy restraining _me_. I would’ve made you eat your words, and more besides.”

“I did some…rather despicable things in the past, I know. But I’d never do anything like that now, I promise you.” 

She lowered her bow and looked at him long and hard. “As absurd as it is, I have to say I believe you. I wouldn’t have thought the same man who tried to involve me in a drunken brawl would…you know, in York.” She paused. “But then, you seem to be one of those types who change their personality when they drink. The night of the banquet, for instance – ”

“Oh God, no,” Yuuri moaned, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to think about that.”

She snickered. “If you say so. Anyway, I don’t want to stand here all day like this; I need to be training for the competition, and I expect you do, too. Do you want me to show you how to use this or not?”

“Please.”

For someone who had been so derisive about his lack of knowledge, Yuuri found her to be a remarkably patient teacher. True, she spoke to him as if he were about seven years old, but he didn’t mind. He only held one arrow in his hand at a time, and he had to make sure he was doing everything correctly just to get it to fly straight, but he began to manage in the end, even though he was lucky to hit the target at all. English archers really were as talented as history led people to believe, he thought, if she could do all this at her age, though she seemed to have exceptional skill as well.

_Talented enough to win the Battle of Agincourt…though not all of them survived. Neither did Edward, the Duke of York’s son._

The blood drained from his face, and he suddenly became aware of the cold breeze blowing at them as he glanced at Julia.

_One of the most famous battles in English history, because it was a huge victory even though the English were significantly outnumbered. And most of the troops were archers._

_She’d be…thirty-seven when it happens. And if she’s this good now, and is still living as a male knight in twenty-two years’ time…_ He swallowed as a tremor passed through him. _Jesus, no. Don’t go, Julia. Just don’t go._

Their playful session this morning suddenly seemed to have taken on a sinister aspect in light of his thoughts. But he couldn’t _tell_ her not to go – could he?

_How is that any different from trying to make sure Victor doesn’t die this year?_

_Fuck. I never thought about any of this before I came here. _

_What the hell do I even say? “Don’t go to the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, Julia, because you might get killed.” She really would think I’d lost my mind._

“Are you away with the fairies, or what?” she said, eyeing him. “You’ve been standing like that forever.”

“Here,” he said, handing the bow and arrows over to her, “I think I’ve had enough of this for now. But thank you for showing me; it’s been really helpful.”

“Well _I’m _not done, now that we’ve got all this kit out.” She doubled the distance from where they’d been standing, and readied her arrows. He watched her fire another devastating volley.

“How far away can you stand and still hit the bull’s eye?”

She wrinkled her nose. “The what?”

“The bu – um, the middle of the target, I mean.”

She shrugged. “I’ll see.”

Yuuri accompanied her again as she fetched her arrows, trying to shove dark thoughts of battle and death out of his mind. “Do you think this competition is worthwhile, then?” he asked conversationally.

“Yes, because I’ll win,” she said as they walked, increasing the distance between themselves and the target. She added, “The master’s time and effort ought to be earned.”

“You don’t think I did that in York?”

She stopped and turned to glare at him. “You ran away in your duel with him, and you ran away from the castle. Why he’s given you so many chances, and why he’s so taken with you, I don’t understand. Though…” Her expression softened once again. “Well, you’re a kind-hearted bloke in your own way, I suppose. And you’re not bad with a sword,” she added with a shrug. “Though you’re rather hopeless with a lance.”

“I’m working on that,” he said as they resumed their walk. They’d tripled their original distance from the target.

“I noticed. You won’t beat me in a competition of jousting skills any time soon, so don’t try to fool yourself.” She pulled a single arrow from her quiver instead of a handful, and took her time aiming. It landed just outside the middle ring. “Shit. It’s just as well you made me do this; I need the practice.”

“What are you doing for the artistic part of the competition?” he asked as she selected another arrow.

She gave him an irritated glance. “It’s a secret, just like yours is. The master likes surprises.”

Yuuri wondered if he could get her to say something about it. “Your song is about selfless love. Is there someone you’ve thought of who inspires you, maybe?” Though as soon as he said it, he realised it was quite a personal question. Well, if she didn’t like it, she’d soon make that plain, he figured. She wasn’t one to hesitate to say what was on her mind, that much was obvious.

She considered for a minute, taking aim, then replied, “My brother Luke.” And fired. It landed on the edge of the inner ring this time. She frowned and took another arrow. “He taught me most of what I knew before I was taken on as a squire here.” With a thoughtful look, her posture relaxed and she lowered her bow, continuing to stare at the target as she spoke. “Even though he thought it was all in fun, he never underestimated me, or told me not to do it because I was a girl.” Then she smiled and looked at him. “He also said I shouldn’t get married if it meant spending my days sewing and ordering servants about, because I was too intelligent and driven for that.”

Yuuri conceded the point about sewing, though he had no trouble imagining her commanding a household full of servants. “Your brother sounds like a good chap who cares a lot about you,” he observed.

“Of course he is, that’s why I chose him for my inspiration.” She readied another arrow. “He’s a knight in the south of the land now, and I’m here, and I haven’t seen him in ages.” She lowered her bow with that same forlorn look Yuuri had seen when he’d initially joined her. Before he could think of a way to tactfully respond, however, it was gone, and she smirked again. “I’m not even going to ask who or what the inspiration is for _your _song. That’s not something I want to hear about.” They both laughed. “Bet you haven’t even listened to yours yet.”

“What do you take me for?”

“Do you want a list?” She raised her bow again and fired, and Yuuri thought about his own dance while he watched.

He _had _visited the musicians, asking them after dinner one day if they were ready to play the song for him, and he’d surreptitiously recorded it on his com so that he could listen back to it as many times as he wanted. If they complained to anyone that they’d hardly seen him, his performance in the competition would just be that much more of a surprise.

The first time he’d heard the song, his reaction had been, _I can’t do anything based on this. _It sounded too brazen; too confident. _This isn’t me at all. _But that was what he’d been given to work with. He could either flail and panic and put something together that was rubbish which would embarrass him in front of everyone, or…

_Or flail and panic and put something halfway decent together that would embarrass me in front of everyone._

But he knew he had to try. Victor seemed to see something in him. Like the brush of his thumb when they were sharing the hand warmer, he wondered if he ought to be reading anything into it.

_The problem being that if he really did want me, I still couldn’t start a relationship with him._

And yet he’d also had to choreograph a dance – because he wasn’t going to sing or recite, and couldn’t play an instrument – which contained an undeniable current of sensuality. Bearing in mind what he believed he knew about his likely audience, he’d incorporated moves Monica had taught him that would be familiar to them, and added some modern ones that should be subtle enough not to give his identity away to Ailis, if she were watching. In fact, he’d visited Monica again for the first time in weeks and told her he’d pay well if she could make him a suitable costume, which they’d discussed until they’d agreed on the basics of what it should look like.

So once again, he was spending many of his evenings on dance practice, this time in his room. He couldn’t seem to eliminate the feeling, however, that the performance was lacking soul. What _was _eros to him? He was sure it was something other than just sex. The brief hands-on education he’d received in Immersion, he considered just that; it was a common thing for people to do, so that their actual relationships would be more fulfilling. The game creators deliberately avoided making the encounters seem too real, because there had been problems in the past with people falling in love with holograms. Yuuri enjoyed what he did on his own, though he often wished he had a partner. He just couldn’t allow it to be Victor – the first person he’d ever cared about in that way.

It all made it very difficult to decide on how to express eros in a dance. Whatever Victor’s reason for assigning that song to him, Yuuri hoped he could make enough of it to do well in the competition. He still wasn’t clear on what would happen if he lost, which wasn’t helping his anxiety levels, and this dance could end up being the one thing on which everything else depended.

_Jesus._

“I’m getting tired of fetching arrows,” Julia declared, jerking his thoughts back to the training field. “I usually get a couple of pages to do it for me. Do you want to – ”

“What’s all this?” came a familiar voice. They both turned around to see Victor approaching them from the stable, clad in his armour and fur cloak, hair tousled. He was smiling, though there was a hint of weariness in his expression. Yuuri’s chest fluttered inside at the sight of him, and Julia instantly brightened too.

“Master, Sir Justin wanted me to show him the bow. I’ve been practising, and he’s been – ”

“Learning,” Yuuri finished for her with a smile. “Like you say, you have to start somewhere. She’s really good, Victor.”

“Oh yes, she’ll be the terror of the north with that weapon in a few years, mark my words.” He grinned at Julia, who flushed with pleasure at the praise. Then he turned back to Yuuri and pulled him into a hug. “It’s good to see you,” came the words near his ear.

“Victor,” Yuuri sighed, wrapping his arms around him. He wanted their metal skins to dissolve so they could be closer still. _How am I supposed to stay away from him when this is the best feeling in the world?_

“Oi, I’m here too,” Julia reminded them.

Victor pulled back and smiled. “How could I forget? My two favourite people. I hope you’ve been training hard for the competition.” He looked at her bow. “Because as important as this is, it’s not the weapon you’ll be using.”

“Oh, we were fighting with our swords too,” she explained.

Victor raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I went easy on him. He’s got a lot to learn.”

Yuuri smirked as Victor gave him a curious look.

“I daresay you both do, in certain respects. We ought to get started. Justin, perhaps you could practise on Blaze, with or without your lance, and I’ll spar with you after dinner. Julia, I want to show you some new exercises that I think might help you.”

“Let’s go,” she said, eyes sparking.

“Victor,” Yuuri said hastily, “didn’t you just get back? You look like you could do with a rest. We’ve been fine the past few days, we can – ” 

“What do you take him for,” Julia interrupted, “some shrinking daisy? He’s a knight; he doesn’t need coddling.”

“Maybe everyone does once in a while, even knights,” Victor said to her with a little grin. “But you’re right; I was planning on getting straight back to work with you both.” He looked at Yuuri. “Come, sir knight. What are you waiting for?”


	45. Chapter 45

Victor had looked forward to nothing more than being with Justin and Julia once he returned, especially given the nature of his business over the past few days. He’d been in desperate need of a word with the chamberlain, however, and so he’d told him to eat with him at dinner, tradition be damned. He was not a guest of honour, but a captive audience while Victor and his father discussed what had occurred.

De Lacey had extracted too high a proportion of the wheat harvest when it had not been a good year for the crop, and so families that were highly dependent on it had been struggling over the winter. Both Victor and Andrei had warned him, but he’d insisted he knew what he was doing, and had given reasoning behind his decisions that had sounded convincing at the time. Now Victor had had to ensure that enough flour had been redistributed from the manor’s stores; the wasted frames of the tenants who had little else to live on were haunting him even now. He couldn’t be responsible for the fortunes of every single family on the estate, or the poor choices they sometimes made, but come spring he was going to have words with the castle officials about the types and varieties of crops that were planted and how much the manor would extract that year.

With a disgruntled and subdued John de Lacey on one side of him, and his taciturn father on the other, he was glad when the meal concluded. Justin and Julia didn’t need to worry about these things, at least, and working with them both would be a welcome distraction, if a time-consuming one. It was frustrating to have to admit that it was tiring him in addition to his other duties; and yet it was what he wanted to do above all else. They both seemed to be blossoming, and he hoped it was due to some expert training, though the goal of winning the competition no doubt played a part as well.

Justin had been a challenge in some ways, but an enjoyable one. He didn’t like being intensively watched or unduly encouraged in front of everyone else. He seemed to need time on his own to practise, and his performance ended up better for it. And for some reason, he was rarely able to put forth his best effort when the two of them sparred; Victor could feel it instinctively. Which was why he’d had him working with Chris and Charles, who were closer to his level at the moment anyway. Victor was looking forward to discovering shortly how much it had helped him.

_I missed you, _he thought, looking over at Justin’s table and watching him hold his cup out for Emil to fill with wine. _I could’ve taken you with me, but you needed to train…and you wouldn’t have wanted to see what I saw. _

“Victor, de Lacey says he needs you to visit the tithe barn outside of Crowood with him,” his father said in Russian.

“Hm? Oh – yes, I was planning on that. First thing tomorrow.”

He ran a finger across his lower lip, wondering what the press of Justin’s own would be like. Soft and slow? Firm and hungry? Both, depending on the circumstances? He let out a breath. _If only I could have given you a kiss and not just a hug. Are any of my flirtations to your liking, or – _

“Victor, are you listening to me?” His father’s displeased voice again.

“Of course.” Sobering, he glared at the chamberlain next to him. Switching to English, he said, “And I want you to do everything in your power to see to it that there is no shortage of food next year because of us, who have plenty. You have some weeks to deliberate on it.”

“Yes, my lord,” he mumbled.

Victor stood and adjusted his armour, suddenly very keen to be at the training ground.

* * *

“Have you decided what to do with your song?” he asked Justin as they draped their cloaks over the fence at the training field. “That’s the one thing I didn’t ask either of you earlier. There’s not much time left to – ”

“Yes, I have,” Justin replied, pulling on his gauntlets. “Julia and I have both been working on that.”

“Not…together?”

“No,” Justin laughed. “I don’t know what she’s doing. She says she wants it to be a surprise.”

“And what about you? Will you tell me what you’re doing, or give me a hint?”

He stopped and considered. “No. It’s a surprise.”

_You tease,_ Victor thought. Then, _Remember yourself. You’re his trainer, and that’s what he needs from you right now. _“I noticed you and Julia seem to have improved relations.”

“I guess you could say so,” Justin replied with a glance across the field, where the squires were sparring in front of Abelard. “I think I can understand why she, um, didn’t take to me at first. She’s extraordinary, Victor.”

“That’s why she’s my squire,” he said with a grin. “And that’s why you’re my trainee,” he added, lifting Justin’s chin briefly with a finger brushed across the underside. He thought perhaps Justin liked such touches, from the way he responded, but it was difficult to be certain. Indeed, it was difficult to be certain about much at all where he was concerned.

“Now,” Victor said, snapping his thoughts back, “show me what you’ve been learning.” He unsheathed his sword and left the fence to find a good wide patch of flat ground.

He’d spoken briefly to Chris after dinner, asking him how he’d found sparring with Justin; he preferred his opinion to that of Charles, who had a tendency to be less than truthful about the magnitude of his own accomplishments and the shortcomings of his opponents. Chris had conceded that Justin seemed to be making rapid improvements, now that he was under Victor’s instruction, which had delighted him to hear, for his trainee’s sake but also his own. No knight enjoyed having to admit that they’d been losing, however, and especially to someone like Justin who had originally been so lacking in knowledge of basic skills; so Victor had nodded and listened to Chris’s list of careless mistakes, sword-grip troubles and ignorance of technique before they’d parted ways.

Justin drew his own sword, approached him, and they began to circle. “Have at you, villainous knave,” he said with a glint in his eyes. And oh, Victor saw confidence and determination there, too. This was new…and exciting.

“You realise that while the short guard is good to use when you’re looking for an opening, the only attack you can feasibly make is a thrust,” Victor said. 

“Then I’ll make a thrust.”

“But you lose the advantage of surprise. I know what you’re – ”

Justin came at him, and their swords rang; Victor felt the vibrations down through the hilt. And smiled. “I see. So that’s how you want to play it.”

In the hour that followed, he was very pleased with the capable new fighter he saw emerging. And Justin seemed to _know _he was doing well…at first. It almost felt as if they were dancing, not in the garrison but in the field this time. How Victor wished it could have lasted. As he won each round, he saw the fire in Justin’s eyes die a little more. He slowed down and made mistakes. Victor attempted to explain them at first, but that only seemed to cause him to withdraw more, until he bit his lip and twisted away, waving his sword in an angry arc as he paced.

“Justin.” No answer. Victor ran a hand through his fringe. “You know I don’t go easy on anyone,” he said quietly. “If you defeat me, it’s an honest defeat, well earned.”

“I know,” came the muttered response.

“I think it’s still hard for you to accept that.”

Justin whirled around. “Of course it is. Losing over and over, it’s bloody frustrating for anyone.” He sighed, and his voice softened. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was just…I was feeling so much better when I started to beat Chris and Charles. It felt like I was accomplishing something.”

“That’s why I had you spar with them. But you _are _accomplishing something with me. A great deal. You’re beginning to find ways through my defences. You must have noticed.”

Justin paused and thought about this, then nodded.

“Your attacks are improving, too. But you have to give yourself space, and time, to learn. It doesn’t happen overnight. Perhaps the best thing would be for you to go back to sparring with Chris and Charles – ”

“No,” Justin said quickly. “I…um, I’ve been fighting them a lot. I want to learn from you, Victor. I know that means losing, but…”

“You never know,” Victor replied with a smile. “I think you _will _win. It’s just a question of when.”

But he didn’t add the best piece of advice he could have given, because Justin had heard it before, and it was up to him to heed it.

_Fight me with everything you have._

* * *

“This is it.” Victor vaulted off Alyona and tethered her to a tree.

“This place is beautiful,” Justin said, copying him. “But why are we at a lake?”

Victor removed his gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of his cloak, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves as they spilled over the rocky shore. A thin veil of white cloud hung in the sky, just enough to diffuse the sunlight into a soft glow that didn’t penetrate the dark waters of the lake.

“I thought it might do us some good to take a break for a while,” Victor answered. “This is one of my favourite places.” He scouted around the shore until he found the type of rock he was looking for, then sat down on a fallen log, took his knife from his belt, and began to sharpen it. After a moment, he looked up to see Justin watching him as if he’d never seen anything like this before. “Come join me,” he invited him.

Justin sat down next to him and continued to watch as Victor scraped the blade repeatedly across the rock. “Don’t you sharpen your knife?” he asked as he worked.

“Not, um, not very often.”

“Emil does it for you, does he?”

“No. He does too much for me as it is.”

Victor gave him a curious glance. It wasn’t long before the blade was sharp, and he replaced the knife in its sheath. “Want a turn?”

“I’ll give it a try.”

Victor placed the rock in Justin’s palm and watched as he took his own knife out and attempted to copy what he’d seen, though it was obvious he was holding it at the wrong angle. When he carefully touched a finger to the metal edge and ran it along, he frowned. “It isn’t working.”

“Of course it isn’t. Not if you’re going to do it like that. Let me show you?”

Justin nodded, holding his hands like a child in supplication, the rock in one palm and the knife in the other. Victor scooted over on the log until they were side by side, their cloaks mingling. He cupped his hand under Justin’s left one holding the rock, and guided his fingers to curl around it. “Just hold that steady.” Brown eyes followed his actions as he next guided Justin’s right hand with the knife, repositioning his fingers on the haft. Though that wasn’t strictly necessary; it wasn’t like holding a lance or a sword.

Victor paused, the hand soft and cool and smooth inside his own, and was suddenly aware of how close they were. Justin looked up and met his gaze, and he saw wonder there, and…desire? Fear? Pink lips slightly parted. All Victor would have to do was lean in and gently capture them with his own. He’d never wanted anything so much in his life, and felt his breath hitch as he actually began to do so, just slightly – and then stopped himself. His body and his heart wanted to weep with frustration, but he couldn’t take the risk; he had to be sure. 

Forcing himself to breathe again, his hand still covering Justin’s, he guided him in scraping the blade at the correct angle against the rock, and again, and once more; then let go and watched Justin do it himself after a pause. “That’s it. I can’t imagine trying to use a blunt knife. It’s as bad as having a blunt sword. Though sharpening that _is _something Emil’s supposed to be doing for you, when he cleans your armour.”

“Oh,” Justin said simply, as if this thought had never occurred to him before.

_How can these things be so foreign to you? _Victor watched him with a wrinkled brow as he finished, running a finger along the blade and quickly deciding he was satisfied. He sheathed the knife and placed the rock on the ground, then looked around.

“Is there a particular reason you chose this place today? You said it was one of your favourites?”

“Like I said, I thought it might help to take a break.” Victor gazed out over the lake. “You’ve been working hard, and doing well, and – ”

“All the more reason to keep working, then.”

Victor smiled at this. “You’re determined to win. That’s good, but rest is important once in a while, too. It’s peaceful here, don’t you think? I used to come here to fish with…well, to fish. When I was a boy.”

Justin suddenly smiled.

“What?”

“I’m just imagining you as a boy. It must’ve been…” His eyes darted away, though he was still smiling. “…cute.”

“Cute,” Victor echoed, still grinning, and feeling warm inside.

“Well.” Justin looked down, his cheeks pink.

_I can’t stop wanting to kiss you. Do you know what that’s like? _“I’m not sure Irene would’ve agreed with you,” he finally said with a little laugh. “I remember once…” He looked down himself now. It was silly. But why not. “I must’ve only been about five. We were having a reception in the courtyard – it was the middle of summer – for some family or other, and Cook had put slices of my favourite sweetmeat out on the table, along with a lot of other food. The sweetmeat was what interested me, so while the adults were distracted with each other, I sneaked over and decided to help myself. But I didn’t want to get caught, so I pulled a tiny portion off each slice and ate them as I went along – I think I intended, if I were caught, to claim a mouse had been there.”

Justin laughed. “_Did _you get caught?”

“Yes and no,” Victor replied with a smile. “Irene noticed what had happened, and she knew straight away who was responsible. ‘Victor Ivorovich Nikiforov,’ she called out in that very no-nonsense voice she had, ‘come here and apologise.’ I ducked under the tablecloth and hid, and then when I saw that the way was clear, I ran to the southwest turret – you know, where the well is; even in those days, they still stacked all the wooden buckets there. I found a big one and pulled it over myself and hid under it.” Justin laughed again as he added, “When I heard everyone going for supper, I came out and took my place like nothing had happened.” His smile became wistful. “Irene, bless her…she was so pleased to see I was safe and sound, having been missing for hours, that she seemed to have completely forgotten about how naughty I’d been.”

“You were determined not to be found, from the sound of it,” Justin said with a chuckle. 

“Oh, I’ve always been able to do things like that if I put my mind to it. I can be very stubborn, you’ll find.”

Justin studied his face. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” He paused. “I think you were lucky to have someone like Irene, too.”

“I was,” Victor said quietly.

“So this, um, sweetmeat must’ve been pretty amazing. What was it?”

“It’s still my favourite. Sambocade.” In response to Justin’s blank look, he said, “Have you never had it?”

“No, what’s in it?”

“It seems your father’s cook is remiss then, as well as his trainer. It’s a cheesecake flavoured with elderflowers, rosewater and spices. Has it not been served to you since you’ve been here?”

“Not where I’ve been sitting, no.”

“We’ll have to put that right.” A light breeze had picked up, and patches of blue were beginning to appear in the sky; a shaft of sunlight sparkled on the lake. Two swans glided gracefully past, cutting a silver wake. Victor’s heart was light, and he said simply, “I’m enjoying this.” After a moment, he turned back to Justin. “But somehow the conversation always seems to centre on myself when I’m with you. I must seem a very arrogant fellow. I was saying I liked it here because I’d spent many a happy hour fishing, in all kinds of weather, sometimes in a boat and sometimes on the shore. But you must have had favourite places when you were a child, too. Any I might recognise?”

Again, that blank look, mixed with…alarm? But why? “Um, that part of my life was…cut short.”

Victor looked at him in concern. “By your travels?” he hazarded.

After a moment, Justin answered cryptically, “I’m sorry; I wish I could tell you more. It’s complicated.”

Disappointed at first that Justin didn’t feel ready to take him into his confidence, Victor remembered he’d been doing the same himself; some things were difficult to acknowledge aloud to anyone. But there was one personal topic that Justin seemed willing to discuss. “Where else have you been? If you don’t mind my asking. You told me about a far-away place – what about your favourite?”

This elicited a thoughtful smile, and Justin leaned back, considering. “Hm, that’s a hard question. But, well…” He huffed a laugh. “This isn’t exotic at all, but I think I’d say the Scottish Highlands.”

“Really? Better than Japan?”

“It’s beautiful there, the mountains and lochs.”

“I’ve never been. Silly, when you think about it. It’s not far from here.”

“My family went on a trip there once, and it felt like we’d left everything else behind. You could get yourself lost, and feel like all your troubles had vanished.” He paused, then gazed pensively out at the lake. “You mentioned running and hiding. Sometimes it feels like I started running one day and never stopped.”

“Justin – ”

“It’s true.” He blinked and looked down. “And I ran to York. I run away from everything.”

“You haven’t run away from the competition,” Victor said quietly. “You’ve looked it in the eye and stared it down.” Justin gave him a small grin, and he continued, gazing out at the lake himself now, and the sparkling sun on the waters, “Being a trainer isn’t as simple as I thought it would be, either. I’m still working it out. You and Julia are depending on me. I’ll try not to let you down.”

A long silence spun between them while each was lost in his thoughts. Then Justin said, “Victor, I feel frustrated…in a lot of ways, but a big one is trying to learn all the skills I need to be a proper knight, and defeat Tyler. It’d help if I could be making more progress – but that’s down to me, not you. You’re spending your time with me, and what have I got to show for it? Sometimes I…I’m afraid I might not be very good at these things. And the penalty for that won’t just be losing a competition – it’ll be losing my life.”

Victor took a moment to consider this. “I pointed out ways you were improving before we left the training field. You said yourself that you felt like you were accomplishing something when you defeated Chris and Charles.” He paused. “It seems to me that you’re very hard on yourself. To an extent it helps, because you’ll never settle for second best when you’re capable of achieving more. But when it causes you to lose perspective on your very real achievements, it can be self-defeating.”

Justin stared but said nothing, appearing instead to consider what he’d just heard.

“You can get quite discouraged at times,” Victor added. “But these things don’t tend to happen in predictable ways. You’re learning quickly, all the same.”

“Really?” Justin said, eyes still on him.

Victor nodded. “You’re beating other knights, now that you understand how the system you’re using operates. I’d like to think I could take some credit for that, though I suspect your own squire has had a very helpful hand in things, too.” He smiled.

“He’s been brilliant. I don’t know what I’d do without him. But you’re the one I want to imitate, if I can.”

There was no mistaking the eagerness in his face now. Victor knew that many knights aspired to his own level of skill; that was nothing new. But this was Justin, who was sparking a flame in him. “That’s not a bad aim to have,” he replied. “But don’t force yourself completely into a mould that doesn’t always fit, either. Pay attention to your body; listen to whatever it is inside of you that wants to express itself. And you’ll get better still. Your footwork – the way you move your body, as if every part of you is in tune – I’ve seldom seen anything like it.” Justin’s face lit up, and Victor couldn’t help but smile again. “I thought it’d be helpful for you to hear it. You have so much potential. Keep working. And…” He leaned forward a little, meeting his gaze as earnestly as he could. “…_fight _me.”

Those eyes were practically burning into him now, and it would be so easy to lose himself in their dark depths. But for once where Justin was concerned, Victor anchored himself with his thoughts, which he realised were filling him with more enthusiasm for a task than he’d felt in a long time. “That’s the spirit,” he said softly. “And actually, there’s one thing I haven’t asked you. What would you like when you win?”

“_When_ I win?” Justin echoed.

“_When _you win. Your reward.”

“Winning would be reward enough,” he said quickly. Victor waited, however; and after considering a moment, Justin added, “All right – though this may be a little presumptuous.”

Victor’s heart fluttered. “Name it.”

“I’d like to share a meal with you at the high table.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. Well, that was a surprise. Of all the things he could’ve named. This…this precious man.

“It’s just that we never get to eat together at the castle unless it’s a snack somewhere like the garrison. And I look at you across the great hall, and you’re always all the way over there.” He gestured as if to demonstrate, then stopped, seeming slightly flustered, though his eyes were shining.

Victor smiled, using every ounce of self-control he possessed not to throw his arms around him and kiss him senseless. “Oh, Justin,” he said. “It would be my pleasure.” 


	46. Chapter 46

_I’ve only got a few days left before the competition._

_Shit. I’m not ready._

_I don’t think I’ll _ever _feel ready._

Yuuri said good morning to the guards as he walked through the gatehouse and started down the hill. The sun felt warm on his face, as if spring were trying to gain a foothold as winter was weakening. But the pleasant weather did nothing to calm the storm of emotions inside of him.

_I can’t do this._

_Yes you can, Yuuri. Remember what Victor told you yesterday. He believes in you. Believe in yourself._

_I’m a techie from the future, not a medieval knight._

_I’m both. I beat other knights when I spar with them. Sometimes. More and more often._

He’d reflected long on Victor’s words while he’d been lying in bed the previous night, trying to align his feelings about himself, his capabilities and what he’d been achieving with what Victor had said. But years of being self-critical, on top of battling anxiety, were not erased so easily.

_Listen to whatever it is inside of you that wants to express itself, _Victor had said. _Fight me. _

Both so difficult to achieve. He wasn’t sure he knew how to do the former, and as for the latter, Victor seemed to think he was holding back when they sparred. Yuuri wasn’t consciously trying to, but he found it difficult to muster the aggression he needed to wield a sword against someone he cared about and wanted to protect.

That caring was growing deeper, too. At the very thought, he was once again fending off a drunken swooping feeling of falling – so pleasurable, and alien, and dangerous. Falling with Victor. His mind kept returning to being shown how to sharpen his knife, something he obviously was supposed to have understood how to do a long time ago. That hands-on approach Victor had to teaching…it was driving him to distraction.

_If it keeps happening…I’m only human, and I won’t be responsible for my actions._

But he _would _be, that was the problem. And he’d have no one to blame for the consequences but himself.

_I have to try to keep my distance._

_But God, I don’t want to._

_I can’t make a fucking disaster out of this. It’s too important to even risk it._

As he reached the bottom of the hill and continued toward the training field, his thoughts flitted to other things they’d spoken about. A tale from the childhood of Victor Ivorovich Nikiforov…utterly adorable. Though he’d probably given his nursemaid Irene more than a few grey hairs over the years. And – oh yes, his own mention of the Highlands.

_I need to be very careful about what I tell him. When I said my family had gone, he would’ve been thinking it was the Courtenays. Like a baron and his wife and son would do that without a whole retinue in tow; that’s not how nobles live here. _

It shouldn’t be so hard just to be honest with Victor about his past, his life. But he’d considered and rejected the idea of telling him everything numerous times now, weighing the pros and cons, his own feelings versus his safety and Victor’s, and the success of his mission, until it drained him. He couldn’t even discuss it with Phichit, because he wasn’t sure he’d understand, and likely would remind him that he mustn’t give anything away to anyone here. Perhaps he’d also be warned that it would risk changing history, though Yuuri had yet to establish a firm boundary for himself with that, because as long as Victor was destined to die this year, there was no way he was going to sit back and let it happen.

_Don’t think about that, not now._

_“My two favourite people” – his words from yesterday. That’s a lot better._

_And if –_ _when –_ _I win, I’ll share a meal with him at the high table._

He almost hadn’t mentioned it, thinking Victor would say no and suggest something else, but now he was glad he had. Despite the eyes of all those important people on them, Victor’s attention would be on him alone. Maybe it would be similar to how they’d shared dishes at The White Swan. How had Victor made such an ordinary activity into something so sexy?

_I have _got _to win this competition._

As he approached the training field to the ring of swords and glint of armour, his insides stewed again. So little time left. And he was never confident in competitions or performances – Immersion had always been safer.

_He believes in you. Believe in yourself._

When Victor turned to see him approaching, with Julia next to him, Yuuri covered the rest of the distance at a run, while Victor smiled and gave him a wave.

“Justin! Good morning. I thought of some things I wanted to teach you and Julia about using a lance, and then – ”

“I _know _how to use a lance,” Julia interrupted. But when Victor glared at her, she muttered an apology.

“Both of you could do with learning these things. Then I want to see you on Boudicca – and Justin, perhaps you can practise on Blaze. We’ll focus on jousting skills until after dinner, and get some sparring in this afternoon.”

Yuuri nodded. Determined to do well, he got a good session of practice in with Blaze, though he couldn’t seem to spear more than four rings, and he knew his horse’s gait was still slow compared to what Julia could achieve. If anyone pointed out that this was his weakest area of the competition, he wouldn’t argue. All the more reason, however, to keep trying.

When it was his turn to spar in the afternoon, after Victor had finished with Julia and she’d gone to train with the other squires, he wondered if it would go better than the day before. Part of him looked forward to it, while the other part feared he would only end up feeling frustrated again.

Victor was standing with his hands resting on the crossguard of his sword. “Right. Last time, we looked at the guard positions where you hold your sword at a downward angle and raise it to attack or defend. I thought today we’d look at something different – the woman’s guard.”

Yuuri nodded. “I remember Emil mentioning it. Why is it called the woman’s guard?”

“You know,” Victor replied as he thought about this, “I have no idea. Next time I spar with an Italian, I’ll have to ask him. So if Emil mentioned it, and you’re familiar with it, why don’t you use it more?”

_Because I’ve never seen it holo-shows, Victor. So it feels strange to me. But I can’t tell you that, can I? _“Well, it’s this one where – ” He positioned his sword as he spoke. “ – you rest it on your shoulder, almost like it’s a club, which doesn’t seem to make sense.”

“You’re not _supposed_ to use it like a club. Show me what you would do?”

Yuuri did, and he saw the disapproval on Victor’s face before he said a word. No criticism was forthcoming, however, as Victor simply showed him how _not _to wield his sword like a club – or a baseball bat – and instead to break the position up into a series of moves as he executed it, ending with his sword pointing straight at his opponent. They spent some time ensuring that Yuuri’s footwork was accurate, and then Victor declared him ready to spar.

“Don’t use the woman’s guard exclusively, of course. I’d like you to focus on that, but do whatever feels right.”

Yuuri nodded. He thought he might try incorporating some of the techniques he’d learned from Julia as well; they seemed to be helping his speed and accuracy. Victor would no doubt be very familiar with them, as often as he trained with his squire, though maybe they’d be more of a surprise coming from someone else. He smiled as they began to circle.

“You look sure of yourself today,” Victor observed. When Yuuri didn’t reply, and continued to search for an opening where he could aim an attack, he added, “No flyting, then?”

“Flyting?”

“You know, trading insults. To make your opponent want to recklessly seek revenge. I believe you have some skill in that area.”

Yuuri thought back to what Julia had said about the real Justin calling her an irritating little bull’s pizzle. He didn’t think he’d be able to match that, and didn’t particularly want to, but he could try to play along. He thought about Shakespearean insults, two hundred years after this time, but that didn’t mean they weren’t saying those things now.

“Feel the sting of my blade, you venomous toad.” Then he burst out laughing despite himself.

“It won’t work if it makes you lower your guard,” Victor said wryly. “Traitorous thief and whoremonger, have at you,” he said in a low voice.

“You make it sound almost poetic.”

“I assure you, it’s not flattery,” Victor replied with a snickering laugh.

“I know. That’s why it sounds kind of…” _Sexy. _Though even more so if the damn translator would allow for words like “thee” and “thou”, which it seemed to think he wouldn’t understand.

Then Victor was after him, and their swords rang out as they clashed.

At first, Yuuri experienced the usual sinking feeling of being beaten again and again; it didn’t matter how good Victor was, it was still disheartening. But he didn’t want a repeat of the day before, when Victor had been so concerned about his state of mind that he’d taken them both away for a break. Today, Yuuri decided, he was going to stay put and force a new outcome. Somehow. He poured concentration into every movement.

But Victor was a solid unyielding wall, repelling attacks with ease, shoving Yuuri aside and to the ground. A spike of anger accompanied the pain of landing on his tailbone once again.

“Keep trying the woman’s guard,” Victor said, standing over him. “Use that to counter what I’m doing, and disarm me and throw me down.”

“Is _that _all,” Yuuri mumbled, getting up and rubbing the small of his back, just beneath his armour.

“See if you can grab my wrist and pull it round in an arc. Make me drop my sword. Do you want me to demonstrate again?”

“No, that’s fine,” Yuuri replied, nursing his wrist now, which was a little sore from the last time it had been yanked. If Victor believed Yuuri was holding back, he himself seemed to have no such reservations.

“All right. Let’s see what you can do, then.”

Victor continued to ward off every attempt Yuuri made, however, while demonstrating those exact same moves on him. Yuuri almost swore at him when he yanked him again by his sore wrist.

“I can anticipate what you’re going to do too easily,” Victor told him. “Try mixing it up more.”

_But you said to concentrate on the woman’s guard. Fucking hell, what _do _you want?_

Realising how distracted his frustration was making him, Yuuri took a moment to try to inwardly shift himself to a better place, if he could. Victor wasn’t doing this to show off, or to humiliate him. He wanted him to win – but he wasn’t going to make it easy.

_He’s giving me a challenge. I need to respect that._

_This is like a dance, and I know how to dance. Everything I’m doing here and now, I can make it into a flowing sequence of steps._

And Jesus, there was Victor _again, _coming at him before he could even finish his train of thought. He was relentless.

Time seemed to slow down in that moment, as Yuuri took in Victor’s position and method of attack – a thrust from the high right, which meant he would have to finish in the short or long guard. The residual annoyance Yuuri felt lit a spark that impelled him into a series of steps of his own, anticipating, harmonising…and striking.

His sword moved in a deft circle around Victor’s own. With a clang of metal sliding against metal, Victor’s weapon clattered to the ground, and Yuuri yanked him down by his wrist – then got tangled with Victor’s leg and landed next to him, their armour clanking. On all fours, Yuuri blinked, staring at grass and dirt in a daze.

Laughter arose next to him. It started out softly and grew – surprised, heartfelt, delighted. Yuuri turned to look and saw Victor lying on his back, like he hadn’t a care in the world, blinking up at the sky. _My beautiful shining knight._

And he’d defeated him. Yuuri gasped as the realisation struck him.

“You – you didn’t _let_ me do that, did you?” he asked in wonder.

Victor turned his head, eyes sparkling. “Of course not. Not on purpose, anyway.” A radiant smile. “You did that yourself, my clever Justin.”

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat. He stood and held out a hand to Victor to help him up, but Victor jumped to his feet and grabbed him in a hug. “Well done – I’m proud of you,” he whispered.

A wonderful warmth suffused Yuuri as he wrapped his arms around Victor, and he was reminded again of those few simple words which seemed to imbue everything Victor did: _I believe in you. Believe in yourself._

As they pulled apart, he was surprised to hear applause, and turned to see Chris and Emil leaning against the fence, smiling and clapping; then Chris whistled. Julia was beside him, but the expression on her face was difficult to read; it reminded Yuuri of the way she’d been studying him while he’d been sparring with Victor on the cliff face. When she caught his eye, her lips lifted in a ghost of a grin, and she gave a small shrug as if to grudgingly acknowledge what he’d just managed to do.

“You’ve earned yourself a good meal today, I think,” Victor said. “Let’s go have some supper. Afterward, would you like to meet in the main garrison room? I’ll have Julia bring us some hypocras. We ought to celebrate.”

“But I haven’t won anything yet.”

“You may be the only person who wouldn’t consider beating me at sparring as a win.” Victor found Yuuri’s hand and laced their fingers together, then gave a gentle pull while turning and taking a step forward, before letting go. “Are you coming?”

Yuuri was sure he must be dreaming as they walked to the castle.

* * *

By the light of the fire in his room, Victor poured himself a cup of wine and stood drinking it thoughtfully.

_Justin, I hope you’re ready for tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll be amazing._

But what if he lost? What if, despite the way he’d designed the competition and supported him as well as he was able, it wasn’t enough? What then?

_I carry on training him. No one will dare argue with me about it. Julia wouldn’t be pleased, but that’s not a worry. She even seems to be taking a shine to him, which is saying something after the way they started out the last time he was here._

The last time he was here. How _had _Justin changed so much? He was a completely different person now.

The hour was late, but Victor couldn’t help wondering what his two protégés had been doing, both having told him they’d rather use the evening to prepare for the competition than do anything with him. He was of little interest to anyone for once, it seemed, and the idea made him chuckle.

_I’m glad you changed the way you did, my sweet knight. Whatever instigated it, however it happened…you’ve added new colour to my days, and a lightness to my heart that I haven’t felt in many a year._

He wondered if he’d ever get the chance to tell him as much.

Finishing his wine, he undressed and lit the oil lamp next to his bed, then slid under the sheets, aware that sleep was going to be elusive yet. He reviewed what he’d seen of Julia’s efforts the past few days and felt satisfied that she was prepared. She was confident and resilient, and while he felt rather guilty for hoping his own squire would lose, he was fully prepared to praise her efforts ten to the dozen and find some way to cheer her up afterward; perhaps a day of hunting together in the woods. That was assuming she _did _lose.

_Please, Justin, do your best. You may be surprised at how good that turns out to be._

The thought of it sent a thrill through him. He wondered if Justin knew just how satisfying it had been to fight a worthy opponent. It had been a flash of inspiration on Justin’s part that had sent Victor tumbling to the ground; but if he was capable of it once, he was capable of it again, and more consistently as well. How he’d been hiding his talent all this time was anyone’s guess, though it seemed he hadn’t even realised he possessed it. His father’s trainer had a great deal to answer for.

Victor closed his eyes and attempted to find slumber, but it did not want to find him. Opening them and staring at the dancing fire, he thought back to his time with Justin at the lake, and other moments they’d spent together. Returning from York. In the main garrison room, as he played his citole. He felt surprisingly relaxed in the man’s company, and knew he could trust him with his life.

_All qualities that comprise the best friendships. If Justin didn’t want anything more, would I be satisfied with that?_

The answer was easy. No. And it pained Victor’s heart to have to admit it, because if Justin didn’t want him, they might have to part ways. He could not continue to keep this flame burning inside of him without it being reciprocated; it would incinerate him. And Justin was free to make his own choices without being plagued by someone he’d rejected.

_But he hasn’t rejected me…I don’t think. He seeks out my company and appears to value the time we spend together. I’m not giving up just yet._

A grin crept across his face, and an image came to him of Justin at The White Swan in York, his warm eyes aglow in the candlelight. Quoting a mysterious Japanese poem. Biting on a clove for the first time. Lying there next to him…

Victor had tempted other men to his bed with fewer and subtler flirtations, and wondered if they’d been noticed on that occasion, or if they were unwelcome. Justin had been in bed already – on an innocent pretext maybe, but even so, had not touched him. Victor asked himself what he would’ve done if he had.

_God in heaven, what _wouldn’t _I have done._

The more time they spent together, the deeper his feelings grew. Surely that fulfilled the conditions of his promise to himself. Maybe he was still unsure how to recognise love, but this was something new and exciting, even overwhelming at times. And worth exploring, if he could.

_Oh, Justin. Do you know how frustrating it is not to be able to touch you the way I ache to, because I don’t know if it’s what you want? I think…maybe you’d welcome it. But I’m not sure._

He would have to be patient. And for now, sleep. One thing at a time; the competition tomorrow. But he was as wide awake as before; certain parts of his body even more so, after what he’d been thinking.

He did have his imagination – there was no harm in that – though it wasn’t without a certain sense of shame. Not in the act itself, but because it would be putting Justin in a role that might not suit him. How would he feel if he knew someone was lusting after him like that?

Victor smiled. Men, and women, had made no secret of desiring him since he’d been quite young. He couldn’t remember feeling anything other than flattered, even when he hadn’t returned the sentiment. Maybe, then, he could do this in good faith after all.

So, where – ? Ah…the stable. A place that might pose difficulties in actuality, though that was part of its charm. In a dream, anything was possible. He would perhaps brush Justin’s hand, or stroke his cheek, or lean in so close to speak that they could hear each other’s breaths. And then, God be praised, Justin would give in to the desire he’d been concealing all this time, and meet his lips hungrily. They’d be in each other’s arms, tongues tangling, and…coats and armour? Suddenly they’d be gone; dreams were convenient that way. They’d be pressing their bodies together, both hard, both needy.

Victor took a mental step back. Was this really what he hoped their first encounter would be like? Maybe not. Something slow and warm as they gazed into each other’s eyes, perhaps. But, well, this had a certain appeal too. It could happen after, or before, gentleness. If they truly did become lovers, the nights would stretch out in front of them, theirs to enjoy in whatever ways they wished.

With that thought in mind, Victor turned, threw off the bedclothes, and picked up the dark green bottle on a shelf of the small table nearby. This was the source of oil for his lamp, though it had other uses. He removed the stopper, poured out a generous amount, replaced the bottle on the table, and busied both of his hands where he needed them, lips parting as a deep sigh escaped.

_Where was I? Yes – the stable._

Justin was saying all the things Victor had been longing to hear as they removed each other’s clothes with fingers that couldn’t work fast enough. _I want you. I need you. I must have you. _Victor arched his back and moaned; this would come to an end in no time at all, but it was too good to stop. Their clothes were gone now. Brown eyes burned into his own as an assured pair of hands pushed him back against the stable wall.

_I tried to hide how I feel, but I can’t anymore, _Justin said in a low voice, his cock hanging heavy between his legs as he grabbed Victor’s own and began to pump in a firm, steady rhythm. _I’m going to take you; I have to be inside you. You’re mine, Vitya. Mine. _Victor’s cock throbbed, and he threw his head back. Good lord, yes.

And as if by magic, Victor was loose and slick, his legs wrapped around Justin’s waist, the man losing no time in burying himself to the hilt, thrusting hard. But above, where they faced each other, it was different – hands in hair and on cheeks, caressing; soft lips and tongues, nuzzles, sighs and tender kisses. It was all so incongruous, and yet _perfect_, taking Victor to a precipice while his heart filled with something unnameable.

“Justin…Justin,” he breathed into the silence of the night, hips lifting off the mattress as he squeezed his eyes shut against the building pleasure. And then Justin was prising his legs further back, opening him up and driving deep into his very core, while keeping him pinned to the wall, murmuring praise and encouragement until Victor was dizzy with it all. Finally he cried out, legs straining and trembling, as his seed erupted onto his belly, Justin doing the same inside of him.

Dimly aware of moaning and then slumping, spent, Victor’s awareness gradually returned to his bedroom…but not before he imagined them both holding each other tight, sharing more caresses as they came down from the height of passion. Victor’s eyes found the flames in the fireplace, and he realised he didn’t want to return; wanted to stay in this dream all night, just like this, warm and safe and…

_I love you,_ Justin whispered against his neck.

Victor gasped and propped himself up on his elbows.

Real, too real…and yet not real enough. Because he was in this dark, quiet room by himself, and Justin was on the other side of the garrison, perhaps even now still practising for the competition, without a thought for Victor or anything else. Alone, and empty, and wet, he hadn’t even thought to fetch a cloth to keep at his side.

Strange, he mused as he stood and went to his pitcher and basin, shimmering dull gold in the light of the dying flames…strange that when he’d had men in here before, sleeping with them after sex and waking next to them had felt awkward, a necessary consequence that was to be endured with as much grace as possible. It was different now; and Victor found himself wishing he could somehow catch the ghost of his dream, make it flesh and blood, with Justin lying in his bed – no longer unreachable and untouchable, but nude in his arms.

Once finished with his ablutions, he climbed back onto the mattress and pulled the covers over himself, surprised to feel a wave of sadness pass through him. There was no doubt that something new – something that _could_, maybe, be wonderful – was happening to him; but it might never go further than this, a drama playing out within himself, while reality moved on a different path. Was it so wrong of him to want this? So impossible?

Rolling onto his side, staring at the expanse of bed in deep shadow next to him, Victor sniffed and stretched an arm out, palm up, on the blanket.

“There’s plenty of room,” he whispered. “Will you ever join me here, Justin? Do you want to? I wish…”

He sighed and laid his head on his pillow, and drifted into other dreams, grey and soon forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flyting, as Victor explains, is a contest consisting of the exchange of insults between two parties, often conducted in verse. Popular for hundreds of years before its emergence in the form of rap battles, it has always had an entertainment value even for people in the highest positions. For example, the earliest surviving example of a Scottish version of flyting, [_The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy_](http://intranslation.brooklynrail.org/middle-scots/the-flyting-of-dunbar-and-kennedy), was performed before the court of James IV in the sixteenth century. I’ve lifted one or two ideas from it for the more colourful swearers in this story :) (The first link is an excellent modern translation. If you’d like to have a stab at the original, in heavy dialect and more Middle English than modern, you can find it [here](https://www.oxfordscholarlyeditions.com/view/10.1093/actrade/9780198118886.book.1/actrade-9780198118886-div1-24).)


	47. Chapter 47

_Victor, I hope you’ll like this. I hope it’s what you wanted me to do. _

_Epaulé._ _ Ecarté. Then that thing where my arms go like this – and I arch my back like this…turn…knees to the ground._

Yuuri mentally switched his com off, and the eros music instantly disappeared, leaving a heavy silence broken by nothing but the crackling of the fire in the grate and his breaths from his exertions. His room, while an adequate size for ordinary purposes, was rather small to dance in. He’d tried it doing it in a distant clearing in the woods a few times, but the cold and wet ground had made it difficult.

Now, however, with the competition the following day, he was working where he had warmth and privacy, practising all evening until the moves were almost instinctive. He felt in need of a break after a few hours, however. When would Monica have his costume finished? He hadn’t seen it yet, though she’d said she would bring it to him it by tomorrow morning at the latest. It would be important to have a dress rehearsal, as it were, and get used to the feel of the dance while he was wearing it.

More than ever, he was grateful for her help in his early days here, because he’d understood how to construct a backbone for the dance, while embellishing it with his knowledge of ballet and modern moves thanks to what he’d learned in Immersion. Besides which, dance was a form of expression as old as humankind itself, and he knew that moving his body to music didn’t necessarily require any kind of system from a particular time period; just letting himself feel his way into the sound and rhythm, and responding, could work too. He was secretly proud of what he’d produced, which might go a long way toward alleviating any anxiety he might feel in front of a real audience. He hoped.

And yet, while the dance was all right from a technical standpoint, it still felt like something was missing; something that would enable him to bring it to life the way he wanted. And he was almost out of time.

He wondered for a moment if he should carry on practising right now and hope for a flash of inspiration. Because every time he’d stopped being busy today, the electric anticipation running through his veins would try to turn against him, threatening to trigger an anxiety attack.

It was thanks to Victor’s support that it hadn’t happened already. Yuuri had only beaten him at sparring the one time, but he was aware of the significance of that. Brimming with sudden confidence, he’d improved his performance with both Chris and Charles over the past couple of days, sparring with them and riding Blaze during the times Victor was with Julia. He’d never been fitter, and it also felt like he’d discovered some essential part of himself that had been hidden all his life, waiting for an opportunity to shine.

_Sure, Yuuri. Let’s see if you’re still saying that after tomorrow._

He wondered what Phichit would make of it all; he’d only explained the bare facts of what he’d been working on so far, though he’d told him about beating Victor. Maybe it would be the only time it happened, but it had been special – as was the wonderful laughter that had bubbled up from him; he’d been _glad _Yuuri had done it. That incredible, beautiful man…

Realising his thoughts and feelings were all over the place, he called Phichit, hoping it would give him some sense of grounding. He explained in more detail what he would be expected to do the following day, and how he’d been practising for each of the three events.

“Wow, Yuuri. You must be getting some good training there if you’re beating real knights at sparring.”

“I am. Victor’s training me. And I _am _a real knight.”

Phichit’s laughing response cut into him, though he knew that wasn’t the intention. “It’s ting that you’ve got a convincing disguise. You must be doing a good job – if you haven’t found Ailis, at least she hasn’t found you, either.”

“It’s not a disguise. Well, I mean, it is. But it’s how I feel, too. I’m good at this stuff. Well, some of it.” His heart sank; this wasn’t the way the conversation was supposed to go. “Never mind.”

“I wish I could be there tomorrow to watch. So what happens if you win or lose?”

“If I win, I get to eat a meal with Victor at the high table in the great hall.” Saying it like this made it sound so…inconsequential, like a perk a tourist might pay extra for at one of those “medieval” banquets laid on at castles in his time. _I bet they’ve never even heard of hypocras or sambocade. _“I’ll also have proved I have the right to be trained by him.”

“Wasn’t he going to train you anyway?”

“It’s, um, hard to explain.”

“If you lose, will he stop training you?”

Yuuri’s blood began to race and he stared into the flames, willing himself to be calm. He’d always enjoyed talking with Phichit over his com. It reminded him of home; someplace safer and saner than this one, and people who knew him and cared. But this time it seemed to be picking apart his defences and laying him bare. Though Phichit was just being himself, no different from how he ever was, listening and trying to understand.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t just drop me if I lost. He cares, Phichit, he…” Yuuri looked down and swallowed. _I’m not going to have an anxiety attack. I’m not._

After a pause, Phichit said, “Yuuri, I think I should ask you – and I don’t mean any offence – but is he, well…training you in anything besides competition stuff? Because – ”

“What?” Yuuri said, jerking his head back up. “What the hell, Phichit.”

“Look, I’m not there, and I don’t know what’s going on,” he replied hurriedly. “It just sounds like you two are really into each other.”

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair, then took a deep breath. “You don’t know how much I wish we were. And how determined I’ve been not to let it happen. Because of everything you and I have talked about. Because of this mission I’m on. And because I am not going to be the fucking cause of Victor’s death this year. If you don’t think I’m taking this seriously – ”

“No, no, of course I do,” Phichit replied, his voice now placating. “OK, I’m sorry, honest. But you don’t know what it’s like having Celestino getting at me. He’s worried you might be losing perspective, with training as a knight and with – with Victor. I keep telling him you’re on it and you’re sharp, but he asks me all the time if you’ve found Ailis yet, or any clues, as if I wouldn’t tell him anyway as soon as you’d told me.”

After a long pause, Yuuri sighed and said quietly, “I’m sorry, too. This is a big thing for me tomorrow, and I’m nervous. I wish I did have something to tell you. I’ve spoken to most of the women here, and they all seem normal – well, as far as that goes in this place and time. Nothing unusual’s been happening that I’m aware of. I haven’t found some witch’s gingerbread cottage out in the woods, no magic broomsticks in cupboards. She’s a genius; she knows how to hide if she wants to. But I promise I’m keeping my eyes and ears open.” He gave his com a small smile. “I’ve done pretty well here so far, compared to Dr. Quincey and Dr. Croft, anyway. I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“Long may it last.”

Yuuri huffed. “You’re starting to talk like one of the people here. ‘Hail, fellow, well met’ and everything.”

“We ought to do something ultra-modern when you get back, to get you over it.”

Yuuri let the ensuing silence stretch out. Get over it? Get over what? “Phichit, I might not ever come back. You know that.”

“I’m working on the assumption you will. Don’t lose hope, Yuuri. I know – we’ll fly out in my car and have a proper eat-in meal at Cuisine of India, then go watch a film. There’s a really good one out right now, I wish I could show it to you – ”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said, feeling a strange churn of feelings inside of him at Phichit’s words. “I think I miss Thai food more than Indian, though. Did you know they use galangal all the time here?”

“Really? I didn’t even know they could grow it in England. Where’d they get that from?”

“You wouldn’t believe – ”

A knock sounded at the door, and he said in a whisper, “Tomorrow – I need to go.” Then he cut the call and went to find out who was visiting at this time of night, hand hovering above the hilt of his sword.

“Who is it?” he called.

“It’s Monica – I have your costume.”

He unlocked the door, and she stood in the hall holding a folded pile of clothing. “I think you’ll like this, my lad,” she said with a smile. “Shall I come in and show you?”

He stepped aside and shut the door behind her. “Thank you; it’ll be good to have it before tomorrow.”

She nodded. “I wanted you to try it on, and then if it needs any alterations, there’s time yet for me to make them.” She glanced around the room. “Not much to speak of for the son of a baron, is this?”

“I’m happy with it. Really.” He took the clothes from her and put them on the bed, then held each piece up by candlelight, gasping when he saw the top.

It was…magnificent. Even better than what he’d visualised when they’d discussed the pattern, and suited to the rich material: finely woven cotton dyed scarlet and embroidered with gold leaf patterns whose fine details were picked out in delicate black and red threads. Monica had fashioned it into a short-waisted tight-fitting doublet with flaring sleeves; it laced in black crosses down the middle, tapering to a vee shape. There was a touch of the feminine about it, Yuuri decided, especially with the stiff black collar around the neck that curved and plunged, offering a glimpse of chest; and yet he could envision any man wearing it as well, especially with the finery they liked in this time period.

_I can’t believe I’m going to be wearing this. It’s beautiful._

With it had come a pair of matching hose, each leg-piece smoothly joined to a foot with a leather strip at the bottom for a sole, as well as possessing the seemingly inevitable pointy toe, though it wasn’t too ridiculously long. The fact that the hose were black rather than some bright hue even gave them a certain elegance, Yuuri thought. There was one further piece to the ensemble, a linen strap clearly meant to be tied to the tops of the hose like a codpiece, but extending around to the back to cover the rear. He blushed when he examined it; like everything else but the sleeves of the doublet, it was form-fitting, though there was nothing ostentatious about it, the clear purpose being to hide his braies.

“You still think this would work better than a pair of joined-up trousers?” he said, wondering if he really had the confidence to wear the outfit in public.

Monica made a soft exclamation of disgust and shook her head. “It’s a good thing you decided to rely on my fashion sense, my lovely. In order to make trousers flexible enough for you to dance in, they would have to be as baggy as sin. You’d look like a pauper from two hundred years ago, and they’d still rip as soon as you lifted a leg above knee height. No,” she said, smiling again, “this is far better. Try it all on and see. Shall I wait in the hall?”

“There’s no need, unless that’s what you’d prefer,” Yuuri muttered, kicking off his boots. “But I’m afraid I don’t have a chair for you to sit in.”

“Ah, don’t mind me. Give us a shout if you need any help.” She moved to stand in front of the fire and held her hands out before her.

While her back was toward him, Yuuri undressed to his braies and began pulling on the hose – a good, snug fit. “I wonder what the weather will be like tomorrow,” he said, missing the convenience of a simple forecast, let alone climate control. “I suppose they’d have to reschedule the competition if it’s raining or snowing.”

“Maybe,” Monica answered, “but my goat was grazing with its head in the wind, which they say means you should expect a fine day.”

Yuuri laughed. “You have a goat? And – do you believe that?”

“I do have one. I’ll have to bring you some of her cheese, it’s divine. And, well, who can say? I often think animals know things about the weather that we can hardly guess at. How are you doing with the clothes?”

“It’s taking a while to tie the tops of the hose to this…cod-strip, or whatever you call it.”

She chuckled. “It will still give you a goodly amount of mobility, and protect your modesty too – your dance is inspired by eros, yes? Eros teases and tantalises; he doesn’t shove his baggy undergarments in his lover’s face. Unless it pleases his lover for him to do so, that is.”

Yuuri laughed; he’d missed talking with her. “Right, I think I’m done, apart from lacing up the front of this doublet.”

She turned and studied him, then came forward. First she knelt and checked the fit of the hose at the ankle and the line of the seam. Nodding, she stood and felt around the sleeves. “This is all good. But here, you should lace this more tightly.” She undid the ties in front and pulled, forcing Yuuri to expel a breath.

“I’m supposed to be able to dance in this, you know. I’ll need to breathe.”

“It’s a doublet, my lad. It’s supposed to be tight.” She raised an eyebrow as she tied the laces. “This ought to be the next thing in men’s fashion. It’s like a cotehardie, but the laces in front make it fit your form more closely. I wonder if the king will be interested when he visits. Perhaps you can model this for him.”

_Jesus, no. Performing for an audience in it will be bad enough. _“Um, I’m glad you like it. You think it suits me?”

“Perfectly. I would have suggested a good hat to go with it, but well, the chances of it falling off while you danced would defeat the purpose. You hardly have enough hair to pin it in place.” She patted his arm affectionately. “It all fits, as I expected it would, but it’s as well to check. I can’t wait to see you dance tomorrow, my lovely. Good fortune go with you.” She made a move to leave.

“Monica – wait?” She turned to look at him curiously. “Have you got a few minutes? It’s just that…” He toed the floor, wondering how to explain. “I could use some advice. I’ve been keeping my dance secret from everyone, but…well, it feels like it needs something, or it’s not right somewhere, and I can’t work out how to make it better.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

He nodded. “If you don’t mind?”

“I’d be delighted,” she said with a wide smile. “Being the only witness to a secret erotic dance? I can’t wait to see it.”

Yuuri felt his cheeks pink. “It’s not _that _erotic.”

“Perhaps that’s the problem.”

“I have to do this in front of most of the castle!”

“Even so, it sounds to me as if you aren’t quite channelling the spirit of the piece yet.” She smirked.

After a pause and a sigh, Yuuri said, “I’m not used to performing in front of real people; not even an audience of one.”

“You did well when you visited me at the top of the turret. Go on, then – show me.”

_I wish I could play the music for you. _At least it was in his head, note for note. He described it to her – a lively flowing pace, the chief instrument being a fiddle, with percussion from castanets. Accompanying them were a large melodious lute and something called a hurdy-gurdy which had the body of a fiddle with a wheel and a hand crank, and a keyboard that ran parallel to the strings and played them with little wooden blocks; Yuuri thought it sounded like a cross between bagpipes and a violin, and wondered why such a bewitching sound had been allowed to fade into the depths of time.

_Bewitching. That’s what I need to be, somehow. _

He closed his eyes and took a moment to concentrate, shutting out the room and his audience, trying to ignore the fact that there were eyes on him. Then he began the song in his head and danced while Monica watched silently. When he finished, he felt a fearful flutter in his heart as she ran her fingers along her chin and said, “Hmm.” He hadn’t been expecting effusive praise, but he’d been hoping for more of a reaction than this. Was the piece a disaster, beyond repair?

“You needn’t look so worried,” she said with a little smile, coming to stand in front of him. “The way you move, you could bring the dullest piece to life.”

He blinked. “I could?”

“It’s just…hm. You seem uncertain of what you’re trying to portray.”

“I think I’m meant to be…alluring.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean, _why_? I’m expressing the music through my dance.”

“Who are you trying to seduce?”

“I – what? Seduce?”

“That would seem to be the idea, and considering this is a piece inspired by eros…” She huffed and shook her head. “It would have helped if you’d come to see me before now, so that we could visit the musicians and I could listen to the music. I can see the hesitation in your actions; the uncertainty. So I ask you again – who are you trying to seduce?”

“The audience?”

“Naturally. But if you could hold one person in mind, real or imagined, I believe it would give your performance the focus it requires.”

Yuuri considered. Could he – in front of the baron and his wife, and the whole castle retinue – could he perform the dance for Victor? He wouldn’t _say_ as much; but if he imagined doing this in Victor’s bedroom, for his eyes alone, how would that change his moves?

“I don’t have the nerve,” he said quietly.

“Have you thought of someone?”

“Yes, but how do I do that in front of an audience? Would they be offended? How much, um, sauciness are they used to?”

Monica laughed. “They love it, my lad. Have you not seen it yourself with dancers at festivals? The more the clergy complain about it, the bigger the audiences they draw. If you can lose yourself enough to perform in front of me, that would be a start.”

“All right,” he said, striking his starting pose.

“This may be the most important change you make,” she commented, eyeing him critically. “At the moment, you’re telling me nothing.”

“What am I supposed to be telling you?”

“What sort of seducer are you? A strong man who will sweep a woman off her feet? A dashing troubadour? Your opening position, and everything that follows from it, should express this persona you embody.”

Yuuri considered. It made perfect sense when she said it. And she was right – why hadn’t he asked her for help before now? He imagined Victor sitting in front of him, in that ornate chair in the great hall, and had an instinctive idea of what he would want to do. But how much should he tell Monica?

“The persona I have in mind is…” He considered. “…more feminine. The moves, the poses. I don’t know if that makes sense to you…”

“I can imagine it well,” she answered; and to Yuuri’s relief, she didn’t seem shocked. “More men ought to channel this kind of thing into what they do. We would live in a happier place. In fact, I was hoping you’d say so, because this doublet would seem to fit the part. It’s the best kind of fashion for either a man or a woman; one that says, ‘I’m beautiful and I don’t mind showing it.’ ”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said, his cheeks warming again.

“But you asked for my help, so don’t expect me to stand here and flatter you all night. Let’s think about your first pose in light of what you’ve just told me. And we’ll work from there; though it may be a long night before I’m satisfied with what I see.”

“If you’re willing to do that, I’ll accept all the help I can get.” Yuuri gave her a little smile of gratitude.

“We’ll start with your hips, then. You’re putting yourself on display; you mustn’t appear self-conscious. How do you feel about holding them like so?” She modelled a pose for him.

“That’s fantastic,” he replied, copying her. “Show me more.”

And she did; then he worked the new ideas into his moves. He alternated between actively pursuing the object of his desire, and enticing him to come forward and take him if he dared, loving the feeling of each more and more, until he found to his surprise that he was actually keen to do this in front of Victor – and, by default, in front of everyone else. A safe way of expressing how he felt, without a word. And after all, Victor had given him this song; what else would he be expected to do with it? This was the foundation his dance had needed all along. Yuuri knew he would always be nervous in front of an audience, but the progress he’d made tonight felt like more than he’d managed on his own, all these nights he’d been practising.

“Do you have any idea what the time is?” he asked Monica as he tossed another log on the fire. He’d done this more times than he could count throughout the night, and at some unknown wee hour at her suggestion, they’d crept into the kitchen and come away with a jug of beer and a tray of what they could quickly scrounge up from some easily accessible cupboards – a small bowl of dried fruit, ginger biscuits, and a wedge of mild cheese. There was nothing but crumbs left now, and they’d finished the beer as well.

“The light coming through your shutters might give you an indication,” she said with a grin.

“Oh my God.” He went over and flung them open, to discover a glow from the east beginning to dispel the darkness. “I didn’t realise we’d been working all night.”

“Are you displeased?”

He turned and saw a concerned expression on her face. “No, of course not,” he answered quickly. “It was very kind of you to do that for me. I wish I’d asked for your help from the beginning.”

“We all need help once in a while. There’s no shame in asking for it. Because of what we’ve just done, your dance will shine today. And, I daresay, even break a few hearts.”

He stepped forward and gave her a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re quite welcome,” she replied with a warm smile. “Good fortune be yours today, my lovely.”

Once she’d gone, Yuuri knew he would have little time before Emil came knocking on his door. And, shit, he hadn’t had any sleep at all, and there was no coffee here to zap him awake if he began to flag. Had all his work with Monica been worth the risk? He realised he hadn’t even stood in front of the mirror to discover what he looked like in his costume, though by the light of a candle it would be difficult to see properly. Mind you, the daylight filtering through the window was growing quickly, heralding a fair and sunny morning – just as Monica’s goat had predicted, he thought with a silent laugh.

It was rare that he used the mirror, apart from when he wanted to shave. Deciding he preferred to see his real self, he turned his projector off and walked over to stand in front of the glass – and his mouth fell open.

_Wow, even I want me._

_Yuuri Katsuki, that must be one of the most ridiculous things that’s ever gone through your head. _

_On second thought, no it isn’t. I feel…sexy._

Could he be bold enough to dance for Victor in these clothes?

_Yes. Yes, I can._

As he ran a hand up a thigh, closed his eyes, arched his back and whispered his palms up the smooth material of the doublet, he wondered what Victor would make of this; and during that brief moment of performance, when it was permissible – necessary, even…if he could kindle his desire. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to what a hurdy-gurdy sounds like [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGfnlO_z97E).
> 
> Yuuri’s eros costume is based on a women’s medieval doublet that you can view [here](https://www.pendragoncostumes.com/womens-cloaks-and-jackets/ladies-doublet), though it doesn’t have the slashed sleeves.


	48. Chapter 48

_You can do this. It’s OK. It’s going to be OK._

_It doesn’t feel OK at all…_

Yuuri argued with himself as he walked down the hill to the training field, intending to fit in some last-minute practice. He was delighted about the help he’d received from Monica, and appalled at having stayed up all night, because he was tired now, and how well would he be able to perform in the competition? And worried an anxiety attack might threaten any minute – while the worry itself made it more likely. Victor believed in him. But he didn’t know how far he could believe in himself. 

He walked into the stable, still dim with the dying shadows of the night. The cool, damp air smelled of hay and leather and horses. Breaths puffing out in front of him in a cloud, he wondered if the day would warm up; the clear sky was a promising start. He headed to Blaze’s stall.

“Justin.”

Yuuri turned to see Victor trotting toward him, armour clanking. He stopped beside him and smiled.

“Morning – I thought I was the only one here,” Yuuri said, smiling in return.

“I was wondering if you might want to spar; make sure you were ready for the competition. I didn’t know when you’d come, so I’ve been grooming Perun. I haven’t been out on him for a while.”

Yuuri glanced at the chestnut destrier in his stall. “I appreciate it, though I’m not an early riser; I think this is the first time I’ve got here before most everyone else.” _Because I never even slept, though maybe it’s best if you don’t know that._

“We could spar now, if you like. I told Julia I’d work with her later.”

Yuuri leaned on Blaze’s gate and considered. Then he looked at Victor. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but being beaten by you probably isn’t going to do my confidence a lot of good right now. I think it’d feel the same being beaten by anyone, so maybe I’ll give sparring a miss this morning and practise tilting at the quintain and rings; that’s what I need to improve on the most.”

Victor nodded. “That makes sense. Perhaps I could offer some last-minute advice on your performance for the eros song, then – what have you decided to do?”

Yuuri gave him a mysterious smile. “I told you, it’s a surprise. Wait and see.”

“All right,” Victor replied with a smirk. “I’m trying to be a good trainer, and you’re making it difficult, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said with a shrug and a small grin. “But I feel about as prepared as I can be.”

“Is there anything I _can _help with? I know what Julia usually needs; I’m used to training her. But you…well, you know your own mind, which is good. I…wish I knew it better.”

Yuuri stared, wondering at this. _All those things I can’t tell you. Jesus, this is killing me. _He said aloud, “Y-You’re helping just by being here. Really.” Victor lingered, quietly looking down at him, and Yuuri couldn’t resist the urge to pull him into a hug. As Victor’s arms wrapped around him, he said, “Don’t take your eyes off me when I’m out there.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” Victor whispered back, holding him tight.

_Oh God, Victor. Don’t let me go. Ever. _

“Oi, you two. There’s a competition today, remember?” Julia called from behind them.

They broke apart, Yuuri pulling Blaze’s stall open. “I’ll be fine,” he said with a confidence he did not feel.

“Good,” Victor replied, running a hand through his fringe. After a pause, he said, “All right, both of you. Now that you’re here, I’ll explain how the competition will work…”

* * *

_Equestrian skills. Why does that have to be the first event? Everyone will think Justin le Savage is as hopeless at being a knight as he ever was._

Yuuri stood inside the large red and white striped tent that had been put up at the side of the arena, holding a flap far enough to the side that he could peer through. He and Julia were sharing this area as a kind of dressing room, with Emil on hand to aid them both with anything they required, though he’d disappeared for the moment to make sure their horses were ready. Julia seemed to love being waited on by her fellow squire, drinking the beer he brought and helping herself to ginger biscuits with gusto.

_Monica and I got there first, _Yuuri thought a little snidely. And it was just as well, because he couldn’t eat or drink anything right now. After wishing them both luck, Victor had left to sit with the baron, who had requested his presence at his side. He explained that he was expected to be ornamental, even though he would rather have remained with them, and was wearing his livery collar with his resplendent blue houppelande, his cloak draped over his shoulders and unfastened, and the usual black cloth cap perched atop his head. He’d promised them both to lead the audience in cheering them on. Yuuri missed him when he’d walked away, though they’d shared another hug first, and Victor had reminded him that he had every faith in him.

_Now I’m in danger of letting you down, as well as myself, and everyone who’s helped me. Monica, Emil, even Julia in a way – though she wants me to lose, naturally._

At the thought, he turned to look behind him. She was sitting on a stool, eating another ginger biscuit, seemingly as unconcerned as if she were sharing a drink with her fellow squires. Yuuri wondered how much of it was real and how much an attempt to psych him out. Had she participated in competitions like this before?

“Just a reminder, ale-house boy – you’re gonna lose.”

“Cheers, Julia. I was going to say good luck.”

She laughed. “You want to win, don’t you?”

“Yes, but – ”

“Then why are you wishing me luck?”

“Because I hope you do well.”

“Not well enough to beat you. At least be honest.” She tilted her head toward the tent flap. “I thought you were keen to watch Sir Chris and Sir Charles out there.”

“Um.” Their jousting match, which Victor had said would be an introduction to the main competition, looked disturbingly bone-jarring, and each had fallen off his horse a couple of times. They would be finished soon, the winner being the one who scored the most points after ten passes. The thunderclaps of lances striking shields, the clang of armour, and the roars of the audience reached into the tent, muffled by the thin walls.

“I can’t wait to be allowed to joust,” Julia said. “The master believes I’ll be ready in a year or two.” She snorted. “Here I am doing all this, and what are most of the castle women up to? Working in the kitchen. Scrubbing floors. Sewing.”

“Someone’s got to do it, I suppose. Even over Christmas, people had to work; we all had to eat.”

“Females here aren’t very interested in knightly tournaments. I hoped the third part of the competition would draw more of them out, but…” She shrugged. “Perhaps you and I shouldn’t have been so secretive about our performances. No one knows what to expect.”

Before Yuuri could reply, Emil entered the tent amid an eruption of cheers and applause. “Sir Chris has won,” he said. “He’s been given a flagon of Mistress Shaw’s best wine. We may be in for a merry time in the garrison tonight,” he added with a smile. “Are you ready for your own performances, sirs?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Julia answered loudly, standing up and adjusting her armour. “Aren’t you?” She looked at Yuuri.

“Of course,” he replied, attempting to muster some bravado, but quailing inside as he thought about facing the audience.

_Remember, Yuuri. Just like visiting the grand old Duke of York. You’re not one of them – you’re a time traveller. Imagine how they’d react if they saw a flying car, or a hologram, or even a coffee maker. This is nothing. Nothing._

But he didn’t believe a word of it.

Emil pulled back a tent flap…and the bright afternoon sunlight streamed in, with dozens of expectant faces in the stands.

* * *

“My good lords and ladies, I present to you two more of our fine fighting men, striving this afternoon to earn the right to be trained by Lord Victor: Sir Justin le Savage of Stanebeck, and Squire Julius of Doncaster.”

Matthew Everard gestured to each of them in turn, the three of them standing in the middle of the arena amid applause from the crowd – a sea of furs and sheepskin coats and cloaks, hats of all descriptions and colours, and hand warmers. Yuuri’s eyes kept alighting on people he recognised – including Victor, in the front next to his father.

_I wish Phichit could see this._ Maybe he’d get a sense of how overwhelming it felt. 

_I can do this. I have to._

“Sir Justin will begin the equestrian competition on Blaze, his destrier,” Everard announced – a deep, resonant voice that did not require any assistance to carry. Then he and Julia walked to the edge of the arena to join the audience in watching and waiting.

Yuuri mounted his horse.

* * *

_That’s it, Justin – just like we discussed, take it easy at first. Find your confidence. Ah, well done!_

Victor told himself to relax as he watched Justin make passes at the quintain. They’d agreed it would be better in the beginning to keep to a slow pace and score sound hits without being touched by the sandbag, a strategy that was now bearing fruit. Victor did not expect Justin to win this event; possibly not even to come close to Julia’s score. But he needed to aim for a respectable count of his own and win over an audience that was sceptical of him since they’d last seen him in a duel.

“Ten points to the middle!” Matthew announced to polite cheers, Victor among them; then he lifted his hands to clap.

“Remember yourself, son,” came Andrei’s low voice in Russian. “For all your impassioned pleas to me about this fellow, what you see in him I don’t understand. His horsemanship is not a patch on that of your own squire, as I’m certain we shall soon see.”

“It isn’t just his skills as a knight, Father. He’s a man of intelligence and compassion.”

Andrei’s frown deepened. “Hmm. Explain to me, then, why they call him ‘le Savage’.”

“A misnomer from a dead past,” Victor said quickly, surprised at how convincing the words sounded when he himself was still bemused.

Suddenly his heart was in his throat as the bag of the quintain hit Justin solidly on his back, his armour ringing with the impact. He slouched far forward in the saddle, canted to one side –

_Stay on – grab the reins, the horse’s neck, anything that will help you – _

_– _and righted himself as Blaze cantered to a halt.

Victor released his breath. That wonderful sense of balance had saved him from a serious deduction. _Well done, my lovely knight. Don’t look so disappointed – you fared admirably, and this is your weakest area. Why are you so hard on yourself? _

“_Victor._” Andrei’s eyes bored into him. He stared placidly back, and his father shook his head, then called for wine.

* * *

_Fucking hell, I can hardly even stay on my own horse. I wonder if they were laughing at me._

Everard announced Yuuri’s score for the quintain. Whatever Julia scored, it was going to be light years ahead of this. But he was done with it. And the points didn’t accumulate; the overall winner would be the one who took two out of the three overall events. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that he should be proud of the progress he’d made, considering he hadn’t known how to ride a horse when he’d arrived here, but that wasn’t much consolation right now.

He was led by the steward-cum-emcee to watch Julia from the other side of the fence, away from the stands. Boudicca thundered across the arena, her rider’s armour a streak of silver.

_She makes me look like a re-enactor, _Yuuri thought as her lance smacked the middle of the quintain and it spun harmlessly behind her, to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd.

* * *

_Slow down, Justin. You’ll be more accurate. It’s all right – just a bit of a wobbly start._

He’d caught two rings out of ten on his first pass. Andrei grunted.

_Don’t let it disturb your concentration. _Victor was sure he could read an expression of frustration on Justin’s face, even from this distance. He was easily angered at himself, and that could throw him. But he was no teenage squire, either, and there was a deliberation, a maturity, to his actions that suggested he knew how to succeed. Victor trusted he’d be all right and finish this event with dignity, though it would not be his to win.

_I should have found that trust earlier this morning._

He’d awoken before sunrise, wondering whether Justin would be struggling with pre-competition nervousness, and wanting to do whatever he could to help him prepare for the day. If that meant sparring, they would do it. Daylight had barely broken before Victor had arrived at the stable, though he hadn’t been there long before his knight had joined him.

Justin had already known what he wanted to do, and did not need an overly involved trainer hanging over him, it seemed. Victor had therefore worked with Julia, and later Justin said he was going to his room to practise and did not want to be disturbed, though he again flashed that mysterious smile, seeming to enjoy Victor’s discomfiture about not knowing what he was planning.

He wondered if it had been a poor decision not to state outright that if Justin lost, he had no intention of ceasing their training together. But it would have taken away the incentive to win. And, well, a small part of him that he wasn’t exactly proud of wanted to see Justin fight for his attentions, after having commanded and then spurned them once before, for whatever unfathomable reason, though Victor had begun to suspect the drink he’d had must have been involved.

Ah, this was better – Justin’s approach was slower this time, and he snared six rings. That might possibly be a record for him.

_Jousting has never set my heart on fire the way wielding a sword does. All those endless drills I performed when I was young. I only do them now to stay in practice. And yet, watching this through your eyes, my sweet Justin, it feels so new and exciting. I’m sure you don’t even know; I can see you’re worried about your score. Just do your best._

If only he could go over there and tell him. And give him one of those hugs that made him glow.

_I’m with you in spirit. _He waved, ignoring his father’s disapproving glances.

* * *

“The winner of the equestrian and jousting skills competition, with a total score of two hundred and fifty-eight – Squire Julius!”

Yuuri stood against the fence, watching as Everard raised her arm, to the audience’s warm approval. Almost triple his own score.

_I wish the ground would open up and swallow me._

* * *

_She’s learning from Justin and me, I think. She watches carefully, and remembers what she sees. _

_That’s it, Julia. Defend. Evade, deceive, get a counterattack in where you can._

Abelard had made up for what he lacked in armour with borrowed pieces for the day, since Julia and Justin were both used to fighting in plate, and they all needed to be fairly matched. It gleamed, along with the top of his head. He was used to sparring with the squires, and knew how to gentle his strength with Julia while presenting an appropriate level of challenge. Quick and accurate she might be, but she was also young and slight, and was still learning how to think of strategies on her feet that would outwit her opponent. Abelard was allowing her to shine without letting her to do anything unduly embarrassing to him.

“You remember,” Victor said, leaning toward Andrei, “how I told you to mark Julius’s skill, but that Abelard is going easy on him. He has talent which is still developing, and is not yet a genuine challenge for him.”

“I do remember, and I knew it already,” his father replied, taking his goblet from the table next to him and sipping from it as his eyes remained focused on Abelard and Julia in the arena, the audience gasping and cheering, and sometimes laughing, according to what transpired.

“And that I instructed Abelard to hold nothing back with Justin,” Victor added.

“That I remember also.” Andrei slanted a glare at his son. “One would almost think you wanted your squire to lose this competition.”

“I simply want a judgement that’s fair. And as you’re deciding on the winner of this and the next event, on impression rather than points – ”

“Don’t remind me of my task, for I know it well – and be still, will you? It’s undignified, all this shouting and hand-waving.”

“I’ve been training them both. You can’t begrudge me a keen interest in the proceedings.”

“There should have been no need to train the knight in the first place,” the baron grumbled as Julia landed a blow with the flat of her sword to Abelard’s upper arm, ending that round. “He was damaged goods when we received him from his father, it seems.”

“He’s made a great deal of progress,” Victor said with some pride. “Watch him in his turn with Abelard, you’ll see.”

Andrei made a _hmph _as Victor’s eyes strayed again to Justin, standing with Emil near the fence, his horse having been stabled. Victor was glad he had that company, though he would have preferred it to be himself.

_You’ll be wonderful. Look this way, and you’ll see how well I believe it._

But Justin was staring intently ahead, as Julia circled Abelard’s blade with her own and sent it flying to the ground.

* * *

Ten rounds with Abelard, and Julia had effectively won four, though Yuuri knew the baron would make a simple decision in the end as to who the overall winner of the event was.

Everard, facing the audience, now turned to him and smiled. “Sir Justin will meet our talented trainer next. Let’s give him a warm welcome.” He held his hands up and applauded, and a subdued response drifted from the audience. Yuuri walked toward Abelard, who was waiting with a glittering smile, sword raised. His heart fluttered when he glanced at Victor and saw he was looking his way, clapping and smiling. Next to him, the baron, in his dark furs and cap, looked supremely unamused.

“Come on then, ya little gobshite, show me if training with Sir Victor’s done you any good, or if you’re still a gormless wee roaster.” Abelard spoke loudly enough for the audience to hear, and there was a sprinkling of titters at this. “Give me something to wave my stick at.”

Yuuri came at him like a blaze, thrusting his sword upward and almost knocking Abelard’s out of his hand, though the man held on to it and resisted through sheer strength, their blades pushed together in a bind.

“Who the fuck are you calling a roaster?” Yuuri said in a low voice, his gaze boring into a pair of wide grey eyes.

The fight was on.

* * *

“Victor, my patience is wearing thin – sit down.”

After a pause, Victor did so, having jumped to his feet and applauded enthusiastically. He was Justin’s most effusive supporter here, but the audience had quickly warmed to the knight once they’d realised he was giving Abelard a real challenge. Victor had read surprise, even shock, on their faces; many of them would not have seen him since the duel, as their daily habits did not take them past the training field. But then, liking an underdog as many of them did, and perhaps also aware of Justin’s deeds in York, they’d begun to openly support him. Victor’s heart was brimming over – and his father was _not _going to force him to stem it.

“Did you see that?” he said to Andrei. “He pulled Abelard to the ground. Tell me that isn’t an accomplishment. He’s won three rounds out of six.”

“Perhaps it’s time to look for a new trainer.”

Victor grinned. “Justin is doing well – you’re a fighting man yourself; I know you can see it.”

Andrei swirled the wine in his goblet. “Ah, Victor. It’s difficult for me to admit after the start he made here, and then disappearing as he did, and your…affection for him.” He mumbled the last few words and took a long drink of wine, then held out his empty goblet to his servant, who instantly refilled it. “But if he truly possesses the skill he’s putting on show for us, I’ll consider your time with him well spent.”

Victor beamed at him.

* * *

_Four out of nine. _

_Holy shit._

_I can do this!_

_Easy, Yuuri. Don’t get flustered._

His blood raced as he and Abelard circled, both taking the woman’s guard. Abelard had long since ceased to hurl invective at him, concentrating silently, eyes narrowed. The crowd urged each of them on, growing louder with every round, until here in the tenth and final one they reminded Yuuri of spectators at a football match. His feet, it seemed, were barely touching the ground.

_Look – think –_

_Strike._

He and his opponent dashed forward simultaneously, the crowd erupting into shouts and cheers behind them. Their swords crossed and clashed in a bind, both of them gritting their teeth with the effort. Yuuri removed a hand from his sword, and darting it out while he pivoted, grabbed Abelard’s wrist. Like a tightly wound spring, he yanked as he pivoted to the right; the sword flew out of the stunned Scotsman’s hand, and he pitched forward, now with his entire arm wedged firmly under Yuuri’s. Then Yuuri let go, and Abelard pinwheeled forward. The touch was easy.

_Five out of ten._

The crowd roared. But as Yuuri held his sword up in triumph for this round, he only had eyes for the beautiful blue-clad man who leapt out of his chair and threw his arms in the air, cap falling askew. Victor’s smile was radiant. 

* * *

“Congratulations on beating me by a hair’s breadth,” Julia grumbled as Yuuri walked into the tent, where she stood holding a hand warmer. Her clothes were incredible, he thought: a long gown of some kind of shimmery gold material, with matching gold hose and delicate embroidered slippers, cape over her shoulders, and cylindrical hat, a luxurious and no doubt expensive ensemble. It made Yuuri think of a cross between a houppelande and a shalwar kameez.

“You did well too,” he said.

“I don’t need praise from _you._” But then she added more gently, “Even if you did kick Abelard’s arse a few times. If you can do that, I won’t begrudge you a win.”

“What are you dressed for? Will you be dancing?”

“In this? Look outside; they should be setting up.”

Yuuri peeked around the tent flap and saw chairs being brought for the musicians while a large harp was unloaded from the back of a wagon. “Are you singing, then?”

She came forward. “Hardly. Here, have this. I needed to keep my fingers warm. Maybe it’ll help you with whatever you’re doing.” She gave him the hand warmer and exited the tent just as Emil appeared.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asked her.

“Just sit back and enjoy the performance,” she replied, walking out to Everard, who was waiting in the middle of the arena.

Emil turned to Yuuri. “I know you prefer to remove your own armour, sir, but under the circumstances, it might be faster if I – ”

“Yes, thank you,” Yuuri said. “But I don’t want to get changed just yet. Let me see what Julius is doing first.”

“My lords and ladies,” Everard called, “we finish this afternoon’s entertainment with an artistic competition. Please welcome, once again, Squire Julius, who will accompany our musicians on the harp to ‘In Regards to Love: Agape’.”

“He plays the harp?” Yuuri said.

“You didn’t know? I suppose I can understand. Being so large an instrument, it’s usually kept in the conservatory with the others that belong to the castle musicians. You should ask him to play for you sometime; he’s very good.”

_She’s playing for me now_, he thought as he listened._ And it figures. She’s like Victor – good at everything she does._

_I’m going to have to give one hell of a performance to beat this._

* * *

“Was it your idea to give that poor boy a harp to play, like some miniature angel? He’s no angel, Victor, as you’ve told me yourself – ”

“He already plays the harp, Father; I didn’t send him off to learn how just for this.” The corner of Victor’s mouth quirked, but he suppressed a grin. “What did you think of the song?”

“He’s very skilled. When he’s not serving you at a meal, perhaps I should send him to sit with the musicians.”

Andrei was in an uncommonly good mood, Victor decided. He seemed to have been enjoying the competition. After what he’d said about Justin, Victor had been worried that he might turn out to be a rather unfair judge, but he’d conceded that Justin had got the better of Abelard moreso than Julia, and also that he’d displayed a surprising amount of skill. If they’d been allowed to choose their own weapons, however, Victor knew Julia would have chosen the bow and arrow, and there would have been no beating her. This way, Justin had been given a chance – and he’d grabbed it.

Seeing him there after the tenth round, holding his sword high, a thrill had coursed through Victor’s veins. He knew how winning felt, to him. Satisfying, perhaps; but also routine, predictable, even bittersweet, thanks to the man sitting beside him, who had provided him with opportunities he’d never wanted. But it was refreshingly different to see Justin’s pride in his accomplishment and know that he himself had helped him toward it.

Justin and Julia were even, then, with one event each, and there was one part of the competition left – the one Victor was looking forward to the most.

_Please don’t just sit and play an instrument. As beautiful as Julia’s song was, I want something else from you. Or perhaps you’re not comfortable in front of an audience…the way you like to sit in the garrison by yourself; the way you shun crowds. Have I asked for something it’s not within your power to give?_

“What’s this fellow planning to do?” Andrei asked.

“I don’t know; he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Hm. That doesn’t bode well.” He sighed and sat back. “How perverse of Natalia not to be here. She’d like this part of the competition. But she said she wasn’t interested in attending unless you or I were taking part.” He gave a gravelly chuckle. “How many years is it since I was fighting alongside Edward the Black Prince in France? These little competitions are no comparison.”

_I suppose not, and please don’t tell me this story again just now, _Victor thought, waiting for Justin to emerge from the tent.

“Will you not have any wine, son?”

“No, I…” Victor’s voice trailed off as a murmur passed through the audience, and he returned his gaze to the arena to see Justin joining Matthew. A very different Justin from the mud-spattered one in plate mail who’d defeated Abelard not long before.

_Oh my God. What you look like. Is that really you? Oh…_

Victor gasped and his eyes opened wide, at the same time as Justin looked his way, he was sure – and smiled…a smile he hadn’t seen since the night of the banquet.

_This is a dream. It has to be._

“For our final presentation of the day, lords and ladies, please welcome Sir Justin, who will be dancing to ‘In Regards to Love: Eros’.”

_Dancing? This isn’t a dream – I’m in heaven._

The audience applauded, and then quietened. Justin looked so focused, so poised. Next to the musicians, eyes downward, he struck a pose where his hips jutted out like _so_ –accentuating the curves along his legs, up his doublet…good Lord, he was gorgeous. Wherever did he get that outfit? Gapping over the chest and neck like that, flaring out over his arms, hugging his legs and other places…Victor’s breath caught.

_You told me not to take my eyes off you. I couldn’t if I tried._

The rhythmic hum of the hurdy-gurdy began, and Justin swept his arms up in a loop, then brought them downward – even his hands and fingers were positioned, exquisite…and then he lifted his gaze and crossed his arms several times over his chest and above his head, arching his back, catlike, before sweeping his arms outward and flexing his knees as he stepped, almost gliding. The fiddle and castanets and other instruments dove into the song…and Victor was treated to the most mesmerising dance of his life.

Justin moved as if the music were inside him, as if his very body were producing it. Every part of him in tune, swaying, arching, undulating. He threw his head back and kicked a leg up in the air, then did a turn while performing an enchantment with his arms and waist, beckoning to the audience – always in Victor’s direction, it seemed – those dark eyes burning into him, lighting a scorching flame.

Victor clutched the arms of his chair, a wave of desire pulsing through him to his groin. Justin had given him glimpses of his sensuality; it emerged in a glance, the way he moved, the natural grace he possessed. But _this_…Victor wanted to find out more. In private. Again and again. Would the sweet torture ever end?

_I did this to myself. I gave him the song._

_I’m not sure if it was an angel or a devil that inspired me to do so._

“It’s unusual, wouldn’t you say?” Andrei commented. “I’ve never seen a man dance like this before. He’s like a Jezebel.”

“I…well, maybe. It’s good, don’t you think?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would have said he was a member of an acting troupe. Shameful, you encouraging a knight to behave thus. But…” Andrei stroked his goatee. “…yes, I agree, he’s very good.”

Justin showed no signs of tiring, despite the physical demands of the dance. And he seemed aware of his charms in a way he never was in ordinary circumstances, running his hands over his – oh God, those tight, revealing hose; flashing coy glimpses at the audience, tilting his head back as if in bliss. Victor ached to trail kisses down that neck. The next time he felt driven to fantasise – sooner rather than later, after this – he wouldn’t be imagining a stable. Whatever they did, Justin would be wearing these clothes, and would dance for him.

Victor swallowed and tried to appear dignified as the music came to a crescendo, Justin continuing to move his arms in wide, sharp gestures before finishing with his hips tilted, a knee bent and toes just touching the ground, arms wrapped around his chest. The final note played, and then the applause began. It was a generous response, if not immensely enthusiastic. The reason why was obvious, of course – such a dance would appeal mainly to women, and many of them were back at the castle. Victor wondered if he should’ve anticipated that and done something to compel more of them here; but then, it was his father who was judging.

“Come, son – you insisted you wanted to enter the arena with me at the end, when I announced my decision.”

Victor blinked and began to stand, then felt himself blush. Well, he was wearing a cloak. All he needed to do was pull it around himself to prevent any embarrassment. He did so, and followed Andrei to the middle of the arena where Justin stood, face flushed from his dance, as the musicians arose and the servants collected their chairs.

“That was beautiful,” Victor said, giving him a tight hug, wishing he could communicate so much more in the simple gesture. “All of it. Everything. I wanted to tell you – ”

“Thank you,” Justin whispered, hugging him back.

Then Matthew approached them along with Julia, who had been waiting by the fence, watching Justin’s dance. “Have you come to a decision as to the winner, my lord?” the steward asked Andrei as Victor and Justin broke apart to look at him expectantly.

“I have.” He turned to address the audience, and in a loud voice said, “Both competitors have proved today that they possess the chivalrous virtues of a knight, displaying honour and skill. It has been a difficult decision, but there can be only one winner. Breaking the tie at one event each, victory in the third event goes to Sir Justin. Well met, my good knight. And you also, noble Julius.”

The crowd clapped and cheered. Victor hardly had time to drink in the delicious expression of surprise and pleasure on Justin’s face, feeling his own heart soar. Duty called. “Both of you, a word,” he said. “Julius, you were brilliant. Go with Master Everard, and I’ll speak to you shortly – you’re still my squire, and you deserve a reward for your performance today.”

She gave a little bow, subdued but otherwise stoical in defeat. “Thank you, master. I’ll look forward to it.”

“And you,” Victor said to Justin as Julia departed with Matthew, “I’m prouder of you than I can say. You were amazing.” The beaming smile he received for his words went straight to his heart. “Father,” he quickly said to Andrei, who was turning to leave, “I’d have a final word with the audience, if you’ll call for their attention.”

“Why?” Andrei eyed him.

“Please, trust me.”

He nodded and shouted for silence, then stepped aside, looking somewhat dubious.

“My lords and ladies of the castle,” Victor intoned before turning to face Justin, looking into his eyes as he continued to speak, “there was but one reward Sir Justin requested if he should win today’s competition. That was to share a meal with me in a place of honour at the high table – a request I will grant with pleasure. But it’s also in my power to bestow a second reward, unasked for, though richly deserved.” He took a moment to savour the surprise on Justin’s face, then continued, “This gentle knight came to us with a nickname – ‘le Savage’. A name that I hope you all agree, after witnessing his deeds today, is thoroughly unmerited.” He lowered his voice and laid a hand on Justin’s shoulder, looking into those shining brown eyes. “From this day forward, my good knight, you shall be known as Sir Justin la Rose…for you are the flower of chivalry.”

There was just time to hear a gasp from Justin before the crowd applauded. Victor ignored it and squeezed his shoulder. “Come dine with me, Justin la Rose,” he said with a soft smile.


	49. Chapter 49

_It’s like a bank holiday. Everyone’s downed tools to go watch this competition. _

A gentle breeze fanned Ailis’s face under a blue sky as she rode down the path through the woods, then veered off to the right after spotting a rocky outcrop she used as a landmark. Her horse slowed to pick a way through the undergrowth, though the trees and bushes did not grow so densely as to require her to negotiate the rest of the way on foot.

She might have enjoyed the competition, unlike several of the other women, who said they had no taste for watching men fight. Ailis had heard there was an artistic element, however, which had been mildly intriguing. But with so many people away from the castle, it gave her a rare degree of freedom that she intended to make use of. No one would come looking for her here.

Of course, it would have helped if she’d been able to use more than one projection. The com that Celestino’s first agent had been wearing had been melted by the laser-gun blast that had killed him, though she’d kept its remains – it was still _hers_, and it felt a bit like a trophy. It was also useless. The one that had belonged to the second agent who’d died of illness, however…that had gone missing, which rankled.

When she’d got undisturbed access to the woman’s body, she’d removed it, and the translator, and the gun she’d had on her. But how was she to know she’d encounter the simplest problem in the world – a sodding hole in her pocket? The translator and the gun had been in a separate one, and they remained where she’d put them. But the other had dropped its contents somewhere. She’d retraced her steps with a portable light, searching in the passageway from the castle, in the woods, and even around the castle when she felt sure it wouldn’t attract notice. No talk of a strange magical device had reached her ears; if someone had picked it up, they most likely had no clue what it did.

_She _knew, however. If she put it on, it would enable her to assume the identity of the washerwoman. Not only would she have taken back another possession that had been stolen from her, but it would enable her to come and go without remark on occasion, borrowing a new identity, visible but unobtrusive. If only she could _find _the bloody thing. Well, there was nothing for it but to continue to look.

She wondered for a moment if she’d have to deal with any opprobrium for not attending the competition. If she did, she would simply say she had more important things to do. The knight and the young squire would just be making spectacles of themselves, anyway. Victor had been spending so much time with that man – and why? The way they fawned over each other had ceased to be amusing and was now tiresome, soon to become distinctly irritating.

There was a real possibility that Justin Courtenay could interfere with her carefully laid plans, and that must not be allowed to happen. Victor was the important one, of course, though even he was a backup in case other things didn’t go the way she hoped. But he would be useless if she needed to move his particular chesspiece on the board while Justin was attached. The occasional liaison wasn’t a problem, which was why she hadn’t been concerned about Tyler. But this was clearly more than that. 

It was a shame, really, because otherwise she wouldn’t wish the man any harm; and being a knight, he perhaps would have an abnormally short lifespan anyway. When was the Battle of Agincourt due to take place…? Damn it all, Ian was no longer there for her to ask.

The very day after Tyler challenged Justin to the duel, the hapless knight had disappeared; Ailis had been convinced along with everyone else that he’d scarpered, and therefore her problem had been solved. Only, after a few weeks had passed, Victor had ended up bringing him back to the castle like some lost pet.

No matter. Tyler should put an end to it. He’d conveniently get rid of the man for good, without the necessity for her to take any risks herself. What a stroke of luck that had been. Laser guns were quick and easy, but they still left a body. However, a jealous ex-lover who happened to be one of the best knights in the land, desperate to slaughter the new jack on the street? It was perfect. The only difficulty might be how morose Victor was likely to feel afterward. But that wouldn’t be a significant change from how he was now.

A glitter flashed between the trees – she was almost there.

Her thoughts strayed to the stooge Celestino and Phichit would have sent here by now. He or she must have told them about the king’s upcoming visit, and they must therefore be convinced she was planning some mischief. These people were so predictable; she’d bet anything that they were assuming she intended to capture or kill the king. Just because she had the opportunity. The truth, however, was that she needed dear Richard very much alive, and able, and unrestrained.

Maybe she could try flushing out this other modern person in her midst. Then again, there was a small chance that they didn’t exist. Celestino might possibly have a finer mind than she’d credited him with, deciding to keep the final time-travel sphere and attempting to open it to discover the wonders inside, even though she doubted he’d be able to. From what she’d learned of him in their conversations, however, he was determined to interfere with her life here.

Well, whoever this cuckoo in the nest was, it seemed they were both biding their time. Celestino’s agent had been more careful – or simply luckier – than their predecessors, so far. Ailis was not about to do anything that would give herself away either, and that included taking risks to force her foe to reveal themselves. No, she’d already been too successful in concealing her identity here to make some blunder, no matter how well conceived its purpose.

Though if it _did _become necessary to force her invisible pursuer’s hand, she was not without options.

The final trees parted in front of her, and she came to the shore of a small lake hidden in dark shadows. Cliffs rose up along one side, and the trees were quite dense in most other areas, overhanging the dark waters. She’d discovered this place herself one day when she’d managed to escape from the castle for a while and go exploring, and it was a favourite of hers.

Her dress snagged on a stirrup as she dismounted. She’d switched her projector off so as not to be recognised, but she’d also worn medieval clothes so that she’d blend in if anyone saw her. They were awkward, however; no matter how long she was here, she was sure she’d never get used to their restrictions on her movements. Maybe she would have to rethink that; perhaps her modern clothes, if she chose the right ensemble, could pass for something an eccentric woman of this time might possess.

First, though, she had to wash them.

She removed the stupid hat it was necessary for her to wear, because women here mustn’t immodestly show their sexy hair. Or something. Then took two buckets from her horse, along with her clothes bag and a bottle of detergent, placed them on the ground, and located the large rock she remembered here. Briefly pulling out her gun, she fried it with the laser beam until it was radiating a pleasant amount of heat. A bit better than shivering in a cold arena with a tiny hand warmer.

She set her kit out in front of her, wishing she could get away from the castle more often. Her lot wasn’t bad there as such, but it could feel stifling at times. The men being in such complete charge was a hard thing to bear. Women filled some important roles, though personally she included giving birth to the next generation and cooking and cleaning as part of that. The human race wouldn’t exist without women, but everything they did here seemed to be denigrated.

It had been better in modern England, once she’d got out of the hell hole where she’d grown up, but that place had left its mark in many ways. She and her mother working as servants. Marrying a man almost twice her age in order to escape, only to be plunged into fresh horrors as the fool sought out the worst of humanity and the diseases that stalked them. She felt a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold as she rolled her sleeves up and began dipping the small bucket in the lake and pouring the water into the larger bucket. Perhaps she could have devoted some time, before she’d come here, to developing tech that would wipe her memory of it. But she’d decided long ago that it was part of her – her battle scars.

She poured the final bucketful, then heated the water with her laser and added the detergent, which smelled of rosemary and something floral. Then she emptied her bag of modern clothes into the bucket and ensured they were soaked with the soapy water. As she sloshed it about, she realised the gentle noises she was making were the loudest thing here. The stillness was broken only by the occasional soughing of the wind through the leaves, the almost imperceptible lapping of water on the shore, the occasional _plip _of a fish, or a small furry animal scuttling through the undergrowth. When she took a deep breath, under the floating scent of the laundry soap there was pine and fresh water, damp earth and old leaves. No, this place wasn’t so bad.

She _could _have decided to try and discover something about the future…or gone back to a time before humans had even existed. But there were too many unknowns. The atmosphere of the earth could be poisonous for her to breathe, or she might eat something that would harm her. If she travelled to the near future, they might know of her, and have some way of discovering her identity despite her projection; might even be using her tech. Plus they’d have laser guns themselves, or something more sophisticated. And _too _far into the future – she could imagine humans having been out-evolved, or having destroyed themselves and even the habitability of the planet. Or if she ended up in some apocalyptic horror where she was exposed to a lethal dose of radiation – ? She wasn’t sure her curiosity was ready to override any of those possibilities, or others she hadn’t thought of.

_This _past, however, had been recorded. No tech; relative peace. She’d found a niche for herself, and had knowledge and power that these simpletons could never truly appreciate. Though she hadn’t expected it might become a permanent way of life.

This had been meant as a fun first expedition, and she’d been full of ideas about what she’d like to try next, once she returned to her lab and that bell-end of a so-called assistant, Ian. With that thought, she laid a sheet out on the ground, slapped a black shirt onto a smooth flat rock that just broke the surface of the lake, knelt and began to agitate the material briskly, imagining it was Ian’s face. Well, she was making the most of the situation, and she _refused _to believe she was trapped here – even though all indications were currently, frustratingly that way, unless her counterpart in modern times met with something lethal. How likely that was, she didn’t know. And she did not like leaving such things to chance.

There were certain compensations, though, even if she was stuck for now. Her circumstances were comfortable. And the men in this time, for all their faults, worked, as opposed to sitting at a desk – or in a pub – staring blankly at nothing as they played games on the Cloud. They tended to be well-toned and muscled, when she was able to catch a glimpse; even her “husband”, though he was past his prime. When this seemingly endless winter finally lifted and the warmer weather came, the layers of clothing would be shed, and well, there might be a few more things around worth looking at.

She finished with the shirt, wrung it out carefully, and hung it on a wooden stand she unfolded from her saddlebags and placed next to the warm rock. It should be mostly dry by the time she was finished here.

Men. Well, who could blame her for thinking about them? Everyone had biological drives. God knew the man she was living with here did, though fortunately there was nothing too kinky about them, and the projector had turned out to work under rather private circumstances; a fact of which she, as its inventor, was proud. But he wasn’t someone she would have chosen to marry; the best that could be said was that he could give a good time in bed, and she could give a better one back.

She’d wondered idly if, as her own self rather than her projected image, she ought to take a lover in the nearby village, or even here at the castle. Not because she was looking for someone _to _love, or because she had a rampant libido, but because it would be something just for her, of her choosing; her secret. Someone who’d listen to her, who she could be a little more genuine with.

But she’d always rejected the idea, because therein lay the danger. She’d hoped for that companionship with Ian, and he’d betrayed her. Trust no one – that had become her motto. Anyone who did was a fool, because it was inevitable that it would end up with them getting hurt or killed. And if it made life a lonely path? Better safe and lonely than vulnerable and shat upon. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Slapping onto the rock a black tunic with high slits up either side, she briefly imagined herself as the Irish washer-woman from legend, traditionally seen on a lonely mist-shrouded stream on the eve of a battle, washing the bloody linen of those about to die. But in reality, she had no intention of causing the deaths of an army of people. If all went well, there were only two she need personally attend to; and Tyler, her unsuspecting ally, would dispatch the third.

_You see, Celestino, this is my nefarious plan,_ she thought as she scrubbed the tunic over the rock. _I spend every minute of my day cackling like Madame Defarge about all the people I want to slaughter. This is the wild killing spree I’ve gone on, now that I’ve had a spare moment of time to myself. Behold the bodies strewn around me._

_You’d never guess the reality, would you? I’m cleaning my knickers next, luv._

_You haven’t got a bleeding clue._

She grinned and wrung her tunic out, then hung it up to dry. 

* * *

_Justin la Rose._

Yuuri’s thoughts continued to linger on the name as he sat next to Victor, hardly noticing what the first two courses were. He supposed this must be the finest food in the castle. And here he was, at the high table, where all eyes would be drawn to him. But none of it mattered because his interest lay in the man beside him, resplendent in his blue gown and livery collar.

He’d asked that Julia be allowed to sit in his place next to Chris at the lower table, having done herself proud in the competition, and she was there now with Emil serving her, eating with gusto and chatting animatedly. Yuuri smiled to see it. He poured more wine as a girl approached the high table carrying a white china bowl, which she put down in front of him and Victor before bowing and scurrying off. Water for washing their hands, with rose petals. Yuuri was convinced there must be an enormous storage barn somewhere just for these, and the country’s biggest rose garden to match.

Victor nodded an invitation for him to use the bowl; but when Yuuri dipped his hands in the water, he did so at the same time – then took the tips of Yuuri’s fingers in his own under the water, rubbing them briefly as if washing them, though his touch was slow and lingering. A faint grin played on his face as blue eyes met his own. All thought deserted Yuuri’s head, and when Victor pulled his hands away, Yuuri’s remained for a moment in the bowl as heat radiated down his spine.

_Undressing you in that outfit would be like opening a Christmas present._

He dried his hands on a towel that a boy ran up to present to him. _I have to stop thinking these things._

As if telling himself would make it happen. He’d been gradually coming undone, with his win in the competition, then his new nickname, and now all of Victor’s attentions at the high table. Insisting on cutting his meat for him, though it was the polite thing for a neighbour to do. Waving to servants and bidding them bring small fruit and nut treats for him to try. Somehow their legs were managing to brush occasionally under the table. Small things that might not mean anything in themselves, but…

_Maybe he really is flirting with me. Is that possible – could an extraordinary man like this be interested in me in that way?_

Another servant brought a platter with several silver bowls; the baron, on the other side of Victor, took one, while Victor took another. “Thank you, my good lad,” he said. “What’s this you’re giving me?”

“Rabbit in saupiquet sauce, my lord.” He bowed and hurried away.

“Justin, this dish is one of my favourites. Have you tried it before?” When Yuuri shook his head, he explained, “The sauce contains wine, cream, juniper berries, thyme…please, have the first taste.” He slid the bowl toward Yuuri, who used the spoon provided with it to put a few pieces of meat on his plate; he was not used to looking at a beautifully engraved piece of silver like this to eat off, instead of a trencher, though even _that _was considered fancy dining at The Black Dog. But Victor was waiting, watching him, so he speared a piece of rabbit with his knife and tried it.

_It’s like a bloody haute cuisine restaurant here,_ he thought, his tastebuds singing.

“Is it to your liking?” Victor asked with a smile, helping himself to some of the dish, then cutting pieces of bread for mopping up the sauce and giving one to Yuuri.

“It’s fantastic. Like all the food here.”

“We’re lucky with Fernand; he’s an excellent cook,” Victor said conversationally. He watched Yuuri eat, then added, “Did I tell you how wonderful you were in the competition today?”

Yuuri looked down and smiled. “You did.”

“I can’t say it enough.”

“Thanks to you. All the time you spent with me. Teaching me what you know. Just having faith in me. That, more than anything.”

“Justin – ”

But it had to be said, and this was his chance to say it. “I was thinking about it when I had to go out there on Blaze and do all those things with the lance. I was…embarrassed. But then I remembered that I’ve already come a long way with what I’ve been learning, and I knew you thought I’d do better in the other competitions. I saw you there, standing and clapping.” Huffing a laugh, he added, “It meant a lot.”

“I’m glad,” Victor said quietly, eyes shining. “And you impressed everyone by beating Abelard.”

“I’ve had a good teacher. I – hope I still do?”

“Of course. It will be my pleasure.” Victor took a sip from his goblet. “I may not be able to spend as much time on it as I have these past two weeks, but we have months yet before – ”

“Tyler,” Yuuri finished for him.

“Forget I mentioned it. This is your special meal. Enjoy yourself.”

“It’s always in the back of my mind, Victor. I _can’t_ forget.” Even though it pained him, especially here and now, he added, “Everything you were teaching me – all the support you gave me – I didn’t know, if I lost, if it was just going to stop.” More quietly, he said, “Was it?”

Looking taken aback, Victor put his knife down. “No. No, of course not.”

“You were going to carry on as my trainer anyway?”

After a pause, Victor replied, “If I’d told you, would you have tried so hard?”

“Since I’ve got a duel to the death in three months’ time, I’d have to say yes.”

“Justin, I’m sorry,” Victor said earnestly. “When Abelard mentioned the competition, it seemed a good way to placate Julia. She needs encouragement sometimes, but also to learn some humility. And I thought it brought out the best in both of you. I truly didn’t mean to cause you alarm.”

Not having intended to send the conversation down this track, but glad he’d found the courage to say something, Yuuri nodded. “I was…worried.” He smiled. “But I forgive you, especially now that you’ve given me a new nickname.”

“Oh, you like it?”

“Justin la Rose? It’s much better than the old one. But – the flower of chivalry? That’s very flattering.”

“It’s true,” Victor said softly. “A red one, like the glow on your cheeks…or that incredible doublet you’re wearing. Where did you get it? I’ve never seen you in it before.”

Before Yuuri could reply, a servant girl arrived with a platter of cake slices on silver plates. They each took one.

“Sambocade?” Yuuri said, picking up his spoon.

“I did promise.”

Yuuri tried a bit of the cheesecake. It had a lovely texture, dense yet with a bit of fluffiness, and tasted of flowers and nutmeg and cloves. If any dessert encompassed the flavours of this time and place, he thought, this was it.

“It’s delicious,” he said, watching Victor tuck into his slice. “I can understand now why a very young version of you would do something naughty to get more of this.”

Victor chuckled. “Hm. And you didn’t tell me where you got that doublet. Julia had her outfit made by a tailor in the village, she told me.”

“I liked it. I didn’t even know she could play the harp.” The song had been delicate and haunting, sweet and youthful, with a subtle accompaniment by a shawm and a lute. It seemed as if Victor had made a deliberate choice to fit the song to the person – but did he really think eros suited him? Yuuri would never have believed it himself until he’d finally felt he embodied the spirit of the piece, with Monica’s help. He’d kept Victor in mind the entire time he’d been dancing. _This is for you; this is how you make me feel. I wish we could feel this way together. _And it had seemed so natural. Victor had looked pleased.

“Indeed she does. I bring my citole to the conservatory sometimes, where she keeps it, and we practise. I don’t suppose you play?”

“Ah, no.” _Most people use tech to generate music in modern times, though I dabbled with an acoustic guitar for a while. I wouldn’t call it real playing. Something else I can’t tell you._

Victor leaned forward, having finished his sambocade, and said, “Did you work with any tutors or trainers at all while you were growing up? I must admit I’m continually surprised at what you haven’t learned, through no fault of your own. Did…” He looked down and gave a little sigh, then met Yuuri’s eyes again. “Forgive me if I’m prying, but did they…look after you there? Did they treat you properly? Because – ”

Yuuri smiled and placed his hand over Victor’s on the table, both of them glancing down at the contact. “Thank you for asking, but no, I was fine. I suppose things were just…different there. I’ve been making up for it here.” He gave Victor’s hand a squeeze, then took his own away to spoon up another bite of cake.

_This is why I love being with you, Victor. I don’t suppose I can tell you that, either. No matter how proper and polite we are with each other at first, we can share things – to a certain extent, anyway. We can ask each other questions like you did just now because we care. Challenge each other, and not just in the training field. That’s aside from the fact that you’re an insanely knowledgeable and talented knight who I have the good fortune to be learning from…and it’s hard to look at you without thinking about how much I want you._

_I wish I could tell you. There’s so much I want to share._

_I love you._

Oh. Well…it was true.

He’d known it in his heart for a while, he realised. Although he’d never experienced romantic love until now, there was no mistaking this. He’d even danced to it like it had been there in his bones and sinews all his life.

Victor was still looking at him quietly, as if he were a little lost, and Yuuri was drowning in his blue eyes.

“You’re the best student, Justin. And…the best friend. If you don’t mind my saying.”

Was that a blush Yuuri saw on his cheeks? “I…I feel the same, Victor.”

“So is it another deep mystery where your doublet came from? You seem to be avoiding the issue. A distant land – ?”

“No,” Yuuri laughed. “I just seem to keep getting sidetracked. Mistress Monica made it for me. She gave me some advice on the dance, too.”

“I’ll have to think of a suitable reward for her, then. I’ve never seen anything like that before. You were amazing. And those clothes…” His words trailed off, but then he continued, “I’m pleased you decided to wear them to the meal. The doublet, it…it suits you. Very well.”

Yuuri felt his own cheeks stain pink now. “You’re full of compliments this evening.”

“They’re well deserved.”

Yuuri smiled quietly back, his heart soaring. _Could you ever feel the same way about me? Those touches, those kind words…are they real? Is that how they’re meant?_

_You didn’t have to come find me in York, and ask me to stay in your room. You said you’d missed me. Training me; all that time you’ve spent with me. Could you…?_

And yet he knew where it all inevitably led, as it always did, crushing him slowly as he continually sought a way around all the difficulties involved, never succeeding, especially when it was for Victor’s own good.

_Yuuri, you can’t tell him. You can’t have a relationship with him. You know all the reasons why._

But his heart didn’t understand _responsible _or _logical _or _wise_, or even _safe_. And it had given him perhaps the clearest message of his life. _I love him._

Victor poured them both more wine, with a little grin that had hardly left his lips all evening.

_Please, just give me this time with him. Whatever happens to him, to me, to us…give me this moment, at least. That’s all I ask._

* * *

“Congratulations on your win today, Sir Justin,” Ailis said. “Would you care for some mead? It’s one of the castle’s finest, flavoured with raspberries and rosehips.”

“I’ve got plenty of wine, thank you,” he replied, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“If this is what I’ve tasted before,” Victor said to him, “it’s beautiful. Have you tried any of our mead yet?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Usually it’s just served at the high table, unless it’s a special occasion. Here,” he said to Ailis, “give me that silver goblet; pour some mead, if you will, and we’ll share a victory drink.”

Justin’s face lit up. They stared at each other as Ailis did as she’d been asked. Then Justin took a sip, thought for a moment, and gave Victor a delighted smile. “That’s wonderful. Your turn.” He held out the goblet. Victor took it, brushing his fingers against Justin’s, and gave him a surprisingly heated look with those deceptively cold blue eyes. Ailis wondered if Justin was actually picking up on it; perhaps she was wrong about them being lovers just yet. Regardless, she’d never seen either of them looking at anyone else the way they were looking at each other now. She wished a man would look at _her _like that, just once in her life.

_How pathetic. Me. These two plonkers._

They seemed to have forgotten she was there, so she attended to other things. No matter; this silly little saga the two of them were playing out would come to an end soon enough. 

_Enjoy yourself while you can, knight, _she thought, slanting one more glance at Justin. _Because if by some miracle Tyler doesn’t kill you, I will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for Victor’s favourite dessert:
> 
> _Sambocade_  
Pastry:  
90g (1/2 cup) cold unsalted butter  
150g (1 1/8 cup) plain flour  
Pinch of salt  
1 tsp caster sugar  
1–3 tbsp ice water
> 
> Filling:  
340g (1 cup/12 oz) ricotta cheese  
340g (1 cup/12 oz) cottage cheese  
2 tbsp double (heavy) cream  
3 tbsp dried elderflowers steeped in enough warm water to cover, for half an hour or more  
3 eggs  
100g (1/2 cup) butter, melted and cooled  
75g (1/3 cup) caster sugar  
¼ tsp ground cloves  
¼ tsp ground nutmeg  
1–2 tbsp rosewater
> 
> First, make the pastry. Mix the dry ingredients together, then cut in the butter until the mixture resembles fine crumbs. Gradually add a little cold water, until the mixture only just starts to clump together. Press together with your fingers and quickly shape into a round disc, then wrap in cling film and chill in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.
> 
> When ready to bake, pre-heat the oven to 180C/350F. Grease a 22cm/9-inch springform cake tin. Roll the pastry out to a thickness of about 0.5cm, then line the cake tin, aiming to have the pastry nearly all the way up the sides of the tin. Use a small ball of excess pastry to push the pastry to the edges and sides of the case. Don’t trim the top of the edges – leave them ragged as the case will shrink during baking, so it’s best to trim it afterwards.
> 
> Line the pastry case with greaseproof paper, then fill with baking beans. Bake for 10 minutes, then remove the beans and paper and bake for another 10 minutes, until golden. Remove from the oven and allow to cool slightly.
> 
> Meanwhile, make the filling. Put everything except the rosewater in a food processor and blitz until thick and smooth. Add the rosewater a few drops at a time, tasting the mixture until there is a hint of rose but not too much – adding too much will make it taste like soap! When it’s right, pour it into the baked pastry case.
> 
> Bake for around an hour and 15 minutes – the cake is ready when it is lightly golden on top (cover with foil if it starts to brown too much), and has only a slight wobble in the middle when you shake it (it will continue to cook as it cools). Allow to cool completely in the tin, then trim the pastry edges with a sharp knife. Refrigerate for at least a couple of hours before serving, but remove from the fridge 20 minutes before serving to take the chill off it. 
> 
> _Notes_  
The pastry case really will shrink! Be prepared to leave a good edge around it. It will also puff up when blind baking, so the baking beans are a must, too. Also, this recipe originally called for elderflower cordial, but I got a lovely flavour from steeping the dried flowers and adding them with their liquid to the cheese mixture. I find this recipe produces a cheesecake that’s a nice balance between light and heavy, and isn’t too sweet. Besides the elderflowers and rosewater, it’s a good base to use with any kind of flavouring! Knowing me, I’d probably add melted chocolate or Bailiey’s – not exactly medieval, however!


	50. Of Fire and of Steel (Part 7)

If Yuuri had any thoughts of savouring the warm glow from his win and sitting next to Victor at supper, however, they were dispelled the next morning in the stable while most of the fighting men were present. A tournament was taking place the following weekend, Victor announced to them all, and they’d be travelling to participate. The news was followed by shouts and cheers, though not from Yuuri.

This would obviously be something entirely different from what he and Julia had just done. A much larger audience. No dancing this time, but sparring and jousting with other knights. 

“Why?” was the first thing he said when the exuberant crowd had dispersed. Victor looked surprised and a little disappointed by his response.

“You and Julius did so well yesterday,” he said with an encouraging smile. “And last night I remembered the Stamford Bridge tournament; it takes place every year. Both of you are sharp and in excellent form, so why not carry your momentum into that? There’s just enough time for me to send word we’ll be attending. But…” The excitement drained from his face. “…I’d never force you to go, if it wasn’t to your liking, or if you felt uncomfortable. You could stay here; a cohort needs to remain to guard the castle – ”

“No, no, it’s not that.” _It’s just that I’ve never been to a tournament in my life. All those people watching. Knights who might injure me. They’re bound to give me a much bigger challenge than Julia did, and Jesus, I haven’t even had a chance to enjoy what I achieved yesterday before you landed me in this. But I don’t know how to explain to you, or if it’s even possible. You think I was raised to be a knight; maybe you think this would be nothing to me._

“Of course I’ll go,” he said, swallowing.

And the light returned to Victor’s face, though he continued to try to sell Yuuri on the idea, obviously sensing he was still less than keen. Something else to aim for, he said. Only half a day’s journey away. It apparently commemorated a famous battle in the last days of the Viking invasions, and no one from the castle had gone in the past few years. You’ll see other styles of fighting, he added. You can learn from them. There’s nothing to lose; it’s all in good fun. They would enter swordfighting and jousting competitions.

_Jousting? _Yuuri thought with a shudder. As long as he didn’t get stabbed to death while sparring, or break his bones falling off his horse, he supposed. Victor reassured him that there would be a wide variety of levels of skill on display, and he would by no means come last. Yuuri tried to muster some genuine enthusiasm, riding on the tail of his victory the previous day, though Victor still seemed bemused. Maybe a knight not wanting to attend a tournament was like a priest not wanting to attend mass.

_But this is the kind of thing I’ve been training for. I’ll just do more of it this week. And then go and see what Victor’s idea of “fun” is._

Despite what he’d said about having less time to work with him, Victor had promised they’d spend most of this day together. He began by telling Yuuri about a French knight called Boucicaut who had designed a series of demanding exercises for knights to follow, all while wearing amour. As Yuuri leaned against the gate of Lady’s stall, he imagined each one while Victor described them, deciding they were practical and comical in turns. Some they already did occasionally or regularly, such as running, vaulting onto a horse, and chopping wood, while others were new, such as lifting and throwing heavy rocks, and climbing up the underside of a long ladder propped against a tree. Victor said you were also supposed to toughen your hands by punching the ground or a wall repeatedly, though he didn’t care for it himself.

_I’m glad. I want to be able to touch your cheek without my fingers being rough and calloused, and feel you do the same to me._

He couldn’t help it when those kinds of thoughts crept in. But when his mind wanted to explore other areas that soft smooth hands could touch and caress, he had to force himself to pay attention.

Victor noticed his distraction once they’d moved out into the training field. “…want to try?” he finished saying, eyeing Yuuri with the corners of his mouth upturned. “I’m not sure you heard a word of that.”

“Oh, um…”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, I…what were you saying?”

“You make a welcome change from all the ingratiating people here. Not many would have the audacity to admit they were away with the fairies while I was speaking to them.” But amusement danced in his eyes. “I was asking you if you wanted to try doing somersaults.”

“What, in armour? That’s what Boucicaut says we should do?”

“Is it so strange?”

“Well, yes,” Yuuri said with a smile. “A knight’s supposed to come at people with a sword, not roll over the ground in his metal skin like a woodlouse.” 

Victor laughed. “I never thought of it like that. But before we find too much humour in this regimen, it’s worth remembering that it was designed by one of the best knights in the world. I have a great deal of respect for him. Three years ago, he held a tournament in France where he beat every English knight he faced, and they were some of the finest this country had to offer. I’d been looking forward to going, but then I took to my bed for two weeks with ague and lost my chance.” He grinned. “I would have given him a challenge, I feel.”

_Ague? Of course – something like flu. _“I’m sure you would have,” Yuuri said. “Maybe you’ll get your chance yet.”

“Maybe. So, shall I imitate a woodlouse first, or would you prefer that particular honour?”

And they both actually did it, after temporarily removing their sword belts. Yuuri wouldn’t have thought it was possible while wearing all that plate, but he’d come to learn that it had been cleverly designed to accommodate all the ways a knight might want to move.

They ended their morning’s training with an exercise that brought them to a glade full of wildflowers. A decorative white marble pavilion stood there, neglected-looking but dignified; several tall columns stretched between a small set of stairs and a pediment, set close together. Victor showed Yuuri how to climb by standing between two columns and spreading his hands out so that it looked as if he were going to try to push them apart; then with a little jump, he was suspended in the air between the blocks, his hands and the soles of his feet braced against the stone. By first moving his hands up, and then both feet together with hopping movements, he went as high as he could go, Yuuri’s initial worry that he might slip and come clattering down to the ground proving unfounded.

His heart was in his throat when it was his turn to try it himself. Certain muscle groups that weren’t used to such an unusual workout, particularly his ankles, protested; but he was smiling before he got to the top_. _In fact, he thought after he and Victor had each taken several more turns climbing up and down, it felt as if they’d been two boys on a playground all morning, laughing and daring each other who could throw a stone the furthest; who could win a race. When Yuuri took a moment to look around, it had seemed like they’d found a place of enchantment, and he remarked to Victor about the sea of wildflowers surrounding them, their bright pinpricks of colour set off against the plain white marble of the pavilion and the dark evergreen trees. Victor said he thought they were lovely too, and decided he’d like to take some back to the castle to put in a vase in his room, if Yuuri wanted to do the same.

Two knights in plate armour, picking wildflowers and calling them lovely. It was absurd – and wonderful. Pink, red and white anemones and hyacinths, and blue muscari that looked like little clusters of trumpets; those were Yuuri’s favourites, though Victor had to tell him what they all were. He felt a pang of regret that they couldn’t share a kiss here, because it seemed the perfect place. Each little chance that tantalised and then slipped past made him ache inside. But if he gave in and regretted it, there would be no taking it back. Victor couldn’t know, Yuuri had to make sure he didn’t get hurt, and that was how it had to be. 

When they returned to the training field after dinner, there was a new gravity to Victor’s gaze and words. Their afternoon session began with him making recommendations for what Yuuri should work on during the week – sparring and jousting skills were to be the focus, and now that he’d learned Boucicaut’s regimen, he had a large repertoire of exercises to choose from. Victor needed to be with Julia and attend to castle business at times, he explained, but he knew Yuuri had the knowledge and drive to work on his own when he needed to. And then he moved on to what had become largely a topic of avoidance for them up to now.

“I, ah, don’t enjoy bringing this up, but at the same time, I think we need to be able to discuss it on occasion.” Victor was standing before Yuuri in the training field, leaning on the crossguard of his sword with the tip pointing into the ground. “I was wondering what your feelings are at the moment about the upcoming duel.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said. “Well…” He felt a sudden need to fidget, and drew his own sword, resting his hands on the crossguard like Victor. “The competition drove me to work even harder, and I’m more confident now after sparring with you and the other knights, and Abelard. I wish I could say it was all I needed to be prepared. But if Tyler’s almost as good as you…” He bit his lip. “I’m worried, if I’m honest. I know I have a long way to go to improve.”

“You’ve made good progress,” Victor replied with a stern nod. “And I’ll be here to support you.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “But yes, you’re right – Tyler is on a whole different level from Julia, and Chris and Charles, and even Abelard. Never underestimate that, or it could be a costly mistake. One that we would both regret.”

A shiver passed through Yuuri. It was Victor’s job to ensure he was aware of what he was up against, he knew that, but he probably was _not _aware that this was also the way to stoke his anxiety. And if that became a problem again, along with everything else, it would be as self-defeating as always. He took a deep breath and told himself to be calm.

“But as your trainer, I need to teach you what I know and help you find the confidence to face Tyler, wouldn’t you agree? So let’s get on with that, shall we?”

However, Yuuri was beaten in round after round of sparring with apparent ease. Victor seemed critical of everything he did, and he came away with a long list in his head of what he needed to improve on. But when he considered mentioning how he felt, he wondered if that would make him seem like a poor pupil, one who didn’t know how to accept advice, who didn’t want to be told he could do anything wrong. If this was going to be the new dynamic between them, if it was what Victor thought was best, then he wanted to show he was up for it.

Eventually Victor departed to work with Julia, and Yuuri spent the rest of the afternoon practising with the quintain, as well as getting Emil to show him riding tips for using Blaze in a joust. He knew he’d worked hard. But the euphoria from the previous day had faded quickly.

He hoped he’d feel better after speaking with Phichit when it came time that evening.

“Hey, Yuuri. You OK?”

“Aside from being told I’m going to a tournament this weekend that I didn’t know about until today, and being entered in jousting and swordfighting competitions, I’m juke.”

“Really?” Phichit breathed. “Wow.” Then he added, “Um, how safe will it be, do you think?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t know, and I’m trying not to imagine. But Victor thinks it’ll help me with my training.”

“God, Yuuri, be careful.”

“Believe me, I’ll try.” With the familiar sickly flutter beginning in his stomach, he said, “Anyway, how are things your end?”

There was a soft papery crunching sound, after which Phichit replied, “I was talking to Celestino not too long ago. No one can make any sense yet of that tech Ailis left in her lab. She was a genius with all that stuff; it sounds like if you could manage to get her back here to the present, MI8 wouldn’t mind trying to rehabilitate her so she could work for them.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the real reason I was sent here,” Yuuri muttered. “Not because she might do something to change history, but because they wanted to use her brainpower. Judging from Celestino’s information, and what I heard her say over the com, though, I think that’s the last thing she’d be interested in. She’s more of a…well, a lone wolf, I guess you could say.”

“I think you’re probably right. You haven’t seen any women there at the castle acting like that, have you?”

“What, like a lone wolf? What’s that supposed to look like, from where I’m sitting?”

“Still no clues then, huh?”

Yuuri knew Celestino was putting Phichit under pressure, and their anxiousness was understandable. However, he couldn’t resist the temptation to turn the tables for once.

“No clues yet, no. What about you – any clues there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ailis’s assistant, Ian – he was still on the run, last time we talked about it. And the woman from my time who Ailis swapped places with – if anyone could find out who she is, it’d make my job a lot simpler.”

After a pause, Phichit answered, “Nothing on either of them, Yuuri. I’ll tell you when there’s – ”

“Something to report on,” Yuuri finished for him with a small grin. “Sound familiar?”

“Maybe.” Yuuri heard a crumpling noise.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, just watching a film. I think my projector’s gone wonky but I can’t be arsed to fix it right now. It flickers. Anyway, I just finished a bag of popcorn.”

“Fuck. Popcorn.” Yuuri huffed a laugh.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just…it seems so normal. But no one here will ever have heard of it. They don’t have tomatoes either, or potatoes, or chocolate, or curry.”

“Blimey, how are you surviving, getting restaurant service twice a day from a premier French chef?”

“All right, you have a point.”

“Anyway, so now you’ve won this competition – congrats again, by the way – what have you been up to today?”

“Thanks. I did more training with Victor in how to kill people, then we picked some flowers.”

“...Did I hear that right?”

Yuuri explained about Boucicaut’s exercises, deciding to leave out what he’d done in the afternoon and the mixture of feelings he’d had about that. “Johannes Liechtenauer, Fiore dei Liberi, and now him,” he concluded. “For people who don’t even have a telephone yet, information seems to travel far.”

“Boucicaut…” Phichit said in his searching-the-Cloud voice. “He’s still alive in 1393.”

“I know. Victor mentioned something about missing a tournament he held in France a few years ago.”

“He’d be twenty-seven years old. Marshal of France – sounds impressive, whatever that means. A knight renowned for his military skill. Later fights in the Crusades…founds a chivalric order inspired by the idea of courtly love…oh. Commands the French vanguard at Agincourt, and – listen to this – he lives, but gets captured by the English and dies six years later in Yorkshire.”

“You’re joking. Right here?”

“Right there. It doesn’t say where _exactly_. Guest of the Nikiforovs? And then maybe they stick him in some duel – ”

“God, I hope not. But Victor would probably be his biggest fan.” _If he’s still alive by then. Which I fully intend to ensure is going to be the case. _Yuuri ran a hand through his hair. “So, these other two jacks – Liechtenauer and Liberi. Are they on the Cloud too?”

“Oh yeah, there’s loads. They’re really popular if you’re keen on longsword fighting.”

“Victor told me he’d like to put his own system together one day. He could do it, you know. I don’t suppose…” He paused, but then couldn’t resist taking the plunge. “…there’s a school of fighting on the Cloud called the Nikiforov?”

The time it took Phichit to respond made the answer all too clear, and Yuuri wondered why he’d been so stupid as to ask in the first place. 

“No, Yuuri. Because, well…Victor dies in 1393. Remember? I guess it isn’t long enough for him to – ”

“Of course I bloody remember,” Yuuri said with a tremble.

“Sorry.”

“Me too.” He took a deep breath and stared into the flames again. “OK, how about this. Tell me what you can about these three jacks; whatever the Cloud says. Including these systems they researched, or invented.”

“That could take a while, from the look of it.”

“I’ve got time if you do.”

“Sure. My film’s about over anyway.”

“Can you tell if anyone’s improved on their fighting methods? It might give me an advantage if – ”

“No, I don’t think they have,” came Phichit’s Cloud-voice again. “Amazing, isn’t it? Looks like it’s because longsword fighting died out, and then was revived in modern times as a sport based on those same techniques. Guess it’s not considered authentic unless you’re using them. You could maybe study other ways of fighting, but they seem to be for different kinds of weapons. If you want to use a longsword, Liechtenauer and Liberi are your two basic blokes.”

“I suppose that’s better than nothing,” Yuuri said with a sigh. “I’d better learn as much about their schools as I can, then. Could you look up a few things for me…?”

* * *

“More wine, master?” Julia asked Victor as he sat at the table in his room, a large candelabra throwing warm illumination over his features, and hers, and Matthew Everard’s. Andrei had gone to York for a few days, and Victor was experiencing the dubious pleasure of attending to mundane castle business. It was unexciting at the best of times, and right now what he really wanted to do was think about the beautiful man he’d picked wildflowers with that morning. A small grin played across his face as he brushed a finger down a sprig of muscari. Justin had said it reflected his eyes. As if they were deeper blue than the flower itself. An offhand comment, perhaps, but –

“Master?”

“Um, yes, Julius – another cupful please.” She poured it and then stepped back, waiting in readiness in case he or Matthew should want anything else.

The cut-crystal vase shone with flickering yellow and orange from the fire behind him, and the colours spilled over the faces of the white anemones. _Why do you know so little about wildflowers, Justin? They must grow in abundance around your father’s castle. I had the frightening suspicion for a while that someone must have thrown you in a dungeon for years. Or were you travelling? Why won’t you tell me? Do you have some deep secret that – _

“My lord.” Matthew’s no-nonsense voice. Glittering brown eyes trained on him from underneath a crimson chaperon. He had a way of being polite and yet making his feelings known. It was common to the English, and Victor didn’t like it, preferring the straightforward storms of his father.

“More wine?” Victor said to him.

“Thank you, no.” He gave a put-upon sigh. “I know these matters don’t touch your interest very far, sir, but while the baron is away – ”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He fingered the muscari. “Please continue.”

“Very well.” Matthew took one of the scrolls on the table, removed the ribbon, and glanced down at it. “At the collecting of the heriot this month, we received five cows, enough Swaledale sheep to form a goodly sized herd…”

Victor listened with one ear. He knew he needed to. But he could think about other things at the same time.

How did Justin feel about their first day of training together after the competition? Victor had wanted to devote it to him and give him a good start, though the surprise announcement of the tournament had been met with rather less enthusiasm than he’d expected. Perhaps they should have discussed it first, but Justin had seemed so confident after his win…though he’d accepted the challenge in the end, and been wonderfully full of life throughout the morning. 

But that had changed again while they’d been sparring. With Justin it could be hard to discern at times what was in his mind; he was a quiet, private person, and sometimes that could seem like sulkiness or a deliberate attempt to distance himself, even if it wasn’t. Victor had seen it on numerous occasions when he’d gone to the main garrison room and found Justin sitting in the corner he liked, apparently desiring no company but his own – until Victor had approached and spoken to him, and any initial hesitation would quickly melt into a delightful warmth.

And oh God, he longed to experience that in more intimate ways…get him to open up, pry out his secrets, discover that eros smouldering inside –

“My lord,” Matthew said, “I asked you – ”

“What to do with the flock of geese, I know. Maybe you should give them back to the tenants. Do we actually need them?”

The steward stared, then huffed a little laugh. “Surely you can’t be serious.”

“No?”

“The villeins are bound to pay us as part of their tenancy, sir, in addition to farming our lands. Who would collect taxes only to give them back?”

“Robin Hood?”

Julia snickered behind him, then remembered herself. Matthew sat back, staring. “You’re jesting with me,” he said with a wry smile. “I know what this is. You’ve been spending so much time with this new pupil of yours that it’s taking your cares away from the running of the estate. I’d get more sensible answers from one of the pages.”

Victor supposed Matthew had a point. He couldn’t remember a time before now when he’d been tempted to respond so flippantly, no matter how disinterested he was in these matters. It was people’s lives they were discussing, and a goose would be worth a great deal to a family who had little.

He took a swig of his wine. What was happening to him? He barely recognised himself sometimes these days. Though it felt…good.

“Ask John what he thinks should be done with the geese,” he said. “He can speak to Fernand and find out if he wants to cook them.”

“Very good, my lord,” Matthew replied with a satisfied nod, rolling up the scroll and opening a new one. “Moving on, then. Castle roof repairs…”

_I didn’t answer my own question, did I? Was Justin unhappy this afternoon? Was it me? Was he frustrated with himself? Was he tired? Should I have asked him?_

_I’m doing my best as his trainer. I think I’ll trust that he’ll tell me if there’s a problem. He’s usually quite outspoken that way, or he seems to be._

“…several pounds. My lord?” Matthew looked at him expectantly.

“Why are you discussing the cost of roof repairs with me? That’s John’s expertise as well. He’s got a better understanding of the estate’s finances than most everyone else, except perhaps my father.”

“I need you to authorise the payment, sir.”

“Consider it authorised.”

Matthew pressed his lips together. “Very well. I’ll have a contract drawn up which you or his lordship the baron can sign. On a similar topic…”

_Perhaps Justin is as worried about Tyler as I am._

He’d lost sleep the night before thinking about it. Justin had just won the competition, of course, and their meal together had been a delight. Yet Victor had found himself lying awake and mulling over the possibility of losing someone who was becoming so…important to him. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt weighed down by his worries about Justin; but the closer the two of them became, the harder those worries pressed. He believed his protégé might just have the talent to beat Tyler – but would he be ready in the short time they had? That wasn’t easily answered. The very idea of him being slaughtered in the arena, or anywhere else…it made Victor sick to imagine.

_Was it only three months ago that I was trying to kill him myself? Dear God._

“So I take it that the sum Father Maynard wants for the new carpet in the chapel is also approved?” Matthew enquired, each question delivered in a tone that suggested he was aware he was not receiving Victor’s full attention.

“I don’t visit the chapel, as you know; but if others have worn the carpet out, I won’t begrudge them a new one.”

Seemingly unable to gauge whether the remark had been meant humorously or not, Matthew nodded and switched scrolls again. “Julius, I’ve changed my mind. A spot of wine, please.” As she poured, he continued, “The border dispute between the Mitchells and the Yanceys has been continuing for some time…”

_I have to teach him everything I can. Quickly. Get him to understand where he’s going wrong, so that he can improve. I won’t go easy on him, and he knows that. As tempting as it may be to deliberately allow him to win on occasion, I respect him too much for that – he has to know he’s beaten me fairly. _

_Perhaps he’s just being hard on himself, after all; that seems to be his way. It frustrates him when he doesn’t win. I wonder if he realises what an achievement it was just to get under my guard on the few occasions he managed it. I ought to be the one who’s alarmed – I haven’t been practising as much as I used to. If I want to be at my best, I’ll need to remedy that. _

And Justin was giving him a new incentive. The exercises they’d done together that morning – Victor hadn’t had that much fun since…well, since he’d done those kinds of things with Alex. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it; how much lighter it made him feel. For a while, there had been no heartache or unrequited desire. Just two friends enjoying each other’s company.

And that was something new, was it not? Desire and comradeship, eros and agape, coexisting. He’d never felt this way before about someone he’d bedded, or wanted to bed. It was befuddling, like an ocean of the finest drink. Until Tyler crossed his mind again. _That _was always sobering.

“My lord? What do you think is the best way forward?”

“In the border dispute?” _You see, my good man, you’re not completely wasting your time with me tonight. _“Tell the heads of both families to attend the next manorial court – that’s usually how these things are resolved. It’s more appropriate than asking me to make an arbitrary decision now, wouldn’t you agree?”

Matthew considered this. “Quite.” He rolled up the scroll he was holding and sat back with his cup of wine, looking at Victor. “I hate to change the subject so drastically again, but Fernand is going on holiday the week beginning St. Euphrasia’s Day, and John Little will be in charge of the kitchens. He asked me to inform you that he can’t cook tremollette, chyvrolee, buchat, or sorengue, but he prides himself on a variety of verjuice and frumenty dishes – will that serve for the noble family, do you think?”

“I daresay we won’t starve.” Victor longed to follow this up with _Will that be all? _as a clear dismissal, but he knew he had a responsibility to see this business through, and sipped more wine as he awaited the next item on the steward’s agenda.

His gaze alit on the glimmering vase and its colourful contents as Matthew spoke about the upcoming tournament and travel arrangements. What was Justin was doing right now? Sitting in the corner of the main garrison room? What did he do when he spent the evening in his own room? It was a very bare place, from what Victor had seen. Did he have hobbies that could be pursued by firelight?

_There’s one we could engage in together, if only I knew you’d be willing to come to my room and stay. _He wondered what the touch of Justin’s lips would be like; how it would feel to hold him and press him tight. What sounds he would make when he was consumed with passion. God in heaven –

“My lord?” Matthew said with a scowl.

“I do apologise. This wine must be stronger than usual; I’m sure I don’t know where my mind was just now.” Victor smiled politely and took another drink. “Please, carry on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boucicaut was real, and indeed a contemporary of Yuuri and Victor. More info on his exemplary regimen (with fun illustrations) [here](http://mentalfloss.com/article/86084/10-workout-tips-14th-century-knight).


	51. Chapter 51

The next day felt to Yuuri like a repeat of the one before – a blissful morning, followed by an afternoon that was less so. He and Victor went for an early run and then chopped firewood. Yuuri removed the armour from his upper body, followed by his tunic; the bite of winter had duller teeth, but it was still cold enough for his breath to linger in front of his face in the damp air.

It was only as he was rolling a stump into the courtyard that it suddenly occurred to him that denuding himself the way he had was _not _required every time he performed this activity. He told himself it was a matter of habit, because he’d done it with Victor on a few occasions now. It showed how tough you were, didn’t it? Wasn’t that the point?

_Not anymore, Yuuri, and you know it. You’re hoping he’ll like what he sees, while you sneak peeks at him. There’s nothing innocent about it._

_I know why I shouldn’t be doing this. Am I going to have the courage of my convictions or not? This isn’t a game. _

“I’ve never had anyone else actually suggest to me that we exercise in the cold with our tops off,” Victor said with a little laugh. “Trying to challenge me, are you? I’ve been out on colder days.”

Yuuri watched him remove his own armour and tunic, admiring the beauty before him as if he were gazing at a Greek statue, while at the same time consumed with a hunger for the flesh-and-blood man before him, love and desire sending his thoughts in a whirl.

_I can’t do this again after today. It was a stupid idea. Boucicaut said you’re supposed to exercise in your armour anyway, didn’t he? You should’ve reminded me, Victor. _But when he set up his stump, placed a log on it, reached for his axe and happened to look over at Victor, he found a pair of blue eyes regarding him intensely, lips half parted.

At that moment, Victor’s mother emerged from the archway that led to the great hall, followed by a flock of several women dressed in shimmering gowns and elaborate headpieces, her ladies-in-waiting. The baroness, in a long green dress wrapped by a rich fur, simply raised an eyebrow at the two knights as she strode purposefully past; Yuuri had already observed that there seemed to be little love lost between herself and her son, though he wondered if that might be a common thing with wealthy families when their children were cared for by nursemaids. Victor simply nodded at her. Her ladies, however, stared at them both and then turned to each other, whispering and giggling.

“A sense of decorum, my dears, if you please,” the baroness said, crossing the courtyard briskly. “I daresay you’ve seen topless men before.” There was stifled laughter at this, and Victor turned to Yuuri with a small smirk once they’d gone. He seemed to be debating on something to say, then shook his head, took a log from the nearby pile, placed it on his stump, and swung his axe, muscles rippling and flexing.

Yuuri decided the torture was his just deserts for having set up the situation in the first place. But part of him was unapologetic. That was the dangerous part he would have to be wary of. What it imagined doing to Victor right now, as he caught glances of that incredible body in motion, was very much beyond the boundaries he’d set for himself regarding their relationship.

_Imagine Celestino and Phichit standing here, asking me why I haven’t found Ailis yet, and not best pleased about how I’m more interested in eyeing up a sexy knight._

That seemed to put a damper on it all, and they chopped the wood in peace until it was time to go inside the hall for dinner.

After the meal, Yuuri returned to the training ground with Emil. “Are you looking forward to the tournament, sir?” he asked as they walked through the gatehouse and started down the hill.

“To be honest, Emil, I don’t know what to expect. I don’t remember ever having been to one before, so…”

“Ah, the memory is still a problem, is it?”

“I’m not sure it’s ever going to come back. But mainly thanks to all the help you’ve given me, I think I’ll be all right. I’ve, um, relearned a lot of what I seem to have forgotten.”

“Maybe the tournament will help. I went to this one with Sir Duncan, my last knight; and while I attended him, I was also able to compete in some of the events. It was well organised, and very enjoyable. Almost a holiday, I suppose you could say.”

Yuuri brightened a little at this. “That’s good to hear.”

When they arrived at the bottom of the hill, with the training field in sight, Emil said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you – will you be working quite often with Sir Victor from now on?”

“He’s helping me prepare to beat Tyler, so yes, I suppose so, when he’s free. I expect I’ll be doing some things on my own too, or with the other men.”

“You’re rapidly improving your swordsmanship, if I may say. Abelard will take you seriously now, especially after your performance in the competition.”

“He ought to, because I _am _serious about it.”

“Indeed. And now that you’re in safe hands with Sir Victor, and your memory loss is no longer the problem it was, I hope you don’t mind if I spend more of my own time training? I’ll still be on hand in case you should need anything.”

Yuuri nodded. “You’re not my servant, Emil. You’re a squire, and you’re training to be a knight. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I don’t want you to suffer because you feel you’ve got to keep helping me out. You should carry on with whatever it is you need to do.” He paused, then added, “And you’re right, Victor’s looking after me, too. Come and join us sometimes when you can, even if you’re just watching, if you think you could learn something from it. I’m lucky to have Victor training me, but I don’t have to be the only person who benefits from it.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you.”

They arrived at the stable, Yuuri said goodbye to Emil, and Victor greeted him with a smile. They spent a couple of hours on basic instruction in the equipment and techniques for jousting, which must surely be a waste of Victor’s talent, like an Olympic coach working with a five-year-old. His explanations were clear and concise, however, and even though Yuuri didn’t get as far as riding a jousting pass against anyone, he felt able to give it a try next time.

Victor was also full of criticism again today. He offered plenty about the way Yuuri rode Blaze and held his lance, though he figured that was fair enough, since he was still a relative beginner. But if the exercising and jousting were more or less unimportant diversions, the sparring was what Yuuri’s life ultimately depended on, and Victor pushed him forward with a determination that felt almost ruthless at times. Yuuri was tempted to wonder if Victor was displeased with him in some way, or if he was being punished. But surely he’d say.

_I have to learn. What other way is there? If I ask Victor to ease up, will it slow my progress? I need to grow a thicker skin, that’s all. _

He was losing track of everything Victor had told him to work on, both for the jousting and the swordfighting. Added to all the information he’d asked Phichit to look up and relay to him about the Liechtenauer and Liberi schools, it was turning into a hopeless tangle. He had no way of making a simple list, electronically or by hand, unless he wanted to record something on his com, which he doubted would help much.

But why was that necessary in the first place? Did Victor really think he was so bad at so many things? That wasn’t the impression he’d got from him…though maybe that had just been for the purpose of boosting his confidence for the competition. Maybe now it was time for the gloves to come off, so to speak.

He was grooming Lady in her stall just before supper time when Julia approached and stood on the other side of the gate; Victor had been pulled aside to have a word with the chamberlain outside the stable.

“Oi, ale-house boy. What’s with the sour face? You won the competition, but no one would guess it if they looked at you. Do you see _me _sulking because I lost?”

“I’m not sulking,” Yuuri said, running the brush over the horse’s pale coat in smooth strokes.

“So you’re grooming your horse instead of practising?”

“It has to be done.”

“The stable boys’ll do it; it’s their job.”

Yuuri turned to look at her. “She’s my horse. She likes it. Don’t you come out here sometimes just to see Boudicca?”

“Only if I’m in a stir about something.” Yuuri worked in silence, and she went on, “Aren’t you grateful the master’s training you? He won’t let _me _do those special exercises he taught you, except for dull things like running. Says I’m too young.” She huffed. “Maybe he taught you so he’d have someone to do them with. He hadn’t done them for a while since you came along. Can you not see what a good humour he’s in nowadays? He’s even started to poke fun at that insufferable steward. Everard had it coming for a long time, if you ask me.”

Yuuri put the brush on the shelf, gave Lady a pat, and came to stand in front of her, with the gate between them. “Oh?”

“That’s right. So why are you hiding in your horse’s stall looking like you think the castle’s going to be under siege any minute?”

“Do you honestly care?” he laughed.

“It’s your business, then,” she said with a shrug, turning to go.

“No, wait.” As Julia looked at him expectantly, he said quietly, “It’s just that there seems to be no pleasing him at the moment in jousting or sparring practice. I get these long lists of things I need to improve on.”

Julia gazed at him in surprise. “Isn’t that what you _want _from a trainer? Or do you expect to be told you’re doing everything perfectly? If no one tells you what mistakes you’re making or how to fix them, how will you know?”

“I suppose so.”

“I have to listen to it every day. It’s well meant; he’s not trying to be cruel. I expect you know that.”

“Of course.”

“What kind of life did you live at that castle of yours? Didn’t they teach you _anything_?” She shook her head. “I’m going to supper; I need to be ready to serve the master.” And she strode off, with Yuuri staring after her.

It sounded so reasonable when she put it that way. However, Yuuri couldn’t help but think back to two days ago, when Victor was standing and cheering for him during the competition, and the rush of warmth he’d felt at what might have been seen as rather indecorous behaviour for a baron’s son. Victor hadn’t cared, and neither had Yuuri.

He didn’t want any more lists.

He wanted one of Victor’s hugs.

* * *

The next day was unseasonably warm, with a gentle breeze bringing the kiss of spring and the sun peeking out from behind puffy white clouds. Yuuri had psyched himself up to train hard, but as soon as he entered the main garrison room to have a sop for breakfast, he found Victor and Julia standing near the fireplace. Yuuri knew Victor had breakfast in his room, and wondered why the two of them were lingering here.

“Justin – I wanted to catch you before we left.” He and Julia both had leather bags slung over their shoulders.

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “Why, where are you going?”

“I thought it was a good day for Julius’s reward for his performance in the competition.” He used the masculine name, as they all did when there was a chance of being overheard. “We’re going out hunting. I hope that doesn’t interfere with plans you had – ”

“No, it’s fine,” Yuuri answered quickly. He hated these moments when he felt jealous of Victor’s attentions, as if he had a right to them every minute of every day. “I’ve got plenty to do.”

“Good. I’ll train with you tomorrow. We’ll bring back a boar or two, perhaps, and make sure you get a chance to try some of the dishes the cooks create with it. Before I go, though, I was hoping I might make a contribution to your activities today.”

“Oh?” Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

“Longsword attacks – you remember we were going over the mandritto sottano and mezzano blows, and the roverso fendente? I told you to pay attention to the position of your arms. Oh, and if you want to practise jousting, your grip on the lance…”

Yuuri felt his eyes glazing over, though he’d told himself umpteen times to take it all in and be thankful he was learning from a master. He tried to make mental notes.

“…and aiming at your target while galloping at speed – that’s vital, but very difficult to learn…hm.” Victor put a finger against his lips. “Shall I send Julius to fetch some paper and a quill so I can write these things down in case you forget?”

_You have got to be yanking my chain. _“Uh, no, that’s all right. I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“Well then, good luck. You can show me tomorrow what you’ve been working on.” Victor gave Yuuri a warm grin, and with a gentle squeeze of his arm, exited with Julia.

Yuuri did as he had asked, after going on a run, climbing the ladder, doing a few somersaults just for fun, and revisiting the marble pavilion to scale up the columns. When he practised with sword and lance, he enjoyed being able to do it without the pressure of critical eyes upon him; though at the same time he missed Victor’s guidance, as troublesome as it had been to deal with recently.

He finished a little early so that Emil had time to wash his armour, which gave him the idea of washing his modern clothes. He hadn’t been wearing them while he was training, but he suspected he might be glad of them when the weather got hot. The coat was still mud-stained from when the thieves had pushed him into the street outside The Black Dog. Using buckets with water he had no way of heating wasn’t ideal, but it would do; and fortunately no one, not even Emil, came knocking on the door of his room while he was busy.

_I’m getting used to this life, _he thought as he agitated his shirt in the water. _If only I didn’t have Ailis and Tyler to worry about. _

How much things would change without them hanging over his head.

_Victor, I’d take you to the most beautiful place here and kiss you. I may never have kissed a real person, and maybe there’s a risk that it isn’t what you want, but to hell with it. Some things in life are worth finding your courage for._

_And then…I’d tell you everything. About me. Where I come from. I’d show you what I look like. It isn’t fair that I can’t. I…I think you’d be interested. Maybe you’d even like it, once you got over how strange it would seem._

He wrung his shirt out and hung it, dripping, on the mantel to dry, pinned in place by a couple of stones. And it struck him how quiet and empty his room was. How this would be the way it had to stay; how Victor wouldn’t be coming here again, and he wouldn’t be visiting Victor’s room either. Because fantasy was all well and good, but some things were never meant to be.

_It’s a miracle I’m even here. This is 728 years in my past. How could I think Victor and I would ever have a chance together anyway, even without those other huge obstacles?_

But his heart, as always, ignored it all. None of it mattered, it said. None of it. Because there was only one thing that did.

_I love him._

* * *

“So,” Victor said, approaching on Perun and lifting the visor of his helmet, “a few things to remember for the first pass. This is really important, because not only are we trying to avoid getting injured ourselves, but we don’t want our horses to be hurt.”

Yuuri lifted his own visor. This was the first time he’d ever worn his helmet, and he wondered how knights properly saw what they were doing out of the little grille on the front. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about at the moment, this morning was also his first attempt to joust against a real opponent. The fact that his opponent was Victor only made it more harrowing.

He had a curved wooden shield strapped across his left shoulder which Victor said was called an ecranche, with the blue and gold Nikiforov coat of arms painted on it. This was the target that jousters were meant to aim for, he’d been told. Victor said it was designed to take the impact of heavy blows without injury to the person underneath. That was very handy, in Yuuri’s opinion, because the shield sat directly over the heart.

_And Victor wants me to hit him there. He’s expecting me to try to do the same to him. This is fucking insane._

“Justin, is everything all right?” Victor asked.

“I, um, I’m just trying to get it all straight in my head.”

“Do you want to make some more practice passes?”

“No, I – I’m good.”

“We’ll ride slowly at first so that you can focus on your aim. I was going to say, remember never to get tense or flinch while your opponent is riding toward you, because your horse will perceive him as an aggressor and swerve when he approaches.”

“Right.”

“Don’t lower your lance too soon, or you’ll be in danger of striking Blaze in the head.”

_Bloody hell. _Yuuri tried to nod, remembered he couldn’t do it while wearing a helmet, and said, “Yes.”

“You need to be lowering and raising your lance in a single plane. No twists or rotations.”

“I remember.”

“And you have to present an honourable target. This is completely different from using a longsword, obviously. There can be no dodging, feinting, or any other kind of trickery – you must offer yourself to be hit, and your opponent will do the same.”

“I know. I think I’m ready to try.”

“That’s feedback for you from your training sessions, Justin. If you _know _it, then _do _it.” With a stern final glance, Victor rode to the other side of the long fence in the training field that served as a guideline for jousters. 

Yuuri stared after him, feeling a momentary spike of anger. He made himself recall what Julia had told him. _I have to listen to it every day. _Never having worked with a coach figure before, he hadn’t known what to expect. Maybe the problem was with himself, hoping for gentler treatment.

In a moment, they’d be riding toward each other, aiming for the heart.

Yuuri took several deep breaths, an electric surge making him shudder.

_Not here. Not now. He can’t see me having an anxiety attack._

Victor reined up and turned to look at him. After a pause, he said loudly enough to be heard across the distance, though there was concern in his voice, “Are you sure you feel ready for this? We can – ”

“Yes,” Yuuri called back. _Let’s get this over with._

“We’ll take it slow. There won’t be a chance of anyone getting hurt.” Victor lowered the visor of his helmet. Strange how that one act seemed to rob a person of their identity. It was no longer obvious that this was Victor. Yuuri was facing down a man covered in metal, on a war horse, holding a lance, and he wondered if his appearance was the same as he lowered his own visor. His field of vision was suddenly limited to a tiny grille, as if he were looking out from a prison cell.

“I’ll count down from three,” Victor called. “On one, we go.”

Yuuri swallowed and gripped his lance. _Phichit, I wonder what you’d make of this. _

“Get your lance ready, Justin.” Victor’s voice sounded muffled and tinny. “All right? Three…two…one.” On the final count, Perun sprang forward.

Yuuri urged Blaze to approach him. He knew their gait was slow. But even so, he was finding it difficult not to transfer his fear to his horse as Victor had instructed. And if it had been challenging to fight Victor with a sword…well, this was worse. How was he supposed to try to stab him with a lance?

Almost before he knew it, Victor was upon him. Yuuri held his breath, keeping his lance steady, forcing himself to resist the temptation not to flinch. The tip of his lance bounced off Victor’s shield at the same time as Victor’s lance impacted against his own. Swaying from the jarring blow, Yuuri righted himself in his saddle as Blaze slowed down. Straight away, he lifted his visor and looked at his shield, almost expecting to see a hole leading straight into his chest. But the wood was unmarked.

He couldn’t say the same for his lance, though. It had splintered at the end.

“For a first pass, that was very good,” Victor said, riding up. Yuuri was relieved to see his face again within the helmet. “We’d better see to your lance before we carry on, though. You’ve broken the tip.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to try to do,” Victor laughed. “It means you scored a good hit. We can get a new tip from the stable and put it on. Come with me, and we’ll talk about how you can improve what you’re doing for your next pass.”

Once they’d repaired the lance, they went again to practise. Yuuri discovered that the shields offered good protection, the horses could be relied upon to carry them all the way through in a straight line, and with both of them encased in their armour, they were unlikely to be hurt. But he wondered if he’d ever be able to do well in this discipline. Something inside of him baulked at aiming a weapon at the heart at speed. Longsword sparring didn’t require that.

_I’m a knight. Knights joust. Get the idea through your head, Yuuri, _he told himself as he waited for Victor to start another countdown.

It didn’t help that Victor was full, _too _full, of more advice. He seemed to want to dissect every round, and had plenty of suggestions for improvement. Yuuri could already feel the small degree of confidence he’d built up today draining away. And to think they’d started it so pleasantly. Exercising together with Victor was very different from being trained by him.

_At least it isn’t Abelard. How much worse would that be? If I could pick anyone to train me, it would be this man. I have to get used to his way of doing things._

But then Victor was shouting “One!” before Yuuri realised he hadn’t been devoting his full attention to their task – honestly, what a time to get lost in his thoughts. He kneed Blaze, who was now going to have difficulty getting up to speed.

“Wait, Victor, I’m not – ”

But Yuuri’s voice was drowned in the thunder of hoofs, and he could only aim his lance as best he could, instinctively closing his eyes as Victor came at him.

The last thing he knew was a vision of blue and white through his helmet, and a sense of flying through the air – brought to an abrupt halt by something very hard.


	52. Chapter 52

“Justin?” A clatter, coming near.

Dazed, Yuuri rolled onto his side. He ached all over.

_What the hell, Victor. This is my first day of doing this, and you fucking knock me off my horse?_

Victor was hurrying to his side; he threw his helmet off and tossed it away, then helped Yuuri to sit up and remove his own helmet.

“Are you hurt?” Blue eyes searched his own frantically.

“I…” Yuuri flexed his arms and legs. “I don’t think so. Just sore.”

“I never meant to hit you that hard. Perhaps I need more practice at this myself. I’m better at using a sword.”

“I think I probably am too,” Yuuri muttered, shifting with a series of clinks.

“Let me help you up.” Victor held out a gauntleted hand.

Yuuri waved it away. “I can do it. Just…give me a minute.” He stood slowly, his tailbone protesting, but not as much as he’d feared.

As they walked their horses back to the stable, Victor said, “I should have had you work with Chris and Charles like before. I’ll have to speak with them. Though after dinner, I thought it best for us to switch to sparring…Justin?” he said with a furrowed brow as Yuuri didn’t respond.

_At the moment, I’d be happy if I never had to touch a lance again. _“That’s fine, sure.”

Yuuri didn’t feel like eating much. He didn’t want to look at Victor in his place at the high table, either, concerned about what unspoken messages might pass between them.

_How long do I let something bother me before I mention it? So what if I’m worried about looking like a coward. This is Victor. I trust him, don’t I?_

_He’s also a knight of the Middle Ages who probably expects better of me. Just like he did before I ran away to York. Am I going to allow myself to disappoint him again?_

_This isn’t even what I’m here for. I’m supposed to be finding Ailis, not charging at someone on a horse with a lance. _

_Face it, Yuuri – you’re in over your head._

* * *

He swung his sword around, but Victor met it with his own. A bind, both weapons crossed. Possibilities for how to resolve the stalemate raced through Yuuri’s mind, but Victor was faster; in a blink he circled his sword around Yuuri’s, sending it flying, then kicked him in the chest. Yuuri pinwheeled backward and landed on his rump with a thud.

Victor leaned over him, holding out a hand, blue eyes steady. There was no malice; of course there wasn’t. Yuuri’s tailbone was already hurting from the fall from his horse. Which Victor had also been the cause of. He scrambled to his feet without Victor’s help.

“Think about your posture and weight while you’re in a bind,” Victor said. “I noticed you weren’t centred, so I took advantage, as any good opponent would. Be careful – there’s a fundamental difference in doing something right but being countered, and making a mistake that your opponent exploits. Oh, and another tip for when you’re in a bind – ”

“Victor,” Yuuri said, raising his sword, “fight me.” _I’ll show you I can bloody well do this._

A look of surprise on Victor’s face was followed by one of eager interest as he readied his own weapon. “Very well, cur. Have at you.” He smiled.

It was the longest round Yuuri had fought against Victor. He put everything he had into it. Channelled the frustration of being torn down with all the criticisms over the past several days. _I’ll show you. _They circled until one of them attempted an attack, which was neutralised by the other. Pulled back, circled and repeated. Yuuri gritted his teeth, but Victor seemed to be enjoying this, which obviously meant he wasn’t getting enough of a challenge.

Victor took the window guard position. He tended to use that one when his strategy was to trick his opponent into thinking he was going to make one move while he did something unexpected instead. Yuuri anticipated him this time, and they found themselves in the fifth bind of the round. Victor’s eyes widened as they pressed their crossed swords together. That look of enjoyment on his face again. Pleased surprise. He seemed distracted by it.

Yuuri saw his way in. He broke the bind by angling his sword suddenly and steeply, holding the hilt at head level. As Victor’s blade chopped forward into the empty air, Yuuri swung his own upward, catching Victor’s cheek. A thin line of red appeared there. Victor gasped.

Yuuri staggered back a few steps as his weapon dropped from his hand. Victor remained where he was and ran a finger over the injury.

They were playing at killing each other – how could he ever make such a careless mistake?

Victor looked all right, if a little stunned. That was definitely blood on his cheek, though not much, thank God. But what if Yuuri had done something to really injure him? What if…oh Jesus, what if _he himself _turned out to be the cause of Victor’s death this year?

“Victor, I – ” Yuuri choked out, intending to offer a deeply sincere apology; but he got no further. His throat constricted as sweat broke out on his brow and his heart raced. _No – not here, no…_He could cope with this in the solitude of his room. On his own, away from everyone. But out here in the open…

A wave of dizziness swept through him and he collapsed to the ground, staring down as he fought for air.

“Justin, what’s happening?” Yuuri heard Victor say. “Can you breathe? Sit or lie down and tilt your head back to open your throat.”

Knowing there was no way to hide now, and more concerned about preventing himself from passing out, Yuuri turned over on his back, blinking up at a worried-looking Victor who was kneeling down next to him. The next thing he knew, Victor had slid an arm around his shoulders and gently lifted him, cradling his head and ensuring it was tilted back enough to make breathing easier.

“Is that better? What happened – are you injured? Can you – no, come to think of it, don’t try to talk. Just breathe. I’ll see if someone can fetch the barber surgeon – ”

“No,” Yuuri gasped out. “No, don’t….”

Victor’s eyes were wide. “Justin, please – how can I help?”

Counting his breaths and trying to slow them, Yuuri waved a hand to indicate that he should do nothing for now. Being held by him like this was a balm in itself, and he felt able to close his eyes again and try to relax. “I know what this is,” he said between breaths. “It’s happened before. Just…give me a minute.”

Victor continued to hold him quietly. And then he felt a hand gently brushing his fringe – Justin’s fringe – back from his forehead. His heart slowed and he opened his eyes to take in the concern on Victor’s face, and that small red streak across his skin. It wasn’t so bad, if you saw it like this; the blade must barely have touched him. But that didn’t change the fact that Yuuri had taken leave of his senses and attacked and hurt Victor. And for what – the sake of his own pride, because Victor had been telling him how to improve his performance?

_If I keep thinking about those things, I’ll start struggling for breath again._

And shit, it had all happened in front of him. Yuuri had an overwhelming urge to leap up and run far away. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, forcing himself to look at Victor again.

“For what? You caught me off guard.” Victor smiled down at him. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. You’d never fought me like that before, and I was surprised. You did well.” He paused. “Do you think you can stand?”

With Victor’s help, Yuuri got to his feet, and they walked over to the fence. Glancing around, he saw that the only other people in the field were men-at-arms sparring with quarterstaffs at enough of a distance that they didn’t seem to have noticed what was happening at this end. That was a merciful relief. He leaned back against the fence, breathing more deeply now, while Victor watched by his side.

“You say this has happened to you before?”

Yuuri sighed, eyes downcast. “I never wanted you to know. Sometimes I get anxiety attacks.” His cheeks burned. When Victor didn’t answer, he glanced at him and took in his confused expression; he would never have heard the term before. “It’s when your body responds to panic or distress by giving you the kinds of symptoms you just saw, though for me they’re not usually as extreme as that.”

Victor listened silently, taking this in.

“I didn’t think anyone here would understand,” Yuuri continued, “so I didn’t want to say anything about it. I was sure you’d just assume I was a coward. I mean, how else would it look?” He toed the ground with his plated foot and added quietly, “It’s why I went to York, Victor. It was a bad decision, I know. But it can be hard to think straight when that happens. In the moment, it can make you feel like…like you’re dying or going crazy. Like some kind of doom is falling on you. It’s hard to explain. It doesn’t last long, but…well, it can drive you to do some stupid things. I keep telling myself to wait it out, to let it pass, before I’m tempted to act on it, but that can be hard. It’s even worse when it happens in front of other people.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Victor would say about this. He’d had a glimpse now of the flawed person Yuuri tried to keep hidden inside. Would Victor stop training him? Maybe he’d decide that anyone with an anxiety problem wasn’t suitable knight material – and after all, wouldn’t he be right?

His heart lurched again. _Shit, Yuuri, just calm down._

Long, gentle fingers searched out his own, and held his hand. His racing thoughts came to a halt, the warm touch a welcome counterpoint to the fear that had gripped him. He squeezed Victor’s hand back and sighed.

“It hurts to see you like that,” Victor said quietly. “I was so worried. Praise God you’re all right.” He paused. “So what causes these…attacks?”

Yuuri stared into the distance, wondering how to explain. “For me, it’s usually when I feel under a lot of pressure. Sometimes I do it to myself, because I have high expectations. Maybe too high, I don’t know. Doing things in front of an audience, competitions…”

“Good Lord, Justin, why didn’t you say?”

Yuuri turned to face him now, the concern in his voice helping him find the courage to continue. “Because it doesn’t always happen,” he answered. “I was determined to win the competition – and I did, didn’t I? But being challenged to a duel to the death was…well, let’s just say I didn’t handle it very well. Then today…” Victor was looking at him expectantly, but also as if he were a little afraid of the answer.

_How can I say this to him? How do you tell someone you love that you’re picked at them? Especially when he’s only been trying to help me all this time. _

_Maybe I just have to do it _because _I love him, and he needs to know the truth._

“Victor, I was so determined to show you I could do this that I got careless.”

“I was the careless one, not you. You beat me because you exploited a mistake I made.”

“No,” Yuuri said, shaking his head, “just listen to me. Please. I’d never hurt you on purpose. But I got aggressive because I was so…frustrated. I thought you’d be a different trainer from Abelard. You know his strategy – insult someone until they’re so angry that they want to try to hurt you.”

A look of surprise and alarm crossed Victor’s face. “I never insulted you. I never would. Not in anything but jest. If the flyting before a round of sparring is a problem, I – ”

“No, it’s not that.” Yuuri paused. There was nothing else for it. He’d deliberated about this for days, but it seemed that the only way forward, for better or for worse, was to tell him. So he looked into those blue eyes and said, “All the lists of things I need to do to improve.” When Victor’s brow clouded, he added quickly, “I know you want to help. But it’s too much all at once. It felt like you were getting at me; tearing me down.”

“But I wasn’t – ”

“I know. But that’s how it _felt. _And when you said you were going to send me to joust against Chris and Charles, just like you did when you wanted me to spar against them, it felt like you were saying I wasn’t good enough to joust or spar against _you_.”

“But I was trying to help your confidence. And I hurt you by accident; I wasn’t trying to unhorse you, but I did. That bothered me. You could’ve been injured.”

“I guessed those things,” Yuuri said, gentling his voice. “But it would’ve helped if you’d said. It felt like being punished. Especially the lists.” He gave a little laugh. “You remember you were going to have Julia get paper and a quill so you could write one for me?”

Victor blinked. “Too much all at once…?”

“For me, yes. It did help, but it was just…overwhelming, and critical. Sometimes I can even work out what I’m doing wrong on my own, if I have time to think about it.”

Victor considered for a moment, then gave him a rueful grin. “I thought, after training a few squires, that I knew what I was doing. I thought if I was good enough at these activities myself, that would make it easy for me to teach them to someone else. But…” He let go of Yuuri’s hand and rested his arm on the fence. “You’re rather different from a young squire. Perhaps we should’ve discussed how to approach this before we started. Or after a few sessions, to see what you thought.” He huffed a small laugh. “It seems I’m rather used to telling people what to do and disregarding how they feel about it.” He paused, then added, “I only want the best for you, Justin – I hope you can believe that.”

Yuuri searched his face. Kindness and sincerity were written there, and woven into his words. _Even after all this; even when you mess up, and I mess up, you can still look at me like that. How are you even possible?_

_I want so much to kiss you._

Instead, he pulled Victor into a hug, their armour preventing the warmth and softness Yuuri craved, though just having this man close was all that was important. When Victor realised what Yuuri was doing, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him in return. They stood that way, content, neither in any hurry to move; but eventually Yuuri pulled away to speak to him, their arms still loosely clasped.

“That’s what I need from you, more than anything else,” he said.

“Hugs?” Victor replied with a quiet laugh.

“Your support. Sure, tell me how I can improve, but…just _be _here, and believe in me.”

“Always,” Victor whispered, and Yuuri stared for a moment, his thoughts spilling out of his grasp. Then he clutched them back.

“As for me, I need to have more patience. I’m sorry I worried you by having that attack, and I know you’re trying your best to be a good trainer – ”

“I’m the one who should be apologising. About the way I was giving feedback, and not noticing how it was affecting you.”

“I should’ve told you before now. I didn’t know what you’d think.”

“I’d think that if I’m doing something that’s bothering you, I’d want to know.” Victor smirked and ran a finger down Yuuri’s cheek. “Perhaps I ought to rethink my training strategy for Julia in light of this. I daresay she’d appreciate more encouragement as well.”

Yuuri couldn’t help mirroring Victor’s gesture, this time near the cut on his cheek. Victor closed his eyes and breathed out, then stared back. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Takes rather more than that to hurt me.”

“I’m glad,” Yuuri murmured.

“Ah, it’s the laddie who got lucky when we fought last week,” came a familiar voice with a Scottish accent, and they both turned to observe Abelard passing by with the squires and their horses. “Hard at work, eh?”

“Actually, I have been,” Yuuri answered. “You’ve seen me.”

“I wasn’t at my best that day, you know. Just tell me when you want a rematch and I’ll show you.”

Victor said with a touch of acerbity, “He fought honourably, and deserved the win. You – ”

“I’ll fight you again _now_,” Yuuri interrupted, eyeing Abelard. Too late, he wondered if it was actually a good idea. But then, maybe it would help put the anxiety attack behind him.

“So you’ve grown a pair, have you? I’ll fight you any time, ya scabby bampot.” Abelard smiled and drew his sword. The squires stepped back, watching keenly.

Yuuri began removing some of his armour. “What are you doing?” Victor said in a hushed voice.

“He isn’t wearing full plate, so I’m making it a fair fight.”

“No need, laddie,” Abelard called. “I’d kick your arse if every inch of your wee body was covered with metal.”

“Save your flyting for someone who’s earned it,” Victor told him. “Justin beat you before and he’ll beat you again.” To Yuuri he said, “Are you sure you’re up to this? After – ”

Yuuri gave him a grin and drew his sword. “Don’t worry. I can do this.”

* * *

“Justin, that was fantastic!” Victor called. He was answered with a glare from Abelard; the Scotsman and Justin had each won two rounds now. At the fence, the squires watched their every move, cheering the fighters on. Victor knew that Emil’s “Well played, sir” was probably more appropriate than his own gushing praise, which he wasn’t sure was more encouraging than embarrassing. At any rate, Justin would know it was a transparent attempt to make up for his missteps as a trainer. There was a balance to be found, he decided, though no one could blame him if he wasn’t trying very hard to find it just yet.

It was disconcerting to think he’d made such errors; it had never been that way with Julia. But then, the tactlessness she had an unfortunate tendency to display with others was rarely directed at himself, and sometimes it seemed to him that she believed he could do no wrong – though she would learn the truth about that as time passed, no doubt, as Justin had.

_I wonder why he didn’t say something sooner. _

Victor clapped as Justin grabbed Abelard’s arm and forced him to drop his sword. He was good at that.

_If I’m honest with myself, though, I already suspected I might be pushing it too far with the way I was urging him to improve. I don’t do that with Julia._

But she didn’t have to fight for her life against Tyler, either. 

_Justin was flourishing with the gentler approach I took when he was preparing for the tournament. I should have realised how important that was._

_Maybe I’m the one Abelard should be calling a scabby bampot. _He smiled grimly. _I’m truly sorry, my lovely knight._

But Justin didn’t seem to begrudge it of him, not that he could tell. What he _did _want was quite a lot easier, and more pleasurable, to offer. Hugs were in endless supply.

Abelard overpowered Justin in the next round; his strength was his greatest asset. Justin’s sense of balance was his, though he was gifted in other areas as well. Watching him fight was like watching him dance.

_We’d make a good pair. I’d like us to be._

The next round came to a quick end before he could finish the thought; Justin had won using an unmistakable shielhau feint. But how had he learned that? Victor hadn’t taught him more than a few of the most useful techniques from the Liechtenauer school, and that hadn’t been one of them. Chris or Charles must have been helping him, then, or he’d observed their actions carefully. That was heartening; he was adding to his knowledge more quickly than Victor had realised. He and Abelard began to circle each other again; it seemed this practice was good for them both, neither having any desire to quit yet.

_You wouldn’t think, looking at him now, that he’d been lying on the ground moments ago as if he were taking his last breaths._

Victor had been frantic with worry until Justin had insisted he’d be all right. Anxiety attacks – had he ever seen someone having one? He didn’t think so. Knights in battle were known to sometimes lose their nerve and flee, but he wasn’t sure it was the same thing. If he’d known, he would not have held the competition, and would not have asked Justin to attend the upcoming tournament.

_That must be exactly why he didn’t say anything, _Victor decided as he watched Abelard shove Justin to the ground; but Justin hopped straight back to his feet and got in an attack. _He’s determined; he doesn’t want to be seen as a coward. What would it have done to his confidence if I’d taken those things away from him? He’d still have to fight Tyler. _

All of that had been going on inside of him, and Victor had never suspected.

_That must be why he was in his cups the night of the banquet – he was trying to stave off the anxiety. _He’d obviously succeeded while he was drunk; but in the morning, hungover and perhaps with the anxiety returning…sweet Jesus, it made so much sense now.

Victor wondered what it would be like to go through life having to fight with a side of yourself that could incapacitate you at the worst possible moment, and felt a new admiration for this mysterious man; remembered also the ghost of his tender touch on his cheek, and his consternation at having scratched it. He’d been distraught, in fact. Chris or Charles would have cried out in triumph if they’d done such a thing.

_I’ve never known anyone like you. _

Justin won this round by half-swording, grabbing the end of his blade and turning it horizontal, then using his strength behind the bind to thrust Abelard away. When the Scotsman came back at him, both of Justin’s hands remained on his sword; it had a great deal of manoeuvrability that way, and could be wielded more like a spear. Abelard bent forward, Justin held his sword poised over the join of his leather armour at his shoulder, and the round was finished.

Victor waved a hand and cheered, and Emil patted Justin on the back. Abelard adjusted his armour, looking none the worse for wear. He took it well when he was beaten, perhaps because it didn’t happen often. Gesturing for the squires to follow him, he resumed the original trek to the jousting area of the field.

Justin strode back to Victor, looking pleased with himself.

“You certainly put him in his place,” Victor said with a smile.

“I don’t know about that. I’d say we were even, like in the competition.”

“It makes a big change from the way you started out here.” Victor glanced around the field, thinking back to those first days when he’d caught glimpses of a concerned and confused Justin Courtenay, seemingly unable to work out how to guide his own horse. “I’d hardly know you were the same person.”

“You’re flattering me now.”

Victor gazed at him sombrely. “No, it’s true. And you’ve always risen to the challenges Abelard gives you, which was one reason I thought being hard on you would help.”

“I _want _you to be hard on me, but not like him. Have high expectations. Don’t try to make me angry in the hope it’ll bring out the best in me, because it won’t.”

“I assure you, that’s not a strategy I’d ever use with a pupil,” Victor said earnestly. “Though I’ve done it to opponents to disrupt their concentration, when I thought it would work. That said, I rarely have a need for such tactics.” After a pause, he continued, “You’ve told me much today about what you want from me as a trainer. That’s good. I wouldn’t like to think I was responsible for another anxiety attack.”

Justin blinked. “If anyone’s responsible for them, it’s me. But…thank you. I didn’t…I wasn’t sure you’d understand.”

“Ah, Justin. Do you think so little of me?” Victor gave him a small smile. “You have a great deal of courage.”

Justin’s face flushed pink at the praise, and his eyes sparkled. Victor’s heart gave a happy flutter.

“Is…is that really what you think?”

“Truly. Now, what do you say about returning to the castle and getting changed for supper? I have a few matters to attend to – though if you’d prefer to stay here and practise for a while on your own, by all means – ”

“Maybe I’ll go on a run. It relaxes me.” Justin began putting his armour back on, then looked beyond the stable to a hill of which they had a clear view from where they were standing. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s that up there? It looks like a giant wheel. Does anyone use it for anything?”

_Oh._

Victor followed his gaze. He knew full well what the answer was.

_He was bound to have explored up there at some point. Perhaps it’s best that he asked me before he asked anyone else. Or…maybe not. I can’t tell him everything, not yet._

“Victor? Is something wrong?”

“No, I…no.” He felt a surge of emotions that were difficult to unravel, though the usual sadness was easily recognisable.

But now that Justin had asked…well, that brought to mind some possibilities that Victor hadn’t considered before, because it was only recently that he’d got a better idea of the true talent Justin possessed. Now that he was beginning to awaken to it, and use it…

_Maybe it’s time to put the past behind me and start something new._

He held on to the glimmering thought, full of hope, surprised at himself for thinking it. And yet it felt _right._

“Well,” he said, giving a smile when he saw Justin’s expression of confusion, “I think we have time to go there now, and I’ll explain when we arrive. What do you say?”

Justin searched his face, no doubt wondering what the mystery was. “Fine,” he said, returning the smile as he tied his last piece of plate back on. “Lead the way.”

They crossed the field and vaulted over the fence, heading for an overgrown path. Momentarily curious, Victor glanced over his shoulder and saw Julia watching them, as well as Chris, who had been leading his horse into the field.

_Let them watch. This is no secret._

As they began the climb up the hill, Victor wondered for a moment whether he was really ready for this. Would he ever be?

_I can’t live my entire life under a cloud. Justin’s with me. That’s enough._

As they crested the hill, there was the wheel in front of them. Exactly how Victor had left it.

_Now it’s my turn to find my courage._


	53. Chapter 53

_What’s the mystery up here, I wonder, _Yuuri thought as they arrived at the flat hilltop, which offered sweeping views of the surrounding countryside under the westering sun. It was getting late to have a run now, and apparently Victor had decided that whatever business he needed to see to could wait.

All on its own, weatherbeaten and seemingly neglected – Yuuri had never noticed anyone coming up this hill – the wheel stood silhouetted against the blue sky. He approached it and ran a hand along the rim. Just as he remembered: about three meters in diameter, solid wood, attached at chest height to a metal pole in the middle, divided into six equal segments surrounded by a rim. It reminded him now of a piece of playground equipment, though he thought that was probably the most unlikely use for it he could dream up. He had the odd desire to hop up and ask Victor to spin it around while he held on or tried to balance. How would he feel if he actually did – ? There was only one way to find out.

Vaulting up, Yuuri stood on the rim, discovering that the wheel was fixed fairly firmly, and would not spin wildly beneath him if he moved. He turned to Victor, expecting him to laugh and tell him to come down, but he didn’t. The look on his face was difficult to decipher. Surprise…concern…a touch of awe? But why? What _was _this thing?

“If someone spun this around while I was on it, I could try to keep my balance,” Yuuri said, hopping from spoke to spoke. “What’s it for? Is it the last surviving part of some building, or – ”

“No,” came Victor’s quiet voice as he watched. “You already seem to have a good idea of what to do with it, actually.”

“Really?” Yuuri said as he continued to hop. “Well, it looks sturdy. You know, I think this would be good to train on, particularly if you wanted to practise your balance.”

“That’s exactly what it’s for.” Victor opened his mouth to continue, but then Yuuri heard the tread of heavy boots through grass and saw Julia arrive at the top of the path, green eyes wide in disbelief as she looked at him and then Victor.

“So you _are _using it,” she breathed. “I hardly dared to believe – ”

“We haven’t done anything yet,” Victor replied. “It’s a good thing you came. We need your help.”

“Of course,” she said, as if she knew what that meant. She approached the wheel and stood at its side, her hands gripping the rim, and stared again at Yuuri as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Victor vaulted onto the wheel and hopped along the spokes until he stood in front of Yuuri. “Come near the edge. It’s more challenging there.” He walked along and gestured for Yuuri to do the same. When they were each poised on a spoke with one foot on the rim, Victor gave Yuuri the ghost of a smirk and drew his sword.

“You’re joking,” Yuuri said, blinking. Victor raised an eyebrow, and Yuuri let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re _not _joking? What – on this?”

Victor looked down at Julia. “You know what to do. Slowly, please, while Justin gets used to it.”

“Yes, master.” She gave a heave, and the wheel began to turn with a small squeak of protest.

Yuuri quickly found his balance, adjusting to the speed and the gentle centrifugal force. “Is it even possible to spar like this?”

The smirk had turned into a smile as Victor took in his reaction. “It’s an interesting new complication, is it not? Let’s see what you make of it. If you think you’re up to it, that is.”

Yuuri felt a smile creeping across his own face as he imagined fighting Victor on a moving wheel. It seemed more like a performance at a carnival or circus – but in a way, that was part of the appeal. This would require an entirely new set of skills; while Yuuri doubted it could take the place of serious training on the ground, it must look…amazing to anyone watching. That was if he didn’t fall off straight away.

“I’m waiting, good sir knight,” Victor said, raising his sword in the woman’s guard.

“Have at you,” Yuuri said, drawing his own sword, his heart suddenly soaring with the thrill of the challenge.

He quickly realised he had to pay attention to several things at once. Where his feet were. How steady his stance was on the wheel. Getting a feel for the circular movement. All while trying to spar with Victor, as if that wasn’t difficult enough to begin with.

“So how are you supposed to win at this?” he said as their swords clashed, the sound ringing out over the hill.

“The usual way you win at sparring. Or knock me off the wheel, if you can.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. He could do that with a clear conscience. It still wasn’t the safest thing, knocking someone off a moving wheel, but it was better than poking a sword at him while trying to avoid actually stabbing him.

Of course, _he _was the first one to discover what getting knocked off the wheel felt like. It wasn’t completely Victor’s fault, though; he lost his balance and Victor took advantage, tripping him up. Determined to find some strategies that worked well in this situation, Yuuri vaulted back on and launched into another sparring round, Julia turning the wheel at a steady rate.

“Are you all right?” Victor asked a little incongruously as they found themselves in a bind.

Yuuri pressed his sword against Victor’s. “Takes rather more than that to hurt me.”

Victor smiled, then attempted to break the bind the same way he’d done when they were sparring earlier, but Yuuri anticipated it, dodged, and hopped onto another spoke.

“I thought you liked surprises,” he taunted. “You’re getting predictable already.”

“Oh?” Victor hopped after him, and Yuuri hopped again, several times, almost getting behind him before he could react. But Victor quickly repositioned his feet, blocking a lunge just in time and forcing Yuuri to re-establish his balance. “I bet you never expected to be doing this on a wheel today.”

“That’s true,” Yuuri laughed. He’d found one strategy – flit around the spokes and the rim, mixing up what he did so that it would hopefully be hard to anticipate. But Victor was incredibly agile himself, those long legs gracefully moving in similar fashion. Eventually when they met, they would linger to spar, but Yuuri was learning how to pull away before Victor could get a win. The spokes made it more difficult to push an attack home, and reaching too far was an easy way to become unbalanced.

Victor beat him time and time again – but Yuuri was liking this more than ordinary sparring, and he seemed to be doing better at it, too. The rounds were lasting longer than usual, and he was making Victor work, though there was a glow to his cheeks and the light of challenge in his eyes that suggested he was enjoying himself.

“I’m through with making this easy for you,” Victor said. “You’re like a hart. All this jumping.”

“I thought you said you never went easy on people.”

“I don’t.”

“See if you can get me, then.” Yuuri dashed around the spokes. He took a second to look back at Victor – and found him leaping straight after him. Laughing like a boy playing tag, Yuuri switched directions and kept going, spoke after spoke.

“Julius – turn faster. That’ll make him think twice.”

_Julius? _Yuuri paused near the middle with each foot on a different spoke. He’d had the feeling they’d entered their own spinning world for a while, just the two of them. But as he looked around now, he noticed that a small audience had quietly gathered.

Suddenly a plated arm wrapped around his waist from behind, and another one brought Victor’s sword about so that he had Yuuri effectively caged.

“Caught you napping,” he heard in his ear.

This wasn’t any kind of swordfighting attack that Yuuri had learned. And yet it certainly had that effect, blanking his mind and making his breath catch. He stood still, wondering what to do, in no hurry to try to leave Victor’s arms.

When Victor let go, the cool air and the loss of contact were a fleeting disappointment. Yuuri turned, readying himself to spar again – but Victor had positioned himself halfway down a spoke, feet not quite shoulder width apart, eyes down in concentration, sword still grasped in his hand.

“Victor, what – ”

And Yuuri saw the impossible.

Victor raised both his arms, then brought them down forcefully, just enough to the side so that the tip of his sword cleared the wheel. As they continued backward in their arc, he leapt high. In mid-air he did a forward somersault, legs tucked in at his chest, and came to land firmly on a spoke, standing up straight and waving his sword at the onlookers as he smiled.

Yuuri’s jaw dropped, and he temporarily forgot about keeping his own balance, feeling himself beginning to slip and jumping off the wheel to the ground in a daze. Victor promptly joined him.

“That…that…how did you _do _that?” Yuuri blurted.

“Did you like it?”

“It was incredible. You’re amazing.”

Victor’s smile faded. He seemed surprised, but not displeased. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Good lord, Victor, you still don’t miss a step,” Chris said. He was in the audience along with Charles, and Philip and Roland, and Emil. Yuuri thought they’d be as flabbergasted as he was himself, having watched Victor perform such a stunt; but their easy appreciation indicated that they’d seen it before. Most of the astonished looks were directed at himself.

Julia had left the wheel and come to stand next to him. Her own expression was one that she’d often worn with Victor – but this was the first time Yuuri had seen it when her eyes were upon him.

“How did _you _do that?” she whispered. “Have you been practising up here?”

“Um, no, this is the first time I’ve been on the wheel.”

“It was astounding.”

“Thanks,” he said, wondering what she’d seen; what he and Victor had looked like. It might have been the first straightforward compliment he’d ever received from her.

“He’s right,” Victor said. “You were beautiful, too.”

Yuuri’s heart fluttered. Had he really done that well? “But that was nothing compared to what you – ” he began; then Chris interrupted him.

“I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you, Justin my man. Where have you been concealing this talent? If the two of you want to put on a show, just tell me; I’ll be keen to watch. But if you’d rather stand here all night saying the sorts of things to each other that are usually said to maids, you’ll forgive me if I go have some supper.”

“If anyone called _me _beautiful, they’d feel the sting of my blade before they could draw their next breath,” Charles declared. The two knights turned to leave, accompanied by their squires.

“We ought to go too,” Victor said. “You’ve had a long day.”

“So have you,” Yuuri replied as they followed the others. “Thank you for everything today.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Well, maybe not when I…you know. Your cheek, and…on the ground.” He knew he wasn’t making any sense, but he didn’t want to mention in front of the others how injuring Victor had led to his anxiety attack.

“I meant what I said.”

Yuuri nodded, still trying to take this in; he would not have expected such a degree of understanding from a knight, even Victor. Turning his thoughts back to what he’d just seen, he continued, “But how…how did you learn to do things like that on the wheel? Is it part of your training?”

There was a long pause before Victor answered. “In a sense. I enjoy giving myself a challenge.”

“You had that whole thing built just to give yourself a challenge?” But Victor didn’t reply.

“If I may say so, sir, your balance on the device is remarkable,” Emil commented as he walked beside him.

“That’s, uh, kind of you, Emil. Thank you.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but feel that there was an undercurrent of something here that he didn’t understand. Surely no one built a training tool as sophisticated as this just for a bit of fun. But then again, this was Victor, and Victor was extraordinary in many ways. Perhaps it was even something that Boucicaut had recommended – though in that case, why hadn’t he said?

He strode silently next to Yuuri, looking thoughtful. When Yuuri turned his head to smile at him, he received a warm one in return; and in the silence, he overheard hushed snippets of conversations between the others. They mentioned a name more than once that Yuuri hadn’t heard before – Alexander. Who might have been anybody, though he hadn’t come across anyone of that name at the castle. Victor either didn’t hear, or ignored it. Not wanting to appear an idiot by calling out “Who’s Alexander,” especially when it had been whispered secretively, Yuuri let it slide, until it mixed in his memory with other names he’d heard in idle conversation here, some of them rather more colourful – Cuthbert, Wulfgar, Andrew the Tall.

And as they passed through the gatehouse, heading toward the great hall, the only thing left on his mind was the wonderful man next to him, who had stayed with him during a panic attack, done a somersault in the air on a moving wheel…and called him beautiful.

* * *

During the two days before the tournament, Yuuri practised hard with Victor, who was also helping Julia prepare and sharpening his own skills with jousting and swordfighting. Yuuri saw him go through those mesmerising dancing exercises of his with his sword, watched him spar with Abelard, saw him spear all ten rings with his lance. 

He’d also clearly taken Yuuri’s words to heart. There were no more lists of improvements that needed to be made; in fact Yuuri had to ask for feedback, which was then freely given in amounts that he felt he could handle without forgetting or feeling deflated. And the hugs were back, so warm and welcome. He was touched by how much of an effort Victor was making to be a good trainer for him.

“Are you all right?” Victor asked after a round of sparring that concluded with him tripping Yuuri up and sending him sprawling. Yuuri had sat up on the muddy ground and hissed out a breath, slamming his sword onto the earth next to him.

“Of course I am,” he said, standing, a light misty rain wetting their faces and hair. “Just lost my patience for a minute.”

Victor looked at him in concern. “I didn’t mean to – ”

“Really, I’m fine,” he said with a smile, meaning it. “I was angry at myself for letting that happen. And to be honest, it’s pretty foul out here.”

“When we need to spar and it’s bucketing it down, sometimes we train in the undercroft. We could – ”

“No, it’s all right. I think I’d rather stay in the daylight than go to some creepy underground cellar area; Abelard took us there a few times.”

“Are you sure – ”

“Victor.” He huffed a laugh. “I don’t mean to keep interrupting you. But just because you saw me have an anxiety attack once doesn’t mean I’m prone to it all the time. It usually takes something quite intense to tip me into one. You don’t need to walk on eggshells with me.”

Victor wrinkled his brow, and Yuuri realised the idiom mustn’t be a familiar one – something he tried hard to be mindful of, but unfortunately still seemed to let slip on occasion. “I mean, you don’t have to be overly cautious about how you treat me.” He thought for a moment. “I fought next to you on the bridge, didn’t I? I won’t fall apart that easily.”

“I think I understand,” Victor said with a nod.

“Good. But thank you; it means a lot that you want to be careful like that.”

“It does?”

“Of course it does,” Yuuri laughed.

“All right. I’ll trust you, then.” He raised his sword. “Have at you.”

Yuuri didn’t win any of the remaining sparring sessions with Victor, but he was gradually less concerned about this as he concentrated on absorbing technique and learning from his mistakes; and he figured his progress could be seen in the fact that their rounds sometimes lasted longer than they used to.

They revisited the wheel as well, and Yuuri enjoyed it as much as the first time, if not more, since now he understood its purpose and was getting used to what he needed to do. There was a sense of exhilaration involved in the spinning and the challenge of balancing that swept through him and left him giddy, which unfortunately often led to him letting his guard down while Victor came at him with his sword. But perhaps the best thing about it was the incredible spectacle of Victor doing those gymnastics. He could do handsprings over the spokes, and pirouettes; though when he tried a backward somersault and missed his footing, ending up clattering onto the spokes and hauling himself up from the gap between them, he declared he ought to get back into proper practice before he tried anything quite so advanced again.

“What do you practise it for?” Yuuri asked, watching him straighten his armour.

“How do you mean?”

“Is there a specific purpose to it?”

Victor shrugged and looked away. “Why not do it, if you can? It’s good training.”

“Will you teach me some of those moves?”

Victor thought about this. “You ought to get used to sparring on the wheel first. Then…” He grinned. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Julia was present to spin the wheel for them, though when they were finished, again a small audience had gathered, this time consisting of Chris and Abelard and several men-at-arms.

“Why are you all standing there as if you’re under an enchantment?” Victor addressed them as he hopped off the wheel. “You’ve come up here; you may as well have a go.”

Chris’s eyes went wide. “Really? Are you sure?”

“No one else is using it now.” Victor shrugged and gave him a little smile. “See what you can do.”

“I’ll spar with you, you wee rascal,” Abelard said to Chris with a laugh.

Victor headed down the hill, followed by Yuuri and Julia.

“Have they never been on that thing before?” Yuuri asked, catching him up.

“Apparently not,” Victor replied somewhat mysteriously, and Yuuri was surprised to notice Julia meeting his gaze and shaking her head briefly. He wondered what that was about, but decided to follow her indication to say no more and was quickly back down in the training field, getting Blaze tacked up for jousting practice. However, that didn’t stop him from pulling Julia aside to speak to her later that day, when Victor was out in the field talking to Abelard.

“Is there something I don’t know about that wheel?” he said, approaching Boudicca’s stall, where she was removing the horse’s saddle.

“You seem to know plenty about it,” she answered with a quick glance at him. “I told you, you’re amazing on it.”

“That’s not what I meant. You didn’t want me to ask Victor about it.”

There was a long pause before she replied. “It’s not a good idea. Believe me.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I don’t understand why – ”

She paused again in the middle of removing Boudicca’s bridle and looked at him gravely. “It’s best if you let the master tell you if he wants to. All right? Trust me. Just be glad he’s using it with you. It’s a real honour.”

Recalling Victor’s hesitation on the subject, and figuring Julia was party to more personal information about him than perhaps anyone else, Yuuri decided to leave the matter for now and wait and see if an answer was indeed forthcoming.

The afternoon before they were due to travel, all of the fighting men competing in the tournament trained practically nonstop. With the castle being under no threat, and the surrounding lands at peace, Victor had explained that a few soldiers in the garrison would be enough of a guard during the short time they would be gone. The plan, he said, was to ride several hours the following day, arriving at Stamford Bridge in the afternoon, where tents would be set up for them. The knights and their squires would all be staying in a large one together. Yuuri was dubious about this, never having slept in such an arrangement before; but then he realised it meant Victor would be there with him, and suddenly it didn’t seem so bad after all. They would compete all the following day, and return the morning after. It was comforting in a way, Yuuri thought, because if it turned out to be a disaster for him for whatever reason, he’d be able to leave soon.

_It won’t be a disaster, _he told himself. _If you stopped catastrophising about these things, maybe you wouldn’t get so anxious._

Even so, he did what he could to prevent such a situation from occurring. When Victor went off with Julia, Yuuri made pass after pass at the quintain, imagining it was an ecranche strapped to an opposing knight, and hitting it with as much force and precision as he could muster. He had Blaze moving at a faster pace now, too. The heavy bag still hit him once, but it didn’t unhorse him. Not sure if he was satisfied with this, he noticed it had started to get darker out; the sun was hanging over a horizon tinged with pink and orange. Blimey, he’d missed supper. No wonder no one else was here, when he looked around to see. Often Emil found him to ask if he was ready to come to the meal, but perhaps he’d been engaged with something else in the pre-tournament excitement that seemed to be gripping most of the men.

He rode Blaze to the stable and took him to his stall, removing his tack and feeling familiar stabs of dread about the following day, though he knew the only thing at stake was the small reputation he’d managed to build for himself. Well, that was bad enough. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realise anyone was approaching until a voice behind him said, “Here you are. I was wondering why you weren’t at supper.”

He turned to see Victor, in the rich embroidered clothing he often wore at meals. “I thought I’d get some extra practice in.”

“Emil thought you might be out here; he said he’d put a tray of food together for you and leave it in your room.”

“That’s thoughtful of him. I didn’t realise it was so late.”

“Come back to the castle with me?”

“Sure.”

They walked together, discussing jousting and sparring strategies, until they arrived at Yuuri’s room. He let them in while Victor continued to talk about different strategies based on whether an opponent was tall, short, slow, or fast.

“Slow and tall, it’s best to keep him within your range; his arms are a good target.” Victor took a candle from the mantel and lit it, brightening the room above the dim glow of the fire.

“Looks like Emil thought I’d have a horse’s appetite,” Yuuri laughed, looking at the pile of food on his tray. “Are you hungry?”

“I’ve eaten, thank you. He’s a very conscientious squire, your Emil.” Victor paused and added, “but I see he’s not here to help you remove your armour. Would you like a hand before you eat?”

Yuuri sucked in a small breath. But before he could silently debate the request, his mouth opened and his voice said, “Please.”

A grin crossed Victor’s face, and his eyes lingered on Yuuri before he knelt down in front of him and began untying the sabatons on his feet and the greaves on his calves, even though Yuuri could easily have done it himself. Working his way up. With occasional quick glances and smiles, he undid each knot with long dextrous fingers. Up to his thighs, and Yuuri was sure he was going to burst into flames from the maddening tease.

_He’s just doing what Emil does. Only, I stopped Emil from doing it most of the time, because of this. Because it’s intimate. Oh God, Victor, do you know what you’re doing to me?_

_I can’t let him know. If he finds out…_

Victor stacked the pieces of plate on the floor, then stood in front of him and started on an arm, the pads of his fingers feeling like light caresses. The more Yuuri tried to force his body to stay under his control, the more it refused. His breaths quickened and heat spread to his cheeks. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to grab Victor and pull him onto the bed with him. Nothing he’d wanted more in his life. His cock throbbed and he realised he was getting hard. A swirl of panic mixed in his chest with the longing and the soporific warmth of being attended to like this by Victor. Fortunately he was wearing a heavy tunic under his gambeson. Two layers covering his groin. Lucky for him, because braies on their own, between two hose, left little to the imagination.

_Why did I ever say yes to this?_

_Because it’s…amazing._

_I have to stop it somehow._

Then Victor guided him to turn around, facing the wall. Yuuri braced himself against it for no other reason than because its solid presence anchored him while Victor removed the pauldrons at his shoulders, then began untying his breastplate, fingers lingering and brushing. Yuuri swallowed and hung his head down, desperate to face Victor and pull him into a passionate kiss, pressing himself against him, making no secret of his desire. But he was ever conscious, even now, of what was at stake through such an action. How could he be so weak?

And yet Victor was there, just behind him; Yuuri could feel his warmth, hear his breaths. His breastplate removed, he stood denuded of all his armour, trembling.

“Justin…” Victor whispered softly near his ear.

Which shattered the spell – because he _wasn’t _Justin. Victor could never know his true identity, and Yuuri was certain now that he could never take things any further.

He pulled his hands away from the wall and whirled around, not daring to look at whatever expression was on Victor’s face. “I need to find Emil,” he said quickly, dashing out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.

_I’m sorry, Victor. Maybe you wanted me to kiss you, I don’t know. But we can’t do this._


	54. Chapter 54

Yuuri pulled his hat further down on his head, the tips of his ears having caught a nip from the breeze, as he rode Lady on the wide rutted dirt path. There were treacherous areas of mud in places, but the horses navigated them well, as did the wagon drivers. They were a larger procession than the one that had gone in search of the Duke of Halbrook’s rogue knights, as they had the stable staff tending the palfries and destriers, and a good store of weapons, including lances. Fortunately the weather was fine, and Victor rode Alyona to Yuuri’s left, wearing his usual black cloth cap and fur cloak.

They made pleasant conversation on the way about the lands through which they were travelling and the tournament itself. Yuuri was told that preliminary jousting rounds would begin that evening, because that was the one competition in which just about all the knights and squires attending would want to compete. When he asked how that would happen after sunset, Victor said the field would be illuminated with many torches. The next day would be filled with competitions, and then they would leave the following morning. It was a fairly short and minor tournament, apparently, but should still offer some “pleasing” challenges; though Yuuri was under no illusions that everyone he himself faced was likely to present a challenge.

And if Victor was a little more formal in his attitude toward him today, could anyone blame him? Yuuri had run out on him the night before, leaving him standing in his own room, no doubt wondering what had happened. He’d been gone by the time Yuuri had returned; he’d scouted Emil out just as he’d said, making up a pretext of ensuring all his gear was ready for the journey. Victor had been polite when they’d met that morning in the stable, amid the bustle of men and horses and wagons, and he’d been just about his normal self while they were travelling. But Yuuri thought he could detect a touch of hurt and confusion underneath.

_I make a mess of everything. I hope you can forgive me, Victor. Can we just be friends? Is that even possible? _But whenever those thoughts came, he kicked them away, not wanting to torture himself with them all the way to Stamford Bridge.

It hardly looked to Yuuri like something minor when they arrived. A castle stood on a hill in the distance, and before them lay a city of colourfully striped tents, beyond which was an arena full of bunting surrounded by capacious wooden stands. Emil, riding to his right, told him that the squires and servants would go see about the tents and horses while the knights were free to wander and take in the atmosphere. They all dismounted, and with a smile, Emil led both Lady and his own horse away. Yuuri stared after him, feeling the familiar sense of guilt about the preferential treatment.

“Don’t worry, he’ll have plenty of opportunity to enjoy himself,” Victor said as Julia followed Emil with Alyona. “They all will. We have a few hours yet before the competition starts, and there should be entertainment here – would you care to walk with me and see?”

Yuuri said he would love to, and they made their way past the randomly spaced tents. It reminded him of a re-enactment camp, consisting mostly of men in various stages of dress, some with leather or chain or plate armour, some wearing the luxurious clothes of noblemen or merchants. He and Victor had themselves travelled in their plate, which had come to feel to Yuuri like a second skin. Servants and squires scurried about, bringing food and drink, clothing and armour to their masters, while dogs and goats and chickens roamed the narrow paths between the tents. Several cooks were roasting meat on spits. And everywhere was the sound of conversation, the clink of metal, the calls of animals, and bursts of laughter.

If that wasn’t enough to take in, however, Yuuri stopped and stared in amazement when they cleared the last tents to look upon an area that was like the Shambles market in York, with wooden stalls, but complete with carnival trimmings. There were jesters, jugglers, stilt-walkers, musicians and other entertainers, and people selling food and drink from trays strapped around their shoulders.

“You look as if you’ve never seen such things before,” Victor laughed.

“I, um…”

“My good sirs, for naught but a farthing I will astound you with my feats of cunning and dexterity,” said a man who approached them. He was dressed in a clown-like foppish blue outfit, with a tall conical cap framing a head of wild brown locks flowing to his shoulders, and excessively pointy shoes. But the most stunning thing about him was his face – painted blue, it was covered with wavy black stripes and clusters of white dots, his lips painted white as well, setting off a very red mouth. Yuuri couldn’t work out if he was meant to look more like a tiger or a fish, or something more esoteric. Then the thought occurred to him that the man would not be unfashionable in a nightclub in modern times. He was so used to people without paint on their faces here that it had almost come to seem normal.

“Come, let’s – ” Victor began, ignoring the fellow; but Yuuri took a quarter-penny piece out of his purse and handed it over, and the man gave a bow and elicited coins from others in a growing audience before beginning his show.

He turned out to be a fire-breather, a sword-swallower, and a juggler. Yuuri had seen similar street entertainers before, but he gave this man points for sheer flamboyance. And he had to admit that juggling flaming swords _was_ quite a stunning feat. Applause swelled at the end; but before Yuuri could move, a woman in a wine-coloured corseted dress and billowing white blouse underneath tapped him on the arm. Victor raised an eyebrow, perhaps wondering when they were likely to be able to leave this spot.

“Fortune-telling, sir?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Get your fortune told, for only a farthing? I have a tent just yonder, with a crystal ball.”

“I’m not – ”

“Come now, madam, my comrade and I don’t believe in such things.” Then Victor looked uncertainly at Yuuri. “Do you?”

Yuuri wanted to say no, but he recalled people like Dr. Croft who had ESP. Who was to say they couldn’t make use of it by scrying through a crystal ball? But at the same time, he’d guess there was probably one genuine fortune-teller for every ninety-nine fakers at carnivals. Besides, did he really want to hear his fortune told anyway? Maybe not, he decided, and was about to turn away when the woman spoke again.

“Please, sir,” she said in a low, earnest tone, laying a hand on his arm. “If you have a moment, I’ll see what I can tell you right here, for no charge. There’s something different about you, and I’d be interested to have a closer look myself.”

“Ah, Justin, I imagine she says that to every person she meets,” said Victor with a little smile. “I’ll give you a penny for your trouble, my good lady, if you’ll allow us to depart.” He held out a coin, which she took and quickly stuffed into a purse hanging from her belt.

“Thank you, you’re a real gentleman. But I’ll have you know I meant what I said. I’m half gypsy, and my inner eye sees truly.”

“Victor, I don’t see any harm in it,” Yuuri said. Then he turned to her. “What do you see, then?”

She regarded him with large brown eyes, looking into his own. _If she starts making silly mystical noises, I’m leaving after all._

“A name is coming to me.” There was silence as she closed her eyes and thought. “Mi…ma…” Yuuri glanced at Victor, whose expression was distinctly sceptical. “Mad…Mad Michael. Mad _Man _Michael. No…_Crazy _Man Michael.”

Victor laughed at this, but Yuuri’s mouth dropped open. A long-forgotten tune came to mind, from a pub that he and Phichit visited – _would _visit – far in the future, where a folk rock band played while Yuuri drank Baz’s Bonce Blower. A shiver darted down his back.

“What about him?” he said quietly.

“It’s you,” she replied.

“What do you mean, it’s me?”

“I’m afraid his name isn’t Michael, nor is he mad,” Victor said. “Justin, shall we – ”

“Those lines are for you,” the woman persisted. “Please – don’t ask me to explain; I don’t understand myself. This is what came to me, and it’s what I’m telling you.”

“Right…thanks,” Yuuri mumbled, pondering on the possible meanings of this.

Victor turned to leave, but she added suddenly, “And the reason why I sought you out in the first place, sir. Are you a sorcerer? It’s just that I can’t rightly make out the colour of your eyes. They shift, like the waters of a lake, or an opal. One minute they seem bright and vivid, the next dark. Or perhaps you are of the fay…?” she asked, a touch of awe in her voice.

“I’m not magical,” Yuuri replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “It must just be a trick of the light.”

“I…well, perhaps.” But she didn’t look convinced.

“We must be leaving,” Victor said, steering Yuuri away. With a glance back at her – she was staring after them – Yuuri walked beside him, disturbed that she must have caught a glimpse through the hypnotic effect of his projector, and trying and failing to remember any of the lyrics to “Crazy Man Michael”.

“You humour these carnival characters,” Victor said as he slowed down to take a look at the foods on sale at stalls and on vendors’ trays. “They’ll take advantage if you let them. Though I suppose the lady was convincingly cryptical.”

“I’d agree with you.”

“What she said about your eyes, however…I must confess I was confused myself for a while, so perhaps they do have a strange way of reflecting the light.”

“You were?” Yuuri’s heart leapt into his throat.

“I don’t seem to have that problem anymore. Ah – pies aren’t messy to eat. Should we – ”

“Victor,” Yuuri said, struggling to keep his voice steady, “what colour _are _my eyes?”

“Why, they’re brown, of course.”

Yuuri stared. Victor looked at him as if he couldn’t understand what he was concerned about, then asked the vendor nearest to them what kinds of pies she was selling.

“Chewets, sir. Them’s the finest, from the castle’s own cook. Will you have one? And perhaps your friend?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Victor bought a pie for them both. Taking a bite as they walked along, he said, “Try it – it’s delicious. And why did you ask me what colour your eyes are?”

Yuuri wanted to eat, but his appetite had disappeared. “Um, well, you heard the fortune-teller. Sometimes people aren’t sure.” He forced a laugh. “Silly, isn’t it?”

Victor shrugged. “Perhaps it’s like she said – the way the light falls on you. I was certain when we were at the inn in York that your hair looked positively dark. It must’ve been an effect of the candlelight.”

“The candles,” Yuuri echoed. “I suppose so.”

They stopped at a stall where Victor bought them each a cup of ale, which they drank there, giving the cups back to the merchant when they were done.

“You’re not saying much,” Victor observed. “And you haven’t eaten.” He gentled his voice. “Are you feeling anxious about competing?”

“A little, but…no, it’s fine, I’ll be all right.” He stopped near a juggler tossing what must have been about ten balls in the air. _I’m just wondering who else might have been able to see through my projection. But no one’s mentioned anything – and if Ailis noticed, I think I would have found out about it. _Talking his fears down helped somewhat, but it didn’t explain how Victor knew he had brown eyes and hair.

Deciding he’d better eat just to put some fuel in his body for the jousting later, Yuuri took a bite of his pie, and his face lit up. It was like the mince pies he’d eaten at Christmas, only not as sweet. There was minced meat that tasted like beef, with dried fruit, spices, and something sweet and sour that might be verjuice or something similar, which over the course of his meals at the castle he’d learned was the juice from unripe grapes; he thought it tasted like a more mellow version of lemon juice. Recalling Christmas also brought to mind the kiss on his cheek at the behest of the Lord of Misrule…and suddenly the fact that Victor knew he had brown eyes didn’t seem so bad after all.

“I love a good chewet,” Victor said, smiling at Yuuri’s obvious enjoyment.

As they started walking again, Yuuri asked him where they were headed.

“I want to see if I can find the castle steward; he usually officiates here. Ah, there he is.” They were near the arena now, and Victor approached a man wearing a tunic that looked more like a dress, reaching to his knees, with a gold fringed collar and cape and fancy hat, as well as the ubiquitous pointy-toed hose. He held a collection of scrolls under one arm. “Peter, God keep you,” Victor called to him.

The man looked put out until he saw who was talking to him, and then he smiled. “Hail, Sir Victor!” They briefly clasped arms, though Peter only had one to spare because of the scrolls. “I was so very glad to hear you’d decided to come, along with your fellow fighting men from Crowood Castle. We haven’t seen you in a while. Mind you, the last-minute change of mind caused a few administrative hiccoughs, but nothing we couldn’t handle.” He said more heartily, “You’re the one everyone will want to beat, of course. Sir Jean-Jacques Leroy isn’t best pleased, mind you. He’s won the swordfighting competition the past couple of years running and is used to ruling the roost.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Victor said with a smirk. They made small talk for a few minutes, Yuuri listening politely and finishing his pie; then he heard Victor ask Peter if he had a list of competitors.

“Somewhere in this bundle, my good man. But I’m well versed in who should be here this year; I pride myself on my memory. Is there a particular reason you ask?”

“I was wondering if Sir Tyler Beaumont is expected to be here this year.” He glanced at Yuuri, whose stomach dropped. “It could be…problematic, shall we say.”

“Ah, well, I tried to get him to come, as skilled a knight as he is. But I’m told he’s currently in Exeter, more’s the pity. Not for you, though, it would seem.” He laughed. “I believed the two of you to be good friends.”

“Things change. But thank you; I thought it as well to check.”

The two of them exchanged a few more pleasantries, then Victor suggested to Yuuri that they return to the main area with the entertainers and stalls to see if their squires had appeared; he said he’d told Julia he’d meet her near the musicians’ stage. Feeling both touched by Victor’s concern regarding Tyler and relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with him here, Yuuri eventually found himself sitting on a long wooden bench with Victor, Emil and Julia, listening to a quintet of musicians play livelier tunes than the ambient ones he was used to at meals, and relishing the peace in the midst of all the bustle. But his thoughts continued to drift back to the incident with the fortune-teller.

Between songs, he leaned toward Emil and said, “Just out of curiosity, what colour would you say my eyes are?”

Emil looked at him in bewilderment. “They’re a shade of bluish-green, I’d say, sir. I’m afraid I’m not very accomplished in flowery descriptions – ”

Victor, sitting to Yuuri’s left, heard the conversation and put in, “How can you possibly say that? They – ”

“I was curious, that’s all, because of what we were talking about earlier,” Yuuri interrupted, hoping to head off a debate. It had probably not been the best time to ask, with Victor there, but he’d been anxious to hear the answer.

“What are you talking about?” Julia asked, leaning forward and glaring at him across Victor. “Your eye colour? Tourmaline, definitely. Or sapphires – the kind with a touch of sea green. But _I’m _not being flowery either, and don’t get the idea I fancy you.”

“I’d have to agree with that assessment,” Emil said.

Victor knitted his brow. “I know I’m not seeing things, and I’m certainly not befuddled about my colours.” He paused to consider. “Though having said that, I did change my mind, didn’t I?”

“Forget I asked,” Yuuri pleaded. “It seems to be a genetic – I mean, a family trait, to have eye and hair colours that can appear to change. Amazing, isn’t it? That’s the Courtenays for you.” Feeling like an utter idiot, he stood. “I’ll be back in a moment.” And he hurried away. When he spotted an empty tent, he ducked inside and shut the flaps behind him.

_Please answer, _he thought as he called Phichit.

“Yuuri, hey. How are you?”

Yuuri briefly explained where he was and what he’d been doing. “And there was this fortune-teller – ”

“Wait a minute. You’re at a tournament where knights are going to be twatting each other, and there’s a fortune-teller? Why, do they want to find out if they’re going to live?”

“They don’t kill each other for real, Phichit. Victor wouldn’t take me to a tournament like that, would he? Who’d even hold one? Because watching all your knights slaughter each other is a great defensive strategy for your country, isn’t it?”

“OK, I was just joking. What’s this about a fortune-teller?”

Yuuri told him about how she’d been able to see his eye colour through the projection. “But that’s not the only thing. It turns out that Victor’s been thinking my eyes are brown for quite a while now. Which they are – but Justin’s aren’t, and that’s the point.”

“Does he suspect something’s up?”

“I don’t think so. I left him and our squires debating about what colour my eyes are.”

“They’re sure your eyes are that blue-green colour, are they?”

“The squires are, yes. Why do you think Victor would be able to see their real colour?”

There was a pause while Phichit considered. Then he said, “You told me that the first time you looked in the mirror, if you concentrated hard, you could see through the projection, too.”

“I assumed that was because it was me, and I knew it was there. This hypnotic effect, it must have some limitations. I just don’t know what they are. I’ve stared from a distance at the women at the castle, at the risk of looking like a lech by ogling them like that, but if any of them were Ailis, it didn’t work. Emil looks at me all the time, too, and he doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong.”

“Maybe you don’t have anything to worry about, then.”

Yuuri sighed. “I wish I could believe that. One slip with Ailis around, and I’m a dead man. We both know she won’t hesitate to…” He swallowed.

“Do you think…nah, never mind, it’s too silly.”

“What?”

“Well…nah, it really is silly.”

“Phichit.”

“OK, well, what if Victor’s really into you, and is somehow seeing the real you because that’s what he wants, maybe on some unconscious level? Maybe the two of you have a connection.” He paused again. “You haven’t been – ”

“No, I haven’t been. Though believe me, I want to. I told you, I know why I can’t. But – wow, do you really think…?”

“It’s just a stab in the dark, Yuuri. Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.”

“There’s a saying, isn’t there? The eyes are the windows to the soul.”

“Wow, you’ve got it bad. That’s some pretty dire poetry.”

“It’s a _saying. _Maybe there’s a grain of truth in it.” His heart suddenly felt a lot lighter. Until he thought – if Victor was getting a glimpse of his real hair too, how much longer before he might be able to see through the whole projection? Was that likely to happen, or was this as far as it was going to go? Another complication to add to the list.

“Where are you just now, anyway?” Phichit asked.

“I’m in a vacant tent. It seemed like a good time to try to call you. Look, there was something else the fortune-teller said, and it was…a little scary. I think she must have ESP. ‘Crazy Man Michael,’ she said. ‘It’s you. Those lines are for you.’ ”

“I don’t recognise it. What makes you think she has ESP?”

“Don’t you remember when we were at The Eagle that night before you spoke to Celestino about me, and the folk rock group was there? They played that song. Could you look up the lyrics? They must be on the Cloud. I hope they are, anyway.”

“Oh yeah! The Gypsy Davies. Hang on, I’ll check.”

Phichit located the information and read a poem aloud that used the old folklore trope of a young man in love experiencing a moment of madness after being deceived by an animal, in this case a raven, that could talk; and after he killed it, the animal was revealed to be his beloved. But the raven’s words became a self-fulfilling prophecy, because it said that the man’s true love would die by his right hand – and so he made it thus.

“Jesus, Phichit, this is about Victor’s death date, isn’t it? Holy – ”

“Wait – just calm down, Yuuri, OK? First, we don’t know how true any of this is. Are you going to believe some woman you met at a carnival, or tournament, or whatever, just because she had a flash of insight? Even people with verified ESP get things wrong pretty regularly, because it’s not like finding information on the Cloud.”

Yuuri tried to run a hand through his hair, forgot he was wearing his hat, and almost knocked it off. “Right.”

“Second, it’s the raven in the song that gives the prophecy, and the raven who turns out to be the bloke’s lady love in some magical disguise. The song doesn’t even make any sense, does it? I mean, why would anyone do that? Besides, there’s no exact parallel in your situation, because Victor’s not the one who told you about his death date. He still doesn’t know, does he?”

“No.”

“There you go.”

“But how did she get the exact title of that song, Phichit? And I know my ‘true love’ is supposed to die sometime this year. We come at each other with swords every day, and that’s just in training. This is a dangerous place. What if I really do kill him, when all I’m trying to do is protect him?”

“How likely do you think that is? You’re going to give yourself an anxiety attack. Honestly, I think you’re better off trying to forget what this lady told you.”

“OK.” Yuuri took several deep breaths. “You’re right. Good idea.”

After a pause, Phichit said, “So you’re in love with him, huh?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri replied quietly. “I’m clear on that now.”

“I guess it doesn’t surprise me, the way you talk about him.”

Yuuri huffed a little laugh. “I was awestruck at first, I think. well, I still am. He’s…incredible. But he also isn’t perfect; he gets things wrong sometimes. Like everyone does. But that sort of makes him perfect in his imperfection, if that makes any sense.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I’m glad you found someone like that there. I’ve been hoping the whole time I’ve known you that you’d find someone like that _here_, but…”

“Thanks. Look, they’re waiting for me out there, and I might have to do some jousting soon.”

“Just another day at the office, right?”

Yuuri laughed again. “You’re the limit.”


	55. Chapter 55

He hadn’t realised that when he and the others from the castle found seats in the stands at the arena, they’d be treated to a series of set pieces that rivalled anything he’d ever seen human beings do in modern times. It was just enough to take his attention away from the distracting closeness of Victor on the bench to his left, their fur coats mingling.

Illuminated by what must have been hundreds of torches blazing around the edges of the oval, a troupe of acrobats performed to live music, followed by trick horseback riders who stood up in their saddles, lay across them horizontally, vaulted themselves beneath the animal and back up the other side, and performed other feats of skill while the fiddlers played a tune that sounded Slavic.

“My parents have told me of horsemen like these in the home country,” Victor said to him. “Fierce warriors from the southern regions. Good, aren’t they?”

Yuuri nodded. “I wonder if any of them could vault onto a destrier wearing full plate armour, though.”

Victor laughed. “I should try some of these things sometime. Though I believe you have to have a special saddle.”

“And break your neck for what – a little showy riding?” Yuuri said, the issue of the death date still near the top of his thoughts.

“You sound like Irene,” Victor chuckled.

After the trick riders, Yuuri witnessed what he assumed must be the high point of the entertainment, which an announcer, using a wooden megaphone, declared to be a re-enactment of the Battle of Stamford Bridge almost three hundred and fifty years before. He went into a spiel about sunset on the age of the Vikings, though their legacy was still with them and around them, and then two small armies emerged, staging the mock battle. Unlike modern audiences, of course, many of the people watching knew what real fighting looked like, and so would expect nothing less, Yuuri supposed; and indeed, it looked quite convincing. The “Vikings” held large round shields of painted wood with gold and silver bosses in the middle, wore silver helmets shaped like the bottom of an acorn with long nose guards, and wielded axes. As stunning as they were, however, the English King Harold and his men inevitably beat them into submission; and with almost all of the Viking warriors lying dead, their own king was forced to make a truce. Yuuri felt heartened when at the end, all of the “dead” men stood to thunderous applause. If only things like that happened in real life.

When the announcer called for all participants in the jousting competition to make their way to the waiting area, Yuuri followed his companions. Part of the stands near the ground, adjacent to the stables, had been set aside for the competitors, where they could mingle and view events in the arena. As the names of the first two men to joust were called, their squires brought their horses and lances, and Yuuri watched them ride out as he leaned against the wooden fence between torches next to Victor and Emil and Julia, the other fighting men from Crowood nearby. It went quickly – a round of three passes, with a trio of judges in rich clothing and fancy hats conferring after each pass to decide how many points each competitor had earned and who had won the pass. Apparently everyone would get a chance to compete once before the night was over. As those who lost a round were eliminated from the competition, Yuuri’s hopes weren’t high, and he was keeping his fingers crossed that whatever happened, he’d at least retain some dignity in front of everyone.

As the rounds progressed, he watched closely and listened to the comments around him, hoping to pick up ideas. Victor explained who some of the jousters were and occasionally asked him why he thought someone lost a pass, then discussed it in an effort to instruct him. Yuuri appreciated the attention, but eventually it all started to blur together. Men pointing sticks at each other from horseback, he decided, might make a spectacle, but it wasn’t much compared to the skills and athleticism involved in longsword fighting.

_If that’s true, _he told himself, _then go out there and win the competition._ Though he figured he’d be lucky to win a few rounds.

When it was Emil’s turn to compete, Yuuri cheered him on and watched him beat another squire. Victor was called soon afterward and hardly needed encouragement, easily unhorsing his challenger. And then Yuuri was called to face someone named Sir Benedict Beauchamp.

Victor turned to him quickly, and in a rush said, “Benedict’s the son of the Baron of Camberwick. I’ve seen him joust. He has no particular skill. Bring Blaze to a full charge and hold your lance close to your body to aim it true; remember to rest the grapper inside the arret on your breastplate – ”

“It’s all right, Victor,” Yuuri reassured him with a quick grasp of his arm and a squeeze. “You don’t have to be ‘on’ as my trainer all the time.”

“I want to help.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Yuuri saw the other knight ride out to the middle of the arena and suddenly felt a rush of pre-performance butterflies. Then Emil brought Blaze out, and he gasped to see the black horse clad in a magnificent caparison with the Nikiforov colours, a blanket of sky blue resting over his back with the yellow lion on its hind legs, trimmed with a bright gold crenellated pattern. He looked every inch a war horse. Yuuri vaulted over the fence and Emil handed him his helmet, then strapped on his ecranche, the shield that made him look like a sitting target. When he was mounted, Emil gave him a bright blue lance.

“Good luck, sir,” he said, stepping back.

“Thanks.” Yuuri kneed Blaze forward at a trot to the end of the long fence decked with bunting, along which he would have to ride, and looked at Sir Benedict, faceless in his shining armour and grilled helmet. _Just a metal suit,_ he told himself. _Give it your best, because he’ll be doing the same._

The announcer in the middle of the arena told them to ready their lances. Then he picked up a trumpet; Yuuri knew that when it blew, it would be the signal to charge.

_I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this._

_Bloody hell, Phichit, what would you think? Mari? You don’t have a clue what I’m up to, do you?_

A loud blast of the trumpet echoed in the arena. Yuuri urged Blaze forward, hard, maintaining his balance, lance poised. He would never get a clear view from this damn helmet, but he’d practised enough to know the feel of the movements; whether they were flowing together smoothly. Hoofbeats approached. A blur of green and red, the other horse’s caparison. Desperately searching for the ecranche at which to aim, Yuuri spotted it and lowered his lance, steady, steady…

His blow struck with an explosive noise just as the other lance drove at him, accompanied by a crack which indicated that at least one of the lances had splintered – but which one? The crowd clapped as Yuuri slowed Blaze and lifted his visor, peering at his lance. To his surprise, the tip had splintered – though it appeared Sir Benedict’s had not. The first pass was his, then. He turned to where his companions from Crowood Castle were standing. Victor was waving and cheering. Julia, next to him, looked mildly embarrassed at this but otherwise stoical.

“Sir, a quick repair of your lance,” Emil said, running up to him. Yuuri handed it over and Emil pulled the remains of the old tip off, quickly fitting the new. “Congratulations on your win.”

“It was one pass, Emil. But thanks; it’s a good start, I suppose.”

Emil dashed back out of the way, and Yuuri readied himself for the next pass.

Benedict, seemingly sharpening his game, almost unhorsed him this time, but Yuuri righted himself and held on. At one pass each, the final one would decide who remained in the competition. Yuuri took several deep breaths beforehand, gripping his lance tight – and charged at the trumpet blast. Faster, faster he took Blaze forward, as fast as he dared without losing control. Found Benedict’s ecranche and gradually lowered his lance, spotting his target at the last minute and striking it home.

Neither of them was unhorsed; neither broke their lance. The judges announced that the better hit had been Sir Justin’s. And Yuuri had a win. He rode back to the waiting area, where Emil took everything back from him and led Blaze away, congratulating him again. Yuuri vaulted over the fence, and Victor pulled him into a tight hug.

“Justin, well done!” he gushed. “Your first win! Next time, just make sure to…” Then he caught himself and smiled.

“Tell me later,” Yuuri said. “Honest, I’d welcome all the help I can get.”

“All right. Why don’t we get a jug of ale and watch the rest of the jousting; I think there aren’t many more rounds before it’s done tonight. Julius, would you please – ?”

“Certainly, master. Would I be allowed to share it with you since we’re all spectators here?”

“Of course.”

She nodded. But as she turned to leave, she muttered so that only Yuuri could hear, “A passable performance, ale-house boy. Let’s see how long you last tomorrow.”

Yuuri wanted give a reply full of bravado, but had to quietly concede she had a point. At least he’d be able to sleep tonight knowing he’d won his first joust. He gave her a smile, and she walked away with a huff – though not before he caught the ghost of a grin on her face as well.

* * *

While Julia untied the fiddly bits at the back of Victor’s armour, he watched from time to time as Emil did the same for Justin. He’d noticed that Justin usually preferred to do such things himself, but he occasionally indulged his squire, even if he looked slightly uncomfortable about it. Tonight, now that they’d retired to the communal tent, was one of those occasions, it seemed.

_He indulged me as well, when I ventured to ask, though I knew it was presumptuous. In his own bedroom. I thought…I’d hoped…_

All indications had been that Justin had found it very pleasurable, even arousing. Though Victor couldn’t be sure, and he had been facing Justin’s back part of the time. He himself had enjoyed it immensely. It was the first time he’d removed another man’s armour in quite that way, and he’d been surprised at how sensual it felt. He’d even dared to hope Justin might finally want to kiss him…and do other things besides.

Why, then, had he left so suddenly? Why would he accept Victor’s attentions and then reject them, and more than once as well? If it had been anyone else, Victor would suspect him of being a tease; of toying with his feelings. But this was Justin, and he felt sure he knew him better than that.

_I must have done something wrong – but what?_

_All this mystery surrounds you like a cloud,_ he thought, glancing over at Justin again. He was unlacing the front of his gambeson, something they’d never quite got around to the previous evening. _I wish I could see better what was hiding inside. _He huffed to himself. _I don’t even know the proper colour of your eyes. Why do they look brown to me?_

“Master?” Julia asked as she removed his breastplate.

“Nothing, my good lad. My thoughts are wandering.”

He looked down at the straw mattresses on the floor, wrapped in thick linen, each with a pillow and a blanket folded on top. They would do for two nights. His had been placed next to Justin’s – but would he be comfortable with the proximity? They’d shared a bed, and Justin liked hugs. too; he’d even asked for them, seeming to value them above practical training advice. Surely he’d be all right with their mattresses being side by side. If he appeared to be uncomfortable, however, Victor would find a way to have them tactfully separated.

Sneaking a longer glance at the man commanding his attention, who was now sitting on his mattress and watching Emil place his armour in a chest, his thoughts drifted back to their two sessions on the wheel. Two more sessions than he had expected to have with anyone, ever again. He’d even considered giving orders for the thing to be dismantled and chopped for firewood, rather than leaving it to decay up on the hill in the wind and rain and snow, a relic from happier times. But thankfully he’d chosen not to, mainly because it felt too much like dishonouring something that had meant so much to him, and to Alex.

Justin had unknowingly given him a gift by encouraging him to revisit it with someone new and special, someone with talent enough to make use of it with him. Perhaps it had been the beginning of a process that should have started nigh on two years ago, putting the past to rest. It had gone well. As had today. Justin continued to be an ideal travelling companion, and Victor had enjoyed the curiosities here with him at his side. He’d got the impression that Justin had been seeing it all for the first time, strange as it seemed, and his enthusiasm had been infectious.

No, Victor didn’t want to give up on this man just yet. Not while there might still be a chance to win his heart.

Julia finished untying the final piece of plate and stored his armour in the chest near his mattress.

“Fetch a jug of ale if you will, please, Julius,” he said, removing his gambeson.

“Yes, master. And I’ve brought your citole – would you care to play?”

“No, thank you. I’d like some words with Justin.”

“As if you haven’t been talking to him all day,” she muttered as she turned away and headed out of the tent.

Well, that was true. But he’d taken pleasure in it. She was right, though; others had demands on his time as well. He would be more sociable tomorrow night. But for now, he would do as he wished. He sat down on his mattress, noticing a low wooden stand between it and Justin’s on which stood his oil lamp, burning with a steady flame. Julia thought of everything.

“How goes it with you, my friend?” he asked Justin, who had been watching Chris take out a small wooden ocarina.

“That instrument of his, what’s it called? I’ve heard him play it sometimes in the garrison, but I never asked.”

“You don’t know? It’s called an ocarina. A lovely relaxing sound, when played well.” He watched Chris blow into the mouthpiece of the little oval flute-like instrument, and a happy tune lilted through the tent. “What have you made of the tournament so far?”

Justin thought for a moment. “I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. But it’s been interesting, and fun. Most of the performers here are very good. The battle re-enactment was incredible.” He smiled. “Even the jousting wasn’t too bad. My own included.”

“It’s good to hear you say so.” There was a sparkle in Justin’s eyes. Victor wished he could see it more often. He sometimes wondered if the man next to him carried some kind of burden. Those worried glances he caught on occasion, those pensive moods when he sat by himself in the main garrison room – were they driven by anxiety, or something else? Right now, though, his state of mind seemed ideal for a day of competition on the morrow. Winning his jousting round appeared to have helped his confidence.

“Your ale, master. I brought two cups.” Julia sank to a squat and placed a silver tray on the stand next to the lamp.

“Thank you.”

“Very good, sir.” She got up and went to sit with the other squires, who were sharing drinks among themselves. Victor wrinkled his brow. That was cold formality if he’d ever experienced it. She was jealous that he was with Justin instead of her. It could be difficult sometimes to strike a balance between the two.

He spent a while gently attempting to pry Justin’s shell open about his life at his father’s castle, but it was closed as tightly as always, even on such innocuous things as his childhood experiences; though Victor related more of his own, to his evident interest and amusement. Somehow the topic always seemed to be turned back upon himself, so that _he _was the one doing all the talking. He wanted more than anything to ask Justin why; what it was he didn’t want anyone to know. Did he feel there was insufficient trust between them? Was he afraid of something? Victor knew that if he asked directly, he was unlikely to receive an answer, and it might damage things between them.

_I hope you’ll decide to be more open with me in time. Maybe then you’ll want a closer relationship, too. If something haunts you, my lovely knight, I’ll do everything in my power to help you banish it._

They each had drunk a few cups of the watery ale, and Justin yawned. “You seem tired,” Victor observed. “As your trainer, I think a good night’s sleep is best advised.” He chuckled. “You look as if you’re away with the fairies.” Fortunately, most of the other men in the tent were beginning to have similar ideas, and were quietening down or crawling under their blankets. Victor could command everyone to go to bed and be silent, but he eschewed such measures when they were unnecessary.

Justin lay down, pulling his blanket over him, turned onto his side to look at Victor, and said very quietly, “What if that really happened?”

Victor removed his cap and mirrored his actions, their faces aglow in the low light of the oil lamp, now that the fire in the brazier was dying. “How do you mean?” he asked, keeping his voice low as well, while resting his head in his hand.

Justin replied dreamily, “I mean, there are a lot of folk tales about people being taken to a magical land to live with the fairies – if they step into a ring of mushrooms in the forest, for example.”

“Do you believe them?”

“Well, no. But just supposing…” He paused for a moment. “Supposing one of them fell in love with you and said he wanted to stay in this world. Or for you to stay with him in his. Would you do either of those things? Or would it be too strange?”

Victor thought about this. It was certainly one of the most unusual questions he’d ever been asked. What was its purpose? “A magical man from a magical realm?”

“Yes.”

“And I loved him in return?”

Justin hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

“Then yes to both questions, if such things were possible. I’d find a way to be with him, even if it was strange.” He huffed a small laugh. “Why – are you making up a tale for a book?”

“Maybe one day,” Justin replied with a smile. “Is love really so important to you that you’d do that?”

Victor looked into his beautiful brown eyes. “Yes, it is. And if you’re putting a story together in your head, that’s the best theme.” _But I don’t need anyone magical, _he wanted to say. _The only man I want is already here with me. _

Justin was still smiling that mysterious smile, and his cheeks glowed. Victor wanted to believe that this hypothetical man of the fay was him – but how would the different worlds come into it if they both lived at the castle? And…how was it possible to feel as if he knew someone so well, while there was still so much he didn’t understand?

“We should both get some sleep,” he said. “Trainer’s orders. It’s an important day tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to visit the land of faery in your dreams.”

“Good night, Victor,” Justin sighed, snuggling down and closing his eyes. Victor didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so adorable.

“Good night.” Victor’s gaze lingered on him, so that the vision remained in his mind until he drifted into slumber. 


	56. Chapter 56

_Victor, where are you? The second time I’ve had the chance to sleep next to you, and you always vanish like I only imagined you were there._

_I wish one morning I could open my eyes and see you next to me. _

A wave of heat surged through Yuuri at the thought. He sat up, pulled his boots on and dug out the jar containing the herbal concoction he used for cleaning his teeth. Suddenly he recalled what he’d said to Victor before they’d gone to sleep, and that was enough to bring his fantasies to an abrupt halt. Why had he asked him something so ridiculous? The thin ale was no excuse; a mouse couldn’t get drunk on that.

_I know why. Because it’s driving me mad, not being able to tell him about the real me. Maybe he’d return my feelings. He’s been flirting with me, hasn’t he? It must be more than just a game to him. I…I don’t think he’d tease me like that. And taking my armour off the way he did – oh God…that wasn’t just him wanting to be a helpful trainer or friend; that definitely went beyond. _

But the voice of reason was always waiting to spoil the euphoria of such thoughts and slam him back down to earth. _You know all the reasons why you can’t pursue this. You should be ashamed of the way you keep neglecting them. Do you want to be the cause of his death? Isn’t that what the fortune-teller warned you about? None of these sweet exchanges matter. None of them._

His answer was different this time, however. _Yes, they do matter._

He pulled his fur coat over his shoulders against the morning chill that held the damp of outside. The brazier in the centre of the tent, like a large iron kettle on legs, had provided warmth and gentle light the night before, but was full of cold ashes now.

_I’d find a way to be with him, even if it was strange, _Victor had said. It made Yuuri want to declare, _I’ll find a way to be with him, even if it’s dangerous for us both in multiple ways. _But as soon as he thought it, he realised how selfish and irresponsible it sounded. Yet his heart knew what it wanted, without a doubt, and it seemed to be at constant war these days with his head.

Now was not the time to make major decisions about what to do, however. The day was probably going to be a long and arduous one, full of competitions – or watching them, if he lost and was eliminated. Besides, all of the activity going on around him now was distracting, as the other knights and squires went through their morning routines.

This was the first time he’d slept in the same room, or tent, with so many other people. A few men had left the tent in various states of undress, hastily donning a cloak as Yuuri had. Clearly some of them didn’t think twice about doing private things in public view. When Charles went to piss in a pot in the corner, Yuuri turned his head away, recalling similar scenes at The Black Dog. He briefly wondered what Julia made of it all, then figured she was probably used to it by now.

“Good morning, sir,” Emil said, bringing the ceramic pitcher and basin he recognised from his room and setting them down on the wooden stand while clearing the tray with the empty jug and cups from the night before. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“I did, thanks, Emil. How about you?”

He shrugged. “The usual night-time noises you hear in a tent full of people seemed to be a bit more amplified in my direction, but having said that, not bad, thank you.”

Yuuri splashed some water into the basin. “Fuck, that’s cold. Well I guess it’s never warm, is it.”

“If you want, sir, I can find a fire with a kettle of water boiling over it and – ”

“No, no, don’t do that; I’ll be fine. But you really brought this all the way from the castle? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a travel bucket or something? How did this even survive the journey in one piece?”

Emil gave him a bemused smile. “It’s customary for nobles to travel with what accoutrements from their places of residence they can. Isn’t that what your family do?”

“Maybe,” Yuuri muttered, bending forward and splashing water over his head and face, then drying off with a towel from Emil and grabbing a comb from his bag. “Look, um, it might seem overly modest of me, but I’d rather not carry out bodily functions in front of everyone. Are there privies nearby?”

“Of course, sir. Out of the tent flap, straight on to the left, and follow your nose.”

_How delightful. _“Right, I’ll just pop out and then come back for my armour.” He stood, and met with Victor as he was walking out of the tent.

“Hey,” Yuuri said, forgetting himself for a moment.

That bemused smile again. “Where?” Victor glanced around.

“No, um, I meant hello,” Yuuri said, trying not to laugh.

“Since when did ‘hay’ mean ‘hello’? Is this something farmers say to each other?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri replied, unable to stifle a smirk. “I…it’s just a personal habit. Anyway – ”

“Well, when you return, would you like to come with Julius and me to get a bite to eat? I wouldn’t mind seeing if I could find the lady selling chewets, but I’m sure there’ll be plenty of fare to choose from. I didn’t see a need for our cooks to accompany us here, since the food is usually so good.”

“Sure, that sounds great.”

As it turned out, Victor was in luck, and Yuuri insisted on buying chewets for the three of them, washed down with beer. Afterward, they made their way through the entertainers and hucksters to the arena, where they joined their colleagues from the castle. Yuuri learned that the longsword fighting was scheduled for later, after the other events had finished.

As much as he hated crowds, he discovered that he was beginning to feel part of the group from Crowood as they supported each other in the events and stood behind the fence, chatting about what they were seeing, the competitors and their differing fighting styles. Yuuri spent the majority of his time with Victor, Emil and Julia, but mixed with the other men as well, and on occasion wandered outside the arena to listen to musicians and storytellers, or to watch one of the performers.

There was the man with the blue face paint from the day before, this time dressed in motley, his thick tresses flowing from underneath a little matching cap with bells. Today he was balancing on a ball, pedalling back and forth on top if it while juggling flaming clubs. He really was very talented, Yuuri thought. He wondered if he’d be able to do things like that himself if he trained, having been coming to terms with what everyone here had been telling him all along – that he had an excellent sense of balance. But he preferred dancing. And, it seemed, fighting with longswords.

“Ah, Justin, there you are,” Victor said, coming to stand next to him. Like Yuuri, he wore his armour and fur cloak, and he was chewing on something. “The announcer said the break would be over soon. You could be up next, you never know.”

“They blow the trumpet at the end of the breaks, I’ve heard it,” Yuuri replied. “It’s interesting to explore what’s here, don’t you think?” He gestured at the juggler. “You should see what he’s been doing, it’s incredible.”

Victor gave the man his full attention for a minute. Then he shrugged and looked at Yuuri. “I’ve seen better. I’ve _done _better.”

“You can juggle flaming clubs? Yesterday he was swallowing swords and breathing fire.”

“I bet he can’t do it on a spinning wheel.”

“He can do it on a ball.”

“Well knock me over with a feather,” Victor commented, taking another bite of whatever it was he was holding. Yuuri had never heard him speak like this and gazed at him in surprise.

“What don’t you like about him?”

Victor considered, chewing. “He has a blue face? That can’t he healthy.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “It’s face paint.”

“Clever of him.”

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Yuuri gave it up and eyed Victor’s food. “What are you eating?”

“This?” He held up a stiff reddish-brown strip. “Dried beef cured in hypocras. It’s lovely. Want a piece?” He held up a leather pouch. Yuuri pulled a strip out and agreed it was delicious as he accompanied Victor back to the arena.

The break was ending as they arrived, and Yuuri was indeed the first of the fighters from the castle to be called to joust. It felt like less of a dream in broad daylight, without the flickering orange glow and gathering shadows from the night before. And it also meant he could better see what he was doing. Having won his first round, with some idea of what to expect now, he felt more relaxed and put in his best effort – and won, splintering his lance twice to his opponent’s single time.

He knew that unhorsing the other man would be the surest way to win, but he suspected there was some unconscious hesitation on his part, just like when he was sparring with Victor. He didn’t want to actually hurt anyone; not that they’d have any compunctions about doing it to him. He’d seen a row of tents set up behind the stands where surgeons were waiting to tend to injured men, some of whom had been escorted limping, or even carried, inside. With vague unsettling notions about the degree of medical knowledge in the Middle Ages, the last thing Yuuri wanted was to accidentally send an opponent to someone who would bleed him or leave a wound infected, and he would be horrified to end up there himself; though in case of emergencies, he’d brought the bottle of vodka remaining from treating the men at the skirmish on the bridge. He prayed he wouldn’t have to use it for any reason, on anybody.

Victor’s jousting round was flawless again. He seemed the very paragon of knightly virtues. No wonder they called him the flower of the county.

Other events had started up in separate parts of the arena while the jousting continued. Two combatants were fighting with poleaxes; Yuuri flinched to look, hoping the blades were blunt. And groups of five men at a time were participating in what appeared to be a hammer-throwing contest.

“They don’t have archery here,” Julia complained to him while Victor was absent. “Usually there are separate competitions for that. I hope one will be announced near us over the summer.”

“Have you won any competitions before?”

“Twice last summer. Once the summer before that.” A proud grin crossed her face. “I even beat the master. He’s not the best at everything he does, though he’s a good shot.”

“Blimey,” Yuuri laughed. “That’s a wonderful talent you have.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, making a show of how grudging the comment was. “With a sword. You and the master are like a pair of silver fish on the wheel. I don’t know why it took you so long to show everyone what you can do, but you should try here and see how far you get.”

This was a change in attitude from the night before, Yuuri decided. There never seemed to be any telling what kind of mood she would be in. “Will you be taking part in the swordfighting later?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied firmly, watching as two knights shattered their lances against each other and one spilled off his horse. To Yuuri’s relief, he was able to stand and walk out of the arena with his squire.

When it was his own turn to compete again, Yuuri lost on points, relieved that the pressure which had been building with each win was now off, and he hadn’t done badly. The only others from the castle reamining in the competition were Victor, Chris and Emil. Yuuri offered to be squire for his own squire in an attempt to reciprocate Emil’s many kindnesses, but the young man simply thanked him and said Roland had been attending to him, and he should relax and enjoy the tournament.

Yuuri cheered him on, but he lost the round, and Chris lost his, leaving Victor as the last of their group. Perun seemed to glide across the ground with each pass, the chestnut destrier’s gait straight and true, with his rider following the motion fluidly, aim precise and clearly packing a punch.

The winners of the poleaxe and hammer-throwing competitions received their accolades, and then the final round of jousting was announced to great fanfare. Victor’s opponent was someone called Sir Lucas de Boulogne, with a fluffy blue feather plume emerging from the top of his helmet like a fountain. A brief summary of each knight’s family details and most prestigious wins was read as their horses kicked at the ground and the riders, visors up, sat poised in the saddle. Yuuri was sure Victor winked at the cohort from Crowood Castle. Then he gave his opponent a cool stare. Sir Lucas returned it.

_You were the jousting champion of York three years ago? _Yuuri thought in wonder as he listened to the announcer. He considered Victor primarily a swordsman; in fact, he’d got the opinion that was how Victor saw himself. But his skill with a lance was obviously formidable as well.

As the announcer picked up the trumpet, the jousters lowered their visors and readied their lances. At the blast, their horses charged and the crowd roared, Yuuri unable to resist joining them. There was a mighty collision as the lances hit home – and Sir Lucas tumbled from his horse to cheers and applause. Yuuri clapped as well, but was relieved when Lucas stood, seemingly unhurt, and vaulted back into his saddle. Julia dashed out to repair Victor’s lance, and the two opponents faced each other once again.

“Lucas is as strong as an ox, and an excellent horseman,” Chris said, coming to stand by Yuuri’s side as they watched and waited. “But you’d think Victor was nailed down to his saddle, as difficult as it is to unhorse him. He’s also confident with the lance and almost always finds his target. I’d say they were well matched.” He glanced at Yuuri a moment. “You’re lucky to have him as a trainer. He finds little challenge from myself or Charles, but he must see something in you and Julius.”

“I’m grateful for what you’ve taught me when we’ve sparred,” Yuuri said. Before he could add anything else, the trumpet sounded again, to another charge and roar. The splintering of both lances was like a thunderbolt, and to Yuuri’s dismay, and despite what Chris had just said about Victor being good at staying in the saddle, both he and his opponent took heavy falls.

“Victor!” Yuuri shouted, instinctively wanting to vault over the fence and run to his aid. _Don’t be hurt. Don’t…don’t die…please…_

But Chris briefly patted his arm. “He’s made of stronger stuff than you seem to think, my lad. Look, he’s standing.”

Victor pulled his helmet off and gave his head a toss, his fringe flopping, seemingly in an attempt to shake off the fall. Julia repaired his lance again and paused to have a quick word with him. The judges announced Lucas as the winner of the pass, and Victor replaced his helmet, then vaulted back onto Perun, accepted his lance from Julia, and took his starting position.

The announcer played up the drama of the final decisive pass to come, the crowd cheering in anticipation. Then they quietened as the trumpet was raised. On its blast, hoofbeats thundered through the arena. Yuuri gripped the fence in front of him, hoping Victor would win; hoping even more that he would emerge from the contest unscathed. He could hardly watch as the two men raced to close the distance between them, their lances explosively hitting home.

Neither was unhorsed this time – but Victor’s lance shattered so far down its length that it was virtually a pile of tinder, splinters flying. The crowd erupted in shouts and whistles and applause, and Yuuri jumped in the air, waving his fist, letting out a yell. Victor hopped off Perun as Julia scurried toward him, taking his helmet and beaming at him as if he’d just landed from the heavens. The judges announced Victor as the winner of the jousting competition; and Yuuri couldn’t help but feel that the warm grin he saw from across the arena might have been meant for him.

* * *

Back at the tent, Yuuri ran his fingers down the side of Victor’s peacock-feather cloak, awarded to him by the eldest daughter of the lord of the castle, admiring the smooth iridescent layers.

“It’s gorgeous, Victor,” he said. “I didn’t know it was possible to make clothes out of peacock feathers.”

“Hmm, yes, it’s quite dashing, isn’t it?” Victor stuck his arms out and watched as the cloak fell over them like a prismatic waterfall. Then to Yuuri’s surprise, he removed it and handed it to Julia, instructing her to put it in his chest. They’d been leaving all nonessential belongings in the tent, which was guarded in turns by the soldiers who’d accompanied them from the castle.

“Don’t you want to wear it for a while?”

“I daren’t think of the state it would be in after swordfighting,” Victor laughed. “There are suitable times for preening, and this isn’t one of them.” He drew his weapon. “Let’s find a space where we can warm up for the last of the day’s events, shall we?”

Victor decided on part of a field close enough to the arena that they’d be able to hear the trumpet calling the competitors over, but secluded by trees from the tents and entertainment. However, not long after they’d begun to spar, Yuuri noticed a small but growing crowd of onlookers watching them off to the side, mainly in the ordinary clothes of people who’d come from nearby villages to enjoy the tournament, though there were a few men in armour too. After besting him in a round, Victor glanced at them and then turned back to Yuuri.

“I should have said. This often happens whenever I compete locally. People know me on sight and are curious. I thought I might have eluded them this time, but…well. If it bothers you – ”

“No, it’s all right,” Yuuri said with a smile, surprised at his answer; just weeks ago it might have been very different. “Let’s give them something to look at. That’s why they came over here, isn’t it?”

A spark leapt into Victor’s eyes, and his lips curled in a determined grin. “Very well.”

“Have at you,” Yuuri pre-empted him.

As they sparred, he got the idea that Victor was enjoying the attention, to the point where he was engaging in a bit of showmanship. He flourished his sword in ways that Fiore and Liechtenauer would surely have frowned upon, though he was still so good that Yuuri struggled to take advantage of the pointless manoeuvres. He did little pirouettes, and exaggerated his movements, making them seem almost…

_Like a dance._

That was what he was doing. Dancing with a sword. And at the same time, fending off his opponent; even managing to get attacks in, though admittedly not as many as usual.

“Why are you making all these…unusual moves?” Yuuri whispered as they crossed their swords in a bind.

“Because they like it. The audience. Look at them.” Victor tilted his head, and Yuuri cast a glance back. More people had joined the group of spectators, and for the most part they stood quiet and still, engrossed in the performance.

“Jesus, you’re right.”

“So. You can try to take advantage of the silly things I’m doing, as any serious opponent would, though you haven’t yet. Or…you could play along.”

Yuuri huffed and considered.

“Quickly, now. Binds shouldn’t last this long,” Victor chuckled.

Yuuri flashed him a smile, then pulled his sword away theatrically, waving it in an arc to strike. He could already identify three or four things Victor could do to get in a successful attack, but he didn’t. Instead, they clashed swords and circled and lunged, their rounds lasting longer than they had any right to. Yuuri won a few times, but it hadn’t been deserved; they were both aware that they weren’t truly sparring. Yet there was a kind of artistry in it, he decided. Such a display could even be choreographed; then it really would be dancing with swords.

When the trumpet blared from the arena, they stopped and bowed to the crowd, who clapped and waved before filtering back through the trees. Yuuri turned to Victor, who spoke first.

“I hadn’t planned on that,” he said, sheathing his sword. “It’s not how you should be learning to fight.”

Yuuri grinned. “I know.”

“It’s fun sometimes.”

“It was fucking incredible,” Yuuri said with a laugh, and Victor raised his eyebrows and joined in.

“I’m glad you don’t hold it against me. If you went into the arena behaving like that, you’d deserve to be beaten by the first opponent you met.”

“I know. I’ve had a good trainer. I’ll switch up my game as soon as we get back over there, and then they’d better watch out.”

“That’s the spirit. I’d say good luck to us, but we shouldn’t need it. We both have the skill to win.”

_I wish that was true. _But Victor’s faith was deeply touching. Without further consideration, he pulled him into a hug, threading his arms under the fur cloak and around the metal breastplate, clasping tight. After tensing briefly in surprise, Victor relaxed into it and did the same.

“Justin,” he heard in his ear, the name jarring, though the tone was warm and friendly. “I’m so glad you came to the castle. I fear I would never have known you otherwise.”

Yuuri sighed and nestled his head into the crook of Victor’s neck, feeling cold hard metal and smooth warm skin. “Me too,” he said quietly. And when his blood began to surge, and his heart to race, he made himself pull away, looking into those deep blue eyes.

Victor reached out to stroke a finger under his chin. “Let’s go show them what we’re made of, shall we?”


	57. Chapter 57

The swordfighting in the arena went quickly, Yuuri soon saw, compared to the jousting. While a win was the best of ten rounds, with a tie-breaker if necessary, a round often ended in just a few seconds. There were also several fights taking place in different areas at the same time, at least in the preliminary stages of the competition. Yuuri and the others from Crowood Castle were called to participate numerous times, often simultaneously. And they all scored wins. Baron Nikiforov apparently had high standards for the men he chose to defend his castle.

Understanding more about what was happening now than when the jousting was taking place, Yuuri watched carefully from the fence, noting how the combatants approached their opponents, what strategies they used, and what their strengths and weaknesses seemed to be; fighting at least six rounds as they each did, he was able to get a good sense of what was happening, often aided by the commentary of Victor next to him. During the breaks, he went with Victor, Julia and Emil to listen to the musicians, though Victor didn’t seem interested in coming out of trainer mode and would take advantage of the time to discuss Yuuri’s most recent performance, doing the same for Julia and Emil. All three of them understood what it meant to receive feedback from someone so skilled, and they paid little heed to the musicians and others around them as they sat on the benches discussing tactics. Seemingly in no time at all, the trumpet would be blowing, calling them all back to compete.

“You did really well in the jousting,” Yuuri told Emil as they stood together with Julia at the fence, waiting for Victor to emerge in the arena for a fight with a man announced as Sir Piotr Dalovich.

“Thank you, sir. I’ve never come that far in a jousting competition before. It was very pleasing.”

“So how do you actually become a knight?”

Emil and Julia stared at him, and for the second time that day he could have kicked himself for being so lax about what he was saying.

“I mean,” he said quickly, “is there anything specific you’re expected to do? Who decides when you’re ready? Or – ”

“For both of us – ” Emil glanced at Julia. “ – Sir Victor will arrange for us to present evidence of our prowess to the king. It’s a few years until I’m of age at twenty-one. Though it’s possible we may yet be called upon to perform deeds in battle, which can be a quick route to knighthood, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Is that what you want?” Yuuri said quietly.

“Well, as a squire, I don’t shy away from such things, sir. I have my duty.”

“As do I,” Julia added fervently. “I fear nothing.”

“Maybe you should,” Yuuri muttered under his breath, too quietly for either to hear.

“How did you become a knight, if you don’t mind my asking?” Emil enquired. Fortunately, before Yuuri was forced to put together some half-convincing story, Victor emerged from the stable area, and Julia excused herself to vault over the fence and join him in the arena.

Victor and Sir Piotr both had strikingly light blond hair and piercing blue eyes. But while Victor was lithe and graceful, Piotr was built like a wall. He was taller than Victor, too. Yuuri had to concede he’d feel intimidated by him, but at the blast of the trumpet, Victor began circling him with an easy confidence, his feet never still, keenly following his opponent’s every movement. When Piotr struck with the force of his entire body, Victor countered it unflinchingly with his sword.

But even a fighter such as this was no match for Victor. Yuuri wondered who would be. _Sir Tyler Beaumont, _his brain answered unhelpfully. Although he put up a valiant fight to the end, Piotr only managed to win a single round, which was still better than anyone else had done against Victor in the tournament so far.

Yuuri applauded at the end; then, while Victor had a word with Julia, and the next two fighters were announced, he decided he might just have time to make a quick privy dash. As he trotted out of the arena to the stalls, he had a quiet chuckle over his assumptions about bodily functions when he’d played _Swords and Sorcery. _“Knights never need the toilet” was the most convenient one, followed by, “they work it out somehow” and “the answer is lost in the mists of time”. When it was really so simple. Breastplates ended with layers of movable faulds around their hips, and no armour covered their backsides. In the Immersion game, warriors were one shining silver mass of metal, top to toe, front to back, and somehow it was still possible to ride a horse that way. Yuuri wondered how sore he and Lady or Blaze would be if he tried to ride them very far wrapped in a glorified tin can. But added to the wonderful versatility a good set of plate provided, it wasn’t difficult to attend to bodily functions – something he’d actually been worried about at first, until he’d got used to wearing armour.

That said, a visit to the privy was no more pleasant than it was in modern times, in places where basic ones still existed. When he was done, he stopped by a drinks stand and passed up the temptation of mulled cider, which tended to be quite strong; not wanting to muzz his brain and body during a competition, he opted instead for thin beer.

As he stood near the stand and drank, he was approached by a knight he recognised as Jean-Jacques Leroy. A spiky thatch of dark hair crowned his head, almost buzzed on the sides, and large grey eyes gazed steadily from underneath sharp black eyebrows. Yuuri had watched him fight in the arena that afternoon, remembering that the steward had said he’d won the past two years running. As a fighter, he was a self-assured powerhouse with a brash manner, and reminded Yuuri a little of elite modern athletes who knew they were loved by the crowd and played up to them. Fine for him, he supposed, but that was not his own style, and not one he cared for. He hoped he wouldn’t end up having to fight him.

“God save you, good knight,” Jean-Jacques said. He ordered a beer for himself and eyed Yuuri as he drank. “You must be that fellow they’re calling ‘la Rose’.”

“That’s me.”

“I understand you were called ‘le Savage’ until recently. Met someone who gentled you, eh? Not so tough these days, are you?” He snorted a laugh.

“Roses have thorns,” Yuuri said quietly, sipping his beer and looking away.

“Should I feel threatened by that?”

“Not particularly,” Yuuri replied with a shrug, gulping the rest of his beer and returning his cup to the stand.

“I’m just spying out the competition. We may have to fight. I wonder how long it would take to cut you down to size.”

Feeling bored rather than riled, Yuuri made to leave. “Excuse me – Jean-Jacques, is it? I need to get back to the arena.”

“Please, call me JJ, everyone does.”

Yuuri stopped and looked at him. “Sir JJ?” he said, huffing a little laugh.

“That’s right. You know, word has it that Victor’s attempting to replace Alexander with you.”

He had Yuuri’s interest now. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t imagine why he’d do such a thing,” Sir JJ continued, ignoring Yuuri’s question. “He was more skilled than you’ll ever be. They were rumoured to be the best swordsmen in England. But, well…” He gave a loud laugh. “…I just needed a little time to show what a formidable adversary I can be.” He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “Don’t shame yourself by trying to fill Alexander’s shoes. You may as well give it up, la Rose.” He plonked his cup down on the counter of the stand, and with a final meaningful glance, strode off, while Yuuri stared after him.

He’d been proud of how little JJ’s banter had bothered him, until he’d mentioned Alexander, which had had the desired effect.

_Why did no one ever tell me Victor had this amazing lover? Why has Victor never mentioned Alexander himself?_

_Because no one expects us to be involved in that way. Maybe even Victor doesn’t, despite everything I thought I’d noticed. Or maybe something happened between the two of them and Victor doesn’t think anyone else can compare._

Feeling sick, Yuuri returned to the arena. Victor came to stand next to him, concern spreading across his face. “What is it?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Yuuri replied with a quick shake of his head. “Have they announced the next two competitors?” Now that the event had progressed, there was only one fight at a time occurring in the middle of the arena.

“Julius will be out there soon. Ah, there he is, coming out of the stables.”

She did indeed look like she didn’t fear anyone or anything. Yuuri and Victor both cheered her on loudly; but in spite of her speed and accuracy, she was overpowered by her opponent, and lost in extra rounds, six to five.

“He did well,” Victor said to Yuuri as she headed toward them. “His physical limitations won’t hinder him as much as he grows older. Perhaps I should get him out throwing stones and chopping firewood.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad idea.”

Julia vaulted over the fence and stood next to Victor. She was frowning and looking at the ground, and he spent a few minutes pointing out what she’d done well and encouraging her, until he coaxed out a small grin. They watched several more fights, all thoughts of Alexander slipping to the back of Yuuri’s mind while his attention was diverted; and a handful of knights now stood out from the rest of the field, systematically eliminating all competitors. The remaining Crowood men fell one by one, apart from Victor, as well as Yuuri himself, who had not competed for a while and expected his name to be called at the beginning of every round.

Finally it was – and he was to face JJ. He blew out a breath and his stomach dropped when he heard, clutching the fence for a moment. But then he felt a warm hand on top of his.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Victor said in a low voice. “He’s a good swordsman, and he knows how to get the audience on his side. But part of it is bluster, too. He can be beaten by a skilled opponent.”

“Define ‘skilled’,” Yuuri muttered, trying to smile.

“There’s a saying that people in Russia use to encourage each other. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. ‘Come on, let’s do it.’ It means – ”

“Wait,” Yuuri said, wondering if now was really the time to try something like this, but deciding he would anyway. “What’s that saying again?” he asked, mentally switching off his translator as soon as he finished.

“_Davai. Ya budu zhdat tebya._”

_Oh my god, he’s talking to me in medieval Russian. How often does he do that? I don’t even know._

Then the trumpet sounded, and the announcer called through his megaphone, “Mii lordis and ladys, another peir of fiin knightes and trew noh sal yoh deliit with their greit maistry of the langswerd. Ee present yoh Sir Jean-Jacques Leroy of Harfoot and Sir Justin Courtenay of Crowood.”

Yuuri had by now surreptitiously listened to the Middle English spoken here on a few occasions during meals, when he knew it was safe to do so; usually when Charles was seated next to him and rambling on about something. It had a musical lilt to it, he thought; and even though he recognised many words in writing, the way they were pronounced was strange to him, and it might as well have been a foreign language when he heard it. He switched his translator back on, though he didn’t need to understand what the announcer had said to know he was expected in the arena.

He squeezed Victor’s hand back, thanked him, and vaulted over the fence, mentally telling the translator to allow him to hear the word _davai _in its original language, if Victor or anyone else said it again. It was a function of ordinary translators that he’d discovered this one possessed, through trial and error.

_Davai. I think I may need all the encouragement I can get right now._

Emil followed and joined him at his side. Unlike the jousting, his presence as his squire seemed to be a formality here; Yuuri supposed perhaps he was on hand to help with armour mishaps or even emergencies, though he didn’t want to speculate about those.

JJ smirked at them as they approached. Yuuri blinked and stared, drawing his sword. When the trumpet blew, they began to circle each other, Yuuri keeping on his toes, choosing the window guard simply because it made him feel fiercer as he held his sword horizontally at head height, as if about to strike.

The problem was, while he was well versed in tactics thanks to Victor and Phichit and the others, it still took time to think about them, and the briefest hesitation could cost him the round. He needed to get to a point where it was all instinctive, he knew that, but these knights had had years of practice, while he himself –

In a flash, JJ raised his sword from its position near the ground and drove it home before Yuuri could lower his own weapon far enough to stop him, and scored a touch on his shoulder, winning the round. As JJ drew back, his smirk widened; then to Yuuri’s annoyance, he clapped his hands while still holding his sword, and waved his arms at the audience, who cheered. It reminded Yuuri of old-fashioned footage he’d seen of boxers crowing after they’d pummelled their opponents, before the sport had been banned.

The fact that the round had lasted only seconds wasn’t a promising start. His thoughts had strayed, which was a careless mistake on his part, but JJ was also devastatingly quick.

_I doubt I have the ability to win this tournament, but I sure as hell don’t want to see someone like you win it, either. _Yuuri pressed his lips together in a line and glanced toward where his companions were standing; Victor smiled and waved. With a lighter heart, Yuuri turned back to JJ, another trumpet blast beginning the next round.

“You have no chance against me, little man,” JJ drawled.

“You’ll find I’m full of surprises.” Yuuri attempted to strike quickly, hoping JJ had been distracted by the banter – but realised too late that he’d been impatient and overzealous, as JJ easily parried, then slid his sword out to break the bind and circled Yuuri’s, sending it flying out of his hand almost before he knew what was happening. The crowd let out a roar, and JJ shouted and raised his sword in victory.

_You’re a prick, you know that?_

_This isn’t going well. What would Victor tell me…? Play to my strengths and his weaknesses. What have I seen him do when I’ve watched him today, where is he vulnerable…_

This time when the trumpet sounded, Yuuri felt the pressure of being down two rounds to zero against this man, who seemed to want to cause maximum embarrassment by rubbing every win in – and that was _after _he’d told him about the mysterious Alexander. Shit, what a time to remember that…

And then, incredibly, he saw an image of gentle Sam, his counsellor. _The anxiety will only master you if you allow it to. You can turn the tables. Find your centre and be above it. _

And Victor, hugging him tight. _I believe in you. Believe in yourself._

JJ came at him from the boar’s tooth guard, sword at waist height, angled slightly upward. Yuuri quickly reversed his own weapon so that he was half-swording with the hilt pointing at his opponent. He anticipated JJ’s blow, turning and parrying it, and the rest was easy from that position; he thrust his sword forward, one hand still clutching the blade halfway down, and scored his win with the tip close to JJ’s face. There was surprise in the other knight’s eyes, and a grin ghosted across Yuuri’s lips. As he lowered his sword and looked over at the stands, the grin turned into a radiant smile; Victor was waving his arms, and Emil and many of the others were clapping.

_Maybe I do believe in myself. _

“A fortuitous hit,” JJ huffed with a toss of his head as the trumpet blew again.

Yuuri narrowed his eyes and raised his sword.

He won the next round; JJ the one after. When the audience realised JJ had a genuine challenge on his hands, they began to clap and cheer for Yuuri too, though he wasn’t about to try to stir them up by copying his opponent’s ostentatious gestures. He continued to mix half-swording techniques into his approaches, having noted that JJ rarely used them himself. Since JJ also seemed to want to stick to Fiore’s techniques, Yuuri used some of Liechtenauer’s to take his opponent by surprise. They didn’t seem any more effective than the Italian methods, but they were slightly different; and as JJ didn’t expect them at first, they scored Yuuri some wins.

The tenth round was his – and they stood tied at five all. The announcer gave them a brief break to confer with their squires.

“It’s been a treat to see you fight Sir Jean-Jacques, sir,” Emil said, checking that Yuuri’s armour was still secure, and wiping the hilt of his sword with a towel, then handing it over so Yuuri could dry his his face.

“He said to call him JJ. And thank you.”

“You appear to be the first formidable opponent he’s faced today.”

_Formidable? _He turned to look at Victor, who smiled and raised his hands in the air, clapping enthusiastically in encouragement; those blue eyes never seemed to leave him. Yuuri grinned back like a fool.

“Sir Victor is quite animated in his support,” Emil chuckled. “I can’t say I’m used to seeing him in this mood. It makes a welcome change.”

Yuuri wanted to ask from what, but the announcer called the opponents back over. Thanking Emil, Yuuri raised his sword, glowering at a JJ, who was no longer smirking. The trumpet blew, and the two of them circled once more.

“Your defeat is nigh, carrion crow,” JJ said in a tone obviously meant to be threatening.

_That’s one of the most intelligent animals on the planet, you dingbat. _

Each was bouncing on his feet, looking for a way in. Yuuri flashed his sword and occasionally changed positions, while JJ seemed to prefer sudden powerful bursts of movement. They met, came to a bind, broke, backed away. JJ parried an attack from Yuuri, then Yuuri did the same, getting a foot in and kicking JJ back, which elicited a furious glance, and a roar from the crowd.

Beads of sweat stood on their brows as they circled once again. Then JJ leapt forward, pressing a hand to Yuuri’s shoulder, holding his sword high. Seeing that it took him off centre, Yuuri circled an arm around JJ’s back, shoving him so hard to the side that the knight lurched to the ground with a clatter. A cheer went up from the crowd – but they weren’t yet finished. Yuuri thought it would be easy to pin JJ with his sword and take the win; but when he attempted to do so, JJ threw himself onto his back and swiped upward with his own sword, touching the point over Yuuri’s heart. Yuuri blinked and stared, wondering how victory had been snatched so suddenly from his grasp.

_I almost had you, _he thought as the crowd stood and erupted. And JJ seemed to know it, for there were no more showy triumphant gestures. He wiped his forehead with the back of his gauntlet and glared at Yuuri as if he didn’t appreciate being taken so close to defeat.

As the announcer declared JJ the winner, Yuuri strode with Emil to the fence where his comrades from Crowood awaited. They were clapping as he approached, and Victor held his arms out, waiting for Yuuri to vault over. Soon they were embracing.

“Justin, you were _wonderful_,” Victor said in a voice choked with emotion. “That’s the best I’ve ever seen you fight. Well done.”

“I didn’t win,” he said into Victor’s plated shoulder.

“But you will. You’re getting better all the time.” Victor pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Where _did _you learn those German moves? I never taught them to you. But one thing we need to work on is grappling skills – ah,” he said suddenly. “I promised, didn’t I? No lectures after – ”

“It’s all right. I agree.” 

Victor’s name was called for the next round, and he said a quick goodbye and entered the arena with Julia. Yuuri smiled and clapped, Emil at his side, still feeling warm from the hug, despite the metal that had been in the way.

_Alexander wouldn’t have lost like I did just now, would he? Not if he was as good as JJ said. I wonder if Victor had plenty of hugs with him, too._

The thoughts invaded his mind before he could stop them, and his smile faded. But then again, what if JJ had simply made things up about Alexander to psych him out? It was a possibility.

“Did…Alexander attend tournaments like this with Victor?” he asked Emil as they watched the opponents begin to circle.

Emil looked at him curiously, then back at the fight in the arena. “I wasn’t aware you’d heard about him, sir. But yes, he did.” He sounded nostalgic for a moment. “Sir Alexander was a sight to see, just like Sir Victor. The two of them together…they were stunning. It’s a shame you’ll never get to witness it yourself.”

Yuuri took this in.

_Fucking hell. How am I ever supposed to measure up to that?_

_I’m not. Because we can’t be a couple anyway._

_Maybe he’s been training me in the hope that I might develop some glimmer of the skill this jack had. I must be disappointing him. Why would he ever leave someone like that – or did the bloke leave him? He must have been out of his mind in that case._

Deciding he’d rather not exacerbate the growing pain in his heart by asking more questions, he watched Victor take his opponent apart in six straight rounds. Afterward, he rejoined them as if he’d been out for nothing more than a stroll.

“I’d hoped for better from Cormac,” he said. “No matter. It should be getting more interesting now; there aren’t many competitors left.”

JJ was called back into the arena again for the next round. “If I encounter him, I’ll be sure to avenge you,” Victor said, squeezing Yuuri’s hand. “Perhaps he needs to be taught a little lesson in humility.”

_And if I was a better swordsman, you wouldn’t have to say that in the first place. _Yuuri gave him a polite grin and turned to watch the fight. With Victor close and attentive like this, it was impossible to imagine he was secretly disappointed in him.

_Most people have exes. I need to remember that. Whoever Alexander was, he’s gone now._

JJ’s opponent didn’t give him the challenge that Yuuri had, and when he won, he sheathed his sword and made ridiculous gestures at the audience, who roared and whistled.

“You’d better beat him, is all I’m saying,” Yuuri muttered to Victor. They both laughed.

However, JJ won his next fight and went on to beat several more opponents, while Victor did the same. They clearly stood out as the two best knights in the competition; and when all the rest had been defeated, they faced each other in the middle of the arena for the decisive fight. Julia hovered just out of the way, cultivating a solemn and dignified expression while shifting from one foot to the other, and springing into action with sparkling eyes between rounds.

The first one took some time, both opponents circling, attacking and withdrawing, watching each other keenly, looking for a good way in. Then JJ struck with a powerful thrust, but Victor deflected it with equal fervour, quickly slipping his sword out from underneath and scoring a touch to the arm. Yuuri punched a fist in the air and Chris let out a yell. The whole crowd was electrified, and Victor seemed to sense it, the ghost of a grin crossing his face as the second round commenced.

It didn’t last long, however, as JJ got an arm around Victor’s back and threw him to the ground. Yuuri gasped.

“It’s not often you see _that _happen to him,” Chris commented as Victor stood and raked his fringe back. “But they’re both feeling each other out.” He leaned toward Yuuri. “Once Victor decides on a good attack strategy or two to use with him…” He chuckled. “…JJ will be lucky to have won a single round.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Trust me. I’ve seen him fight many times before.”

The third round, however, ended with JJ pointing his sword under Victor’s chin. Then he jumped away and stirred the crowd into a roar.

_Come on, Victor – you can do this._

“Don’t look so worried,” Chris said in an easy voice. “It takes more skill than that cuckoldly knave possesses to get the better of Victor.”

And indeed, it was Victor who got the better of JJ in the next four rounds. He seemed to have settled on a strategy of deception, giving the impression of going into a guard or a particular kind of attack and drawing JJ’s attention to the wrong place while he sprang a surprise – grabbing an arm, stepping quickly to the side, a twist of the waist that changed the target and forced JJ to miss. No longer attempting to play to the audience, JJ’s movements were less assured now, and more hesitant. Yuuri wished he’d thought to try the same thing with him earlier. 

Leading at five rounds to two, Victor wore a stoical expression, feet dancing over the earth in flashes of silver as the trumpet sounded the start of the potentially winning round for him. JJ, however, prowled like a caged tiger, thick eyebrows knitting while he scowled, sword at waist height and angled upward in the boar’s tooth guard. The crowd surged with cheers several times at the expectation of an attack, and the announcer waved at them for quiet.

Victor made the first move, shifting to a half-swording position, perhaps hoping to take JJ by surprise once again. But his opponent was swift to parry, instantly taking the advantage to make an upward cut to Victor’s head – Yuuri and many others in the audience cried out in alarm – but Victor reacted instantly, leaning back so that the sword touched only empty air. They regrouped and circled again, and it was JJ who came forward next, Victor bringing them to a bind with an almighty ringing clash, and manoeuvring his sword out of it to deliver a kick to the chest that sent JJ reeling backwards. Yuuri yelled along with Chris and Emil, thinking the fight over – but JJ used his momentum to drop to the ground, roll once, and jump back to his feet before Victor could drive home his advantage.

“JJ’s determined, I’ll give him that,” Chris commented.

“It’s a most entertaining spectacle to be sure,” Emil said with a smile. “Sir JJ seems to be at his best when he’s hard pressed.”

Yuuri clutched the fence and watched closely as the swords clanged in another bind, both knights pushing into it, angling for a way around, eyes glittering. Then everything happened at once.

While still in the bind, JJ lifted a leg, clearly intending to aim a kick. Victor pulled a hand off his own sword and grabbed him around the knee, hoiking him off balance and hurling him to the ground. With a crash, JJ landed on his back, sword flying; and still with a solid hold on his leg, Victor touched his sword to his chest for the win.

The crowd leapt to their feet. Yuuri gave Emil a wild hug, and once his squire got over the surprise, he clasped him with a laugh. Then Yuuri turned back to Victor, who was looking their way, and shouted his name, waving an arm.

The smile that lit up Victor’s face in return warmed him from head to toe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the Middle English that appears in this story – it’s the Yorkshire dialect as rendered by Adrianners. However, I wanted to give readers a flavour of what it would have sounded like, so it appears phonetically whenever it’s spoken. For an idea of what London Middle English would have looked and sounded like, here is [the beginning of the Prologue to _The Canterbury Tales_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mVG77xTPH6E).
> 
> To learn more about Middle English and how it’s used in _All Our Yesterdays_, visit Adrianners’ wonderfully detailed and informative language guide [here](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html).


	58. Chapter 58

“He’s won other times,” Julia said with a shrug, obviously trying to appear nonchalant. She and Yuuri and the men from the castle had remained in the waiting area to watch the award ceremony. Victor and JJ stood side by side in the wooden box which housed the guests of honour, with the baron and his wife seated before them, their daughter waiting to give the prizes.

“So this isn’t anything special to either of you?” Yuuri said.

She considered this.

“Admit it, little squidling,” Chris told her fondly, “you like it as much as your master does.”

“I could challenge you to a duel for that, and then I’ll show you what a little squidling I am.”

Yuuri briefly laid a hand on her shoulder. “Do you think this is what Victor would want you to be doing right now?”

She gazed back at him quietly, then turned to view the proceedings. JJ, looking rather deflated after his loss, received a vivid blue cloak, pinned on him with a silver brooch; he turned and waved at the cheering audience, then stepped aside with a clouded brow while the baron’s daughter placed a gold circlet on Victor’s head. The announcer told everyone through his megaphone to behold the twice-champion of the day, and Victor bowed, waved and smiled to thunderous applause.

“Maybe you’ve seen this kind of thing before,” Yuuri said to Julia as they watched, “but I can’t imagine you get tired of it. He looks beautiful.”

She slanted a look at him. “If you called _me _beautiful, I’d make you take it back. Men aren’t beautiful.”

“That one is,” Yuuri said quietly.

Before she could argue further, Victor made a dramatic vault over the railing of the box and landed soundly in the arena, trotting toward them to more cheers and applause.

“The ‘king’ reigned for two years,” Chris chuckled. “Long live the rightful one.”

When Victor joined them, he gave Yuuri a happy hug and patted his back.

“You were brilliant,” Yuuri told him with a smile.

“I lost two rounds.”

“You still won.”

“I ought to brush up on my skills. It’s not good enough.” But then he laughed, his eyes sparkling. Yuuri stepped back to allow the others to congratulate him.

“It’s not a major victory for him,” Julia said; she’d come to stand next to Yuuri after Victor had thanked her for her help. Then a crooked smile played across her face. “But I suppose I must concede that I’m not in a bad position as his squire. There are many who would envy it.”

“I’m sure they would. You could learn a lot from him.”

“Indeed I have.”

Victor extracted himself from the small crowd and came toward them, looking as he had when he’d won the jousting – simply pleased. Yuuri wondered what he would have done himself if he’d won. Cried from sheer surprise and delight, he supposed, never mind what it would have looked like in the middle of an arena.

He took a moment to admire the gleaming circlet Victor wore. It appeared to be an intricately stylised version of a laurel wreath, curving down into a gentle V-shape over Victor’s forehead. An oval red jewel was set there, with smaller ones adorning the delicate gold leaves. The warm colours complemented his pale hair and skin, highlighting the touch of pink on his cheeks.

“Does it suit me?” Victor asked, giving it a small adjustment. “I must have a look in a mirror.”

“It’s magnificent,” Yuuri said.

Victor smiled. “Thank you. Julius, would you mind fetching the peacock-feather cloak for me? I believe we’re expected to dine outside with the baron’s family, and they’ll want me to look the part.” He extended an arm across the fur coat on Yuuri’s back. “Now, my friend – will you walk there with me?”

Struggling to find words, Yuuri instinctively did the first thing that came to mind, and reached his own arm across Victor’s back. “I’d love to,” he said.

* * *

“You joined in too early.”

“No, I did it when you told me to. I counted eight beats.”

“So did I. Your beats must be different from mine.”

“Count them out, then – go on, and I’ll watch.”

Yuuri grinned and sipped his ale. He was sitting in the tent in a folding wooden chair with a table between himself and Emil, who was taking a rare break from serving, sharing the jug of drink with him. They were the small audience for the musical experimentations of Victor and Chris; the former had been plucking out a tune on his citole while the latter was trying to join in with his ocarina, but their timing was off. After further discussion, Victor started tapping his foot with slow deliberation while he played. Yuuri had preferred it when they had all sung along to a folk tune Victor had strummed; he’d learned several by now, having participated in dances after meals and sat with Victor and his citole on numerous occasions in the garrison. Though if Victor and Chris worked out how to harmonise their playing, he imagined it would sound wonderful.

He crossed one leg over the other, now in tan hose and a blue tunic with his armour put away, and watched the two of them while the heat from the brazier in the middle of the tent warmed his back, wondering how different medieval musical annotation was from modern, and if it would’ve been any help for them to be able to consult a manuscript. Victor’s competition prizes were locked away in a chest, and he’d had Julia remove his own armour to reveal olive-green hose with a maroon tunic trimmed in gold thread. Yuuri supposed the peacock-feather cape would be something he wore for special occasions; he’d seen the way Victor had carefully draped it around the back of his chair at supper so that the feathers didn’t fold.

When Victor had told Yuuri they’d be dining outside, he’d thought it sounded like a chilly ordeal, but he was in for a surprise. It had been like visiting an extra-large great hall, attended by nobles and knights who had fought in the competitions, as well as the baron’s family and staff. Fires were blazing around the periphery of the tables, and a large one danced and crackled in the middle. Several of the entertainers who had been performing near the arena during the tournament had come to do the same for them while they ate, including the musicians who’d played onstage.

And it was hardly picnic food that they dined on; the fires were also being used for cooking, though Yuuri guessed the more elaborate dishes might have been prepared at the castle and been sent to be reheated. There were seemingly endless varieties of roasted meats and fried fish with sauces, as well as flatbreads and loaves, sops and porridges, venison pies with fruit, poached eggs, cheese waffles, seed cakes, spiced mushrooms and Brussels sprouts, bread pudding, apples with almond milk and honey…the list went on. Yuuri had quickly learned at feasts such as this to only take small samples of everything, before he got so full that he spent the rest of the meal watching everyone else eat while nursing a stomach ache.

As fine as the food was, however, he was more interested in sneaking glimpses of Victor at the high table. Having won the two most prestigious events, he was seated at the baron’s right hand in the place of honour, while the baron’s family and the winners of the other competitions made up the rest of the cohort at the table. With his peacock-feather cape over his shining silver armour, and his gold circlet, Yuuri thought he looked more regal than the baron himself in his scarlet houppelande and black chaperon.

He recalled the one time they’d eaten together at the high table at Crowood Castle, and hoped they’d get more opportunities; being separated like this at formal meals was a constant frustration. If Victor were enjoying himself, Yuuri would feel glad, but there was a certain stiffness to his posture, and he was responding politely to the attentions paid to him by the baron on his left and the daughter on his right, rather than seeking conversation himself.

The daughter was attentive enough. The swell of her breasts was clearly visible above the scooped neck of her tight yellow bodice – whatever rules existed here to force women to be modest, they didn’t seem to apply from the neck to the waist – and she kept leaning over to presumably give Victor a view. Even though he’d said he preferred the company of men, Yuuri hadn’t been quite sure what _preferred _had meant. At least he didn’t seem interested in this woman.

_But how do I know? And there was Alexander, too. Why would someone like me appeal to him when he’s got all these beautiful talented nobles to choose from? How could I ever measure up?_

_That’s not what I came here to do anyway._

_And yet…_

The thread joined Yuuri’s thoughts from the feast to the present moment, as Chris and Victor managed to achieve near if not perfect harmony for a short time, before breaking off to debate again.

_And yet he _is _interested in me. I’d be blind not to acknowledge it. As impossible as it seems –_

“Do you play an instrument yourself, sir? Or did you at your father’s castle, perhaps?”

Yuuri snapped out of his thoughts to look at Emil, smiling pleasantly at him from across the little table. “Uh, no. Maybe that’s something else I should learn, but I thought riding a horse and using a sword were higher priorities.”

Emil laughed. “I don’t suppose anyone would disagree.”

“Do you play?”

“Oh dear, no. I never could get on with it, no matter what I tried.” He took a sip of wine. “But as you say, there are other knightly skills which tend to be rather more useful much of the time.” After a pause, he said, “Is there anything you need me to fetch for you, master? I can – ”

“No, you can’t. Stay where you are and enjoy yourself for once, Emil. I’m just going to pop outside for a few minutes.”

He’d managed to contact Phichit earlier in the day, keen to tell him about what was happening in the tournament. But there would be no harm in calling him again now; it would only take a few minutes, and no one would miss him.

He was halfway out the tent flap when he was approached by a knight in plate armour polished to mirrors, which reflected the light from his flaming torch. To say he was stunningly handsome would be no exaggeration, with his short thick mahogany hair, sharp nose, full red lips, and deep blue eyes. He was cradling a jug in one arm, and gave Yuuri a polite smile.

“God save you, sir. Is this Sir Victor Nikiforov’s tent? I hope the directions I’ve received along the way have been true.”

“This is where the knights and squires from Crowood Castle are staying,” Yuuri replied somewhat coolly.

“Is he among you this evening?”

“And you are – ?”

This time the man’s smile was a knowing one, or so it seemed. “Just tell him it’s Ginger.” He attempted to peer into the tent, but Yuuri wedged himself firmly in the way.

“Ginger?”

“Yes.” He gave his lustrous head a toss. “Red hair. He’ll know who it is. I brought something to celebrate his victories with today. We haven’t seen each other in _ages_, and have some catching up to do.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes and said quickly, “He’s not here.”

“What? He’s not in the tent?”

“No. He went to see someone called…Peter Framlington,” Yuuri told him, plucking the local steward’s name from memory. “I don’t know if he’s found him, or – ”

“Oh.” The knight’s shoulders dropped a little.

“But I’ll be happy to tell him you called on him. And…” He lifted the jug from the man’s arm. “…I’ll make sure he gets this. Thanks so much, and good night.”

Ginger nodded, though there was a lost expression on his face. Then he turned and went back the way he had come.

Yuuri felt a momentary stab of guilt, but decided he wasn’t sorry. The last thing he wanted was to sit in the tent and watch Victor have a grand time with someone who was probably an ex. He checked in with Phichit, then ducked back under the flap and scanned the dim candle-lit tent until he spotted Julia at a table with pewter cups and ceramic jugs, and brought her the one he was carrying.

“Where did you get this?” she asked as she took it.

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” he muttered.

“And what is _that _supposed to mean?”

“It means I’d rather not say. But it’s for Victor.”

Julia put it down on the table and pulled the cork out, then leaned over to sniff near the lip. “Smells like hypocras. It’s his favourite.”

_Which “Ginger” obviously knew, _Yuuri thought with a frown. “Could you – ” he began, but she cut him off.

“Not yet; give me a moment.” She poured a little into a cup and sipped it. “If it’s poisoned, we’ll know in a moment.”

“_Poisoned?_”

“You won’t tell me where it came from, so…”

“Do you really test his food and drink for that kind of thing?” Yuuri breathed, hardly daring to believe it.

She shrugged. “Not to his knowledge. I know he wouldn’t ask me to. But well, I’m his squire. There are more ways to protect someone than with a sword. Anyway, I was jesting with you. You wouldn’t give him anything that was poisoned, would you?” Before he could answer, she picked up the jug and two cups, then tilted her head and said, “Come on.”

As they approached Victor, who was sitting with his citole in his lap, having an animated conversation with Chris, Yuuri wondered if Emil ever surreptitiously tested food and drink for poisoning, too. Was that part of a squire’s job description? Or did Julia feel such loyalty to Victor that she did it purely because she wanted to keep him safe? Not for the first time, he felt in awe of the courage this young woman possessed. Though it was mixed with a sudden surge of anxiety about how vulnerable people like Victor and himself might really be.

_Just don’t think about it. You might as well worry about being struck by lightning, or having something fall on your head at an awkward moment._

“What’s that you have, my lad?” Victor asked, eyeing the jug Julia carried.

“Hypocras, master. Sir Justin brought it in.”

“Really?” He turned to Yuuri. “Splendid. I’d like to get a bit more comfortable to drink this,” he said as he stood. To Chris, he added, “We should try this again in the garrison sometime.”

“Certainly. But my lips are sore from playing this thing. I feel in need of some refreshment myself.” He called Philip over as Yuuri followed Victor to their mattresses. Victor sat on his, with Yuuri on his own across from him, and Julia bustled about, setting the jug and cups down on the low wooden stand and lighting a candle for them. It made Yuuri feel oddly like they’d just arrived at a restaurant.

“I’ll be with the other squires if you should need me, sir,” she said unnecessarily to Victor, since the tent wasn’t so big that its denizens couldn’t be easily spotted.

“Thank you.” His left his citole on his lap while he poured himself a cup. Taking a sip, his eyes brightened. “That’s beautiful. Were they really selling such fine wine outside?”

“I…yes, I suppose I got lucky.”

“Please, help yourself; there’s plenty to go around.”

Yuuri hesitated, then poured a cup and tasted it. He could see why Victor liked hypocras; the honey took the edge off the bitterness, and there seemed to be a slightly different spice mixture used for every jug. The features of this one were cinnamon, cloves, and pepper. It was also quite strong.

“So how did you like the tournament?” Victor said, meeting his eyes before looking down to tune his citole. He’d placed his empty cup on the table.

“I’m glad you arranged for us to come,” Yuuri replied, watching his fingers as he turned pegs and plucked strings. “I don’t think jousting will ever be my favourite thing to do, but you were right – I didn’t end up in last place.”

“I never expected you to. Perhaps now you’ll give yourself more credit for what you can accomplish.” He bit his lip as he twanged a string, turning a peg a touch more. Then he paused to pour himself more wine, and had a gulp.

“That’s not watered down like the usual stuff,” Yuuri laughed.

“I know. It’s gorgeous. I did all right today, didn’t I? I think I’m entitled to celebrate.”

“You were amazing.”

“So were you,” Victor said pointedly, taking another swig and looking at him. “You almost beat JJ.”

Yuuri considered for a moment. He hadn’t thought about it in quite that way. “I did, didn’t I?” he mused.

“The winner of this tournament the past two years in a row. That’s not an insignificant feat.” Another drink of wine. “We’ll have to talk about deceiving your opponent as a strategy. Fiore swears by it. The important part of a fight is getting the other person to do what you want them to. Then your most efficacious techniques can come into play.”

“You’ve never told me that before.”

“I can’t tell you everything all at once.” He chuckled, finished his second cup of wine, poured a third, and strummed some chords. “One day we’ll be facing each other in the final competition of a tournament like this.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “Do you really think so?”

“Depend upon it. Now, it’s been a while since I’ve taught you a song, hasn’t it? Would you like to learn one?”

“Sure.”

Victor chose “The Outlandish Knight”, which Yuuri remembered him requesting a few times during dances after meals. He sang the lyrics as he played, inviting Yuuri to repeat. While he’d worked on his vocal techniques in the Immersion musicals, he didn’t think they were anything impressive, but he could listen to Victor for hours. His soft tenor and subtle vibrato were like an enchantment.

_There was a knight, a baron-knight,_  
_A knight of high degree;_  
_This knight he came from the North land,_  
_He came a-courting me…_

It was only now, singing it with Victor like this, that he wondered about the meaning.

_Are you trying to tell me something? _But Victor had been requesting it in the great hall when they hardly knew each other.

When they finished the song, which they’d halted several times in order to laugh at the lyrics about a knight trying to seduce a woman by a river and her throwing him in, the jug of wine was considerably lighter. Yuuri was on his third cup, with his head buzzing pleasantly. The candlelight seemed extra-sparkly now – on the cups, on Victor’s signet ring, and in his eyes, too.

“Is there any hypocras left?” Victor asked, putting his citole down. “I’ve quite forgotten myself, I think. How many cups have I had?” He poured himself another.

Before Yuuri could answer that he hadn’t been counting, a young woman with long brown hair and a billowing white blouse tucked into a tight green bodice appeared at the tent flap, asking for Sir Charles. Having been drinking with Chris, he got up and slung on his fur coat. “Ah, Rosie, my dear – ”

Victor waved a hand at him. “Keep your wits about you, Charles. I don’t want to hear you’ve been in another drunken fight.”

Charles smirked. “Where I’m going, that’s that least likely thing to happen, I assure you.”

“In that case, keep your purse in sight at all times,” Chris said. Philip and Roland, playing a game of dice, laughed.

“Oi, that’s not a respectable thing to say to a lady,” the woman responded with a frown, though a twitch of her mouth indicated that she was trying not to smile.

“That’s all right, then, because you’re not a respectable lady,” Charles replied, joining her as she batted at his chest. Yuuri watched them leave.

“I wouldn’t worry about him, Victor,” Chris said from across the glowing brazier, which Julia was stoking with fresh wood. “She won’t give him time to drink, and he won’t pay to get any off her. Besides, you’re more drunk than he is.”

Victor looked affronted. “I am not. And what’s wrong with celebrating once in a while?”

“But you don’t. When you win tournaments, you just give your pretty metals and rocks to Percy to put under lock and key. You must have a closetful.”

“Maybe I’m celebrating Justin’s debut tournament, too.” Victor’s eyes were shining.

Yuuri felt a blush creep across his cheeks. He wasn’t keen on the whole tent listening to what was going on, and spoke in a low voice to Victor.

“I wouldn’t say that – and everyone in this tent did well.”

To his surprise and embarrassment, Victor got up and came to sit on the mattress next to him, grabbing his drink and taking a sip while looking into his eyes. Yuuri’s mouth dropped open and he stared back.

“Why are you always so humble?”

Yuuri swallowed. “I didn’t win, Victor.”

“You did. You beat many other knights. Even in jousting. You’ve come such a long way in so short a time. I can’t tell you how proud I am.”

God, he was so close. Yuuri’s gaze alighted on his lips. It wouldn’t be difficult to lean forward and kiss him. But not with all these people in the tent. And even then, not. _Why _was he hovering so close?

Yuuri looked around. Chris and Julia had joined the other squires at the dice game, thank God. Either deliberately or through happy circumstance, no one seemed to be paying himself or Victor any mind.

Victor continued to look at him, sipping his wine.

“You were wonderful today,” Yuuri said. “Do you really just lock your winnings in a closet?”

“Not quite,” Victor replied with a little shrug. “I wear my favourite things sometimes. Not all of my prizes are adornments, though. Did you ever want a gold plate with etchings that looked like a three-year-old drew them?”

Yuuri took a moment to try to understand the mindset of not wanting a free gold plate for that reason. “You could eat off it. You could…melt it down and sell it. Or better still – you could give it to someone who hardly had enough money to feed themselves, and _they _could sell it. Or you could sell it for them. I don’t know.” He huffed a laugh. “This hypocras is strong.”

“It’s divine,” Victor said, raising his cup to his lips. He had a disconcerting way of watching over the brim. Yuuri drained his own cup, and had the sudden thought that Victor’s head looked bare. After all, he usually wore a hat when he wasn’t in armour. Yuuri’s idea was better.

“Julius,” he leaned over and called. She was standing next to Emil, holding a cup. Shooting him a look of annoyed perplexity, she put it down and came over.

“Sir Justin?”

“Will you please bring Victor’s circlet that he won today?”

Her eyes searched Victor’s face for confirmation. He simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Very well,” she sighed, sloping off to the chest. In a moment she returned with it and was about to give it to Victor when Yuuri held a hand out.

“I’d like to have a look, if that’s all right.”

Victor nodded, and Julia handed the circlet over. “Will there be anything else?”

“Please,” Victor said to her with a wave, “enjoy yourself.” She huffed and crossed the tent to rejoin Emil.

His head starting to pleasantly spin a little, Yuuri ran his fingers along the smooth metal and polished gems. “These aren’t rubies, are they?”

Victor drained his cup and put it down with a smile. “I believe they’re garnets. Though I won’t complain. For a pretty set of rubies, I’d need to do something more spectacular than I did today.”

“You should wear it. It’s like it was made for you.” Yuuri leaned forward, brushed Victor’s fringe out of his eye, and placed the circlet on his head. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

Victor stared, lips parted. Then he emptied the jug of hypocras into his cup and took a long draught. His eyes were very bright. “Are you teasing me?” he said quietly, his words beginning to slur. “You like to tease, don’t you?” He punctuated this with another gulp of his drink.

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. Victor was talking into his cup now, and Yuuri made out something about a dance – the eros one, presumably, though it was hard to tell. Then chopping wood, of all things. Finally Victor put his cup down, eyes hooded.

“I thought you liked it when I took your armour off for you,” he said. “I could…do it some more.” He brushed at Yuuri’s tunic. “It’s already off,” he observed, sounding disappointed.

“Victor – ” Yuuri began, a pulse of heat travelling through him.

“As long as you wouldn’t rather have that man with the blue face do it,” Victor added with a frown. “You thought he was good, but _I’m _the one who won. Twice.” He snorted and tossed his head. “He didn’t win anything.”

Yuuri’s mouth was hanging open. He snapped it shut.

“You’re the sweetest Jezebel, Justin. I’d give you whatever you wanted, even if you left me in the morning.”

Yuuri blew out a breath and looked around the tent. Emil was getting under his blanket. Roland and Philip had sat down to quietly share a jug of drink. Julia was washing some cups in a bucket of water on top of a small table and caught Yuuri’s glance, glaring back at him. Yuuri felt his cheeks pink.

Something tickled his hair – and then the golden circlet was resting on his head.

“Give it a try,” Victor said with a little smile. “It looks better on you.” He ghosted a finger down Yuuri’s cheek, eliciting a quiet gasp.

Trying to organise his scattered thoughts, Yuuri removed the circlet and placed it back on Victor’s head. “It doesn’t belong to me. And besides, you’re wrong; it suits you. Have you looked in a mirror yet?”

Victor was flirting, Yuuri was sure of it now. Was it the drink? Would he be horrified at his behaviour when he was sober? And…was he _jealous _of that juggler with the blue face paint?

Then Yuuri remembered what JJ and Emil had said about Alexander. _Are you just…do you not mean any of this seriously?_

“…a quick learner, Justin. I’m glad, I’m so glad…”

Yuuri realised Victor had changed the subject completely; though what he was talking about wasn’t exactly clear.

“…because there isn’t much time left before your duel…feels like it’s my fault. I never told you before.” Victor looked down for a moment, and Yuuri wondered if he was going to continue. Then he said quietly, “Tyler and I were lovers.”

The words stabbed, and Yuuri assumed there must have been some tangle involving the three of them that had resulted in Tyler’s challenge. Though he’d also been naïve, hadn’t he? He told himself he should’ve suspected this before.

_You get around, don’t you? _

He didn’t say it, and was immediately ashamed of himself for thinking it. What did it matter how many lovers Victor had had?

“I knew you’d be upset,” Victor went on, noting his reaction. “I told him I…I didn’t want to see him again, that same day I…” He tried to run a hand through his hair, having forgotten he was wearing the circlet and knocking it askew. Putting it right, mostly, he said with a sigh, “The day after you and I had the duel. I didn’t want any more casual encounters with anyone; I’d tired of them. But I made a mistake, Justin. I didn’t know Tyler had feelings for me. He made that clear when he heard what I said. He must have thought he could get revenge by challenging you, because he believed…you and I…well.”

He was playing with his fingers, eyes downcast. Yuuri realised this was possibly the most personal information Victor had shared with him so far. True, he’d been drinking, and his words were a little hard to understand at times, but he seemed to feel this was important to say. 

_He’s been blaming himself for what happened. Maybe it’s been bothering him the whole time. _

“I’m sorry,” Victor muttered, staring at his fingers and moving his pinkie ring in circles. “I should’ve realised what could happen. I was stupid.” He sniffed.

Yuuri reached forward and took Victor’s fidgeting hands in his own, squeezing them just enough to make them still. Victor’s eyes met his.

“It’s not your fault,” Yuuri told him softly. “No one forced him to do what he did; it was his choice. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

Victor laced their fingers together, sending a tingle up Yuuri’s arms. “But I can.” He paused. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said firmly; and Yuuri saw tears in his eyes. “Oh…I don’t feel too good.”

“I think it must late. Maybe we ought to get some sleep.” When Victor didn’t object, Yuuri helped him take his boots off. Julia had joined them before they’d finished. Without a word, she removed the gold circlet from Victor’s head and went to lock it in a chest, then returned with a new jug and cups, replacing the old ones.

“He’ll probably want something watered down to drink in the night or in the morning,” she said. Victor, bleary-eyed, was sitting docilely, watching their actions. Yuuri got up to fetch the bucket Julia had been using for washing, and put it on the other side of Victor’s mattress.

“In case he…you know,” he said.

“Pukes. Well, I don’t think he’s that far gone. He holds his drink well.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Victor muttered, lying down.

Yuuri pulled the blanket over him. “Is there anything else you want?” he asked gently.

“Only what I can’t have,” Victor sighed, closing his eyes. Yuuri gave up trying to make sense of it all; they were both drink-befuddled.

Julia had taken the oil lamp to the brazier to light it, and placed it on the wooden stand between the mattresses.

“Thanks for helping,” Yuuri said to her; then he headed toward the tent flap with the intention of answering a call of nature before bedding down himself. Julia followed him.

“You don’t need to thank me for doing my job, ale-house boy. I look after him well enough.”

“You do.”

After a pause, Julia said with a sharp look, “You make him crazy, you know. But well, I suppose there are worse people he could be like that about.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Work it out for yourself.” With that, she turned and flounced over to her own mattress, leaving him to stare after her.


	59. Chapter 59

Victor awoke by degrees, his brain emerging into consciousness like a diver floating to the surface of the water. Where was he? The tent. The tournament had finished and they would have to travel back to the castle today. Was anyone stirring yet? No. There was no sunlight slipping through the hole at the top of the tent, either, but his body knew it was morning. It felt a little like a punishment; more sleep would have been welcome.

_I don’t remember taking my boots off,_ he thought, wiggling his toes under the blanket.

He tried to make some sense of the stew that was yesterday. Winning, twice. Pleasant but routine. He shouldn’t have dropped a single round to JJ, let alone two. His prizes, the feast…many would wish such accolades for themselves. For his part, it was difficult to muster much enthusiasm. 

Lord, yes, he remembered the feast now. His company at the high table had been tedious. The baron was ever the man of politics, wishing to discuss things that were better said to his father instead of him; it wasn’t what he’d come here to do. Though he knew many of their class spent their time scheming and hatching plots, and saw social gatherings as opportunities to further their own ends. He wanted no part of it; had spent most of his life negotiating his way through such games by avoiding them as often as he could.

While he’d been engaged in tactfully deflecting the baron’s attempts at diplomacy, his daughter Cecily, sitting to Victor’s other side, had seemed enamoured of him; and that situation had required even more delicacy, communicating to her that he wasn’t interested without causing offence. She’d made the task difficult by forcing every neighbourly courtesy from him that she had the right to request at such a meal, while lauding him with praise, no doubt hoping to flatter.

The only thing he’d wanted the whole time was what he could not have – Justin by his side. At least their eyes had met across the tables, and his sweet knight had given him that lovely smile which flushed his cheeks, while the rest of him was set aglow by the dancing flames of bonfire and torches. 

Those things were what kindled Victor’s heart; that man and his determined battles, both inward as well as on the field. He hoped he’d made it clear just how delighted and proud he was of Justin’s performances at the tournament. Standing to the side, looking on as his trainer, made his heart sing in ways he’d never known before. What must it be like to start from where Justin had, and work so hard, to come so far? Granted, there was further still for him to go, but –

_He’ll have his throat cut by Tyler if he doesn’t continue to quickly improve. _

Victor’s eyes had closed while he’d dragged each memory from its hiding place after the drink-hazed evening, but this thought slapped him wide awake. Why couldn’t they just savour the time they had?

_Because while he’s very capable, it’s not enough yet. _

He sighed. Everything that seemed good always ended up being bittersweet, like Fernand’s sauces: honey would always be countered with vinegar or verjuice. But they’d continue to train together back at the castle, and Justin could get better still. Would have to.

_He looks at peace, _Victor thought, his eyes lingering on Justin’s face. _Moreso than when he’s awake. What is the cloud that hangs over you? Will you tell me one day?_

As he listened to Justin’s even breaths, he tried to grasp the elusive details of what had happened the previous night. They’d retired to the tent, and Chris had pleased and irritated him in equal measures with their attempts at playing their instruments together. And then…ah, that gorgeous hypocras. What devilish wiles Justin had used to secure something so fine in this place, he couldn’t guess. But yes, he’d told himself he deserved to celebrate the day – and what better way to do it than with such drink and company as he had?

What was bothering him about this, then? It was so slippery. Something said? Something done? He had the disconcerting feeling that he was to blame for whatever it was. And…

_Oh._ That was it. He’d been overly fond, and said things he shouldn’t. With the realisation came a painful throb in his head. He really ought to have minded how much of that hypocras he’d imbibed.

He’d already made missteps with Justin. And now this. He hadn’t meant to tell him about Tyler, not yet. Would it drive him further away? From the mist emerged other embarrassing things, only half remembered. It seemed to Victor, from what he could recall, that Justin had been his wonderful self through it all, understanding and kind.

_Why was he not angry with me regarding the part I played in Tyler’s challenge? _I’m _angry with myself. I hardly deserve him._

_Which is good, because I don’t have him._

_I won’t ever_ _have him, either, if Tyler has his way._

An image came to mind of this slumbering man next to him, nestled on his pillow and under his blanket, in a very different setting. In the middle of the arena, fighting for his life. Having another anxiety attack, perhaps, and Tyler pouncing in triumph. Or simply trying his courageous heart out, only to be overcome at the last. The methods of killing a knight in plate armour were not pleasant to behold; they were quick and brutal. Tyler would go for the neck, most likely, as he himself did when such occasions forced a lethal outcome. And then…dear God in heaven, and then…

Victor’s breath caught and his heart quailed. _No. If there’s any possibility of averting such a horror, then by all the saints in heaven, I’ll pursue it._

He threw his blanket back, ignoring the renewed throb in his head as he stood, and hurried to where his saddlebags were kept. After frantically rummaging through, he finally found what he was looking for: paper, ink, a quill, and sealing wax. Then he grabbed a tray and his oil lamp and scrambled to a chair, ignoring the stirrings of the squires he passed in his somewhat noisy haste, and began to write.

* * *

Yuuri encouraged Victor to lead their conversation on the way back to the castle. At first when they left the tent city, he felt torn between hoping and dreading that he’d mention what had passed between them the night before. Longing for confirmation that he’d meant it. Knowing it would make it even more difficult to avoid getting further entangled. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed when Victor said nothing about it, however. Did he regret his words? Was he embarrassed? Or had he forgotten? But he couldn’t be expected to talk about it, anyway, while the others were nearby.

However, when they returned to the castle it was the same, and over the next few days they settled back into their normal routines, with Victor dividing his time between business and training. Yuuri’s main emphasis, as always, was swordfighting, though he kept his jousting skills sharp in case he needed them. When Victor wasn’t with him, he sparred with the other knights and continued with his exercises, even trying some somersaults when the ground was dry. The familiarity of it all had come to be reassuring, like the rhythms of the days and the seasons.

But he missed the tournament setting, where he and Victor had shared so much – watching the entertainers, competing, eating informal meals side by side, sleeping near each other. They had little private time again now, surrounded as they usually were by the other fighting men on the training field, in the stable and in the garrison.

_That ought to be a good thing. But if I’m honest with myself, it’s frustrating. _He tried not to give any indication of it, but his silent admonitions to _be responsible_ and _don’t ever let him know_ felt increasingly strained. _I mustn’t risk him getting hurt _was always the strongest one at the base of the pile, holding everything else up. That had to be a priority over his own selfish desires.

The third day after their return was on course to be the warmest yet of the year, by Yuuri’s reckoning, when he got out of bed that morning and didn’t shiver for once. A coat would certainly be unnecessary on top of his plate, gambeson and clothes. As the equinox approached, he welcomed the coming spring, the lighter evenings, the nip disappearing from the air. But he knew he would also miss things like hand warmers. He hadn’t used his since he’d gone to York, and realised there might not be much call for it anymore now. But it would still have its special place on the mantel.

As he walked to the training field, he wondered if he might be able to persuade Victor to go somewhere with him later – the lake, maybe, or the field of wildflowers. Few people worked on a Sunday morning, because they went to chapel or church, or simply took their leisure, while at other times they mixed business with socialising and visits to tradespeople. This was one thing they’d got right, Yuuri thought – no fixed hours of labour, checking in and out, with timed breaks and scheduled days off. Though he suspected life might be rather harsher for the manor’s tenants who farmed for a living, or even servants at places like The Black Dog, Jan and Daisy and the others. Of course it was. You got up, you worked most of the day, you went to bed.

_I mustn’t ever forget what that was like, and what it’s still like for them. Compared to that, I’m living a life of luxury here at the castle._

Lost in his thoughts, he arrived at the field to discover he was the only one there. Victor hadn’t mentioned he had other things to do, but then he was often busy, and sometimes he was unexpectedly called away. Yuuri trained on his own, then rode Blaze and went with Emil to dinner.

The rest of the day passed without any sign of Victor, who had not been at the meal either. Perhaps something had come up unexpectedly. That had happened a few times before, but he’d always sent a note or a messenger. Yuuri knew he couldn’t monopolise Victor’s time, but it seemed odd, and he couldn’t help worrying. When the squires finished in the field for the day, he pulled Julia aside, concerned that she wasn’t with Victor herself.

“Can you tell me if he’s all right?” he asked. “Has he gone somewhere, or – ”

“No, he’s been here at the castle all day. In his room, mostly. But last time I saw him, he was…” Her voice trailed off, and she turned and pointed.

“What’s over there?” Yuuri peered across the tops of the trees, but aside from the usual fields and clusters of huts and cottages, there was only a plain hill.

“Up there, yes,” Julia said, following his gaze. “But he’d probably prefer to be left alone.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

She scrutinised him, then seemed to come to a decision. “On second thought, maybe you ought to go to him. It might help.” Before Yuuri could say anything else, she left for the stable. Mystified, he watched her for a moment, then turned toward the hill.

* * *

Yuuri arrived at the top of the path, his presence as yet unnoticed. Victor was sitting on the ground with his arms hugging his legs, gazing into the distance. The breeze lifted and tangled his fringe, unheeded. He was without his armour, a cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and sadness was deeply etched across his face.

Yuuri had guessed that the tops of the tallest nearby hills had been denuded of tall trees so that they made good vantage points, probably as part of the fortress’s defences. This one was no exception, and he followed the direction of Victor’s gaze. He seemed to be staring across at the hill with the wheel; its dark rim was just visible at the top, framed by a cloudless vibrant blue sky.

His head turned as he heard Yuuri’s approaching footsteps, his expression softening, though he remained silent.

“Would you like some company?” Yuuri asked.

Victor looked away, seeming to contemplate for a moment, then nodded. Yuuri sat down next to him and waited for him to speak.

“It’s St. Bosa’s Day today,” he eventually said, with no further explanation of the significance of this. Yuuri thought it best not to ask; if Victor wanted to tell him, he would. They stared out at the fields and hills. When Victor spoke again, it was in a quiet voice laden with emotion, as his eyes remained fixed on the landscape ahead.

“Do you think there’s someplace in the world where life is better than this?”

_In this time period? Maybe not much. In mine? I wish we could talk about it._

Met with silence, however, Victor carried on; Yuuri figured it had been a rhetorical question anyway. “Someplace where people live to an old age, without fear of disease, war, hunger, destitution.” His blue eyes met Yuuri’s briefly. “It must seem a strange thing for me to say. I’m aware of how privileged my family is. But we aren’t immune. You’ve spoken of your fear that the king will summon us to fight. I live in fear of it as well. There are few other people, if any, I’d admit it to, Justin. But there’s nothing honourable in having the people you care about taken from you.” He looked down at his knees and gripped them a little tighter.

_What prompted this,_ Yuuri wanted to ask, _and why is St. Bosa’s Day special? _Victor must be thinking about the duel with Tyler again. Though it didn’t explain all of his comments.

“I agree,” was all he could think to say.

“Is it like this in Japan?”

Yuuri wondered how to reply. He imagined what the country might have been like at this time from what he’d learned. Shogunates – military governments devolved to lords with samurai, not so very different from feudalism; zen temples and gardens; Noh theatre. “I’m not sure it’s better. Another culture, more advanced in some ways, in other ways not so much. I suppose you’d find that with most places you visited.” He gave him a small smile. “It’s a long way away, if you were thinking of going there.”

“No,” Victor said with a quick little grin of his own before he looked back down. “I shall try to make the most of what I have here.” After a pause, he continued, “But sometimes I must admit it’s hard. I’ve dealt death to people. I’ve watched it stalk others with no interference of my own. What light have I brought into the world, what good have I done?”

_I just want to tell you how wonderful you are. Would you believe me? How can you not know? _Mulling over Victor’s words, Yuuri quoted a piece of something he recalled from years ago:

_Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,_  
_Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,_  
_To the last syllable of recorded time;_  
_And all our yesterdays have lighted fools_  
_The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!_  
_Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player_  
_That struts and frets his hour upon the stage_  
_And then is heard no more. It is a tale_  
_Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,_  
_Signifying nothing._

Victor’s arms had dropped from around his legs and his palms were now on the ground, propping him up, as he stared at Yuuri in amazement. “That’s beautiful,” he murmured. “And very weighty. Where’s it from?”

“The way you were talking made me think of it. I had a…an instructor years back who was fond of making us memorise things like this.”

“He must have had a dark sense of humour.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Maybe. But this is a character from a play who you could say has dug a big hole for himself and is feeling the effects of that in his life. I guess it’s easy to believe sometimes that whatever we’re trying to do is pointless, and that we’re helpless in the face of things like…well, like death.” He shifted his position; it could be tricky to stay comfortable when he was sitting on the ground in his armour. “But, Victor, even though I’ve only known you for…has it only been a little over three months? I can categorically state that you’re wrong.” Victor raised an eyebrow as he continued. “You _have _brought light into the world. You’re a source of compassion and kindness in a place that can be savage. It’s people like you who make a difference, and show the way for others to follow. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

He was surprised at the little speech he’d just made. Was it too much? Would Victor think it was odd?

But he just looked at Yuuri, blinking. Then he said, “Thank you,” though the emotion on his face belied the simple words.

Yuuri gazed at the wheel on the hill across from them. Had Victor chosen this spot so that he could see it from here? The answer seemed obvious, but Yuuri knew he was holding something back about that, too. Would he be open to a little gentle questioning?

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “has any of this got anything to do with…?” He nodded in the direction of the wheel.

Victor began to answer, or tried to, but couldn’t seem to formulate the words, choking on them and finally giving up with a frustrated little sigh as he looked away.

_I’ll take that as a yes, then. _And yet, even though he’d only been on it twice so far, it had become Yuuri’s favourite method of training, and he hoped they would continue to use it. He took a moment to consider what he knew so far. That day they first went on it together, the others had been surprised. Maybe that was an understatement. They’d been floored. As if Victor hadn’t been on it in a long time, or…since something had happened? They hadn’t gone on it themselves, or hadn’t been allowed to, perhaps not ever, until now. He himself seemed to be the only one Victor was willing to spar with up there. Had…someone been injured or killed on it? Did Victor think it was that dangerous? But he didn’t treat it that way himself, and he didn’t seem overly worried about Yuuri’s safety on it, so that didn’t fit.

“Justin…um.” Having given him a private moment to collect himself without being stared at, Yuuri turned his head now. Victor’s eyes were somewhat pink, but his cheeks were dry, and there was questioning expression on his face. Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever seen him so vulnerable.

_Why won’t you tell me what this is about? What happened to hurt you so much?_

“If this is too personal a request,” Victor continued, “please ignore it, but…would you…” He swallowed. “Would you hold me a while?”

Yuuri let out a quiet breath and scooted over until the space between them disappeared, and hesitantly at first, slipped his arm around Victor’s shoulders. Closing his eyes, Victor leaned into it, then wrapped him in a hug, his face against Yuuri’s metal-covered shoulder. Yuuri pulled him in with his other arm, both hands firm on his back now.

“Victor,” he whispered over his hair. He heard a small choked breath, then silence, as Victor clasped him. Desire rippled through Yuuri; he couldn’t help it. Instead, however, he focused on reaching out to Victor in pain and slowly stroked his back up and down, like a parent calming a distraught child. Victor shuddered a few times before his breaths began to calm and his arms to relax.

Yuuri wasn’t sure how long they sat that way, but eventually Victor lifted his head, looking rather dazed, and seemed to be trying to think of what to say. As he didn’t appear to be succeeding, Yuuri decided to help if he could.

“Why don’t we go to the garrison?” he suggested. “I’ll send Emil to get some leftover food from supper. You can sit in front of the fire with me and the others…if you want.” He paused, watching Victor consider this. “Don’t be alone.”

After a moment, Victor nodded and pulled away. Yuuri stood and gave him a hand up. Their fingers remained laced for a moment before the two of them began to make their way down the hill.

And Yuuri discovered he knew, now that they’d been in each other’s arms for longer than a brief hug, Victor’s feel and scent without his armour. Sunshine and sweat. Maleness. Something uniquely himself. And…he liked roses, it seemed. 

* * *

Victor said Julia wanted to practise her archery here in a dense area of the woods, and that he could do with brushing up on it himself. Apparently she’d spread the word among the squires, and soon all of them and the knights had decided to come along. These were hunting skills, an activity that all of them participated in. Apart from Yuuri.

He’d been told he could stay at the castle and exercise and train. But he wanted to see; he was curious. Besides, it felt good to leave his metal shell behind for a while and go someplace that wasn’t the training field or the stable. It was a grey day, the sky a flat slate, though there was no rain, and the air was still warm.

There were spare bows and arrows in a cart they’d brought with them – they hadn’t gone very far from the castle – and he’d aimed at some tree trunks, but missed more often than not. Locating the arrows in the damp disintegrating mulch left over from the autumn leaves was a difficult task. He was the only one who found these things a challenge, from the look of it, and Julia had half-jokingly offered to set up a big bright target for him to aim at. He decided he’d rather not emphasise his lack of expertise to everyone else, though he supposed they all knew about it already.

At least she’d thanked him for “cheering the master up”. Victor hadn’t been himself the night before, but he’d agreed to go to the garrison, and had spent a pleasant evening sipping wine and playing the citole, with Yuuri at his side and Julia hovering nearby much of the time. And he seemed to be enjoying competitions of skill today with the bow. For once he wasn’t the one everyone wanted to best; that was Julia. But there was still no indication of what had upset him the day before, and he was obviously not inclined to talk about it.

Giving up with the bow, Yuuri left the others to it for a while – some of them were now throwing spears among the trees – and decided to do things he felt more confident with. Nothing was stopping him from exercising here, for instance. He performed some sword drills, though it was surprising how different they felt without his armour; he hadn’t thought he’d need it today, since he hadn’t anticipated sparring with anyone. Having removed his cloak and hat and placed them inside Lady’s saddlebags, he did some push-ups and sit-ups. Then he went in search of a good place to do chin-ups; the trees were either too spindly here, or the branches weren’t quite the right height or thickness. He walked for a few minutes until he found the perfect candidate, and leapt up, grabbing with both hands.

Working in sets, he hung loose between them, enjoying the solitude here; the others were far enough away that he couldn’t hear any noises they made. His arms were starting to protest, but he made himself start another set of ten. One, two…

“_There _you are.” Victor’s voice. Yuuri dropped down and saw him escorting a young man on a horse. “This fellow says he has a message for you.”

“For _me_? There must be some mistake,” Yuuri replied, approaching them. “Who’d send me a message?”

“Is it so uncommon for someone from your father’s castle to desire to contact you?”

“Is that where this is from?” Yuuri asked the lad.

“I don’t know, sir. This was given to me at the castle to take to you. They said you were in Birnam Wood today.” He scratched his head at the bottom of his conical hat. “If I’d known you sirs was slinging arrows and spears about, I’d have said it could wait.”

“They understand they need to take care,” Victor told him. “Now, about this message – ?” The lad handed it down to Yuuri.

“I’d best be getting back, sirs; we’ve had that many deliveries today.”

“Thank you,” Victor said, giving the horse a pat before the messenger reined the animal around and rode away. Turning to Yuuri, he added, “Well, I’ll leave you to read that. You know where I’ll be.”

The message was sealed with a blob of red wax in which was imprinted a shield divided in four quadrants that displayed stars and crowns. _Was _it from the Courtenays? He hadn’t received a single piece of correspondence from them, and like Victor’s family, he’d assumed there was little love lost there. It seemed a shame to break something so pretty, but he snapped it anyway and unfolded the paper just as Victor was walking away. His eyes scanned straight to the signature.

“Victor, it’s from Tyler,” he called over as his heart gave a lurch and started to race. Victor spun around and trotted back toward him.

_Even your beloved Victor has no faith in you…See enclosed message begging me to relent…I never shall. The only thing that will satisfy me is your head on a spike. Prepare to die, swine…_

Victor reached out for the message, but Yuuri snatched it away, reading the folded one that had been enclosed. “Did you write this? ‘If you ever had any regard for me, it is my dearest wish that you call off the duel. Name your price – money, land, anything that is in my power to give.’ ” But the horrified look on Victor’s face was answer enough. “How _could _you?” He crumpled both pieces of paper into a ball and tossed them aside. Victor dashed over and picked them up, unfolding them and scanning their contents. With a huff, eyes darting, Yuuri walked away.

“Justin, wait,” Victor called behind him, but he carried on. “Please, just listen to me.”

Eventually Yuuri stopped and turned to him. “Do you really have so little faith in me?” he demanded in a wavering voice.

“Those are Tyler’s words, not mine,” Victor replied, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“Then why did you offer him all those things to call the duel off? I didn’t have much faith in myself to begin with, and I thought you were trying to help with that!” A tear slid down his cheek.

“Justin – ”

“If you think I’m going to lose, there’s no point in any of this – tournaments, training. I’d actually been finding some confidence, thanks to you and what you were helping me achieve.” He swiped at more tears as they fell.

“That’s what I wanted – ”

“I’m going to do this, whatever the outcome is,” Yuuri continued, taking a few deep breaths to try to regain some measure of calm. “I’m not running away again. If you think I’m so unprepared, then be a proper trainer and work me hard. I need you to have more faith than I do that I’ll succeed. Just stand by me!”

Their gazes locked while Yuuri wiped at his cheeks again, the tears ceasing as he waited for a response. Finally, looking thoroughly abashed, Victor said, “Of course. I’d never do otherwise. I’m sorry this happened, Justin; I never would have written that note to Tyler if I’d known he was going to do this. But please understand, I wrote it the morning after the tournament, in the tent, when I realised what I’d told you about…myself and him. I can’t remember my exact words to you, but I hope I said something about how I didn’t want any more shallow relationships of the kind we had. Only, I didn’t know it wasn’t so shallow from his point of view.”

Yuuri remained silent, wondering if he had anything else to add; unsure how to respond to this.

“But anyway,” Victor added, “it wasn’t lack of faith in you so much as my own feelings of guilt, and hoping I could put matters right.” He added emphatically, “Even the best swordsmen in the land have bad days. No matter how skilled you were, there would always be a chance of you getting hurt or killed. The more we…” His voice trailed off. “Well, it’s hard not to think about such things.”

Yuuri’s racing heart began to slow as he considered Victor’s words. It was obvious that he regretted writing the letter. What bothered him the most, however, was that despite what Victor _said_, he might be _thinking _something different, and Yuuri preferred honesty.

But had Victor ever been anything other than open with his concerns about the duel? That first afternoon of training after the competition at the castle, he had warned Yuuri to never underestimate Tyler, or it could be a costly mistake. And later, _I don’t want to lose you. _Yuuri wondered how much pride Victor had had to swallow to write that message; to offer Tyler whatever he wanted to call off the duel. Seen from that point of view, it was…moving.

Victor had been waiting for a reply, looking rather sheepish. Yuuri gazed at him solemnly and placed a hand on his arm. “I think I can understand. I…I just want to feel like I’m doing well.”

“You are.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Not well enough. Not yet.”

“You’ll make it. I’ll help you.”

“I – ”

But Yuuri’s words were cut off when the trees a short distance away were suddenly illuminated by a bright blue flash, quickly followed by a second. Both were accompanied by a barely discernible high-pitched hum.

Victor looked up, though the flashes had not come from the sky. “Did you see that? No rain clouds,” he mused. “It wasn’t like any lightning I’ve ever seen, either.”

In the short time it took for Victor to speak, Yuuri had decided that no natural phenomenon he could think of would be able to produce what they’d just seen and heard. The truth was undeniable.

A laser gun. Someone was out there with one, and they were using it.

After all this time.

_Ailis._


	60. Your Sorcerer's Words Are to Taunt Me (Part 8)

“I need to investigate.” The words left Yuuri’s mouth before he’d thought about them. But there was nothing else for it.

_OK. I’m not armed. Not in a way that would make any difference against a weapon like that. But if she came over here – if she carried on toward where the knights and squires are – she could easily kill everyone if she wanted to. I need to find out what she’s doing, and – and stop her._

He sprinted in the direction where the blue light had come from, but quickly halted as Victor joined him.

“No,” Yuuri said firmly. A look of surprise crossed Victor’s face. “The weapon that made those blue flashes could slay everyone here in seconds.”

“What?” Victor stared. “How do you know – and what do you mean, slay in seconds?”

“Please, you have to trust me,” Yuuri told him, peering into the woods. _D__on’t do this now. I’ve got to get over there. You can’t come._

“You’re asking me to stand here and do nothing while you risk your life?” Victor replied, eyes flashing. “And you said that’s a weapon? What do you think of me?”

She could get away at any moment. Should he make up some elaborate lie? No, there was no time. And he wasn’t going to patronise Victor with talk of wizards and spells, or fairies or spirits.

_Oh God. I have to tell him. Some version of the truth. Fast. I’ll deal with the fallout later._

“I’m on a mission to find the person making those flashes.”

Victor’s brow knitted. “Mission? Who gave you a mission?”

“I _have _to go alone, Victor. Now. I’ll be back.” _I hope. If…if I don’t get shot. Jesus._

“Why must you to go alone?”

“Because I know who this person is and what weapon they’re using, and I’ll be careful.” Before Victor could say anything else, he added, “Promise me, please – you’ve _got _to stay here. Your life could depend on it.”

Looking utterly perplexed, Victor started to speak, but must have seen the anxiousness on his face, and closed his mouth and nodded.

With a momentary surge of relief, Yuuri dashed away, turning his head to call, “It’s best if you go back to where the others are.” _I love you. _“If you see the blue flashes again – stay away, they’re very dangerous!”

He took in the sight of his beautiful knight for what might be the last time, then turned his attention to what lay ahead. 

* * *

_I’m not a detective. I don’t know if I can sneak around without making a noise. Fuck._

Yuuri kept his speed in check, hoping to minimise the sounds he made as he ran, while remaining on the lookout. He’d altered his projection so that his real body and face showed, with the illusion that he was wearing his modern clothes. Ailis mustn’t see he was wearing Justin’s.

_Couldn’t they have got someone from MI8 to train me for a day? Or a week. Or a year._

If she spotted him, a flash of blue light might be the last thing he ever saw. These trees, no matter how close together they grew, were no protection from a laser gun.

He heard her before he saw her. Laughing quietly.

Ducking behind a tree, he peered out cautiously.

She was several meters away, mostly with her back to him, intent on something on the ground as she crouched down to examine it. An iridescent lump – a dead pheasant? Had she been _hunting _with her laser gun? Yuuri briefly wondered what his companions would make of that, with their bows and arrows and spears.

It was a strange appearance that she cut, both medieval and modern. A cylindrical black hat similar to his own rested on her head, and her clothing was black as well; she wore a long-sleeved tunic, an ankle-length skirt with a slit high up the side, trousers underneath, and casual shoes. Minus the skirt over the trousers, and possibly the hat, Yuuri could imagine her walking down the streets of modern York without attracting any attention.

Studying her from concealment like this wasn’t going to get him any nearer to apprehending her, however. The gun was the biggest threat, so disarming her was the priority. But what would he do afterward?

_I’ll have to take it one step at a time. Assuming I’m alive after each one._

He swallowed in a dry throat. Using the trees as cover, he carefully tested the ground before putting a foot down, praying he didn’t make a sound. As he went, he kept his gaze fixed on Ailis. Beads of sweat sprang up along his brow.

_Just a little closer. Then I can grab her from behind._

She seemed satisfied with whatever she was doing to the bird, and stood, reaching into a pocket in her tunic.

_Another meter or two, and then –_

But as Yuuri poised to spring, she stilled, as if sensing someone was there – had he made a noise? – and spun around, sucking in a breath at the sight of her pursuer. Her hand shot to another pocket and produced her laser gun while Yuuri dived to the ground, just in time to miss the bright beam that shot over him and singed a hole in a pile of leaves.

It would take the gun only seconds to recharge. Going with his momentum, Yuuri rolled and leapt to his feet, jumping away as Ailis aimed another shot at where he’d been standing, a small cloud of acrid smoke rising from the debris covering the earth. He hurtled forward, yanking her by the shoulder while grabbing the wrist of her gun hand and squeezing.

There was no way she’d be able to overpower him. As suddenly as this encounter had begun, it was about to end, and he would be the winner. His heart gave a wild flutter.

But then Ailis’s knee connected sharply with his groin in an explosion of pain that shot up through his stomach. He doubled over, hugging his midsection as waves of nausea swept through him. His vision went white and he groaned, fighting to stay on his feet.

_I’m going to die. _

But the blue light didn’t come. She was talking. Eyes screwed shut and stinging with tears, Yuuri tried to listen; tried harder to regain some control of himself so he could disarm her before she shot him.

“You’re Celestino’s man, aren’t you?” she snapped in the voice he recognised from the recordings he’d listened to. “_Aren’t _you? A Japanese man in medieval England – rather curious. They don’t have athletic wear and trainers here either, as far as I know. Who have you been pretending to be, with your stolen projector?”

Yuuri forced his eyes open and managed to raise his head enough to take in the dark looming figure pointing her gun at him.

“What a muscle-bound oaf you are,” she continued in a tone laced with scorn. “Attack first and say nothing afterward. _Can _you speak?”

Her head jerked to the side, eyes scanning the woods. Yuuri had heard it, too – a distant shuffling; man or beast, it was impossible to say. Taking his chance, he fought the pain and kicked a leg out, hooking it around Ailis’s own and pulling her off balance. Her arms flailed, the gun flying out of her hand, and he knocked her to the ground, where they made a desperate scramble for the weapon.

Ailis was closer – she was going to get there first – was reaching for the gun. But Yuuri had dug out his laser pen, the tool that had become his one and only modern weapon. He aimed it at the back of her hand, a hornet’s sting to shock her into recoiling.

She grasped the gun in the same moment as Yuuri pressed the button on the pen. But as she moved to try to aim, the thin blue beam made contact instead with her weapon, slicing through the silver metal case to the heart of its workings and causing it to explode in a shower of gold and white sparks.

Ailis recoiled with a cry as charred pieces of metal showered the ground. Ignoring the fading throb from her earlier attack, Yuuri shoved the pen back in his purse and stared into her widening green eyes. Unless she had another weapon on her, the fight was over.

Intent on considering his next action, he almost missed it when her gaze suddenly flicked to something behind him. An old trick – unless someone really was there. Deciding he wasn’t going to fall for it, Yuuri sprang at her with the idea of pinning her down – but instead was lifted to his feet by the back of his tunic. Forced by powerful arms to turn around, he gasped as he came face to face with Victor, who clutched the top of the tunic while holding the tip of his sword to his throat.

How could Yuuri have expected him to stay behind? Victor would only have agreed in order to placate him, and then he’d follow at a distance.

_Shit. I can’t give myself away in front of Ailis. Can’t pretend I know him. And I’ve got to get him to release me somehow._

“A man attacking a woman?” Victor said in the commanding voice Yuuri recognised from The Black Dog when he’d been dealing with the Maltbys. “Who are you, and what do you mean by this despicable behaviour?”

“This ruffian assaulted me,” Ailis answered first. Her voice wavered with fear and shock. “I’m on a peaceful journey and was minding my business when he leapt out and pulled me off my horse.”

“Your horse?” Victor echoed, looking around.

“It bolted, sir. He frightened it away. I was certain he was going to…to…” She choked back a sob. Yuuri wracked his brain for a way to escape; he knew all too well how quick Victor could be with his sword, and it was poised to kill him in an instant.

“Your dress is strange, madam,” Victor commented.

“I’m from a faraway land. That must be why he came after me. The good Lord only knows why, for I have no riches, but maybe that was not obvious to him.” She gave a shaky sigh. “If you please, sir, I would find my horse and be gone. I’m deeply grateful for your help. It’s gentlemen such as yourself who keep us all safe from the likes of this foul hedge robber.”

“Were you on your way to the castle?”

“Oh no, sir. I have business in York.”

He nodded. “Don’t let me detain you, then. I’ll deal with this villain.”

She gave him a deep curtsey and turned to leave.

_Victor, no – you can’t let her go_. But Yuuri knew it was Ailis’s word against his. Being a chivalrous knight, it was only natural that Victor would side with her. And she was hurrying away, right now, and no one was going to stop her.

“She was lying to you,” Yuuri said quickly. “I didn’t attack – ”

“Will you add further deceit to your other crimes, sir?” Victor interrupted, pressing at his neck with the tip of his sword. “I _saw _you attacking her. There can be no excuse – ”

“Victor, you have to let me go!” Yuuri hissed. “_Now._”

“You impudent rascal – addressing me in such a way, and presuming to give me an order. Have you taken leave of your senses?” As Yuuri struggled for an answer, Victor’s brow clouded. “Your visage…I’ve never seen the like before. Or these strange clothes.” He pressed his lips together. “Explain yourself, immediately.”

Ailis was far enough away that Yuuri wasn’t worried about her overhearing – but if she got on her horse, there would be little hope of finding her. “She’s the woman I’ve been trying to find,” he said quickly. “She had a weapon that made the blue light we saw through the trees. At least let me see if I can spot her horse – it’ll be one from the castle. That could help me figure out who she’s pretending to be.” _And this isn’t making the slightest bit of sense to you, is it? _“Victor – ” He was cut off as the sword pricked against his throat.

“I told you to explain yourself, not give me riddles. What do you mean by ‘we’, and figuring out who she’s pretending to be?” When Yuuri didn’t answer straight away, he added, “Perhaps it would be best to continue this conversation at the castle under more formal circumstances. I have no wish to stand here like this all day.”

“Then don’t. Look, there’s no time to explain,” Yuuri said, the urgency in his voice clear, “but I will, later. I’ve got I stop her before she gets away – it might already be too late. She’s a threat to everyone here. I’m trying to protect you from her.”

In the face of Victor’s continuing exasperation, seeing he was making no headway, Yuuri did the only thing that was left for him to do. He turned his projection of Justin on.

Victor’s eyes flew wide as he staggered back. Feeling utterly low for what he was doing, Yuuri took advantage by speedily drawing his sword and knocking Victor’s out of his hand.

“It’s _me_,” he said as his heart cracked. “I – I’m sorry, Victor. But I promise I’ll explain later.” He turned and ran a short way in the direction Ailis had gone, but there was no sign of her. If he stood even the slimmest chance now, he had to get on his horse. Fearing everything he and Victor had together had been damaged in this short space of time, he sprinted to where Lady had been tied. Glancing back, he saw Victor following, sword in hand, alarm in every feature.

The horses were just ahead, tethered to the trees. No one else was around; the others must still be practising their hunting skills. Deciding it would be best now to resume the appearance of his true self in his athletic wear in case he did succeed in encountering Ailis, Yuuri untied Lady, calling Phichit on his com as he did so.

“Hey, Yuuri. What’s up?”

“A major development, Phichit,” Yuuri answered, turning to see Victor coming to a halt, jaw slack, sword seemingly forgotten. He wouldn’t be able to understand what he was hearing – not if it was in modern English.

_Fuck._

“Yuuri, what – what’s happened?” came the tinny voice from his wrist.

He vaulted onto Lady, taking up her reins as he spoke into his com, losing himself in Victor’s haunted stare. “I just encountered Ailis in the woods south of the castle. Can you give me some idea of what’s out here – what direction she might have gone in? A map; anything.”

“It must look completely different in your time, Yuuri. Rivers might even have changed course. Fields and roads. I can’t see how – ”

“Never mind. I destroyed her laser gun, but then…shit happened. I’ll tell you later. I’ve got to try to find her.”

“God, you almost had her? How did she get away?”

But Yuuri didn’t answer. With one last agonised look at Victor, he rode off.

* * *

“I don’t know how to track someone, Phichit. If her horse left a pile of manure or something, I doubt I’d even notice it. There aren’t any paths here; she could’ve gone anywhere.”

“What’s most likely, do you think?”

Yuuri had ridden Lady to the edge of the woods and paused, debating which direction to head in. “She could’ve gone to Crowood, the village off to the left. Or she might’ve gone to the right, back to the castle. Or not. Shit, what do I do?”

“Don’t give up yet – you’ve got to keep looking.”

“I know. I guess my best option is to head to the castle stable and see if anyone there saw a woman leaving or returning on a horse.”

“Good idea.”

Yuuri urged Lady to the right and took her to as fast a gallop as he could handle. The wind flattened his hair as her hoofs thundered across the grass.

“Who do you look like right now?” Phichit asked. “Justin or you?”

“Since I’m trying to find Ailis, it wouldn’t be good if she saw me as Justin. If I come across anyone else, I’ll put his projection back on.”

“Can fill me in on what happened while you go?”

Yuuri did, finishing when the castle was in sight on top of its hill, still with no sighting of Ailis or any clue to her whereabouts. He was almost at the stable.

“God, Yuuri. So Victor knows about you now.”

“I didn’t plan it that way. And he _doesn’t_ know, really. I think he must be completely confused. You should’ve seen the look on his face.”

“You’ve got to tell him not to tell anyone else.”

“I don’t think he will, not before I talk to him.” Yuuri let out a shaky sigh. Whatever happened next with Victor, their relationship was going to be changed irrevocably. “I’m approaching the stable as Justin. I may as well leave the com on. Just don’t make any noise.”

“Got it.”

He rode Lady straight in but found no one inside. The long aisle of stalls was half full with horses. Yuuri wasn’t familiar with any other than the ones the knights and squires rode. There were Blaze, and Perun, and the other destriers. Exiting, he rode in circles around the building a couple of times, searching for anyone who might be able to give him information. It was possible that the baron had gone out somewhere; when that happened, he often took a retinue that emptied the stables of many of the men who worked there. Yuuri had no idea what his schedule was.

“I’ll see if anyone’s here when the fighting men come back from the woods,” he said into his com. “I hate to say it, but it looks like she’s got away for now.”

“OK, Yuuri. I’ll have to tell Celestino what happened.”

“Sure.”

“Did you get any clues from her at all while she was there with you?”

Yuuri considered. “She hunts pheasants with her laser gun? She goes around in a slightly odd black getup? She’s here instead of having gone off to China or something?”

“Really, though, that’s good. You weren’t sure before that she _was _there.”

“That won’t stop her from leaving now, since she knows I’m after her.”

“I’m not sure. She didn’t scarper when she found Dr. Quincey and Dr. Croft. There must be a reason why she’s hanging about. Like you said, she could be waiting for the king’s visit. I think you ought to go on the assumption that she’s going to stay there. But Yuuri, be careful. She knows _you’re _there now.”

“Yeah. OK.” Yuuri was guiding Lady back the way he’d come, toward the woods. “Um, I’m going to have to find Victor and talk to him. So I’ll cut the call for now. If anything else comes up, I’ll get back to you, OK?”

“Yeah. I’ll see if Celestino’s free and let him know. Good luck.”

“I think I might need it,” Yuuri said, certain he could feel his heart shivering to pieces.

_So I’ve lost Ailis. The one chance I’ve had so far, and it’s gone. Not that I even knew what to do once I’d found her._

_And now I might lose Victor, too._

He choked on his breath, and the shadows of the trees enfolded him. 


	61. Chapter 61

As Lady slowed her gait, Yuuri turned Justin’s projection off in case he encountered Ailis again, though he knew the chances were slim. Was Victor still here? Had he rejoined the others from the castle?

Somehow he had to smooth things over between them for now, even though he’d just given Victor a glimpse into a secret world that must have seemed fantastical to him, maybe even threatening.

_I have to convince him I’m still me. I have to._

The first place Yuuri went was the area where his encounter with Ailis had taken place; he judged the location from landmarks of cliffs and hills and a creek that spilled over a clear rocky bed. He doubted Victor would still be there. But he was wrong.

Victor was sitting on the ground against a tree with a distant look in his eyes, as if the shock had only occurred moments before. At the sound of Lady’s hoofs, however, he leapt up and drew his sword, though he held it angled downward, seemingly as more of an instinctive gesture than any kind of threat.

“Who _are _you?” he breathed.

Yuuri dismounted and quickly tethered Lady, then took a few steps toward Victor, who stepped back in turn, brandishing his sword.

“I’m the person you know as Justin,” he said gently.

Victor stared, then shook his head. “How? A-And why didn’t you explain? Why were you attacking that woman? What…” His voice trailed off. “I don’t understand.”

“Her name’s Ailis. She was trying to kill me with a weapon that was making the blue light you saw. I was able to destroy it, though it would’ve been better if I could’ve got it off her intact.”

“Why would she want to kill you?” Victor said just above a whisper. “Who is she?” Then his eyes flashed, and raising his voice, he demanded, “What have you done with the real Justin? If you don’t tell me, then so help me God – ”

“Victor, it’s me,” Yuuri said hurriedly. The last thing he wanted to have to do was draw his sword or get his laser pen out; this was difficult enough as it was. “I’ve been training with you. I went on the wheel with you. Drank hypocras with you in the tent at the tournament. Got picked – I mean angry – just now about that letter you sent to Tyler.” His eyes threatened to fill with tears, but he swallowed them back, fighting to maintain a steady voice. “I recited a poem to you in Japanese at The Swan in York. I _am _Japanese. Well, my family is. I’ve lived in York since I was five years old. My real name is Yuuri Katsuki.”

Victor let out a wavering breath and tried to pronounce it, but didn’t get very close to the mark. Yuuri repeated it more slowly, some part of him that was hiding underneath the horror of the situation glowing at the sound of his true name on Victor’s lips. _This is really me, _it said. _This is who I’ve wanted you to see and know all along. No more pretending. _

“Just Yuuri. That’s my first name.”

But a shadow crossed Victor’s face; he wrinkled his brow, and his voice shook. “Are you telling me I’ve been deceived all this time – that you were this strange man from a distant land, using some kind of trickery to conceal your person? _Why?_”

“Victor, let me – ”

“What’s your purpose in being here, then? You…said you were on a mission? To attack that woman?” Before Yuuri could answer, he went on, “Are you some kind of – of sorcerer, or changeling? Is that why your hair and eyes change colour – how you can change your whole appearance?”

Yuuri wondered which question to answer first. His heart ached to see Victor in such obvious turmoil. “Do you believe in that kind of thing?”

“No. I…well, I didn’t think so, but…”

“When you saw my eyes and hair change, you were seeing through my…false image, just a little. I’m not sure why. And I don’t do magic, though it might seem like it. I’m a…a techie. That’s my job. I fix machines. The very sophisticated kind they have where I come from.”

“In…Japan?”

“Uh, no, that’s not what I meant. This is hard to explain.”

“I’m listening.”

“Will you put your sword away while I tell you?”

But Victor’s eyes glinted at him, and he continued to grip the weapon. Yuuri had a sense of being vulnerable in front of this man he’d known and loved…and facing rejection.

_Not yet. There’s a lot he needs to know, and maybe then he won’t be so defensive. I can hope._

“I do come from York, like I said. But it’s 728 years in the future.”

Victor took this in, then gave a scornful laugh. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Nothing you’ve seen so far today makes you think it might be true?” Victor was silent, so he continued, “Ailis Marr is from my time, too. She’s believed to be the first time traveller in history, and invented the machines – the devices – that took us here. She came first, and I followed later, on a mission to find her.” He gave a little sigh at the enormity of the task before him. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down for this?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then. I’ll do my best to explain.”

And he did, hoping Victor might stop him now and then to ask questions. But he simply stood and listened, and Yuuri would’ve given anything to find out what he was thinking. Aiming to make the important facts clear without overwhelming him, Yuuri told him about the time-travel spheres, and how a journey involved swapping places with someone at the destination. How two people had been sent by the originator of his mission, Celestino, and had both died. That he was the third and last who’d been sent, because there were no more spheres. And so it was up to him to stop Ailis from using her knowledge and technology to kill people or to change history.

Victor tipped the point of his sword into the ground and leaned on it slightly, as if he were grateful for its help in staying on his feet. Then he finally spoke. “You ask me to believe the impossible.”

“But I can show you – ”

Victor raised a hand to silence him. “Please. I…I need to think.” He paused. “Where’s the real Justin?”

“You can’t choose who you swap places with; it’s unpredictable. It just happened to be him. That’s how Ailis designed – ”

“Where _is _he?”

“He’s in my time, being looked after at the university – the school where I work – ”

“I know what a university is; we do have them here.”

“Of course.” Yuuri felt tears pricking at his eyes again and blinked them back. Now would be the worst time to let them fall. Victor was going to deal with this in whatever way worked best for him, and he mustn’t begrudge him that. God only knew how he would’ve reacted himself if someone he cared about had told him such things.

“Are you a lecturer of some kind?” Victor asked.

“No. Like I said, I fix things. Anyway, my friend Phichit is looking after Justin there. He’s the one I was talking to on this.” He held up his wrist, displaying the black band around it.

“You can talk to people across the years?”

“Yes. Ailis can too, but the only people she can talk to are mine, because they have the companion to her com. That’s what we call it. It was in the possession of her assistant before that.”

Victor ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn’t seem to be worried about being attacked, at least. Perhaps that was the best that could be said for now. A traitorous tear darted down Yuuri’s cheek, and he wiped it away before Victor opened his eyes and looked at him again.

“Who did the woman – Ailis – who did she swap with here, then?”

_You’re beginning to understand. Thank God. _“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out. I don’t know yet; she’s good at hiding, and no one in my time has been able to trace her counterpart there yet. She invented these…what we call projectors, built into the com, that enable you to take on the appearance of the person you swapped with, like I did. It’s possible that whatever she intends to do involves the king on his visit here.” He added, “She’s dangerous, Victor. Unbalanced. And highly intelligent. I wish I knew more about what she was planning. Today was the first time I’ve met her. If I’d been able to catch sight of her horse, it might have been a clue to who she’s projecting herself as. It must be a woman at the castle. But she’s long gone now. I’ll need to ask some questions at the stable when we get back.” _And __what are you making of all this? _Victor’s expression reminded Yuuri of someone who was jet-lagged after a long journey.

“So you…came here to arrest her and take her back with you?”

“Possibly. But the time-travel spheres, the little devices that brought us here, they’d never been used before – this was their trial run, and they broke in the timestream on the way here. As far as I know, Ailis and I are stuck, unless she knows how to fix them.”

“You must be devastated.” The sarcasm in his tone was clear.

“Victor, I…” _I love you. _But he couldn’t say it, not now, not like this. He took a couple of steadying breaths, then decided he ought to produce more concrete proof of what he’d been saying. 

“I’d like to show you some of the devices I brought with me. You already know about the com and the projector on my wristband. Then there’s…” He reached into his purse, and Victor raised his sword high in the window guard position. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Yuuri said softly; but Victor didn’t relax his stance as he watched. “I’d never do that.” _Though I suppose I already have_. The very thing he’d told himself he would protect Victor from.

“Look,” he continued, taking out the laser pen. “This is what I exploded her weapon with. It’s nothing like as powerful as what she had, but it’s been helpful a few times. It’s only supposed to be a…a simple tool, something that helps me with my job, but…well, I’ve been glad of it here.” He fired it briefly, though it had a very short range, and it didn’t hit anything. Victor jumped and stared. “I, um…I actually used it on one of those thieves in York who were attacking me. It made him let me go, for a minute anyway.”

“You were there in York…that was you.”

“Yes,” Yuuri replied, realising he must be thinking of their time at The White Swan, among other things. _I wish we could still be like that now. With nothing wrong between us. But that was the problem; you weren’t supposed to know about all this. _“I have a translator, too.” He tapped his ear. “In here, where no one can see it. It’s a device that deciphers other languages for me. It’s thought-controlled, like the com and projector.”

“A thought-controlled translator…in your ear? The only translator I know of is a person.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in. But in my time, a lot of devices are thought-controlled. It isn’t any more magical than…well, cleaning your teeth or polishing your armour. You know your thoughts can have a physical effect on your body, for example. They just have a physical effect on these devices, too.”

“This translator – is that how you can speak all those different languages? Russian – ?”

“Yes. I can show you – ”

Victor gave a quick shake of his head. “When did it happen – when exactly did you get here?”

“Toward the end of our duel.”

“The personality change…”

“That’s why I had to pretend to have amnesia. I wasn’t prepared for the situation I landed in. I mean, I could’ve swapped with a farmer in a field, or a servant sweeping the floor, or some merchant counting his money, but I ended up swapping with a knight who was just about to be killed. It, um, threw me a bit at first.” Yuuri wanted to huff a laugh, but turned up a corner of his mouth instead.

Victor seemed to be digesting this. He’d also been slowly lowering his sword until it was pointed downward at his side again. “I had no idea.”

“You wouldn’t have. But it was hard to know what to do. I couldn’t just attack you; I didn’t know who you were or what was going on.”

“Most men I know wouldn’t pause to think about those things. They’d just defend themselves.”

“Well, then, they’d be idiots. If I’d tried to attack you, you would’ve…” Yuuri’s throat hitched. “…wouldn’t you?”

Victor just blinked, then let out a small breath.

“I wasn’t even wearing armour, though I appeared to be; this is what I looked like underneath. Although at the moment I’m wearing the tunic and hose you saw earlier. I, um, guess it must be confusing.”

“Your whole demeanour altered,” Victor said, ignoring these last comments. “Insisting you wouldn’t yield, and then – ”

“Running away, yes. Maybe you can see why, now.” His heart gave a little hopeful flutter. Perhaps the edge of Victor’s questions and tone would soften, the more curious he got and the more he learned. Yuuri fancied he could almost see the puzzle pieces fitting together in his head.

“And…‘nice’ means something different where you’re from, you said.”

Yuuri nodded. “It has pretty much the opposite meaning. You don’t know how hard it’s been for me to stop saying it here. Words change over time. The English here is so different from my own that I need the translator to be able to speak and understand it. You heard some modern English when I was talking on my com to Phichit. Let me show you – ”

Victor flinched. “No. You say it isn’t magic, but how can it not be? How else could such devices work?”

“The thought control – ”

“I’m wondering aloud, I suppose. That’s not my biggest concern right now.” Victor took a breath and continued, “You’ve been lying to me. The entire time.”

His words stabbed. As intent as Yuuri had been on getting Victor to understand, he hadn’t considered this. And he realised he should have. “Victor – ”

“I…I shared very personal things with you. I wondered why you didn’t do the same, and why you wouldn’t tell me about your past. Now I know.”

“I told you about the anxiety. No one else – ”

“You were forced to when you collapsed. It’s not the same. Just…just like you were forced to tell me this, after what happened.”

“I…” Yuuri searched for words that wouldn’t come. _Why didn’t you choose to tell me? _he heard Victor asking in his mind.

It was plain in his voice as well. “Why the deception? Did you think you couldn’t trust me?”

“No,” Yuuri said vehemently. “It’s because I wanted to protect you – because what I’m doing is dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt!”

“But if you’d told me about this mission, it might have been completed today. Instead, I came crashing in like a fool, because I didn’t know who you were or what you were doing, and she got away.”

_Holy shit, _Yuuri thought. He hadn’t considered it from that angle.

“And that blue light you said came from her weapon – I could have been exposed to it, just like you were. Are you in the habit, 728 years in the future, of playing with people’s lives like this?”

“Of course not!” Yuuri blurted. “But how could I have said? One second I was in Ailis’s workshop, and the next I was lying on the ground in the arena with you attacking me.”

Victor paused and looked down, then met his gaze once more and said quietly, “Things have changed just a bit between us since then, don’t you think? Well, _I _thought.”

“Yes, they have. But…” _Please, Victor, believe me. Everything inside of me, everything I am, wants you to know the truth of what I’m saying. _“I’ve admired you from the first moment I saw you. I _wanted _to tell you. More than anything.”

“Why have you been training with me at all?” Victor’s voice had started to crack. The sound of it pierced Yuuri’s heart. “Has it been a waste of time?”

“No,” was the quick response. “Please don’t think that. I do need your help.”

“Have you got one of those strange weapons?”

“It’s called a laser gun. No, I don’t. I meant to bring a couple myself, but um, there was a disruption when it was time for me to go, and I had to leave things behind. But I didn’t intend to get involved in a duel. I’m going to need all the skill I have for that, and I have to keep learning and improving. I…I still need a teacher, a trainer, if…you’re willing. It’s been important to me, what you’ve done.” He added softly, “Special.”

Victor gave his head a little shake again, as if trying to wake from a dream. “I need time to take all of this in.” He added, “You’re not the person I thought you were.”

_But I am. I am, oh God, I am. _However, Yuuri didn’t say it. If this was how Victor felt, then he was probably right; he would need space to come to terms with everything. Though it wasn’t what Yuuri wanted. What he wanted was to be wrapped in Victor’s arms.

“I feel…” Victor’s blue eyes were bright with tears. “…manipulated, and confused. You must think we’re nothing but barbarians.”

Fighting his own tears, Yuuri began to approach him, but held himself back. “No, not at all. Not you.”

“You’re not Justin. You’re someone called Yuuri.” He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t even know you.”

“Master?”

“Sir Justin?”

The voices of their squires, and the shushing of hoofs through the carpet of old leaves. Yuuri turned his projector back on while Victor watched him, eyes widening at the transformation.

“Don’t tell anyone about me,” Yuuri said quickly. “Please. If Ailis gets word – ”

“Do you really think it’s necessary to say so?”

“I wasn’t sure, but – ”

“You don’t know me either, then.”

Yuuri wasn’t certain it would be any more painful to have Victor run his sword through him.

Soon Julia and Emil appeared on their palfreys. “At last,” she said. “We were wondering where you both were. You’d been gone a long time.”

“Are you both well?” Emil asked.

“We’re fine, thanks,” Yuuri replied. “Um – ”

He was interrupted by Victor, who said, sheathing his sword, “Justin wanted to practise some sparring. The woods make an interesting change of setting from the training field, and can require some different skills, so I agreed that it was a good idea.”

“Why didn’t you say so, master?” Julia asked.

“I wasn’t aware I had to answer to _you_,” Victor replied in a playful tone, giving her an affectionate pat. But Yuuri could see the strain lingering on his face from their conversation; the heavy eyes, the exhausted frown. He suspected he was probably in a similar state himself, and felt it.

“If we head back now,” Emil said, “we should be in time for supper. Do you need assistance with anything, sir?” he added with a touch of concern, perhaps sensing something of Yuuri’s mood.

“No, uh, thanks, Emil.”

Yuuri led Lady to where the other horses were waiting, the fighting men having packed their gear and got the cart ready. Once everyone was mounted, they headed out to the stable, Victor riding in the vanguard with Julia at his side. Deciding he might not want him nearby at the moment, Yuuri rode a little way back with the other knights and squires. Emil looked at him curiously but said nothing.

_Things can’t be fixed with Victor immediately. Thinking about it just makes it worse._

He forced his mind onto the topic of Ailis. At least Victor hadn’t known who he was at the time, so his reaction to discovering them both was genuine. Though his words still bit, about how the mission might be complete by now if he’d been aware of it beforehand.

_Why didn’t I consider the possibility that Victor might actually be able to help?_

_Because it doesn’t change the reasons why I believed he mustn’t know about any of this. _

That was beside the point, anyway. Ailis knew he was here, looking for her, and she was bound to be more cautious now. Yuuri doubted he’d stand a chance of running into her in the woods like that again.

He’d thought Tyler’s note was bad enough. The day had been a disaster. And with that thought came anxious spikes which he fought down until they reached the stable, where he put Lady in her stall and found a stable boy to speak to who was distributing hay. Victor watched from Alyona’s side with hard eyes.

“Can you tell me if any women have been out on a horse recently?” Yuuri asked the boy. “I’m looking for someone.” 

“A great many people have been back and forth all day, sir. I ain’t been here the whole time, neither.”

“Has anyone brought their horse back in the past hour?”

The boy reeled off the names of a few men.

“Are any horses still missing?”

“All present and accounted for, as far as I’m aware, sir. With it being time for the meal. Apart from John de Lacey’s and those of his servants, who have – ”

“Never mind. Thank you.”

Yuuri approached Victor, who continued to stand in Alyona’s stall. They were surrounded by the fighting men, so he kept his voice low; though from the blank expression on Victor’s face, he didn’t know whether his words were welcome or not.

“There don’t seem to be any leads here. Or maybe she had someone else bring her horse back for her. She must’ve known this was the first place I’d go. Victor…”

But his words trailed off as Victor seemed to come to a decision. With a sharp glance, he opened the stall door as Yuuri scooted out of the way. Then he walked silently past, quickening his pace as he went along the other stalls to meet with a bemused Julia at the stable entrance. They exchanged a few brief words before disappearing.

Yuuri hadn’t realised he was staring at the empty doorway until Emil joined him, saying he’d walk with him to the castle, and something about supper.

But Yuuri had no intention of eating a bite.


	62. Chapter 62

“No, Emil, honest, I don’t need anything. I’ve got plenty of beer in the jug; I’ll be fine.”

“If the food’s on a tray here in your room, though, sir, you can partake whenever the desire strikes; surely you’ll feel hungry sometime tonight.”

“I won’t.”

They were in Yuuri’s room, and he was standing in front of the fire with a hand braced against the mantel, head hanging down as he stared into the flames. It wasn’t often that he found Emil’s presence an irritation, but he needed to be alone right now.

“I know it’s not my place to ask, master,” Emil said more quietly, “but I couldn’t help noticing that you and Sir Victor appeared rather distempered when we were returning from the woods. Is something amiss?”

Yuuri was silent for a moment, then sighed. “We, um, had a disagreement today. I’m tempted to ask you to bring me some wine, but I doubt it’d help.”

“As you wish, sir, and I’m sorry to hear it. I’ll be in the main garrison room tonight if you change your mind.” Emil let himself out of the room, and Yuuri gripped the mantel, wishing he could see something in his mind other than Victor’s ice-blue eyes full of pain as he’d swept past him in the stable. He knew he ought to spare some thought for Ailis, but his heart was elsewhere.

Maybe talking with Phichit would help, just because he understood – was part of – that world which confused and frightened Victor. And which, maybe after a while, Yuuri could hope he’d come to accept. He put the call through on his com.

“Yuuri. I’ve been wanting to speak to you.” It was Celestino.

“Where’s Phichit? Is he OK?”

“He’s fine.”

“It’s just that I was expecting him to be there. We agreed he’d be my contact.”

“I know. That hasn’t changed.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Yuuri answered, beginning to walk around the room in slow paces. “What’s this about?”

“I was concerned about what you reported to him today, and was hoping you might be able to clarify it for me.”

“There’s nothing to clarify. I found Ailis and destroyed her laser gun. But Victor – Sir Victor, he’s – ”

“I know who he is. You’re aware Phichit’s been keeping me informed?”

“Yes. Well anyway, Victor didn’t recognise me, because I’d turned my projector off, and he saw me attacking her. He had a sword at my throat; there wasn’t much I could do.”

“Which makes me wonder why you’ve been spending so much time learning these swordsmanship skills if you can’t fend off someone who pulls a sword on you.”

“You understand what _at my throat _means, don’t you?” Yuuri said heatedly.

“All right. But you must understand, Yuuri, it’s disappointing that you had such an opportunity and let it slip away.”

“I’m disappointed too,” Yuuri replied, willing himself to stay calm. “But if I’d told Victor beforehand who I really was, and why I was here, would you have said it was a good idea?”

After a pause, Celestino replied, “I would’ve said it’s better for no one to know. That way your secret is safe, and Ailis won’t be able to discover it from anyone else.”

“I’m glad you agree. This is what ended up happening, then. I can’t see how it would’ve been ideal either way.”

“So Victor knows about you now.”

“Yes. And before you ask, he’s not going to tell anyone.”

“As you say, it’s not ideal.”

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair and took a moment to collect his thoughts. It would have been nice to be greeted with _How are you? _or _Phichit told me what happened; you must be upset. _He tried to see the situation from Celestino’s point of view – Ailis free to do as she pleased here unless Yuuri, their last hope, could stop her. And he wasn’t sure how well he’d been measuring up to his role. Although…

“I’ve lasted a lot longer here than Dr. Quincey and Dr. Croft,” he said. “Dr. Quincey didn’t survive his first and only encounter with Ailis, and Dr. Croft didn’t meet her at all. I’m going to keep looking, and I’ll find her again. If you think I’m not taking this seriously…”

“No, Yuuri, it’s not that. I only hope you’ll get a second chance.”

“I will. Have you got any further with deciphering her tech?”

“I’m afraid not, but we’re working on it.”

“No sign of Ian or the woman Ailis swapped places with?”

“Well, no – ”

“Then you know what it’s like. We’re both doing the best we can.”

“Of course. But if there are any developments at your end – ”

“I’ll contact Phichit over the com, like I did today.”

They said brief goodbyes, and Yuuri cut the call. If he’d known Celestino was going to answer with the intention of making his displeasure known, he never would’ve tried the com in the first place. But the conversation was out of the way now.

And Victor was in his thoughts again. Had their relationship been ruined? Tyler’s message, which had felt so important at the time, was nothing compared to what had happened afterward.

_He seems to believe what I told him. He’s keeping my secret, and he let me come back to the castle. _Didn’t appear to feel personally threatened. Hadn’t looked horrified by Yuuri’s Japanese features; just surprised. That was all good, wasn’t it? But then Victor’s words echoed back to him.

_You’re not the person I thought you were…I don’t even know you._

He drifted over to his bed and sat down while the tears he’d been holding back began to flow.

That was why he wanted to go find Victor. Now. To prove to him somehow that he _was _Justin; the Justin he’d come to know. Only he couldn’t, because Victor needed time to come to terms with everything. 

_I’ll never stop loving you._

Could he live here at the castle, and pursue his mission, with this rift between them?

_I’ll have to. That’s all there is to it._

He got a cloth and wiped his face as the tears continued to come. Eventually it felt like there were no more in him to shed, and he drank several cups of thin beer. But he didn’t feel much better.

_Ailis. I haven’t got very far thinking about her yet. _He sat down on the floorboards in front of the fire. _What do I do about her now?_

He could conceivably go around the castle gossiping with people about who had been where yesterday. But there were a lot of people here. And the thought of making small talk with so many…he’d already done it with all those women when he’d first arrived. The prospect of doing it again filled him with dread.

He _would _do it, however, if it seemed the best way forward. The problem was, word might get around that he was asking questions. For a strategy that had debatable chances of producing results, it was too risky.

Was Victor in danger now? Ailis wouldn’t know what had happened between them after she’d left. She might suspect Victor was aware of his projected identity – and with that thought, a shudder of apprehension shot down Yuuri’s spine. If she tried to harm him, and his death date being this year…

It took a few minutes for Yuuri to fight down the surge of anxiety. He took deep breaths and stared into the flames.

_Don’t catastrophise. Keep a clear head._

This was one outcome he had wanted to prevent; one of the reasons why he hadn’t revealed his identity. He couldn’t be at Victor’s side all the time. At least he had disarmed Ailis.

Was she the type to…to kill first and ask questions later, or would she prefer to sit in the shadows like a spider, testing threads but not revealing herself? With everything he knew about her, Yuuri decided it would be the latter. True, she’d shot Dr. Quincey and his counterpart, Arthur, but she would have felt under immediate threat at the time. All that proved was that she’d act without compunction if she had to. And in that case, without knowing what the relationship was between Victor and himself, it was likely she would continue to lurk in wait.

_I just hope I’m right. As if I wasn’t worried about Victor’s safety already._

But if Ailis didn’t have too many problems with her conscience, Yuuri couldn’t say the same for himself, with the way he’d assailed her. She had a gun, he had a mission, and instinct had taken over. He’d known he had to immobilise her somehow. He hadn’t decided what he would do afterward, and still wasn’t sure, though he remembered what Celestino had told him: killing her was an option.

_But I’ve never killed anyone. Could I do that?_

He’d asked himself the question before, though not in this context. Yes, he’d participated in the skirmish on the bridge, but those men were already trying to kill him; he’d been defending himself and Victor. And yes, he had a duel to the death approaching. It hadn’t arrived yet. And he would very much prefer not to have to participate; though if he were to continue in his guise of Justin and live at the castle, he couldn’t see any option other than to play by these people’s rules.

But sneaking up on someone like he’d done today and attacking them…it had felt wrong. She’d called him a muscle-bound oaf, which didn’t seem far from the truth. But what choice did he have at the time? He might have tried to talk to her if she hadn’t been busy trying to shoot him. He’d been lucky to get away with his life.

Before he started feeling anxious about _that_, he folded his knees up and hugged them, suddenly wishing for nothing more than to be back home with Mari. She’d make him hot chocolate and give him a hug like she used to when he’d had a hard time. Today might just qualify.

_Will I ever even see you again? You could tell me off as much as you wanted about having too many nutri-pills instead of proper food, and how I ought to get a hobby and a boyfriend. I wonder what you’d make of it here._

_I think you’d like Victor. But I don’t know what’s going to happen with him. Everything’s in a mess._

A tear plopped onto his knee. He wondered what Mari was doing right now, in 2121. What Victor was doing, here in 1393. Where Ailis was. _Who _she was. What she thought of their encounter and what she was planning. And rested his chin against his knees, staring into the crackling flames. 

* * *

_I wish I could test this right now. Serve him right._

_Patience, my dear. Good things come to those who wait._

The primitive tech she was having to use didn’t help. It slowed her down. A lot. She couldn’t bring _everything _with her, after all. If she ever got home, she could look into how it might be possible to send an entire laboratory – even a whole house – through time. Why not think big?

In this abandoned husk of a cottage, which had a roof even if there were no longer any shutters attached to the high windows, she had surrounded herself with candles and a small bright modern light powered by a copper self-sustaining energy coil. There was also a generously sized fireplace, which enabled her to keep her materials warm while she was here, and to light her apparatus. But the trial and error process she’d undergone to discover how to control the flames and the coals to prevent her experiments from getting too cool for too long, or so hot they were ruined – she was still working on that. How these people ever achieved things like the construction of cathedrals was mystifying.

An added difficulty was that she wasn’t able to come out here as often as she wanted, or she’d be missed at the castle. And it usually had to be late at night for the same reason. It meant losing sleep. But there were worse things in life. Tonight she’d come to get her head together; to regroup. Going back to the castle earlier and playing her part as if nothing had happened had been a bit trying. She was lucky to still be free, she knew, and possibly even still alive; that Japanese agent had gone after her with a single-mindedness of purpose that proved he was not to be trifled with.

What kind of brain did he have, though? she wondered as she stirred a mixture in a ceramic bowl suspended over the fire. Was he intelligent, or could he be easily fooled? He’d been clever enough to elude her so far, which was more than could be said for his predecessors – though the woman getting ill, that wasn’t really anyone’s fault, bless her. Well, if he’d been using a laser pen, of all things, as a weapon, it was safe to say he wasn’t armed. Strange; you’d think he would’ve brought something better. Perhaps he’d accidentally dropped his gun into a lake or something. 

_You believed you’d make me helpless by disarming me, didn’t you? But I’ve got another gun, my saucy young friend, and I’m looking forward to using it on you next time we meet. No one gets the better of me, not for long._

She had several guns, in fact. She’d originally imagined creating her own small army of followers – maybe even some of these downtrodden wimpled women – and together they would gain a power base for themselves; it made her cringe to see the way they were treated, which she of course experienced herself to a degree, and surely there was something she could do to remedy that with the advantages she had. But the circumstances in which she’d found herself here offered other interesting possibilities that might ultimately be even more efficacious.

However, a hundred guns wouldn’t help if she didn’t know anything about this agent or who he was pretending to be at the castle. 

The sensible thing was to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume there was a fine mind behind the silent exterior. Celestino wasn’t likely to recruit a dumbarse for such a mission, after all. She’d try to predict his actions based on that, then.

If he’d got free from Victor earlier, he would have ridden after her. It was a shame his horse hadn’t been nearby, or she might have been able to identify who it belonged to. But never mind. He probably would have decided to go straight to the stable and ask who’d gone out recently on which horse. Fortunately, she didn’t always ride when she went out by herself for that very reason.

She’d been on foot today as well, and had returned to the castle by the secret way; no one had been around to see her emerging from the trap door, since the room was little used. Her only motivation for the journey had been to shoot some fowl she could leave in the cottage and cook later – not because there was any deficiency of food at the castle, but because this was her own place, and she enjoyed doing things here that she missed, like cooking for herself, reading, and taking a break from the role she was always having to play.

She wouldn’t be having stewed pheasant tonight, though. If she hunted again, she would do it further away from the castle; she hadn’t realised the glow of the laser beam would be so easily seen. A stupid mistake.

But really – how _dare _they interfere with the normal life she was living here? It could even be said she was doing a better job of it in some ways than the woman she’d replaced. So she’d killed a couple of people, and was planning to kill a couple more. That wasn’t unusual in this time. What was the tally of deaths for the castle knights? How many had the sainted Victor slaughtered, rather less tidily than with a laser gun?

Damn that man, Celestino; she’d _known _he’d send a third agent. 

She’d already gone through a determined spell – as far as she dared, anyway – of trying to root his agent out. Bribed two servants to check through various rooms for anything unusual. She didn’t tell them any more than that. And if they were caught, they were to claim they were cleaning. It had been risky just trusting them that far, and they couldn’t go breaking into locked chests and wardrobes, which would all have individual keys carried by their owners. But she’d decided it had been worth a try. They hadn’t found anything, though she wasn’t surprised. She’d made sure her own “unusual” possessions were well hidden, too.

The mixture in the ceramic bowl having come to a boil, she decanted it into a beaker, which she shook and left to stand and react. Then she checked the candle underneath a glass test tube secured by clamps to a small iron tripod, and trimmed the wick. If anyone decided to break the door down around the heavy padlock she’d secured there, for whatever reason, they’d probably think an alchemist had set up shop. It was amusing to imagine. What was _not _amusing were the clumsy and painstaking efforts she was having to go to in order to accomplish tasks that would be quick and simple back home. Then she took a small leather pouch full of nuts and dried fruit and popped a handful into her mouth, chewing contemplatively.

This bloody agent on her tail. As Victor had been nearby, maybe he was one of the fighting men. He was certainly well fed and strong, so he wasn’t a starving peasant at any rate. She’d wondered about Justin before but was questioning the idea now. It was obvious to everyone that the two of them were in a relationship, but she was convinced that Victor was as surprised as she had been to come across the agent in the woods; he hadn’t known him on sight. Wouldn’t the man have shared his real identity with his lover, someone he cared about and trusted like an idiot? Well, she didn’t know him, so it was impossible to say. She did know that nothing had been found by the servants when they’d searched the garrison. It would be too risky for her to go there herself; she might be caught, either as her projected persona or as a stranger with no business there.

She couldn’t help but speculate about what had transpired between them in the woods after she’d gone. She’d been tempted to lurk nearby and listen to the exchange between them, but at the time she’d been more concerned with getting away; that had to be the priority, and there hadn’t been any obvious hiding places in sight. Sadly, she wasn’t nimble enough to go scrambling up trees, and besides, they were still mostly bare-branched at this time of year.

Wondering if Victor had taken the agent into custody, she’d gone around the castle that evening, looking for him as a prisoner, only to discover there weren’t any being held. She hadn’t got word of anything unusual having happened, even though she’d asked cautious questions of people who might know. Her assumption had to be that it was a secret between the two of them, and the agent was free, either through force or because Victor had allowed him to go. The information, therefore, rested with Victor.

Getting it out of him was the problem. He might be aware of the agent’s projected identity, or he might not. The only way she’d be able to find out would be as herself, pulling a gun on him. But that might upset him a wee bit, and there was no guarantee he’d tell her the truth, even if he knew it. It might possibly upset the agent as well, depending on the relationship between the two. And if it prompted him to take a more aggressive approach, she’d have to match it, and everything would escalate.

The whole situation would require delicate handling; and if it meant Victor kept his secret for now, so be it. That would be frustrating, but she liked a challenge. This was a game of chess in a way, exploring possible moves through to their likely outcomes, probing and testing, until the best one came to light.

_Funny, that. I’m in my own real-life castle with knights and pawns and everything._

She removed a loose stone near the hearth and checked the container she’d hidden inside to keep warm. This was the latest batch. Her brew. It was a good medieval word, conjuring images of ale-houses and witches. The sexy kind, who cast spells to subtly bend the world to their will. Not so different from what she was doing. What she had in her “cauldron” was still an experiment, a prototype; but it might serve the double purpose of forcing the agent to come to her next time, when she was ready and waiting – even if it didn’t, couldn’t, affect him personally. These time-police of Celestino’s were a bunch of self-righteous pillocks, weren’t they? He’d feel it was his duty. And then he’d be helpless before her.

_He almost got me today. But then, I almost got him. _He’d deserved the knee in the bollocks, and then some. It wasn’t a dignified way to treat anyone, trying to tackle her as he’d done, like a rugby player. And she didn’t like being reminded of how physically vulnerable she was compared to some of these beefy men; it didn’t matter how clever you were if they could grab you like that.

_The bastard. _

_I’d love to give Celestino a piece of my mind._

Suddenly she remembered that she could.

She made the call on her com and waited a few minutes.

“H-Hello?” came a voice fogged with sleep.

Not Celestino, then, but his little helper. Damn. But maybe this would work. She could instil some fear and respect in them both.

“Phichit, is it?”

“Ailis – ?”

“Who else were you expecting on this com?”

“How – um, I mean, what – ”

“Surprised to hear from me after all this time, are you?” she said smoothly, going to the table in the middle of the room and leaning on it with her elbows. She was going to enjoy this.

“If you wanted to speak to Celestino – ”

“You’ll do.” She paused. “Did your agent tell you we had a wee scuffle today?”

“Um…”

“Of course he did. I didn’t catch his name.”

No answer.

“That’s not very polite of you, Phichit. Next time I meet him, the least I can do is call him something other than ‘agent’ or ‘hey you’. No…? What about the name he’s going by as his projection, then? Let me try some guesses. Harold. Chris. Philip. Roland. Charles. Bran. Justin. Am I getting warm at all?”

Silence again.

“I think a jack like him must be one of the fighting men. A guard, a soldier, a squire, a knight? Still nothing to say? You’re not being very helpful. I could take offence at that. I can already tell you I wasn’t happy about the way he came at me today like a mad gorilla. Will you at least tell me what happened between him and Victor? Is Mr. Agent a prisoner, or did he get away? Perhaps Victor let him go free…because he knows who he is, here at the castle?”

“Why do you think I’d tell you?”

Ah, so he was finding a bit of backbone. She wondered what she could say to really rattle him. It didn’t matter that there would be little truth in any of it. In fact, the more confused he was, the better. They already thought she was the devil’s spawn, so why not play up to it?

“When I said I wasn’t happy, that was a bit of an understatement, Phichit.” She snapped out loudly, “I was bloody _livid._ You follow? I said, are you hearing me?”

There was a sound that might have been swallowing, then he answered in a hoarse voice, “I hear you.”

“Since you’re being less than forthcoming, I’ll tell you what,” she continued, leaning further forward and beginning to relish her words. “I _could _just enter the garrison one night with my laser gun and fry them all.”

“W-What?”

_And you bloody well believe I would, too. You and that _chutia _you work for. _“That’s right. All they have is swords here. They’d stand no chance. Any of them.”

“But – ”

“But your agent destroyed my gun today, yes. It wasn’t the only one I had. Surprise.” She laughed softly.

“Um, Ailis…I don’t know why you called, but you can’t just kill all those people – ”

“Can’t I?”

“Please,” he said shakily.

She had him now. “Tell me who your agent is and I’ll let the others live.”

After a moment, he replied, “I – I don’t think it would be a clever thing to do, do you? I mean, killing the people who protect the castle?”

“I could pick them off, one by one.”

Phichit took several breaths. Then he said, “People would notice. You’d have bodies to get rid of. They’d be on the alert for whoever was killing the men in the garrison. I-Is that what you really want?”

She smiled. _So you have a brain. I can respect that, even if it’s annoying. _“Is your agent in there with them? Perhaps…he’s with Victor on occasion? I could walk into his room and fry them both, in that case. Problem solved.”

“Please – there’s no need to kill anyone. Innocent people…y-you haven’t killed any yet, have you? Just Dr. Quincey and Arthur Farmer, because they saw you?”

“You haven’t been answering my questions. Why should I answer yours?”

“Will you tell me what you’re planning to do while you’re there? If you don’t hurt anyone else, or do something that changes history, maybe – ”

“Do you expect me to buy that?” She laughed. “Come on, Phichit. I feel insulted. Your man will carry on looking for me regardless. I don’t intend to be gentle with him. In fact, if any of you make me angry enough…a laser gun is a powerful weapon. I could kill everyone in this castle in one spree, if I wanted to.”

The idea had never crossed her mind before, but the very thought of it made her feel sick. Though she felt momentarily hypnotised by a vision of the devastation she would be able to unleash: a fortified ghost town of death, full of the charred remains of all these self-important backward people, prince and pauper alike. Poignant, like a scene from a horror film, or something post-apocalyptic.

And quite beyond anything she’d ever dream of actually doing. A few of the self-righteous nobles might deserve what was coming to them, but nobody else. Life here was enough of a struggle for most. Not that she’d share any of these thoughts with Phichit.

More breaths. A squeaky tone joined the hoarseness this time. “Don’t. You can’t…can’t even…please, all those people…”

“What’s your agent’s name? Who’s he projecting himself as?”

Silence.

“Tell me, or you’ll find out just what I’m capable of. Their lives mean nothing to me.”

A noise between a cry and a sob.

And then something inside of her did an about-face, to her own surprise.

_I’m being cruel. He’s just a kid. A remarkably strong one, too. Defending his man to the last. _

_Did I really come here to play a villain? To terrorise people, even if it’s just this jack on the com?_

“I’m lying,” she admitted. “It would’ve been gratifying for you to realise that, though. Do you honestly think I’m some kind of sociopath?”

Another pause. “Y-You don’t mean it – that you’re going to kill – ”

“Of course not. But it depends on what kind of situation I end up in, and you and your agent might have some choice in the matter. I _will _kill him once I find him, Phichit. And I _will_ find him. If anyone else gets in the way, they’ll snuff it too, and you and Celestino can blame yourselves. I don’t appreciate being hounded like an escaped convict.”

“I…oh. Um – ”

“It’s been delightful chatting with you. Be sure to repeat everything I said to your boss. Or overlord. Whatever he likes to be called. Good night, and sweet dreams.” She cut the call.

The one-room cottage fell silent. And then little night-time noises crept into her awareness. The crackling fire. A gust of wind through the eaves. Even an owl hooting; she loved the sound of that, something she’d never heard when she lived in the city. But it brought home an odd realisation – that it felt good to talk to someone from her own time. Even though it had essentially been the enemy.

_You’re not getting homesick, now, are you, Ailis? Whatever next?_

She really ought to have another look at a sphere and try again to find a way to repair it. Maybe if she persevered, something would come to her. She was a genius, after all. And this was her own tech. It would be silly to let herself be defeated by it.

Not tonight, though. She was tired. She hadn’t allowed herself to unwind, that was the problem. Her experiment was secure, revenge waiting to be served warm when it was ready. She had a full stomach, and she’d passed her complaint along to Laurel and Hardy. Yes, it was time to relax now.

_So, Mr. Chaucer, _she thought as she pulled up a stool and slid the illuminated manuscript across the table that she’d nicked from the castle library. _Let’s see if this _Troilus and Criseyde _of yours is any good._


	63. Chapter 63

One day bled into another, grey, half-remembered. Victor had cried bitter tears the first night. More had come afterward, in his room, at different times. His father was displeased that he wasn’t attending meals, but he could not present himself in the great hall.

The world had been upended, and he rather believed he was moving through a dream, while the waking world visited him like a ghost in the night.

His Justin, taken from him. But then, he’d never really existed, had he?

Time travel. Only gods in myths did such things. But how could Victor not believe it, after what he’d been shown?

He went to the stable at odd hours, to be alone while grooming Alyona and Perun. Matthew Everard came to visit him in his room, though when did he ever want to hear what the man had to say? Once, long ago, Victor had believed that it had been of great import. But he couldn’t remember when.

_I have a duty to ensure that our tenants are well looked after._

That much was true. But what Matthew wanted to tell him usually had little to do with that, and more to do with how the Nikiforovs and their estate could gain more wealth and power.

But there was no taking back what had happened in the woods. Would that he could, and everything could return to the way it was before.

He went on long runs and avoided the training field. Took naps. But then he would wake in the night, staring at the flickering flame atop the oil lamp.

Julia didn’t like it. She fussed a lot sometimes, for a fifteen-year-old squire.

“Master, you haven’t eaten again,” she said the second evening – or was it the third? “Can you not manage a few bites? I sought out all your favourites. Rabbit in saupiquet sauce – they say it’s not as good as Fernand’s, but even so, it smells good. Manchet bread fresh from the oven, with butter churned today. Almond milk flan and some hypocras.”

Victor lifted his empty mazer. “It’s good drink, my girl,” he said, injecting a modicum of enthusiasm into his voice that he did not feel. “I never thought I cared much for the flan until…Justin expressed a liking for it. But I can’t have any of this; I told you, I’m not hungry.” He gestured to her. “Please, sit down and help yourself.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “That would be highly inappropriate, sir, as well you know. I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” he said wearily, resting his head in his hand. “Do you see anyone here who’d object?”

“I…couldn’t.”

“Fair enough, then. See if there are any paupers at the gatehouse, or tip it into a sty; I’m sure there are some animals that need feeding.”

She quickly sat down, glaring at him, tore a hunk from the bread, and began to eat. He flashed her a little smile of approval.

“You give me some cheer,” he said.

“By eating your food?”

“Your company is welcome.”

She stared at him as she chewed. “Why don’t you come to meals in the great hall, then? Or the training field? You’ve kept to your room a great deal.” She swallowed her mouthful of bread and said softly, “Are you ill, master? Shall I fetch Mistress Ramsay, or – ”

“No,” he said, waving her comment away.

She wrinkled her brow. “Did Sir Justin do something to displease you? I know his behaviour is changed these days, but I remember well – ”

Now he put his face in his hands. “It’s not that.”

“Say the word and I’ll prick his arse with my sword.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he told her firmly, raising his head again. “Have some decorum, squire of mine. Have you so soon forgotten his kindnesses to you in York?”

“Of course not,” she muttered, hesitating before dipping another hunk of bread in the rabbit dish.

_I can’t understand why the man I met the other day would have any interest in saving a girl from a pillory or pursuing a corrupt sheriff. Surely we’re like ants crawling across a hill to him, and he’s been playing with us in order to further his own ends. _

_No. That makes no sense. Those were noble deeds. And I…thought I knew him._

He sighed and blinked more tears back. Not in front of Julia.

At least he’d brought some pleasure to her evening. She seemed to like the rabbit. He poured himself another mazer of hypocras and drank it in one go.

She ate everything, though her eyes continued on occasion to double-check that she still had his permission to do so; and he was at quiet ease with her for a little while, before his pinched nerves got the better of him and he wanted to be alone again. Later, he sat in front of the fire to finish the remaining hypocras.

_His speech was so mild. He explained; repeated things where he needed to. I might as well have been a child._

_Apart from the look in his eyes. How dare he look at me like that. As if…as if he cared about me. Respected me. He said he admired me._

_If he felt any of those things, he wouldn’t have lied to me. Not after we got to know each other._

This mission of his, he hadn’t said much about it. Why had the woman Ailis come here? What kind of threat did she pose, to the castle and the people in it? Or was she waiting to do something to the king? But her weapon had been destroyed. That was all right then, wasn’t it?

But you didn’t have to be a man from the future to know that strange and powerful devices spitting blue fire weren’t the only way of harming someone.

_He comes here, he deals with her one way or another, he leaves._

Victor huffed and set his jaw firmly. _All this time, I thought maybe there was a chance for us. There’s no chance at all. But he was happy to allow me to believe otherwise._

He had two more mazers of drink.

Were love and romance and sex similar in the distant future? He, Yuuri, had behaved like a normal man here so far in that respect, albeit one who fancied other men, which in Victor’s opinion was neither perverse nor sinful as the Church preached. He’d believed himself to be the object of Justin’s – Yuuri’s – desire. But then, more fool him, perhaps.

What _was _real? Identities concealed behind the facades of actual people from this place and time…everything Yuuri had been concealing…

_I can hardly bring myself to use the strange name. He’s Justin – only, he isn’t._

Victor wondered if his mind was too small to contain it all; to make sense of it. No one had ever taken advantage of him like this before, either; he’d never been in a position to allow it. At times in the past, he felt he’d received short shrift from certain lovers, but that was different. He’d been annoyed, hadn’t shared a bed with them again, and moved on. But the solution to this problem would not be so easy. Gathering up the pieces of himself so that he could go about his daily life was a difficult task. Memories of times they’d spent together, things they’d said, arose like spectres to taunt him. He’d been so happy with this man, in so many ways. And it had all been taken away.

It reminded him of mourning. Yes…it was like that.

He gasped, and for a few minutes, he couldn’t think; could only ride the awful crest of the feelings that swept through him. Finally, when they began to subside, he drained the hypocras jug. There hadn’t been much left, anyway.

When the morning came, he realised he’d fallen asleep in his chair. Julia found him that way. There was a crimp in the small of his back. He made her happy by eating some grapes and allowing her to shave him; he was perfectly capable of it himself, but she wanted to look after him, and well, maybe he didn’t mind it so much right now. But the tears were never far away, and he saw little to look forward to in the days ahead.

When he went out, he caught a few glimpses of – _Yuuri, I have to call him Yuuri, that’s who he is whether I will or no – _in the stable, or the training field, or the courtyard. Wearing a shadowed expression that did not become him – or Justin’s projection, it would be more proper to say, would it not? But seeing him made Victor’s heart ache.

_I said I’d train him._

_He said he still needed my help._

_Was that the truth?_

He took in what sunlight there was on offer late in the afternoon, flat and murky like the bottom of a lake, as he sat on his window seat. It had only been a few days since, but he’d already grown weary of living like this. The constant pain nagged like a toothache. He idly watched carts and oxen pass through the gatehouse on their way to the kitchen to make deliveries.

_A man from the future doesn’t need to be able to fight with a sword. He made a good pretence of it; perhaps he enjoyed it, but…_

_Did he pretend the anxiety too?_

This was the crux of the whole matter – what his mind told him about the deceptions and real motivations of Yuuri, and what his heart felt certain it knew; the warmth and vulnerability he’d seen in those brown eyes. The genuine person behind them.

_One of them is wrong. I rather think it’s my heart. It’s too hopeful by half, and it doesn’t want to admit that it’s at fault._

_Perhaps he decided that seducing the baron’s son would be a diverting pastime while he was here._

_Would he deliberately have toyed with me like that? I’d rather not think so, but how should I know?_

There was no clear answer to the question. But he felt certain that Yuuri, or whoever he was, did care for him to some degree.

What was more, Victor thought as he watched the stray drops outside turn into a drizzle that wept down the glass, this man had found a place in his heart, and wasn’t moving from there. Which meant he would be left with another echo of something that was. Regardless of whatever happened between the two of them, Yuuri might die attempting to fulfil his mission, if Tyler didn’t kill him first.

A shudder passed through him as he considered it. His brave knight hadn’t hesitated to go after Ailis, despite the fact that she had the weapon – laser gun, he’d called it – while the only comparable device he had was a smaller version that wasn’t as powerful.

_He’s not a brave knight._

_He’s not a knight at all._

_But he is._

Victor looked down and massaged his forehead.

_He played me a sweet tune, then turned around to rebuff every advance I made._

_If we’re from such different times, perhaps we were at cross purposes, and I was mistaken about the signals I thought I’d received from him. My own failing, then, and not his._

_But surely these are things that go to the root of what it is to be human? Love and desire can be read in a person’s eyes and body language, whoever they are, wherever they’re from, can they not?_

_I seem to have made a poor job of it myself._

He raked his fringe back, though it just flopped down again. The drizzle was lifting for now, but the sun was still heavily veiled. It seemed to have no intention of showing its face today.

Staring out at the crenellated grey ramparts, Victor decided it was time to do something to cool the fever inside of him. He refused to go through this again, not after what had happened with Alex. No more grief. No more pain.

_I’m the baron’s son, aren’t I? I ought therefore to be able to steer this in a more appropriate direction._

He stood, smoothed down his tunic, and went to speak with his father.

* * *

“Phichit? You all right? You’ve never called me in the morning before.” Yuuri’s voice cracked. Too many tears and not enough sleep. He’d only just got out of bed and visited the garderobe, and was about to splash cold water over his face and other warm parts of himself in an effort to wake up properly. “I got Celestino last night. He was picked.”

“Um, I know. I went to see him, and we exchanged coms.”

Yuuri flinched as the water slapped his face. “What do you mean, exchanged?”

“He gave me mine back – I’m sorry about that, I wanted to warn you he borrowed it but I figured you had your hands full – and I gave him Ailis’s. Well, the one that belonged to Ian.”

“Is he planning on contacting Ailis?” Yuuri said in sudden alarm, wiping his face with a towel. “He shouldn’t be doing that, not before asking me – ”

“No, he’s not going to. She, um, called me last night.”

“She did?” Yuuri sat down on his bed and pulled a tunic on, but left it hanging open as he hunched over and spoke into his com as if Phichit was there inside to be seen or heard for real if he tried hard enough. “Oh my God. Why? What did she say?”

“I didn’t think to record it, I was that surprised to hear from her myself. It was the middle of the night; just gone half past two, I think. I told Celestino, and he came round – ”

“I was probably still awake then, too; fuck knows, because they don’t have clocks here. But why didn’t you call me straight away?”

“I didn’t want to upset you. I thought you might be sleeping.”

Yuuri huffed. “After yesterday, not likely. Besides, you shouldn’t let something like that stop you. What did she want? Did she leave a message for me or something?”

“She’s got a bee in her bonnet about your encounter in the woods. She, um, was making threats, and – ”

“What?” Yuuri said, sitting up straighter. “What was she threatening? Who?”

“She says she has another gun.”

“Fuck,” Yuuri breathed. “Phichit, _who was she threatening_?”

“In the end, just you.”

“In the end?”

“OK, well, let me think about how it went. It’s a bit of a jumble. I never expected to hear from her, and I wasn’t prepared.”

“Just tell me.” Yuuri took a deep breath. “Please.”

“She suspects you’re one of the fighters; my guess is because Victor was nearby when you met her in the woods. And, um, she’s picked, Yuuri. _Really _picked. She started threatening to kill people, even everyone in the castle, though I don’t know if she really would, and anyway she took it back. The whole thing was confusing.”

Feeling dizzy, Yuuri fought down his impulse to panic and asked Phichit to tell him in more detail what her actual words were, which he did. What she’d said toward the end of the conversation was more reassuring; if she hadn’t decided to tell Phichit she’d been winding him up, Yuuri wasn’t sure what he’d be prepared to do right now, at the risk of revealing himself, in some mad reckless effort to save everyone from her.

But then if she _intended _to act, presumably she would’ve done so, rather than calling Phichit and making threats. She’d been wanting to shake him up. And Celestino, and himself. Though that was no guarantee she wasn’t still planning some kind of retaliation.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “Christ, Phichit, you must’ve been flamed.”

“I was distraught, I’ll say that much. But I never told her who you were. She was really keen to know.”

“I bet. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like. Good job.”

“Terrifying? But thanks. Anyway, Celestino’s going to have Ian’s com from now on, because I don’t think I can go through that again.”

“Sure. Look, if it’s any reassurance, killing people indiscriminately doesn’t seem to match her m.o. anyway.”

“Wow, look at you,” Phichit said in a wavering voice that still aimed for a humorous tone, “sounding like a detective now. Really, that’s juke – it’s like you’ve got her figured out.”

“I studied her like Celestino wanted me to before I came here. And we know she’s been keeping a low profile. She always has, even in modern times. She might’ve been picked when the other two scientists came after her, but she didn’t go on some killing spree afterward. I think she’s potentially volatile, but only in the sense that she easily loses her temper, not that she acts out violently.”

“Wow,” Phichit said again. “I mean it, Yuuri, you’ve got this detective thing down cold. You could be, I don’t know, one of those psychological profilers or something.”

Yuuri just huffed again, ignoring the gushing praise. “It’s logical, that’s all. She could’ve done any of those things by now that she threatened to do, but she hasn’t. So I think it’s safe to say she’s bluffing.”

“Celestino thinks so, too.”

_I just hope to God we’re right, because if not…_“I’ll keep looking for her. If she was trying that hard to get you to reveal my projected identity, maybe she doesn’t know too much. She must reckon that fear is her biggest weapon right now. Though yeah, if she isn’t bluffing about having a second gun, there’s that too. I’ll be careful.”

“Good. It’s stuff like this that reminds you of the dangers there. It’s easy to forget when I’m playing audio books for you and whatnot.”

_I’m aware of the danger here every day, Phichit. Besides Ailis and her gun, there’s the fact that people try now and then to run a sword through me. But that’s for me to worry about, not you._

“I hope you can get some rest and sleep after all that,” he said. “You’re a real trooper, Phichit, honest.”

“What about you?”

“What _about _me?” Yuuri echoed quietly, pulling his boots on. “At least I didn’t have Ailis calling me in the middle of the night, threatening to commit mass murder.”

“You haven’t said how things went with Victor.”

Yuuri paused in the middle of buttoning up his tunic. Then he sighed and looked down.

“Not too good? He’s going to keep your identity a secret, isn’t he?”

“There’s no need to worry about that,” Yuuri replied, resuming his buttoning. “It’s just…um, well, I told him a little about myself and my mission, and…” A shaky sigh this time. “And…” Shit, the tears were coming again. He took a quick breath and rubbed at his eyes.

“It must’ve been a lot for him to take in. Give him some time, he’ll come round.”

“I hope so.” Yuuri sniffed. “I really hope it’s as simple as that.”

But something told him it wouldn’t be.

* * *

Victor hadn’t been turning up for training. Like other times when he’d been busy or absent from the castle, Yuuri found enough to do on his own, or with his colleagues. He kept telling himself that Victor just needed time. But maybe time would tell him that he wanted nothing further to do with the man who’d been pretending to be Justin Courtenay.

_Victor, please, just give me a chance. I’ll show you I’m no different from the man you already know. There’s so much more I can tell you now, too._

But thoughts on their own weren’t going to do anything to change the reality of the situation. He caught sight of Victor on a few occasions, only to realise he had no intention of saying anything to him at all.

_I miss you._

Yuuri threw himself into training, collapsing into bed in the evenings and snatching what fitful sleep he could. The joys and frustrations of sparring with Victor were gone. Often they hadn’t said a great deal to each other when they’d exercised together, but the companionship had been there, understood and welcome.

_I might have to carry on with my training alone, or ask Abelard for help._

_If that’s what I have to do, then…I will._

He also was attending meals, after having missed supper the evening after his encounter with Ailis, though it was an effort to get through them. While he ate very little, he otherwise forced himself to behave as if nothing untoward had happened, because Ailis might be watching. The last thing he wanted to do was make what had happened between himself and Victor so obvious that anyone could work it out. But Victor hadn’t been coming to meals, and Yuuri assumed he was eating in his room.

During a chilly grey and damp afternoon, Yuuri went for a run that had somehow extended into a trek he hadn’t originally intended, though moving outside and getting the endorphins to pump was more appealing than sitting in his room by himself. There was no place he could go to get a break from his thoughts, however, or the pain from the loss of his best friend.

_Give him some time, he’ll come round, _Phichit had said. But what if he didn’t?

What was his shining knight thinking?

_I have to stop calling him that. He was never mine, and I should’ve known better than to pursue a relationship with him in the first place. With Ailis making threats she has the power to carry out, that should always have been the first thing on my mind – my mission._

But he’d never lost sight of the reason why he was here. She’d been playing a waiting game, and he’d accepted that, as it was preferable to doing anything desperate that might result in a similar end to that of his predecessors.

Even so – poor Phichit, taking that call alone in the middle of the night, while he himself had been reliving his last conversation with Victor, his heart shattering into smaller and smaller pieces in the quiet, still hours.

He couldn’t have stopped himself from wanting a relationship with Victor any more than he could stop himself from admiring the most beautiful and moving work of art. And then when he’d got to know the man underneath the image of the angel…

_I fell in love. And I’ll never regret it. It’s always felt right, no matter what I’ve told myself about why it shouldn’t be happening._

He was approaching the empty training field now. Most of the sparring practice was taking place in the undercroft today, to provide shelter from the raw weather. Yuuri preferred to be outside where he could get some daylight, however, even if it was rather grim.

Trotting around the periphery of the field, he entered the stable, passing Alyona and noticing that Victor had left his brown leather gloves draped over the side of her stall. Her mane shone, and the scent of linseed oil lingered in the air, along with a tinge of the cider vinegar that Victor added to her feed and diluted in water to rinse her tail with. He’d had a good grooming session with her while Yuuri had been out, then. There seemed to be no escaping the fact that Victor didn’t want to be near him at the moment.

He didn’t think he’d known this kind of pain since he was thirteen, and the grey of the impenetrable sky seemed to sink into his very bones.


	64. Chapter 64

Victor was trying and failing to make himself comfortable in his father’s meeting chamber. He’d received permission to use it for what he wanted to do right now, as well as to say what he intended to say. But nothing felt as it should. The fire was too hot, the chair too hard, the colourful tapestries and motifs across the walls too glaring. His stomach had been unsettled all day.

He was wearing his richest clothes, though perhaps people didn’t appreciate such things where Yuuri was from. At the moment, however, he didn’t appreciate it himself. His houppelande and chaperon were draped around him like shrouds, his gold livery collar a chain around his shoulders. As he waited, he spun the signet ring on his little finger.

_Is what you’re about to say going to offer any comfort to either of you?_

Perhaps not, but it would be better than this dirge-like impasse. It was a way forward. So he’d been telling himself all day.

A knock. Finally.

“Come,” he said.

The guard outside opened the door and allowed Yuuri in. That was the name Victor had been forcing himself to use, though all he saw was Justin. Blue tunic, tan hose, boots, no hat. He suddenly had the absurd feeling of being overdressed.

“Thank you, Rhys,” he called, and the guard shut the door. Yuuri stood looking at him, brown eyes questioning. Victor tried to give him an easy smile.

“Victor. Emil said you wanted to see me. Couldn’t we have talked at the stable or something? This is very…official. Is there a special occasion…?”

That soft voice he’d come to know so well. Victor could feel his heart warming to it, the first time he’d heard it in days. But if he allowed himself to be undone, he wouldn’t be able to press on with his purpose.

“We won’t be disturbed here, Justin…Yuuri…what do you prefer to be called?”

“When there’s no one else around to overhear, I suppose I’d prefer Yuuri. It’s my real name.”

“Will I also be treated to your real appearance on this occasion, or is that too much to ask?”

Yuuri wordlessly switched his face to that of the exotic brown-haired man Victor remembered from the woods. He was stouter than Justin, more muscular, and looked like he’d spent more time outside. His hair was definitely longer, and in no particular style; it fell in soft locks over his forehead. And his eyes…those eyes Victor had been catching glimpses of all this time. He knew them.

But none of this was helping, and matters hadn’t changed between them since they’d last spoken.

“Are these your own clothes and body?” he asked.

“This is exactly how I look. The projector’s off.”

“So you do wear ordinary things.”

Yuuri considered this. “If by ‘ordinary’ you mean from this time, then yes.” He paused, and his face clouded. “Victor, what’s this about? Why did you ask me to come here?”

Victor took a moment to respond; the words seemed to want to stick in his throat. “You’ll be pleased to hear that you need no longer remain at this castle under duress.” The shock on Yuuri’s face was clear, and Victor could hear the emotion in his own voice, though he’d attempted to keep it flat. “Having been notified of your honourable deeds and your performances here and at Stamford Bridge, the Courtenays have agreed to accept you back at their castle, and my father will permit it. You’re free to go home.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “What?” was all he said.

“And there won’t be any need for you to fight the duel with Tyler. I’ll fight it in your stead, though there’s every chance he’d be willing to call it off if he were aware – ”

“Pleased to hear?” Yuuri said in astonishment. “Why would you say that? Do you think I want to go away? And – and I’ve already said I don’t want you to fight for me. Besides, you know I have a mission here at the castle.”

Victor adjusted his position in the chair. “Do you have to be here for that? You went to live in York.”

Yuuri knitted his brows. They were dark and expressive, and right now they were telling Victor he wasn’t at all happy. “That was different. That…that was never going to help anything. It was a mistake. I explained it to you; I thought you understood. Ailis is _here_, Victor.”

“How do you know? She was in the woods.”

“Where else would she be, especially with the king coming to visit? Besides, she shot one of my predecessors here.”

Victor’s heart fluttered. “You never told me that. You just said the people who came before you had died.”

“You never gave me the chance.”

“It’s not safe for you here.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“It’s my castle,” Victor said, realising he was being petulant now; and besides, it wasn’t.

Yuuri huffed. “I can’t believe you’re serious.” More quietly, he added, “You…you’re _not _serious, are you?” When Victor didn’t answer, he continued, his voice hitching, “Do you realise I’ve never even met Justin’s family or set foot in their castle before? That I’d have to pretend amnesia all over again? And that someone’s bound to notice something about me, something I do or say as Justin, that isn’t right? And word might get back to Ailis about it, and she’d know who I was? No one really knows Justin here – can’t you see how much that helps? Or do you even care?” he finished, his voice having risen the whole time he’d been talking.

“I care enough to be wondering why it’s only now that you’re telling me this,” Victor replied. “All that time you were pretending to be somebody else. If you want to hone your acting skills, the Courtenays’ castle will be a good place. Besides,” he added, his heart heavy at the look of hurt on the man’s face – _why did I think this was a good idea? I can’t remember now_ – “you won’t need to worry about Tyler. You can carry out your mission without that particular distraction.”

Yuuri shook his head, and a tear slipped down his cheek; Victor felt like the worst villain for being its cause. “Do you…not want me here anymore? What about all the training we’ve done?”

Victor longed to stand and go to him, take him in his arms and comfort him. Even though he himself was the one who’d upset him. _Nothing has made any sense to me for days. My own actions and impulses are contrary._

“The first thing you ought to be aware of as a knight,” he explained, “after how to avoid being hacked to pieces, is that truthfulness is prized above all else. It’s a large part of what makes you honourable. Knights trust each other with their lives – I know you know that. If one faces danger, he can rely on the others to protect him as far as they’re able.” He paused. “You didn’t want to give me that chance.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“How can you not?” Victor took a steadying breath. “Did you not think I’d want to stand by you and share the danger? Or at least make that decision for myself? Is it so very different from fighting side by side in battle?”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt. As soon as you knew my identity, that made you more vulnerable. And I didn’t know what the future held.” He flinched, obviously realising the absurdity of the statement. “I mean, my future here. Our future.”

“You said something like that before. Do you honestly think _I _need protecting? Coddling? What – ”

“Against laser guns and whatever other technology Ailis has here? Yes. You’re out of your depth with her, Victor, as much as I know you’d hate to admit it.”

Victor bristled at this but remained silent.

“You don’t understand her, or our world.” Yuuri paused. “After our encounter in the woods, she contacted my friend Phichit on his com in the middle of the night, claiming she had another laser gun, and threatening to use it on people at the castle. If she thinks you know who I really am, what’s to stop her from using it on _you_, or threatening to?”

Victor’s eyes widened. But then he thought about this. “Someone could do that with a sword as well. I’m a knight. I wouldn’t be much use as one if I were intimidated so easily. Besides, it wasn’t me who attempted to track her down without a suitable weapon of my own – it was you.” 

“I had to. It’s why I’m here.”

“And you expected me to stand aside, at your command. Do you understand so little about us?”

Yuuri hugged his arms to his chest and looked down for a moment; then his eyes met Victor’s again. “I was also trying to protect you from…getting involved with someone who might not be here long.”

“Doesn’t it strike you as being rather late to inform me of this, as well?” When Yuuri didn’t reply, Victor pressed his lips together, then continued, “Would you really just have left when it was all over?”

“If there was a way for me to stay? I…” He sighed. “I don’t know.”

Victor made a small noise in his throat which he hoped Yuuri didn’t hear, and forced himself to meet his gaze.

“Why?” Yuuri whispered. “What reason would there be for me to stay?”

Victor sat up straighter. It took a moment to find his voice. “Quite. I’ll see that your horses are made ready in the morning, and Emil can give you a hand with packing your things.”

Yuuri stared, another tear slipping down a cheek. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Victor could no longer look him in the eye, and pretended to find something interesting to trace on the table. He was aiming for calm but still couldn’t keep his voice steady. “It’s for the best.”

He heard an inrush of breath and found himself meeting a gaze that was no longer surprised and hurt, but sparking with anger. And he hadn’t been aware until now that such a soft voice could be so cutting at the same time.

“Victor, you need to understand something. You may be the son of a lord, or whatever high and mighty title he has, but neither of you have any authority over me. Where I come from, lords no longer _exist_. No one has a title anymore, because they were abolished. No one sits in a luxurious home, getting income from hundreds or thousands of people who live nearby just because they have a document that says the land belongs to them.”

Victor’s jaw dropped. Even when Justin – Yuuri – had been upset or frustrated with him before, he’d never been filled with this kind of fire. Perhaps his earlier idea about this traveller from the future viewing the people here as nothing more than ants on a hill had not been far off the mark.

“I know that’s just how things are here,” Yuuri carried on, “and I’ve tried to live under the rules as well as I could. But my mission – I don’t think you realise how important it is. If Ailis does something to change history, she could indirectly be the cause of I don’t know how many deaths, or – or suffering, or things I can’t even think of right now. I agreed to do this, even though I didn’t know if I’d come out of it alive, let alone ever get home, because I believed it was worth it. Nothing’s going to turn me away from it. Not you, or your father, or some family of nobles I’ve never met. Nobody.”

The sound of their breathing filled the stillness of the room. Victor’s blood rushed through his veins; around his head. He shivered. That courage and determination he so admired in this man, now turned against him. No one had ever spoken to him like this before.

The words were out before he thought about them. “I could have you put to death for what you just said.”

Yuuri parted his lips and stared. Then he said, “Would you?”

_I…I can’t believe I said that. Holy Mother, what manner of fiend leapt into me? _“No. Of course not. Ju – Yuuri, I…I don’t – ”

“Good. Well at least we’re clear on that point.” His voice was flat, the words slightly clipped, though his eyes were wet with tears. “You know, I thought you were enlightened for this time. The way you think, the…the way you treat people. But I can see that I was wrong.” He sniffed and quickly wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. His voice shook as he added, “You’re just as cruel as everyone else.”

Victor opened his mouth, though he had no idea what to say.

“I’m going to keep training,” Yuuri told him. “I’ve got a duel to fight.” He turned, taking on Justin’s appearance once more, and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Victor’s hand fluttered to his mouth, and soon his face and the swaths of material wrapped around him were wet with silent streaming tears.

* * *

Yuuri barely made it through the garrison and back to his room before the anxiety attack struck. Locking the door, he slid down the wall to a sitting position on the floor, hugging his knees to himself and shaking. 

_Fire _and _Sam _were the only two thoughts in his mind. He counted his breaths, listened to the crackle of the flames, and recalled the sound of his counsellor’s voice. And then he remembered a session they’d had in his office in which he’d asked Yuuri to choose an Immersion setting for them. He’d picked the beach. A warm, empty one with a beautiful pink sunrise, and sand stretching to the horizon in either direction. They’d walked side by side along the gently frothing waves.

Tall, slim Sam, young for a counsellor; mid-twenties. A long nose, keen dark eyes, and sensitive face. He liked wearing stripy shirts and jeans.

_“I’ll tell you something about anxiety, Yuuri,” he said against a backdrop of seagull cries and the rhythmic washing of the water. “It can strike some people out of the blue. They can be eating a meal, or walking their dog, or studying – any kind of normal activity, and boom, it suddenly feels like the world’s ending. Other people have phobias that trigger it. Very commonly, however, the catalyst is a feeling of not being in control. Specifically for you, it seems to be a sense of impending danger, and fear of loss. Does that sound right?”_

_Yuuri nodded, scanning for seashells poking out of the sand, though he knew there wouldn’t be any unless they’d been programmed in._

_“We can look together at different kinds of strategies for dealing with that. And talk about what happened in your life to plant the seed that grew into this problem for you. All at a pace that’s comfortable, and which I’ll never force. You’re the one in control, Yuuri. Just like you are here, on this beach. I think it’s quite a positive sign that you picked this setting, in fact.”_

_Yuuri looked up at him. “Why?”_

_“Well, we have a sunrise over there, which is traditionally a symbol of hope. Then there’s the sea or the ocean. An ancient symbol for the psyche – your unconscious mind. The part of you that produces the anxiety. See how calm it is out there right now? No wind or rain; not a cloud in sight. This all tells me that you feel in control right now. Or I could be making an arse of myself, and it might just mean you like a pleasant walk along the beach.”_

_They both laughed, and Yuuri kicked a little sand around with his flip-flop-clad feet._

_“Ah, here’s the sort of thing I was looking for,” Sam said, kneeling down to wipe off the top of a round black rock half-submerged in the sand. Glistening with moisture, it made a wake in the running water as the waves washed around it. _

_“A rock?”_

_“The rock is the problem. Or whatever’s causing your worry, your anxiety. Fixed, seemingly immovable. With me so far?”_

_Yuuri raised an eyebrow and gave him a little smile._

_“Bear with me. You’re the water. You might not be able to pass through the rock; you might not be strong enough to move it out of the way. But you can go around it and be perfectly happy, because you just come back together and keep flowing on the other side, easy as you please.” As Yuuri continued to look at him, he said, “We psychological types are a little off our heads, you don’t have to tell me. But the point is – be the water, Yuuri. Some people call it Tao – the ability to achieve the control you desire by giving it up at the same time; recognising that no one can ever be in total control of their life, no matter how rich or powerful they may be. Sometimes your power lies in accepting things that can’t be changed, at least for the moment. But given enough time, guess what – those little waves can break down whole mountains. That’s the beauty of it.”_

Yuuri raked a hand through his hair. Sam had been just what he’d needed at the time, even if he hadn’t always understood what he said. He felt in need of some good advice from him now. But he’d grown up, and the circumstances were rather different. Still, thinking about him brought a degree of peace to his heart.

He wondered what kind of control he was trying and failing to hold on to this time. The answer came swiftly.

_I don’t want Victor to reject me._

He’d been clinging to it ever since the encounter with Ailis in the woods. But the reality was that Victor was going to make his own choices, and even though Yuuri could try to influence them, he could not control them…and wouldn’t want to. The anxiety he’d felt over the past several days, peaking now because of that awful conversation they’d just had, was largely a result of him refusing to truly let go, yet being made to do so at every turn.

_Because I’m afraid that if I let go, I’ll be cast adrift. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want Victor’s love._

_He’ll give it, or he won’t. That’s how it’ll be. And if he won’t, I’ll have to accept that._

The water washing around the rock. It was the wise thing to do. But it didn’t mean it would be easy. Still shuddering, but calmer now, he grabbed a towel and sat down next to the fire, mopping at his tear-stained face.

Victor’s warm support really was gone.

_He seems to want to stay away from me. Well, he just tried to get rid of me, didn’t he?_

_So this is how a broken heart feels. _

He knew he’d been stubborn and reactive with Victor, which hadn’t helped. It had certainly been a less than ideal time to give vent to his feelings about class injustices. If only he’d been more patient, maybe things wouldn’t have got out of hand.

_I think I understand what’s bothering him the most – the fact that I lied to him. And I did, the whole time, just as he said. I might have had good reasons, but I doubt that’s how he sees it. _

_He’s angry. Maybe frightened, too._

_Did he really mean what he said about sending_ _ me away? The Victor I know, however deeply he might be buried just now, wouldn’t do that. _

But none of this made it easier to see a way forward. If he approached Victor too soon to attempt to mend things between them, it might only cause him to withdraw further. Yet if he didn’t make his feelings known, Victor might take it as a sign that he didn’t care.

_I want us to reconcile, if…if that’s possible. We both said things we’d want to take back. Well, I do. I hope he does, too._

Yuuri wiped his eyes and nose. _How do I get you back, Victor? I don’t know what to do. _

_Maybe, now that you know about the real me, you never _will _want me back._

He leaned forward and buried his face in the towel.


	65. Chapter 65

Victor ran a brush through Alyona’s mane. The sky was pinking outside; he’d decided to make the most of what was left of the daylight by coming out here when hardly anyone else was around. He reckoned his horses were the most pampered animals in the stable right now, and their simple affection was welcome.

In the few days that had followed his conversation with Yuuri in his father’s room, Victor had kept his distance. Not because he wished it so, but because he didn’t know what to say, how to behave, or even what he felt anymore. He did know he wasn’t proud of his words that evening; the look on Yuuri’s face had been rebuke enough, though he’d also told Victor he was as cruel as everyone else here. The full meaning of that statement was perhaps something only Yuuri understood, in comparison to how people behaved in his own time; but the point had been clearly made, and it had pricked keenly.

_When should I have expected him to tell me his secret? When he got here, I was trying to kill him._

_And once the truth finally came out, I encouraged him to leave, and even suggested that as a punishment for his impertinent speech, I could – _

No, he didn’t want to think about that. It had not been his finest moment. If this man really was anything like his Justin, then Victor had treated him deplorably. What had possessed him? Immediately afterward, he’d gone to his father, then sent a message to the Courtenays, stating that Justin wished to remain at Crowood Castle and that he believed it would be an honour to continue to have him here. Andrei perhaps thought him fickle, but had nodded and said little; he’d been engrossed in castle finances with John de Lacey, the pair of them surrounded by scrolls and stacks of books.

_I hope he doesn’t hate me for what I tried to do._

Victor made Alyona’s mane shine, forcing his tortuous thoughts away as he focused on the soothing rhythm of the brush. When he was finished, he exited through the double doors that opened onto the training field, with the intention of going to his room.

To his surprise, he saw Yuuri in the middle of the field – with Justin’s aspect, of course – practising guard positions. He’d assumed everyone had gone to supper. Anxious at the thought of another confrontation, Victor strayed around the edge of the field, hoping the glint of his armour didn’t attract attention. He couldn’t resist allowing his gaze to linger on the man, however.

He appeared to be exhausted…and possibly as miserable as he was himself. 

Alone. Like they both were again, now.

If Yuuri noticed him standing under the trees near the fence, he didn’t do anything to acknowledge it. It was the first time Victor had properly watched him in days. While his eyes followed him, memories ghosted through his mind.

Their training sessions. The first time Yuuri had beaten him – what exhilaration, for them both. Their sojourn at the lake, where Victor had shown him how to sharpen his own knife – another mystery solved, though it begged the question of how people in the future ate their food without such an implement. Spending the night together in York, and the Japanese poem. The encouragement to get back on the wheel after all this time, as if he’d never been away from it. Their talks; the times they’d touched. Yuuri’s kind words to him when he’d been struggling on the anniversary of…well. And Victor had shoved it all to the side, trying to protect himself from the hurt.

But it hurt, too, being apart and seeing Yuuri struggle like this. The guard positions seemed to have been a warm-up for the sword drills he was doing now, but they looked half-hearted, without the natural lustre that always graced his movements.

Perhaps something beautiful between them had been ruined, however much the notion grieved Victor’s heart. But the least he could do was continue to train him. If Yuuri was still here when it came time for him to fight the duel, that situation would not have changed.

_He needs my help, just as he said. _

There was so little time. They’d wasted more. Tyler couldn’t win.

Victor curled his hand into a fist.

_He’s not going to take the life of this man, so help me God._

* * *

As Yuuri dashed up the castle hill with a sack of grain over each shoulder, he had a sinking feeling of déjà vu. As if he were still training with Abelard, enduring his taunts and the scorn of the other fighting men. Surreptitiously asking Emil to show him how to ride his own horse. Victor a distant intriguing figure, and nothing more.

_I don’t want to go back to that._

He knew he wouldn’t, because it felt as if he’d earned the respect of his colleagues now, and he didn’t need Abelard or Emil to teach him basic things. What he meant was that he didn’t want to be without Victor.

_Be the water, Yuuri._

He didn’t know if he could.

He supposed he ought to consider it a positive thing that no one had tried to forcibly remove him from the castle and send him packing to the Courtenays. He’d waited in trepidation for a while, wondering if he’d receive a message, or if some of his own colleagues from the garrison would turn up at his room pointing their weapons at him. But no further threat had materialised in that respect – or from Ailis, and eventually he’d relaxed somewhat, attempting to concentrate on his day-to-day tasks.

Chris and Charles, and occasionally Abelard, were all willing to spar with him. They were certainly easier opponents than Victor, and Yuuri was defeating them more often now. He rode Blaze and Lady, increasingly comfortable as a horseman, though he knew he still had a lot to learn. But it was difficult to muster real enthusiasm for anything, and the days seemed long, the nights longer.

He got to the top of the hill, gasping for breath, Alfric and Harry watching with amusement outside the gatehouse. _You try doing this carrying two sacks of grain, _he thought as he turned to run back down. He passed the training field, where Abelard was working with the squires, and returned the sacks to the stable.

_All right, maybe two sacks is a bit much. _But he knew he wasn’t eating enough, either, and it was starting to affect his training.

_If you can call this training. No one’s training me. I’m not desperate enough to go back to Abelard, not yet._

He wandered out to the field, walking along the fence, the fingers of tree branches reaching toward a blue sky littered with scraps of cloud. He’d never noticed before how long it took for leaves to emerge, and they only stayed around for about half a year. It seemed like winter would go on forever, the hard land perpetually under its spell.

But then he spotted a patch of colour amid the drab greens and browns of the earth. Vaulting over the fence, he went to have a closer look.

Blue muscari. He knelt down and picked a handful, thinking back to that day he and Victor had done this together; wondering if they’d ever do it again. A tremor shook through him as he clutched the flowers, staring into their depths.

Someone was approaching from behind. He stood and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Oi, ale-house boy,” came Julia’s voice.

Yuuri reluctantly turned around.

“God’s teeth.”

“What?” he said flatly.

“You’re standing here holding a bunch of flowers and crying, and you say ‘what’?”

He looked away, hoping she’d say her piece and go.

She sighed. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you; the master won’t say. But you’re both like a rainy Monday in January.” She paused. “It’s distracting. Can you not make up?”

Yuuri bit his lip. “I’d like to, but…it’s difficult.”

She lifted the leather bag hanging from a strap around her shoulder and opened its flap. “Look. I got this for you earlier, when I was in the kitchen. Emil said you were hardly eating, so I thought, ‘What does he like?’ ” She pulled out two pies the size of muffins and handed them over once he’d tucked his flowers into his purse; they were covered with pastry decorations of leaves, plaits and hearts. Yuuri took a sniff and his mouth watered; he smelled rich butter, the tang of honey, and a pungent note of saffron, which gave them a golden hue.

“Bridget’s honey pies,” he said, taking a bite of one and feeling like he’d been transported to heaven.

Julia’s mouth quirked as she watched him devour the first pie. “She says she misses you, and that you’re welcome to return and help her whenever you please.” She eyed him. “What in God’s name were you doing, working in the kitchen with a sauce chef?”

“This is beautiful, thank you,” Yuuri replied through a mouthful of pie. Swallowing, he continued, “She’s right, I haven’t been there in a while.” He looked at her pointedly. “I like to cook, all right? I hardly get the chance here. If you expect me to avoid the kitchen because the people in there are supposedly too far beneath my station or something, you can sue me. And don’t ask me what that means.”

She watched him take the last bite of the pie. “You’re a rum one. Are you going to tell me what happened between you and the master?”

“Why haven’t I been eating, if I’ve been missing this kind of thing?”

“You tell me.”

Yuuri examined the pastry top of the second pie. It was almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. “Victor and I had a disagreement,” he said.

“_I’ll _say.” She nodded towards the pie. “Eat up. Be a big boy; grow your muscles.”

Yuuri chuckled, suddenly realising it was the first time he’d done so in a long time.

“Just mend things with him, all right?” Julia said more quietly. “He’s been impossible these past several days.”

“I don’t know if I can. But I’ll try.”

With a final glare, she turned and entered the stable. Yuuri watched her go, biting into the second pie. It was already giving him more energy, as was Julia’s kind gesture in bringing it to him, though no doubt she was also hoping that if Victor wouldn’t make the first move, she could encourage him to do it.

_I don’t think that’s wise. _

_This is an impossible situation. _

Beginning to lose his appetite even for the honey pie, he nevertheless finished it, then tucked the muscari into his purse, to be placed in his vase when he got back to his room.

Deciding to give his shoulders and legs a rest for a while after the gruelling sessions of hauling the grain sacks, he took Blaze out for a ride, noticing as he returned that the others were finishing for the day and leaving for the castle.

“Are you coming to the meal, sir?” Emil asked as Yuuri exited Blaze’s stall.

“Isn’t it a bit early yet?”

“A group of players is visiting, and they’re going to perform in the great hall as a prelude to the meal. I’m not sure what it’s about, but from what I understand, it’s in honour of Lent, dramatising Christ’s resurrection.”

“Sounds a bit heavy for entertainment.”

“I hear they’re very good.”

Yuuri had seen a few of these so-called mystery plays by now; he’d sat through them during the Christmas festivities, wondering what the appeal was. They were all right as a historical curiosity, but in his opinion, things hadn’t got very good until Shakespeare had arrived on the scene.

“I’m not in the mood,” he said. “I’ll give it a miss, I think.”

“Perhaps you’d prefer to arrive as the performance is ending and the meal proper is beginning? Or I can put a tray aside – ”

“No, it’s all right, Emil. You go and watch the play. There are things here I can be doing.”

He was touched that Emil seemed keen to have his company, but as his squire departed, he was glad to be on his own again. The honey pies would keep him going, and there was plenty of daylight left for training. It helped divert his thoughts from more painful topics. Mostly. If he tired himself enough.

He did several sets of chin-ups on a sturdy branch, until his muscles burned, then dropped down and drew his sword. There were twelve of Fiore’s guard positions, and they had to become instinctive, so that he could choose from among them while sparring without a second thought. Now seemed as good a time as any to review them.

_Whole iron door. Woman’s guard. Window guard. _He struck each in turn, running through the twelve, then mixing them up.

And then he caught sight of Victor standing by the fence. Still and watching, like a ghost wreathed in shining silver.

Yuuri’s heart began to race. They hadn’t spoken in days. What was going through his mind? Did he want to talk? But if he did, he’d just vault over the fence and approach, wouldn’t he?

_Victor, don’t keep me in suspense. Why are you here?_

If he just wanted to watch, that was OK, Yuuri supposed. He didn’t want to do anything that would risk making him go away. Maybe the best thing would be to carry on and pretend he hadn’t seen him. What should he work on now, though? He didn’t want to leave, in case Victor decided he wanted to talk after all, but he reckoned he’d practised the guards enough for one day. He’d do some drills, then, though imagining another person sparring with him wasn’t the same as having a real one to work with. But he could still copy some of what he’d seen Victor do while he was dancing with his sword.

And yet when he tried, he realised how heavy his limbs felt. He’d been driving himself too hard lately, he knew. The reason why was standing over by the fence. Victor hadn’t moved.

Sheathing his sword, Yuuri went to the stable with the intention of grooming Blaze, relieved to escape that intense enigmatic gaze for now; anxious that Victor might join him…or that he might not.

The only thing he could do was wait and see.

* * *

Victor stared after him, a light breeze ruffling his fringe as he considered what to do next.

_I want to start training him again, yet I’m afraid to speak with him?_

_Perhaps it’s not so surprising. I made a debacle of it last time._

_But facing the consequences of that is better than how I’ve been living. _

He strode toward the stable, his heart fluttering.

Yuuri was walking slowly down the long aisle between the stalls. He’d passed Lady, so presumably he was headed for Blaze. They were the only people in the building, the silence punctuated by whinnies and snorts, the stomp of hoofs, the jingle of harness.

But Yuuri must have heard his footsteps, because he stopped and turned. The look in his eyes…he was hurting, and it was Victor’s fault. But he wanted to believe he saw hope there, too. In brown eyes that everyone else said were ultramarine; which ought to look it to him too, only somehow his gaze had the ability to penetrate that part of the disguise.

This was his Justin, he told himself. It still jarred, but not as much as before; and as he became familiar with the appearance of the man underneath the astounding mask, perhaps it would seem normal after a while.

He watched Yuuri tentatively rest an arm on the gate of Blaze’s stall, as if waiting for him to say something. Separated by a line of five gates, they could easily converse without impinging on each other’s space, though it was rather a large one between them.

Into the silence that stretched, he said, “How is your mission progressing?” Deciding after the fact that it was a stupid thing to begin with, though he’d been unable to think of anything better.

“No different,” Yuuri replied quietly. “Ailis is still hiding. I’m hiding from her. That’s the way it’s been since I got here, apart from…you know, the other day.”

Victor nodded, though any body language was lost on Yuuri at the moment while he looked down at the earthen floor of the stall. The next moment, however, his wary gaze lifted to meet Victor’s.

“Can…you tell me if you’ve noticed anything unusual around the castle, or the estate? Anything out of the ordinary at all? Something that struck you as odd, maybe any of the women acting differently? Maybe you saw some tech – devices – like mine, whose purpose you weren’t sure of – ”

“No,” Victor jumped in before he could carry on. “No, I’d tell you if I did. I’m sorry, I wish I could say otherwise.”

_Why is this so awkward? I never felt like this with Justin. _

_Dear Lord, tell me what I should do. I believed I was a better man than this. It might’ve helped if I’d planned my speech beforehand._

Yuuri was examining the gate on which his arm rested, appearing no more comfortable than Victor was himself.

“Perhaps I’d better go,” Victor said.

At his words, Yuuri gripped the top of the gate and said earnestly, “Victor, no – please.” He paused, then added more softly, “Please stay. Talk to me.”

This was it, then. There was no walking away. But Victor was as bereft of words as before. He couldn’t deny those beseeching brown eyes, however, and so he chose the foremost of his thoughts to share. “These past few days have been…hard.”

Yuuri huffed. “Tell me about it.”

“I’m sorry I…let you down…Yuuri. Not being here to train you. I didn’t know what to think. It was all such a shock.” He shook his head slightly and let out a breath. “My Justin, a time-traveller. Never in my wildest dreams.”

“I know. I think I can understand. But this is me, Victor. I never pretended to be anyone else, apart from…well…”

“Apart from someone else entirely.”

Yuuri glanced around and then back at him with a sheepish expression.

“It was unpleasant to discover that I’d been so deeply deceived.” He added more firmly, “It hurt.”

“I never wanted that.”

“It surprises me that you didn’t consider it a possibility. But I suppose you thought I wouldn’t find out.”

“I didn’t enjoy the pretence. You don’t know how hard it was not to tell you. I think maybe I would have done, given more time to make my own choice – but you have to understand, I didn’t think it’d be the best thing to do.”

“And how does it feel, now that I know?”

Yuuri seemed taken aback by the question. He blinked. “I’m glad,” he said eventually. “I don’t want there to be anything between us but the truth. But I’m worried that you might be endangered by this mission of mine. And I’m sorry that it’s caused such a…disagreement between us.”

“I haven’t helped matters at times, I know,” Victor conceded. “I’m truly sorry I attempted to send you to your father’s…to the Courtenays’ castle. I would never…I could never want…” He huffed. “I made mistakes; you put me in my place, and I deserved it. I just wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me – ”

“I know. That was my own mistake. I just hope you can see now why I did it. I don’t want you to get hurt – ”

“You’ve said that already, Yuuri. I know we’ve discussed this, but did it ever occur to you that _I _don’t want to see _you _get hurt?” Yuuri’s eyes widened. “No?” He took a breath before continuing. “I’d stand by you; I’d do whatever it took to protect you.” It felt now as if his heart were opening, and the worries and frustrations he’d buried inside had begun to spill out. They’d been clamouring to do so, he realised. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do by training you, so that you live beyond your duel with Tyler. That’s why I pleaded with him to call it off; why I’ve been offering to fight him in your place. I can’t lose another person who means so much to me. I can’t.” His voice wobbled on the last few words.

Yuuri studied his face. “Who did you lose?” he asked gently. “Do you mean Irene?”

But Victor couldn’t bring himself to talk about it – not here, not now. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’ve lost time we should’ve been training together. You said that was still important to you.”

“Of…of course.”

“How about a session now, then. We have the place to ourselves; everyone’s watching that silly play. Give me my first look at the real Yuuri Katsuki when he’s wielding a sword.”

Yuuri considered. Then, appearing to come to a decision, he nodded and turned the projector off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for Yuuri’s favourite treat!
> 
> _Bridget’s Honey Pies_
> 
> Rose crust:  
120g (1 cup) plain flour  
1 tbsp sugar  
1/4 tsp salt  
1/4 tsp cinnamon  
115g (1/2 cup) cold butter  
1 ½ tsp rose water  
2-3 tbsp ice water
> 
> Salted rose & honey filling:  
120 ml (1/2 cup) heavy cream  
3 eggs  
Generous pinch of saffron threads  
60g (1/2 cup) butter, melted  
½ tsp salt  
1 tbsp flour  
2 tsp rose water  
350g (1 ½ cups) honey  
2 tsp vinegar  
1 tsp vanilla
> 
> Instructions:
> 
> Warm the cream and add the saffron; leave to infuse for half an hour.
> 
> Pre-heat oven to 400F/200C (180 fan assisted).
> 
> Make the bottom crust: Mix the dry ingredients in a bowl. Cut in the butter until it’s the size of small peas. Add the rosewater, then begin adding the ice water, stirring, until pastry holds together. Roll about two thirds of the pastry out to a couple of mm thick and cut to line a 12-cup muffin tin; I used a 4.5-inch/11.5cm cutter for the cups and a 3-inch/7.5cm for the lids, as that’s what fits my tin. Ensure cases reach the top of each cup. 
> 
> Make the filling: Combine melted butter, salt and flour until smooth. Add the rose water, honey, vinegar and vanilla and mix. Beat the eggs together with the cream and saffron mixture, then fold in. Spoon or ladle filling into each muffin cup.
> 
> Make the lids: Roll out remaining pastry to fit tops of muffin cups. Slash an opening in each and widen a little to ensure it doesn’t close while baking. Moisten the top of each cup and place each lip on top, crimping well to seal.
> 
> Bake for 20 minutes and allow to cool. Makes 12.
> 
> _Notes_  
This recipe was adapted from one for an open-faced salted rose and honey pie. I had a problem with the filling puffing up and raising the lids with it, then sinking and leaving a hole inside, but it seems this can be remedied with the slash in the middle of the lid, and careful sealing around the edges. It also calls for some sea salt to be sprinkled over the top. This could be done for the filling in each cup before the lid is added if so desired, but it’s not necessary. The original recipe also calls for double this amount of crust (enough, apparently, to decorate the edges), but I discovered I didn’t need it, though you can make extra if you want thicker lids in which to emboss shapes, or to cut shapes out and stick them on; these pies would certainly have been adorned in some way in the Middle Ages. They might also have used saffron in the filling; that’s an addition of mine I thought worked well. Ensure you choose a type of honey that has a good taste and isn’t bland, as that will be the main flavour. Also, I left the vanilla in, which the original recipe called for; though if you’re trying to be authentic, it did not exist in medieval Britain.
> 
> I found the flavour of these to be unique and wonderful. I tasted some of the batter at the bottom of the bowl, too, where a bit of the sea salt had sunk, and I can safely say that salted honey is every bit as amazing as salted caramel. Either way, I can imagine Yuuri liking these pies for sure!


	66. Chapter 66

Before he left Blaze’s stall, Yuuri took a moment to gaze at Victor. Maybe this conversation was better than he could have expected; they’d properly communicated this time, and it felt as if they’d gone some way toward partially healing things between them. But the warmth they used to share was still missing. And Victor still seemed angry, or upset, or…or something.

_Give it time. He obviously cares. That’s enough for now._

Yuuri trotted down the aisle past him, pausing to stand near the doorway to the training field. Even though most everyone at the castle would be attending the play and meal, he peered around carefully; no one else could be allowed to see him like this. Then he led the way to a corner of the field near a thick stand of pine trees, where they wouldn’t easily be spotted and ought to hear someone approaching before they were in view. Victor followed, the clink of their armour the only sound between them.

Yuuri stopped and drew his sword, and Victor did the same. There was a glint in those pale blue eyes as their intense gaze met his own. With a sudden uncertain flutter in his stomach, Yuuri wondered what he was thinking. Even though they were about to come at each other with their weapons, there had always been something soft about the way Victor used to look at him when they’d done this. He couldn’t work out what was different today. But, well, everything was different now. And this wasn’t the time to try to reflect on it.

_I may as well start, then. He seems to be waiting._

“Have at you,” he said.

They sparred several rounds. And while Yuuri hadn’t believed Victor had been holding anything back with him or anyone else – that wasn’t his way, he’d said – he’d never experienced attacks like this from him. They felt so _real_.

Yuuri penetrated Victor’s defences several times, but wasn’t able to get the touch he needed to win the round, and Victor always managed to dodge or deflect whatever he attempted. However, Yuuri couldn’t say the same for himself. Victor gave no quarter. He was as swift and sure as a bird of prey, and punished every mistake. No lectures, nothing said; they fought in silence.

Victor also seemed to have decided that now was a good time to show him the grappling skills he’d said they needed to work on. He pushed and shoved; Yuuri fell to the ground once, twice, and again. Had his sword yanked out of his hand. Was tripped up. He tried to return the treatment, but the best he could do was to unbalance Victor, and he missed his chance to take advantage of it. The tension was winding inside of him like a spring.

Yuuri knew Victor was trying to teach him. Wasn’t he? Or was this about something else? With a start, he recognised that look in Victor’s eyes. He’d been on the receiving end of it before…in their duel.

_The angel of wrath._

Suddenly his sword was circled by Victor’s near the crossguard and sent spinning away, and he was tripped up, landing on all fours. Victor got a quick and easy touch on his back, and Yuuri stood, wiping the moist dirt from his hands onto the backs of his hose. As he saw Victor poised again with his sword, tears leapt to his eyes, though he forced them back.

“Why are you doing this?” he finally blurted. “Being so…rough?” Though he immediately realised it was a poor choice of words. Knights _were _rough. But he had no more time to think about it as Victor had him bouncing on his toes again, their swords ringing as they clashed. Yuuri broke the bind and attempted an attack that Victor parried, and they each took a guard position and began circling.

“You told me to be a proper trainer and work you hard,” Victor said as they moved.

“You always do. This isn’t the same.”

“Fight me.”

“What? I am.”

“No. I mean _fight me. _Come on. Show me what you can really do.” He thrust his weapon under Yuuri’s sword arm for a touch. “You’re not even trying.”

Yuuri considered this. Was Victor angry that he, Yuuri, was here with him, and not Justin? Was he still angry about everything? Was this his way of getting back at him?

_I don’t understand, but none of it feels right._

His head was dizzy with it all – and then he was deflecting a heavy blow from Victor’s sword with another clang.

“Victor,” he panted, “I wanted to tell you the truth. But as courageous as you are, if Ailis found out you knew anything about me…I don’t want to imagine what could happen to you. I thought it was safer for you not to know.”

They continued to circle, but now Victor appeared to be listening, and made no further move to attack, though he had taken the window guard position.

“And I didn’t know what you’d think,” Yuuri continued. “About me. How I really look; where I come from. I never expected us to – ”

“To what?” Victor interrupted, his eyes sharp and keen.

“To…to…” Yuuri gripped the hilt of his sword, the sweat on his brow growing chill as the breeze struck it. “I hadn’t intended to get close to anyone here.”

“You were planning to find that woman and confront her on your own, weren’t you? Without anyone here knowing, not even me.”

“I…well, yes.”

He’d relaxed his guard while they spoke, but Victor came in quick, tackling him to the ground, their swords flying out of their hands. Yuuri’s eyes opened wide as he found himself lying on his back with Victor on hands and knees over him, face directly above, fringe hanging down between them. He could hear Victor’s breaths and his own while he was effectively pinned in place, and lay still, heart hammering.

“That’s why I’ve been telling you all this time to fight me,” Victor said in a rush, his face pink. “I want you to be prepared. I want to do what I can to help, though God knows it seems to be precious little at the moment. You keep risking your life, by design or mischance. That woman could’ve killed you with her weapon, but you went after her even though you didn’t have one of your own. That’s aside from the duel with Tyler.”

Yuuri squirmed a little underneath him. They’d never been on the ground together like this before. And the emotion on Victor’s face cut him to his heart. He looked up at him, mesmerised.

“Victor, I – ”

“Please – listen.” He swallowed. “I worry about you all the time. Does that surprise you?” Before Yuuri could answer, he added in a choked voice, “I don’t want you to die, like my brother did.”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open. “Your _brother_?”

“Alexander. Didn’t you know?”

With a gasp, Yuuri took this in. _Oh my God. How could I have got it so wrong? Best swordsmen in England…the wheel…Christ…_

“You never told me,” he said softly. “No one did. I had no idea.”

Victor took a moment before replying, the words seeming to come with great difficulty as he fought to keep his voice steady. “Alexander was my brother, and he died. Two years ago. Now you’re here, and you’re in danger, too.”

He paused, their gazes locked. Then something changed in his expression. The hardness vanished, replaced by unshed sparkling tears. 

“Whoever you are…whatever you look like…I know you. I…I _love _you. Yuuri.”

Yuuri gasped, his breaths quickening as he processed this incredible piece of information. But Victor wasn’t finished.

“It was killing me, trying to…to keep the distance between us. I couldn’t do it. Yuuri, tell me…I was sure I felt you tremble at my touch – was I just imagining it? After everything we’ve said and done, do you…not feel anything in return?”

Yuuri didn’t think; he acted. Swiftly gaining purchase with his elbows, he raised himself up to meet Victor’s mouth. It was sudden and firm, and seemed to take Victor by surprise; but it was only a moment before he was kissing back, the initial rawness dissipating into a river of warmth and wonderful, blissful relief. The gentle lingering motions of Victor’s soft lips, so contrary to the ferocity of their sparring, sent tingles through Yuuri, and his heart soared.

_God, Victor, yes…this is what I’ve wanted for so long…I don’t have to run away from it anymore._

The part of him he’d been throttling back all this time, insisting he mustn’t do this, that it was wrong, irresponsible, was glowing with satisfaction, even while other more physical parts were awakening to desire. They couldn’t wrap their arms around each other while they were on the ground like this, but the world had narrowed to the press and caress of their lips. No more harsh words or swords or fighting; just discovering each other.

Yuuri had only ever kissed Immersion holograms. He wondered if he was doing it right. It _felt _right. It felt like nothing else on earth. He wanted to be closer still. Why were they wearing this damn armour?

Eyes shut, he pulled away just enough to whisper Victor’s name. Then was surprised to feel a drop of moisture fall onto his cheek. Victor was…crying? He opened his eyes and saw it was true.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, my sweet Yuuri,” Victor said softly. “You’ve brought such joy to my heart, now and before, and…and that was how I behaved. I…”

Yuuri got his balance on one arm and wiped the tears from Victor’s cheeks with his thumb. No one had ever looked at him like this, with such tender fondness. The anger seemed to have melted out of Victor and into the earth, and his eyes were bright with more unshed tears.

“Victor – ”

Footsteps were approaching, swishing through the grass. Whoever it was, they weren’t attempting to keep their approach quiet. Then a familiar voice called, “Master!” Julia, looking for Victor. Yuuri switched Justin’s projection back on.

He wanted desperately to say something to Victor before she appeared, but he spoke first, his words rushing out. “Look into your heart,” he said, his gaze earnest as he blinked his tears back. “If you do want me, if you think we stand a chance together, then come to my room later tonight.” With one last look, he jumped to his feet, grabbed his sword off the ground, and jogged out to meet Julia; soon Yuuri heard them talking from the other side of the trees.

“I’ve been looking for you, master,” Julia said. “You’ve missed the play, and your father’s displeased. I was hoping you might want to come eat. Fernand’s back from holiday, and the food’s good again.”

Victor gave a little laugh. “It was never bad. But I don’t think I want to appear in front of everyone in the great hall tonight.”

“After all the trouble I’ve gone to, searching you out? Do you know what I’ve had to do during meals? Join Roland and Philip, treating their pampered knights like royalty. If I have to follow more of Sir Charles’s tedious commands, I shall be sick in a bucket.”

“Well, we can’t have that. I’ve used you poorly of late, and I’m sorry, my girl. Come, let’s have a bite to eat.”

Yuuri stood alone in the field for a while after they’d gone, wondering if it had all been a dream. But his lips were still tingling. He brushed them with a finger and smiled to himself, then made his way toward the castle hill, swept up in a new wave of euphoria every time he thought about kissing Victor. There were important things to consider, however. Such as the fact that he hadn’t been the only one with a secret.

_You seemed to have expected me to know about Alexander. But you never mentioned him yourself. Why?_

He had to admit he’d felt a brief surge of relief to discover Alexander had been Victor’s brother, not his lover. Brief, because he could tell how profoundly Victor had been affected by the loss. If only he’d said, it would’ve explained a lot, including the fact that their deepening relationship might have been opening an old wound. Victor already knew about the threat from Tyler, but now Ailis had been added to that.

_Though if I return to my own time, I’ll be as good as dead too, at least to him._

His head was in a whirl with it all. How could things be so complicated on such a nice day? The sky was blue, the breeze was mild, the birds were singing in the trees.

About halfway up the hill, he was surprised to see Emil coming down from the gatehouse to meet him.

“Ah, there you are, sir.”

“Were you looking for me?”

“Julius and I had agreed to try to find you both. I told him I believed you rather disliked plays, but he wondered if we might be able to tempt you and Sir Victor back for the meal. Julius has been missing his master, I think; and well, though it’s not my place to say, perhaps you could do with a good meal yourself, sir. Fernand is back, and – ”

“Yes, he seems to have been missed,” Yuuri said as they passed through the gatehouse and into the courtyard.

“John Little did well enough, to be sure. But it has to be said I’m glad Fernand is in charge of the kitchen again. Sir Victor and Julia are in the great hall; I thought both of you might be found together, but then I recalled how you’d had a falling out, and I decided to search for you.”

“We, um…I think we might be all right now. Victor and me.”

“I’m pleased to hear it, sir,” Emil replied, brightening. “That’s good news indeed. Would you care to accompany me to the meal?”

“I, um, sure. Thank you.”

Once seated and served, Yuuri realised his appetite had returned, and he helped himself to pearl barley, and beef and pease pottage with bread. When his gaze met Victor’s, he was greeted with a small secret grin. Yuuri returned it, heat rushing to his cheeks as he momentarily forgot to breathe. He felt like he’d drunk a whole jug of hypocras.

“You appear to be feeling better this evening,” Chris, his neighbour for the meal, observed. “You’ve been pecking at your food like a bird lately. I wondered how you kept up with all the training on such paltry fare.”

“Not very well. But yes, I’m feeling better.”

They ate for a few minutes, and then Yuuri thought maybe the time had come to ask about a subject no one had seemed to want to bring up. “Chris, I was wondering about Alexander, Victor’s brother, and why I’d never heard of him until…well, um, Victor only mentioned him to me today.”

Chris eyed him, his mouth full of bread, which he chewed, swallowed, and washed down with wine. “It’s a forbidden subject, I suppose you could say.”

“Forbidden?”

“Not in so many words. But everyone knows not to mention it in front of Victor, because he took it so hard. The anniversary of Alex’s death just came round. I didn’t expect to see Victor in the garrison that evening, but you managed to get him to come somehow. It seemed quite an achievement, so I assumed you knew.”

Yuuri thought back to the day he’d found Victor alone on the hilltop, distraught. “St. Bosa’s Day?” he asked.

Chris nodded, dipping a hunk of bread in the pottage. “They were like two peas in a pod, close as they were,” he said, staring reflectively at the sop he was holding. Then he took a bite, and Yuuri waited for him to finish chewing. Eventually he continued, “Alex was every bit as talented with a sword as Victor. He had dark hair like his father, but they both got those sharp blue eyes from the lady.”

Yuuri glanced at Victor, his heart going out to him. Then he turned back to Chris. “Did something go wrong with the wheel?”

“No, no. They used to go on it together.” He smiled, then sipped some wine. “They were spectacular, Justin. But you ought to talk to Victor, if he’s willing. Though truth be told, I’m astounded he even mentioned him to you.” Pausing, he took another long draught of his wine and said more quietly, “When Alex died, Victor was unconsolable. He didn’t leave his room for days, and after that, he was a shadow of himself for quite some time. It’s difficult to think back to it, if you understand me. And I wasn’t even personally involved.”

Yuuri was shaken as he listened, and asked Emil to pour him more wine, which he took a large swig of himself. He’d struggled when his own parents had died, of course. But he’d had Mari, and to an extent Karen his grief counsellor, despite her shortcomings. Later, Sam. Who did Victor have, once the most important person had been taken from his life? Irene had died years before, from what he understood. Did Victor even have anyone here he could call a friend?

Yuuri looked at him again, seated at the high table. His cold parents on one side, the steward and the chamberlain on the other. Most meals were like this for him, unless he was entertaining guests.

_How did you end up with such a warm and loving heart in this place?_

No more mention was made of Alexander during the rest of the meal; and at the end, when the last of the crystallised ginger and bowls of aniseed sweets were taken away, Yuuri began to feel butterflies in his stomach, as if he would soon be going out on his first date. He told himself it was silly, but it didn’t make them go away.

While he and Emil were exiting the great hall and crossing the courtyard, he had a word in his squire’s ear; he’d realised he didn’t actually know where Victor’s room was, and needed directions there.

“Well, sir,” Emil answered, “the lord and lady have their chambers near the chapel, but Sir Victor prefers to stay near the fighting men in his charge, so his room is down the opposite hall from where yours is, and up the stairs, second on the right. You’ll know it because the door is unlike the others; it’s larger, made of heavier wood, and covered with iron latticework that resembles vines.”

“Sounds easy to find.” Now he was really going to give himself away, he supposed; but he trusted Emil to be discreet. “Another thing – I won’t be in my own room in the morning, but since tomorrow’s Sunday, I’ll see you at the training field after dinner.”

“I understand,” Emil replied with a nod. Then he smiled. “Congratulations, sir. I’m glad you both made amends. You seem very suited to each other.”

Yuuri gave him a surprised smile in return. “Thanks, Emil.”

* * *

In his room, Yuuri checked in with Phichit. He simply told him that while Victor had been angry that he hadn’t shared his true identity with him earlier, they were getting on with each other again. The reality was rather more convoluted, he knew; and there was no telling how things would stand with them after tonight.

_What if I got his intentions totally wrong? I’ve been assuming that if Victor wants me to come to his room tonight, that means he wants to sleep with me. But I’m not up on medieval customs. Maybe we have to go through some kind of courtship, or…I don’t know. Maybe he just wants to talk, or cuddle a little._

_Don’t be ridiculous, Yuuri. After all that flirting? And the look in his eyes after we’d kissed and he invited me to go see him? There’s only one way to read it. _

A frisson passed through him, and he wished he could be kissing Victor again now. But he needed to make himself presentable first. He set his bathing bucket by the fire and began making trips back and forth to the pipe in the hall, trying to make some sense of his feelings as he went.

He was still amazed that someone like Victor could want someone like him – that idea was going to take some getting used to, but it was obviously the truth. He’d just had the best kind of confirmation that they’d been falling in love for weeks…months.

His hands trembled, pouring water from the pitcher into the bucket, when he decided there didn’t seem to be any point in holding back on that now. If Victor really did want it, then finally they could be together, without the disguise of Justin coming between them. Victor could come to know him in many ways, in fact, because he’d accepted him for who he was – or essentially given a promise to do so.

As Yuuri headed to the doorway to fetch a final pitcher of water, he leaned against the frame with a drunken grin.

_He said he loves me._

_Loving him back is right. Being with him is right._

He’d have to deal with any consequences of that, of course; they both would. But he knew he wouldn’t want it any other way. It had been agony, being with Victor day after day and trying to bury his feelings.

And Victor had apologised for what he’d said in his father’s room. He regretted it, that was obvious. They both wanted to put the past few days behind them and move forward. Thank God they had a chance to do that now.

Yuuri finished filling the bucket, then had a thorough wash, and sat in his braies and a linen shirt by the fire while his hair dried. The convenience of an electric hairdryer would have been very welcome just now, he decided.

Unfortunately, the longer he sat with nothing to do but think, the more the anxiety began to creep up on him. He couldn’t help but wonder how he would keep Victor safe from Ailis. If he ended up being the reason why Victor died this year…but no, he was going to stop that from happening. Somehow.

_Nothing will prevent those thoughts from coming to mind, I don’t think. I need to let it happen and then let them go. I’ve been trying to protect him, and I’ll carry on doing that._

He recalled the moment they’d kissed. The honeyed touch of Victor’s lips. “My sweet Yuuri”, he’d called him. And the drunken feeling was back.

Presumably Victor would be waiting in his room, though when he’d said “later tonight”, Yuuri hadn’t been entirely sure what that meant. The last bell of the day at this time of year was compline, which was about half past seven, and that had already rung.

What was Victor thinking? Expecting? He’d had other lovers in the past, possibly quite a few. _Will I be good enough? How could I ever measure up? _

_I’m not going to get anxious about this. I’m going to relax and enjoy myself. It’s Victor, for God’s sake. He’s my best friend. _

He sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. Not quite dry, but close enough. Standing, he realised he’d hardly put any thought into how he appeared here as his actual self, because until recently he had Justin’s projection on all the time, unless he was alone in his room. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and his hair was a mop. Filling the pitcher once more, he carefully shaved by the light of his brightest candle, finishing without having drawn blood anywhere with the razor that looked like a miniature axe; testament, he thought, to how savagely it could cut when he was groggy in the morning and not as careful as he ought to be.

And what to do about his hair – ? He took his small earthenware bottle of olive oil from its alcove, poured a little into his hand, and slicked it back. A few strands always insisted on rebelling when he did this, but it still seemed an improvement. Odd that he was doing this with the oil, when he’d bought it for another reason entirely – at the market in York, before he’d noticed how quickly his stash of coins was dwindling. He’d missed being able to use something slick to pleasure himself; it was comfort of a kind. Though it had always been difficult to keep Victor out of his thoughts, imagining it was his hands touching him; that his voice was whispering in his ear.

Now it would all be real. But the same time, it was strange to think that he was going to be making love with his friend and trainer…and the knight who’d tried to kill him.

_We’ve shared a kiss. Maybe other people would prefer to share a few more first, and work their way up to this. But we’ve already spent plenty of days together, God knows I’ve been wanting him since I got here, and…as much as I hate to think about it, time could be in short supply for us. I just wish I had more confidence._

Suddenly he knew what to wear. It had been bothering him, because he didn’t usually give it much consideration, and doing so made it feel as if he were getting dressed for a performance. He’d done that recently, however, with satisfying results. In an outfit that had given him the confidence he’d needed then, too.

He took the clothes out of storage at the bottom of his chest and put them on, wondering with a little shiver about how they would be taken off. No one had ever touched him that way apart from a hologram, which didn’t really count. The thought of Victor doing it was both exciting and intimidating.

_I’m not completely clueless about these things. We love each other._ _And, _he added, checking in the mirror one last time, _I embody eros, don’t I? _

He packed some overnight things in his leather bag, pulled the strap around his shoulder and left, feeling as sexy in these clothes as he had the first time he’d worn them. 


	67. Chapter 67

_Un curé voulair aller au marché. Il fit sceller sa mule et hop! Le voilà parti…_

Even this undemanding text couldn’t hold Victor’s attention, however. He rested his elbow on the table and raked his fringe distractedly out of his eye.

Why sit here reading silly French tales by the light of a candle when at any moment Yuuri might appear at his door? He’d struggled to divert himself all evening since the meal; the wait had been difficult to endure.

He’d been pulled along by his feelings like a runaway steed lately. But at least the direction they’d taken had finally been for the better. Yuuri had kissed him…Yuuri had _kissed _him. Praise be to God. It had been a shock at first, as he’d come to believe it would never happen. But then…_oh, _what a pleasure it was, he recalled with a throb of heat. Such a simple act, with such profound results.

And what a strange way it had come about, after all the other opportunities they’d had. Victor hadn’t planned on sparring with him; it had taken all of the courage he, a knight, could muster just to approach him to speak, after things had gone so poorly between them. He wasn’t altogether proud of how he’d handled that, either. The aggression in their sparring had been uncalled for, and Yuuri had been right to comment on it. There would be a proper place for it during the preparations for the duel, but it hadn’t been then.

_Yet despite it all…he kissed me._

The text swam before his eyes as joy spilled over in his heart, and he laughed. It was cut short when he recalled what else he’d said to Yuuri while they’d been there on the ground. Alex…he certainly hadn’t planned on mentioning _him_, as well as several other things. What tempest had taken him over lately, that he could be blowing so hot and cold, high and low? It was exciting and exhausting in turns. He poured himself a mazer of thin wine – a jug of hypocras was waiting for later – and took a deep breath before sipping at it.

_So this is love. It feels like…floating on a cloud. Drinking too much hypocras and losing my head. Going wild with worry for his safety. Wishing I could put the world at his feet, and save him from it at the same time._

_Why did no one ever tell me it would be so confusing? But it’s also the sweetest thing by far._

He shut the book in front of him and stood, drank the remaining contents of his mazer, and went to look in the mirror again. Was this what Yuuri would be expecting? Other men often wanted him to wear finery so that they could enjoy taking a nobleman down to his bare self, layer by luxurious layer. And he’d obliged, even if the pleasure had been more vicarious than personal. Clothes were _important,_ they made a statement; but the man underneath was always himself, regardless of what he wore. Victor thought Yuuri probably understood this, and would want to see him clad in something unostentatious. Especially after their meeting in Andrei’s room, which was best put behind them.

He was therefore dressed in casual clothing – olive-coloured hose with boots, plain linen shirt with a few buttons gapping open at the top, belt cinched around his waist. And if he’d chosen the particular shirt that only just covered his braies and the tops of his hose, what of it? It was fashionable, though the clergy and polite company might object. Should he put on some scent? But the soap he washed with was surely enough.

He was fussing like a gauche lad; anyone who knew him would laugh. How many times had he and Yuuri met, sweating in the rain and the mud out in the field? Should this really feel so different? He smoothed his hair down and returned to the chair, pouring himself another mazer of wine.

_Actually, it _is_ different. Because we can become more intimate now, I hope. Not just physically. Maybe he’ll be willing to tell me about himself. All those things he’s been hiding. And the shell will finally open up._

_I can’t wait._

The problem was, _waiting_ was what he had to do. It felt like ages since supper had ended. He’d told Julia not to come up here tonight. What if…

_Oh. Now you’re frightening yourself, Vitya._

…but just what if…he decided not to come after all? Might this turn out to be like the other times he’d thought Yuuri was showing an interest but had then backed away?

He turned his signet ring around on his finger, then finished his mazer of wine in one draught. A kiss like that would seem to be an obvious indication, but perhaps he was being too presumptuous. Maybe Yuuri wasn’t ready to do anything _other_ than share a kiss. Maybe he regretted even that, now.

Victor rubbed his forehead. Was this a taste of what anxiety felt like for Yuuri? He’d never opened his heart like this to someone before, and the thought of being pushed away again…

He leafed idly through the French book, his eyes scanning the text without taking it in. Then he gave up again and rested his head in his hand, his gaze wandering to the bath he’d had the servants draw. A wooden plank lay across it with plates of grapes, bread and olives, and possets in goblets. Rose petals floating in the steaming water. Plenty of lit candles. A standard setting for a sumptuous tryst. In this time. In Yuuri’s future one, though – who knew? It was too easy to make assumptions regarding this man.

_When _would he find out if Yuuri was coming? If he’d decided not to, he’d surely send Emil or someone else with a message. Not that it was an outcome Victor wanted to contemplate.

He looked down at the book on the table. _Il est peut-être mort. Faut aller voir…_

A knock sounded at the door, and a nervous flutter arose in his chest. He quickly smoothed his hair again. “Come in,” he called.

The door opened, and Yuuri stepped in quietly, initially as Justin, then as himself as he shut the door behind him. He sought to meet Victor’s gaze, brown eyes shining, mouth not quite set in a grin, his expression fond if somewhat uncertain as well. Wearing his eros-dance outfit, of all things, and his hair slicked back like that…Victor was certain for a moment that he was going to fall to pieces or combust into a pile of ash, he wasn’t sure which.

But then Yuuri took in the sight of the room, eyes going wide and lips parting as he fingered the strap of his bag over his shoulder. Victor found it endearing; and he was so relieved to see Yuuri here anyway that he wanted to laugh, but held it back in case it was misconstrued.

“You came,” he said with a smile, standing. “Have you never seen a room like this?”

“Outside of a museum, or a reconstruction? No. It’s…beautiful. And you live here.”

Victor huffed in amusement. “I’m not familiar with either of those terms. Perhaps I’ll need one of those translators of yours to understand you.”

Yuuri gave him a small smile. “No, you won’t. But it’d take some explaining, I think.” His eyes continued to wander, coming to rest on the bath. Victor wasn’t sure what he thought of that, or if it would put him off; the look on his face told him he wasn’t used to seeing such things, at any rate.

_He no longer has to pretend that he understands everything here. And he’s already speaking to me in a new way, with these strange words. Justin the knight and Yuuri the traveller. Both. It’s all so new…and wonderful._

But his earlier worry that Yuuri might not be ready to engage in more physical pleasures yet came to the fore, and he hoped that the bath wasn’t another misstep. The least he could do, however, was try to break through this barrier of polite conversation between them, before they spent the rest of the night discussing the merits of the pattern on the floor and the musicians depicted in the tapestry. That wasn’t why he’d invited Yuuri here, and surely not why he’d come.

He stood and crossed the room while Yuuri watched silently, setting his bag down. Coming to stand in front of him, Victor hesitated before gently resting his hands on those elegant crimson and gold sleeves, while Yuuri did the same at his waist. So soft and tentative, both of them, as if the other were made of glass and might shatter. Victor loved the curve of Yuuri’s high black collar; how it framed his neck, then dropped away to display a glimpse of his chest. It was a sensual line that kept luring the eye up and down its contours. He suddenly wanted to pull it aside and explore the smooth skin there – wanted to do all kinds of other things, too – but told himself to take it slowly. He ran his fingers up a sleeve and feathered them across Yuuri’s jawline, where they lingered while he relished the new kind of intimate touch allowed between them. Yuuri closed his eyes and sighed.

“I must look strange to you,” he said, opening them again.

It wasn’t the first time Yuuri had made such a comment. Victor lightly explored his face with both hands, resting the backs of his fingers on one cheek while ghosting the others up around his eyes, brushing across a brow, tracing the contours. Yuuri looked on in quiet amazement, and Victor felt him grip his waist a little tighter.

“This is the real you,” Victor whispered. “You’re lovely. You’re wonderful.” He tenderly stroked a stray hair back from Yuuri’s forehead. “I can’t say how happy I am to be able to touch you like this. I’ve wanted to for so long.”

Yuuri let out a breath. “I did, too. You don’t know how much. I…I thought the responsible thing to do was to keep away – well, you understand that now.” He paused, though he continued to hold Victor’s gaze. “But I just…kept falling more in love with you,” he added with the trace of a grin.

Victor’s heart was suddenly riding on angels’ wings. He gave Yuuri a delighted smile, eyes shining. Just managing to keep the surge of emotion that washed through him in check, he cupped Yuuri’s cheeks and began to dip his head – only to be abruptly halted halfway as Yuuri’s lips met his, hot and insistent, hands stroking and kneading his waist through his shirt. A pulse of desire shot through Victor and he choked back a moan, still determined to take this gently, at least at first. He caressed Yuuri’s cheeks and temples, slowing the rhythm of the kiss until it was smooth and deliciously soft, then pulled away with a lingering little suck of Yuuri’s bottom lip. His wonderful knight seemed to be in a daze.

“I love your hair like this,” he said, running his fingers lightly through it. “You’re so beautiful, Yuuri.”

That look of amazement again. Then Yuuri seemed to gather his wits, peering at the room behind Victor.

“All those candles. It’s…”

“Too many?” Victor said in sudden concern.

Yuuri smiled up at him. “Very bright and atmospheric. These dim rooms can get depressing at night.”

Victor thought about this. “Is that something you’re not used to? Do you light your room differently where…where you live?”

“We have electric lights in the walls and ceilings, on tables, portable ones…most of them are controlled by thought, like my devices – ”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Electric?”

“Um…well, you don’t have it here yet, not in a controlled way. The lightning you see during a storm is a kind of electricity.”

“Your people have harnessed lightning?” Victor said in awe.

“Yes and no.” Yuuri moved closer, until they were pressed chest to chest, and ran his hands up to clasp Victor’s back. “The thing about that is, there’s a lot I could explain to you, and I’d love to, if you’re curious, but…” He tilted his head up, lips pink and inviting. “…maybe now’s not the best time. Secondly, they’re not ‘my people’. They’re the same as you and everyone else here; they just live in the future. Thirdly…” He glanced coyly over Victor’s shoulder again. “…I’ve been wondering about that bath.”

“Well. I have a bath most nights – ”

“Where does the hot water come from?”

“It’s piped here. The servants heat it upstairs.”

Yuuri gave him a crooked smile. “Seriously? You’ve got people up there doing that just for you? With a fire and everything?”

“Well…yes. It’s their job.”

“Wow.”

Victor laughed. “The curious things you say. I’m so lucky to be seeing this side of you. I never even knew it was there.”

“We have a lot to learn about each other.”

“I can’t wait,” Victor whispered.

“So…the bath. It’s big enough for two, and then some.”

Victor mustered up his courage. He’d never needed it like this with another man. Yuuri was special, and he wanted to get this right. But he also seemed to be keen, and Victor was not about to dissuade him. “You’re welcome to join me. But if you’d rather – ”

“I’d love to,” Yuuri breathed, hooding his eyes.

Victor dipped his head to claim another kiss, without hesitation this time, placing his hands on either side of Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri responded with enthusiasm, and Victor licked into his mouth, Yuuri moaning as their tongues touched and caressed. The sound went straight to Victor’s groin, and he answered with a similar noise of his own. Then he felt hands at the back of his neck, one raking up through his hair.

“God, Yuuri,” he sighed hoarsely, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. He remembered himself just enough to reach toward the door and slip the deadbolt closed with grasping fingers. Breaths quickening, Yuuri tilted his head back as Victor trailed kisses down his neck, licking at the dip behind his collarbone, wrapping him in his arms and holding him close. Yuuri dug his fingers into his back and suddenly bucked against him, eliciting a gasp. Instinctively Victor grinded back, his mind sinking into a red haze of desire, loving the feel of their erections pressing together, overwhelmed that this was _Yuuri _who was doing this with him, his Yuuri, and he’d dreamed of this for so long…He stole another deep kiss, Yuuri’s tongue sparring with his own, and pulled the front of that maddening doublet aside, the palm of his hand pressing against hot skin and muscle.

Then fingers were worrying at his shirt, and he looked down to see Yuuri unbuttoning it.

“Bath…you said…”

Oh yes, that. Victor found himself wishing it wasn’t there now. How had he not realised how high and fast the flames would burn in him once Yuuri was finally in his arms? He wanted nothing more than to pull him over to the bed.

_And make him think he’s fallen in with some wild animal? I ought to have been more patient already – though perhaps with the degree of temptation before me, it can be forgiven. But he deserves better._

The fingers on his shirt stilled. “Victor?” came Yuuri’s soft voice, tinged with concern.

Victor covered Yuuri’s hands at his breastbone with his own, then lifted one briefly to kiss the knuckles. “I’d do most anything you wanted, my sweet Yuuri. But I’d like this to last a while, not end in an instant, which it could do if we carried on as we were.” He dropped his voice. “It’s just as well to be certain, too – are you sure about this? You’ll…stay here with me tonight?”

Yuuri’s breaths were stilling, though his cheeks were a beautiful rosy hue. He caressed Victor’s hands with his thumbs. “I love you, and I want to be with you. If…you still want to be with me. Which, after everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t blame you if – ”

“How can you say such a thing?” _Because of how I treated him these past days. I wish I could take it all back. _“Of course I do. I’ve dreamed of this.” And now his own cheeks matched Yuuri’s, he was sure. Because it would be easy to guess what exactly he’d been dreaming about, and in this very room.

He’d played games of courtship and diplomacy here. Had rarely allowed a vulnerable side of himself to show, taking on different roles to suit the circumstances. And had always felt in control, as far as he could remember; even moments of abandonment to pleasures had been calculated in their way. So very different to what he was experiencing right now.

Yuuri didn’t even comment on his remark, but continued to gaze at him with warmth, and a little embarrassment of his own, perhaps? But it was soon explained by his words, spoken quietly.

“I think I should tell you I’ve never, um, done these things with a real person.”

_What a strange way of putting it. But, really? _“Not even a woman?” Victor asked. “Was…was that your very first kiss, when we were in the field?” When Yuuri nodded, he said, “I wish I’d known. I wouldn’t have suggested we meet like this, so quickly – ”

“Victor,” Yuuri said more firmly, “I’m not ignorant about sex, even if I’m inexperienced.” Though his cheeks became a shade of deeper red as he spoke. He stroked a finger down Victor’s cheek. Shutting his eyes for a moment, Victor sighed into the touch. The finger slid across his lips – and then Yuuri was kissing him again, gently; an odd change from the wave of passion that had swept through them moments before, but beautiful and welcome nonetheless. This time Yuuri licked into his mouth, and as their tongues entwined, Victor felt heat pulsing through him.

He pulled back briefly and began unlacing Yuuri’s doublet, his fingers trembling slightly at first. Yuuri’s lips remained near enough for him to feel his warm breaths against his face as he reached for the buttons of Victor’s shirt, no longer in a hurry to undo them, but slow and deliberating. They raised their eyes to each other occasionally, and Victor held himself just short of nuzzling Yuuri’s cheek. Somehow it was as intimate and sensual as actually touching, a pool of want building in Victor until he felt his own breaths coming faster, and his cock throbbing.

“The first time I saw you in these clothes,” he said softly, “I wanted to take them – all of them – off of you.”

Yuuri let out a breath that fanned his face. “Please,” he whispered.

Victor unbuckled Yuuri’s sword belt, the metal clanking, and slipped it from around his waist; but before he could do the same for himself, Yuuri was doing it for him, having hooked his fingers around the back of the buckle first and pulling him into a kiss. Victor took both belts and reached over to place them on the table, then turned and unlaced the rest of Yuuri’s doublet, Yuuri giving the same treatment to his shirt. He shrugged off the linen garment; but before Yuuri could remove the doublet, Victor grabbed it at the shoulders and pulled it partway down his back and arms, holding it there while he dipped down to lave at a nipple.

“Victor,” Yuuri gasped, his hands fluttering up to rest on his arms.

For a reply, Victor simply shot an impish glance up at him, then trailed his way across to the other nipple, delighting in the little sounds Yuuri was making as he nipped and licked. Jesus, what he wouldn’t give to have him on the bed right this moment, peeling off those sinfully tight hose and the piece that laced up between them, which did little to conceal the bulge underneath. To feel and taste muscle and soft skin and sensitive areas that would make Yuuri cry out in shock and pleasure.

He trembled and stood. Although he’d promised himself to slow down, he couldn’t deny the need flooding his body, either. It was surprising how quickly it happened when he was with Yuuri, though maybe it shouldn’t be.

“As you said. Bath.” He stepped back and kicked his boots off, Yuuri simply watching him. “If we take any more time, one of us is going to have to ravish the other before we set foot in the tub.” He thought about this. “Although we could…”

“No,” Yuuri laughed, removing his doublet and letting it fall to the floor. “We shouldn’t waste all those things over there. I haven’t even seen what they are properly.”

Victor quickly untied the tops of his hose from his braies, deciding to make a little show by pulling a chair in front of him and elevating his foot on it, so that Yuuri could watch him slowly slip the material down past his inner thigh and the rest of his leg. He knew how lewd the view must be, tenting his braies as he was; and he was gratified to see that Yuuri was watching avidly, cheeks still glowing.

“You’ll have to do this for me sometime,” he said saucily, watching Yuuri’s gorgeous chest rise and fall. “Though you might have to let me do it for you first.” He removed the hose-piece from his other leg while Yuuri began undoing the various ties around his groin, fingers a little slow and faltering. It was just as well, because that enabled Victor to be first with undressing; he divested himself of his braies and gave Yuuri a small smile before heading to the tub and climbing in, turning to offer a shameless full view before sitting down on the bench. The hungry look on Yuuri’s face sent another stab of desire through him.

_You know what you’re doing, Vitya, don’t you? _he thought as he watched Yuuri pull his hose off smoothly but without fanfare. _You’ve been flustered all evening – uncertain, second-guessing yourself, wondering what Yuuri wants and expects. But you’ve always been confident about putting on a display._

_Is that so bad? _he argued with the voice. _He’s been enjoying it, has he not?_

Then Yuuri was removing his braies, and _oh_…Victor’s breath caught in his throat.

Yuuri really was beautiful. Solid, strong shoulders and chest, with a dusting of dark hairs down his navel, to a very fine pink cock that jutted proudly between his legs. Victor’s thoughts blurred as he stared, his body telling him in no uncertain terms what it wanted.

It seemed to fluster Yuuri just a little. He removed the black band around his wrist and put it on the table, then came forward with an expression that might best be described as artlessly coy, as if he were looking within himself for confidence and not quite finding it. It was lovely, though Victor couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for encouraging him to put himself on display like this. Yuuri had confessed he was a virgin, and perhaps it had been insensitive. 

But soon he was joining Victor on the bench in the tub, the whole covered by a thick white linen sheet draped up to spill over the sides, to protect soft areas from splinters. The water lapped as he sat down and gave Victor that shy-ish little smile again, then glanced to the fare on the wooden plank in front of them.

“You’ve never been in a bath like this before, have you?” Victor said with sudden understanding. It was a singular series of exchanges between them, though in time perhaps it would seem normal – each in wonderment at what for the other was perfectly ordinary. Though it had to be said that baths like this were a luxury, even for people in this place and time, and Victor knew it.

“I’m not used to eating and, um, drinking in a bath, no,” Yuuri replied, peering into a goblet.

“Really?”

“Emil told me what the men get up to with bathtubs in the garrison sometimes, though,” Yuuri added. “Like a, um, a party, isn’t it? With prostitutes.”

Now Victor laughed. “Bathing is usually quite social here; though having said that, I tend to do it on my own in my room, without all the extras. These are for special occasions.” He gestured toward the food and drink. “Please, help yourself.” He picked a couple of grapes and popped them into his mouth, then had a better idea and chose a large plump one, slowly raising it toward Yuuri’s lips. They opened, and Victor slid it in, a tingle running through him.

“Here,” he said, reaching for a goblet, which he handed to Yuuri. “Try it,” he invited.

“What’s in it?” Yuuri asked, eyeing the contents.

“It’s a posset.” As Yuuri continued to look at it blankly, he added, “Spiced wine, cream, sugar and egg, with bread on the top.”

“Sounds like a meal all in one,” Yuuri said with a little laugh.

“It’s said to be an aphrodisiac,” Victor replied with a purr in his voice.

Yuuri let out a breath. “I don’t think I’ll need one of those. But…” He took a sip, then considered. “Nice. Like eggnog.” Then he caught himself. “I mean – ” With a sigh, he gave his head a shake. “I thought I’d been doing so well, not using that word. I meant ‘nice’ as in ‘pleasant’.”

Victor smiled, loving this man and his delightful eccentricities that had been coming to the fore. “What’s eggnog? I’ve never heard of it.”

Yuuri explained; and as they ate and drank, Victor fed Yuuri grapes and olives, and eventually Yuuri did the same for him. There was a push and pull between conversation and little teasing actions; Victor draped an arm on the edge of the tub around Yuuri’s back, and the not-so-accidental brushes of their legs became gentle caresses.

It was everything Victor was used to when he entertained a man in his room, but he couldn’t understand why it somehow felt lacking this time. Usually this was one of his favourite parts of the evening, but he kept thinking back to the blazing fire they’d stoked between themselves not long ago, and how much he wanted it again.

Finally Yuuri commented on it himself, though it took him a moment to politely get to the point. “Victor,” he said, placing his goblet on the plank, “I appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to with this – well, that the servants have gone to, I suppose. It’s thoughtful, and it’s all new for me, and – ”

“But?” Victor prompted, raising an eyebrow in sudden trepidation.

Yuuri gave a little sigh. “Honest, I’m enjoying it, but…there’s no need to try to impress me. I don’t need giant bathtubs that an army could fit into, or candle-lit fine food and drink. It’s all nice – well, you know what I mean.” Earnest brown eyes looked up into his, and Yuuri rested a hand on his arm. “What’s important is that I’m with you. I just want you to be yourself.”

Victor gazed back, taking this in. No one had ever said such a thing to him before. How novel, and welcome. If it was sincerely meant. But of course it was.

“So we’ve talked about possets, and eggnog, and electricity, and bathing.” Yuuri gave his arm a gentle caress. “But I’m wondering what you’d _really _like to say right now.”

This took some consideration, because Victor initially discovered he wasn’t sure. But as he continued to gaze at Yuuri, the simple answer came to him. “I feel like I’m the most fortunate man in the world to be here with you like this.”

A smile lit Yuuri’s face, and he closed the distance between them on the bench, taking him in a gentle, relaxed embrace. “Are you usually here by yourself in the evenings?”

“Often. Julia comes and goes. I receive visitors. Not – I mean, well, we used to, but…” They exchanged smiles, Victor’s somewhat sheepish – when in his life had he ever been so tongue-tied as he had this night? “What I mean is, I don’t know how much you understand of a life such as mine, but rooms like this are well appointed, because we meet formally with guests, discuss castle business with officials, instruct servants, and so on. So – ”

“Do you do anything with people you’d call friends? I know you come to the garrison sometimes in the evenings.”

“I…um.” Victor paused to think. He hadn’t expected things to take _this _turn either, one of many unforeseen ones, when he’d asked Yuuri to come to his room. He wasn’t sure there had been anything on his mind at the time apart from _I love him _and _I want him _and _I hope he feels the same. _“It’s hard to have true friends in my position, Yuuri,” he explained. “I can’t be seen to associate with people whose status is much lower than mine, not on that basis, even if I wanted to; there’d be a scandal.”

“What about Chris or Charles?”

“Charles, not in a month of Sundays. Chris…” He shrugged. “We’re on friendly terms. But we haven’t really shared confidences. And Alex…” He bit his lip. _The perfect way to guide a romantic tryst, Vitya. You’ll be crying again next, and then what? _

“You can talk to me,” Yuuri said softly. “I’ll always listen.”

“Thank you.” Victor trailed the backs of his fingers down Yuuri’s cheek. “Then there’s something else I ought to tell you.” He paused. “You say you’ve never done these things before. Well, I want to find out what it’s like to do them with someone I love. I…I’ve never been in love before. So in a way, this is my first time, too.” He gave him a shaky smile. “Can we explore it some more together, do you think?” 

Yuuri gazed at him in awe again. Then he seemed to come to himself. “I’d love to.”

“Well, we’re in a bath, so I could get a bar of soap, and – ”

“I, um, had a bath of a kind before I came here, actually. There’s a bucket in my room that’s big enough to stand in.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Where did you get the hot water?” 

“I didn’t. I just took it from the pipe in the hall.”

“Good Lord, it must have been freezing,” Victor chuckled. “A man after my own heart.”

“Maybe some other time we could have a proper bath together in here. But I have an idea. Can this plank be lifted and maybe put on the floor so it’s out of the way?”

Victor nodded, wondering what he had in mind. They stood, each taking an end while Victor blew the out the lone candle on it. Moving it slowly so that nothing was in danger of falling off, they placed it carefully on the tiles. Before Victor could turn around, he heard a splash behind him, and a spray of warm water landed on his back. Yuuri’s laughter rang bright and clear through the room.

“This really is ting.”

Victor’s mouth dropped open as he watched Yuuri wave his arms and legs under the water, then splash some at him, which dripped down his thighs.

“That means amazing. Are you coming down here or not?”

With an impish smile, Victor practically dived under the water, deciding at the last moment that he ought to at least keep his hair dry, and luxuriated in the lapping waves. He felt legs tangling around his own.

“Do most people know how to swim here?” Yuuri asked, running his foot slowly up and down Victor’s shin. “Do you?”

“Of course. We have rivers and lakes. Don’t you?”

“Swimming pools. I don’t visit them much. Or you can _pretend _to go swimming. It doesn’t feel as real as the real thing – ”

“What the hell are you on about?” Victor asked him with a laugh, flipping over so that he was on his stomach, his elbows propped on the bench. “Do you stand and wave your arms about?”

Yuuri snorted. “No. It’s something we have called Immersion. It’s…” He paused. “It’s like making a dream real. So you can be in a pretend place and believe you’re interacting with it, and any people there, though it’s all an illusion. For example, you can choose to visit any place you want where you can go swimming, and it feels like you’re there, and really doing it, and it gives you the same kind of workout. But you’re really just in a room. It’s – ”

“Magic,” Victor breathed. “Why would anyone want to go back to their normal life if they could immerse themselves in such fantasies? Is that what people in your time do – spend most of their time with that?”

Yuuri stared at him oddly, and it was a moment before he spoke. “Um…no. It’s meant to be fun; a diversion, like playing a game. But you’re right – people who…who aren’t very happy with their lives can be tempted to use it too much.” He skated a hand down Victor’s back. “But nothing beats being with you. Immersion could never capture anything like this.” The hand slowed but didn’t stop until it came to rest on a buttock, and squeezed.

“You cheeky monkey,” Victor said with a laugh. “I’ll get you for that.”

“You’ll have to catch me first.” Yuuri pulled away, under the water up to his neck, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Victor lunged at him with a splash as rose petals flew into the air. But Yuuri was quick, and wet and sleek, and darted away, leaving him empty-handed as he ended up on the other side of the tub.

“You’ll have to be faster than that,” Yuuri said with a smirk.

Victor went after him again, and momentarily caught his arm, but Yuuri wrestled with him and scooted away. “How did I never realise how skilled you are at eluding capture?” he said, laughing again. How many years had it been since he’d done things like this in a bathtub? It must have been when he and Alex were boys.

“Because you never tried? Come on,” Yuuri coaxed, “how hard can it be? We’re in a wooden bucket. I’m here. Come and get me.”

A shudder passed through Victor at the invitation, and he lunged once more. Yuuri did little to resist this time, lounging with his back against the bench, and Victor relaxed his grip on his arms – only to find himself being flipped over, so that Yuuri was above him, pinning his wrists back against the linen-covered wood. Victor was rocked by a sudden wave of want surprising in its intensity. He closed his eyes, breaths quickening as his cock began to grow hard again. Yuuri’s nudged against it, and he felt a moan escape his throat.

“Victor,” he heard Yuuri sigh; then soft lips pressed against his own. With his wrists immobile, Victor answered by licking into his mouth, more insistently than before. Yuuri made a soft whimpering noise, his grip loosening.

Victor liked the direction the situation had taken, and would have been keen to find out what happened next. But he scraped enough thought together to consider that this was Yuuri’s first time, and it might be putting unfair pressure on him to expect him to guide things from here. Besides, Victor was certain he was off his guard now.

In one swift movement, he wrenched his hands free, grabbed Yuuri’s arms, and flipped the two of them over, water swishing and splashing. He placed his palms on the bench, caging Yuuri underneath him, and looked down at him with a triumphant grin.

“Careful,” Yuuri said, smiling back, though his voice was husky, “you’ll get water all over the floor.”

Victor continued to hold his gaze. “Fuck the floor,” he said, his grin fading as desire welled up inside of him.

“I’d rather you fucked me,” Yuuri replied with a playful look of challenge in his eyes, though there seemed to be uncertainty as well, as if he wasn’t sure how Victor would react to hearing this.

But it was all he needed in order to throw propriety to the winds. He captured Yuuri’s mouth, and his passionate kisses were returned with equal fervour. Bracing himself on the bench with one hand, he ran his other through Yuuri’s hair, then moved it lower to explore other contours, pressing and kneading. Yuuri wrapped his arms around him and dug his fingers into his back. Victor felt his thoughts spin away as need surged through him, instinct insisting that it be allowed to take over.

Continuing to meet Yuuri’s lips, nuzzling him, kissing his cheeks and eyes and face, their breaths hot against each other, Victor reached down between them and squeezed Yuuri’s cock, then began to pump it slowly but firmly. His reaction was glorious. Arching his back, he closed his eyes, tilted his head and cried out, hands falling away as if he suddenly didn’t know what to do with them, or forgot they belonged to him. Victor’s cock was nestled against the top of Yuuri’s thigh, aching to be touched, especially after this display.

“You’re incredible, my love,” he whispered, peppering Yuuri’s face with kisses. “Oh, Yuuri.”

A hand raked through his hair, then Yuuri clasped an arm around his shoulder. His other hand felt tentatively between their bodies, and…oh good Lord, _yes_ – he began to mirror Victor’s own actions, uncertainly at first, then quicker and harder, the water rippling while their hands moved as fast as they could under the water.

“Fuck,” Victor groaned, panting as he clutched at the linen sheet on the bench, Yuuri’s own trembling gasps fanning the flames inside of him. 

“Victor…God…”

“That’s good…Yuuri…”

“Could we…bed…?”

Victor blinked. “Yes – of course.” He stilled his hand, and Yuuri did the same. “I forgot myself.”

Yuuri lifted his head to give him a hot wet kiss before he took another breath. “I want you,” he murmured against his cheek.

And Victor was burning for him. Eros, indeed. Wondering how he would survive the night intact, he stood and held out a hand to help Yuuri up, then they stepped out of the tub. He silently took two white towels from the table, handing one to Yuuri while he draped one over his own shoulders, walking to the fireplace and stoking it high so that they wouldn’t get cold. When he turned, he saw that Yuuri had finished drying himself and was wrapping the towel around his waist, preparing to tie it.

Well, _that _had to be stopped. They hadn’t undressed and spent all that time in the tub and made each other tremble with desire just to cover themselves up now.

He approached Yuuri, discarding his own towel on the way, and stood in front of him, their chests almost touching. While he gently but firmly guided Yuuri’s hands away from his front, he looked into his eyes, seeking approval for his actions. His gaze was met with curiosity and heat, pupils blown wide.

Feeling more confident, Victor gave the towel a tug and it fell away; then he gripped Yuuri’s waist and pulled him forward so that they were pressed against each other, their cocks folded between them. Yuuri made a noise from deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around Victor’s shoulders, fingers scrabbling at his neck, his hair, as they crashed together for a hungry kiss. Perhaps unthinkingly, seeking the friction and rhythm they both desired, Yuuri began making small, slow thrusting motions with his hips, driving into him. Victor shuddered and closed his eyes, tilting his head back to gasp. Then Yuuri was trailing wet kisses down his throat, and God in heaven, Victor knew he couldn’t take any more before he burst into flames.

“Yuuri…” he said breathily, swallowing before he continued. “How…what…would you like to do?” Mastering himself partially, he looked down into eyes full of heat. “Because I’d really like to go to bed with you.” After a quick pause, he added perhaps unnecessarily, “Now.”

“I…” He seemed to be searching for words.

_I keep forgetting he’s never done this before. _Striving to keep his voice calm and reassuring while an inferno raged inside of him, Victor said, “Maybe something where you have control? So you can take things at your own pace and decide what works for you.” He took a quick breath. “I’ll do anything you want, Yuuri. I’m yours.”

Brown eyes glazed over in thought. Then he replied in a quiet voice that trembled a little, “I want you inside me.”

Victor felt another rush of heat, and swallowed again. Just above a whisper, he said, “Would you like to ride me?”

Yuuri let out a shaky breath, eyes widening. It was answer enough. Victor pulled away and climbed onto the bed, backing up until he was propped against the wooden slats, with pillows against the small of his back. He extended a hand toward Yuuri, who looked dazed as he approached and climbed up.

“Come here, my love.” Victor gave him an inviting grin.

Yuuri took his hand and hesitated a moment before positioning a knee on either side of Victor’s legs, draping his arms loosely around his neck. If he’d given the impression of being confident and experienced up to now, it was evaporating, as his expression became one of uncertainty and his cheeks flushed. Victor’s heart went out to him, and he placed a palm on his chest.

“You’re so alluring, my darling Yuuri; I can barely find words to speak. But we won’t do anything you don’t want to do. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am,” Yuuri said quickly, sounding as if he truly meant it. Then he leaned down and captured Victor’s lips, not with the raw passion of a moment before, but long and deep and loving. Victor sighed into it, moving his hand away from his chest to caress his face, waves of warmth lapping through him.

Yuuri drew away a little, the blush on his cheeks deepening. “Have you…got oil?” he asked. “If not, I, um, brought some in my bag.”

Victor couldn’t help but smile at this; the shyness in mentioning it, and the assured way he seemed to have prepared for everything. It came with a momentary stab of disappointment that they would be coupling so quickly after getting into bed; but there would be days and nights ahead, God willing, when they could take their time exploring each other’s bodies at their leisure. Just now, he had to agree, they’d waited long enough to assuage months of building and frustrated desire.

“The clay bottle on the table near you. Take the cork out and hand it to me.”

Yuuri did so. Victor poured a generous amount of oil into his hand, then gave the bottle back to Yuuri, who returned it to the table.

“This shouldn’t hurt, my sweet. Tell me if it does.”

Yuuri took a deep breath and nodded.

“Come close. Right up against me.”

Blinking, Yuuri nudged forward on his knees until the two of them were pressed together again, his hard cock trapped between them. Victor felt a pulse in his own and shut his eyes for a moment before returning to the matter at hand. _Let’s take you through this little attack of nerves, my dear Yuuri. I swear I’ll see you lost in pleasure before long._

He reached his arms around, taking care to cup the oil upright in his hand so it didn’t spill. Sensing the tension in Yuuri’s body, and with his cheek against Yuuri’s chest, he pressed soft kisses against the taut skin. “Relax,” he whispered, dipping his fingers into the oil. “I’m going to take good care of you.”

Yuuri kissed the top of his head in response, and Victor smiled to himself, his slick fingers slipping through the crack of skin to Yuuri’s entrance, where he spread the oil around before taking more and pausing his finger near the tight ring of muscle. Yuuri took in a sharp breath, and Victor decided it was best not to linger; he’d show him there was nothing to worry about. Kissing and licking softly at his chest again, he slowly worked a finger in, moving it back and forth. Before long, Yuuri was easing into it, and then he pulled back slightly so that they could look into each other’s eyes.

“How am I doing?” Victor whispered with a little smile.

“Oh, it’s good,” Yuuri sighed. “I…I wasn’t sure how it’d be, with another person…but, oh…”

God, Victor wanted him. But he had to be patient. “Ready for another?”

“Yes – please…”

Dipping his fingers into the oil again, Victor worked two in together now, feeling the gradual stretch, sensitive to any flinches of pain, though all indications were that Yuuri was enjoying his attentions. A hand cupped the back of his head, fingers burying themselves in his hair. 

“I’m ready,” came Yuuri’s quiet voice. A frisson of excitement passed through Victor as he brought his hands back around, using the leftover oil to slick his cock and then Yuuri’s. There was a small tremble and a gasp.

“It’ll feel better like this,” Victor told him with the reassuring smile again. When he was done, he wiped the excess oil off with a cloth he’d placed on the bed earlier, then gripped the base of his cock and held it in position. “Take your time, my love. If it hurts, slow down or tell me.”

Holding on to Victor’s shoulders, Yuuri began to lower himself, his gaze flicking down and then back to meet Victor’s several times, occasionally becoming unfocused. He bit his lip at one point but said nothing; and as Victor felt himself going deeper, he rested his hands lightly on Yuuri’s waist, slowly caressing. Yuuri was hot and tight and inviting, and Victor had to resist the urge to thrust his hips up while pulling him down onto him. He would wait as long as he had to.

Soon, however, Yuuri gave a shuddering sigh as he took the head all the way in, then sank down to the base. “All right?” Victor said softly, searching large brown eyes. Yuuri nodded. “You feel wonderful,” he sighed.

Seemingly encouraged by this, Yuuri began to move, slowly and hesitantly at first. With the glide of his cock against his abdomen, and the smooth but firm sheath of his arse, Victor wondered how long he’d last. He could only hope Yuuri felt the same, or he might risk disappointing him.

More shaky breaths, into his hair and against his temple, as Yuuri gradually found a rhythm. Then lips pressing against his, opening him up for deeper kisses. Flooded by so much delicious feeling in so many places, Victor groaned, sliding his hands up Yuuri’s back and pulling him as close as he could. Yuuri clasped him in return, making those little whimpering noises again as he quickened his pace, their tongues caressing.

Victor pulled back and kissed his jaw, his cheek, just in front of his ear; anyplace that looked appealing, which was all of them. So, so glad they’d waited until Yuuri had revealed himself – by chance or intention, it didn’t matter – because being with him like this felt like coming home. The whole man – his extraordinary life, all his experiences, open in front of him, and loving; pleasuring each other. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he blinked them back. No, no, not here, not now. He kissed the corner of Yuuri’s eye.

“Yuuri…my sweet, my love…” More kisses over his cheek, while Yuuri took quick breaths. “Christ, you feel so good. I love you, I love you…”

Yuuri found his lips again for brief panting kisses. “I love you,” he said to Victor in return, once, twice, three times. Victor laved at the base of his neck, then was lost to sensation as Yuuri moved faster still, whimpers building into louder cries, their pitch going higher, fingers clutching at his back. With a moan, Victor squeezed his eyes shut, almost giving himself over to the waves that were about to crash spectacularly.

Almost. They’d built this up so quickly, and it was so beautiful; he didn’t want to let go, not just yet.

“Yuuri,” he breathed, “stop…a moment.” He placed his hands on Yuuri’s hips, gently encouraging him to be still.

Yuuri did as he asked, looking down at him in concern, cheeks glowing. “Is something wrong – ?”

“No, not at all.” He smiled. “It’s good. Too good. I wanted to enjoy you a little more before we…finished.”

“Oh.” Yuuri’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “It’s hard to stop.”

“Are you close?” Yuuri nodded. “What about another of those divine kisses of yours?”

Yuuri gazed down for a moment, then smiled and obliged. Without other distractions, Victor could properly savour the slide of lips and tongues. He hummed into it as if he were enjoying the choicest meal. Yuuri let out little sighs and cupped his cheeks, then seemed to decide lower was better and ran his hands down as far as he could to where Victor was sitting on the bed, kneading into the sides of his buttocks. A pulse shot through his groin, which Yuuri must have felt, breaking their kiss for a gasp.

“Victor – I need – ”

“I know. Fuck into me; start slow.”

Yuuri gave a little moan, and Victor felt his cock twitch between them as he started to move again. Clearly uninterested in taking this slowly, Yuuri was soon bucking against him, the sensation so exquisite that Victor hardly minded the fact that they were hurtling towards a cliff again so soon. He wanted to go there this time. Kissing became too difficult, and he tried to hold Yuuri’s gaze, though that was hard, too; there was nothing but building, relentless pleasure and heat as Yuuri’s whole body stroked him. Sounds spilled from Victor’s lips – grunts, cries, moans; and Yuuri answered with his own. Victor wanted to speak to him; to praise him, to swear, anything. But the cliff was so near now, and he was lost.

To his surprise, it was Yuuri who found the breath and presence of mind for words, slowing his motions a little as he did so. “The candlelight…it’s so beautiful in your hair. Makes me think…when I see you in your armour…of something I like to call you. In my mind.”

Victor tilted his head back to look up at him, questioning.

“You’re like an angel.”

“Oh…” He liked that. Very much. “Call me that. Call me yours. That’s what I am. I’m yours, Yuuri – now and always.”

Yuuri raised himself to the tip of Victor’s cock, then plunged back down to the hilt, and again, faster, harder. “Angel,” he breathed, closing his eyes and running his hands through Victor’s hair and over his shoulders. “My…my angel.”

“Again…please…”

“My angel,” Yuuri said more confidently, panting as they raced together toward the edge. “My shining angel.”

Victor thrust his hips upward while reaching around to grab Yuuri’s arse with both hands and pull him onto him, hard. Yuuri threw his head back and cried out, fingers gripping his shoulders. Matching his rhythm in his own urgent need, Victor repeated his actions, drinking in Yuuri’s throaty cries as he watched him lose himself to bliss. Wet warmth jetted between them, and he felt Yuuri clench and spasm around him.

It was too much by far. In one final thrust, Victor shot his seed deep into his love with a hoarse shout against his chest, clasping him tight. 


	68. Chapter 68

Victor wasn’t even sure where they were; his thoughts seemed to be spiralling above the clouds. Then he became aware of his breaths, gradually slowing. And Yuuri’s. A sheen of sweat between them, and Yuuri’s seed, and gentle movements of hands; shifts of weight. Victor eased his grip on Yuuri’s back, stroking it tenderly as he rested his head against his chest. A kiss to his hair; fingertips ghosting up the nape of his neck. His name in a whisper.

Their gazes found each other’s, and then they were sharing a lingering kiss, slow and soft. When Yuuri pulled back to look at him, the love and warmth Victor saw there melted him all over again.

Nothing – this was nothing like it had been with the other men who had been here before. It was wonderful to think of; but better still not to think about them at all. It brought Victor back to earth enough, however, to consider Yuuri’s comfort.

“Come down here beside me, my love,” he said with a grin. They separated, then Victor spread the pillows out and cleaned them both with the cloth. “There’s a pitcher and basin across the room if you need them,” he said. “A jug of thin wine on the table if you’re thirsty, and one of hypocras. The door next to the window leads to the garderobe. Or I suppose there’s the bath, if you want a good wash,” he said with a little chuckle. “It should even still be warm – ”

“Victor,” Yuuri said, eyes sparkling, “you’re fussing. But thank you. I just want to lie here next to you.”

“Oh,” Victor sighed, relaxing and lying down on his side. “That’s good, too.” 

Yuuri stroked his arm lightly. “What makes you think I want to go wash and scrub myself as soon as I’ve been with you?”

Victor just stared, wondering what to say. Some men did want that. Which hadn’t been very encouraging, until he’d eventually decided it was their problem, not his.

“Is that what you want to do?” Yuuri said more soberly. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

“Not at all. But.” Victor scrambled to pull the bedcovers down. Seeing what he was doing, Yuuri shifted and they both climbed in, Victor quickly covering them over. Then Yuuri was in his arms, and his thoughts drifted away as he basked in the moment. He almost fell asleep. But Yuuri pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“My shining knight. My angel,” he whispered.

Victor hummed, gathering him closer. “Oh, Yuuri. You’ve made me so happy, my heart can barely contain it.”

Yuuri gave a little breathy laugh. “Me too. I wanted so much to tell you who I was.” He paused. “Would you like to know what the Japanese poem meant – the one I recited to you at the inn in York?”

Victor nodded.

“I’ll have to turn my translator off for a second. Hang on.”

And then came those beguiling words, followed by their surprising meaning:

_Omoitsutsu_  
_Nureba ya hito no_  
_Mietsuramu_  
_Yume to shiriseba_  
_Samezaramashi wo_

_Was it because I fell asleep_  
_Tormented by longing_  
_That you appeared to me?_  
_Had I but known I dreamt_  
_I should have wished never to awaken._

“That’s how you were feeling then?”

“Yeah. It just about killed me to be lying next to you in bed like that, and not be able to…well, you know.”

“I felt the same.” Victor laughed at the absurdity of it. “What have we been missing all this time?”

“Would you have wanted to make love with Justin, or me?” Yuuri asked, searching his face.

“You’re one and the same.”

“In a way. But I couldn’t be myself with you. I couldn’t tell you about my past, my life, my mission…I couldn’t even say things like ‘ting’ or ‘OK’.”

“OK?”

“It means ‘all right’. As in, are you OK? Or, this is OK, or just, OK, let’s do this.”

Victor laughed again. “OK.”

“Would you kiss me as Justin?”

“Of course.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Even though you know me now, and what I really look like?”

Victor thought about this. “It’s like a mask, isn’t it? I know you’re under there. But, well, I’d rather be kissing you; the real you. Having said that, it isn’t something we can do with others around anyway, unfortunately. I don’t know what it’s like where you come from, but if we weren’t noblemen…well, we could face difficulties from the Church and other quarters if…if people knew. Though they already know about me here.”

“I understand,” Yuuri said, running a finger along Victor’s jaw. “But where I come from, it’s perfectly acceptable.”

“It is?”

“Sure. Sexuality and gender identity are big spectrums with all kinds of things from end to end.”

“Gender identity?” Victor wrinkled his brow. “Did you leave your translator off? I thought you were speaking surprisingly clear English, for what you said was almost a different language.”

“No,” Yuuri laughed. “I turned it back on after the Japanese, otherwise you wouldn’t have understood me.”

“Does English really change so much in 728 years?”

Victor stared in awe when Yuuri spoke again, and he knew this time that the translator was off.

“It does. We still read Geoffrey Chaucer – have you heard of him? I think he was writing at this time. _The Canterbury Tales_. But it’s hard to understand without a translation. If you hear someone speaking it aloud, it’s even harder, because a lot of the words aren’t pronounced the way we’d pronounce them.” He laughed. “I wonder how much of that _you _understood.”

Victor shook his head. He hadn’t been this struck by the _otherness_ of the world Yuuri came from since that day in the woods. At the time, Yuuri had spoken into the wristband he called a com, but Victor had hardly been able to take it in. So this was what his ordinary speech sounded like. Some of it was clear, and much of it was incomprehensible.

“Thoh spak of Geffrey Chaucer and his tallis of Caunterbury. Al Ee con saye is that hei is k’nawn to beh wriiting the tallis; it semmess mei thei er lang finist in thii tiim. The king and the duk of Lancastre er greit praysers of his bokis, and patronis ek. But…that thoh k’naw of him aftir al tho yerris…it is a mervayl.”

“Oh my God, Victor. It sounds so beautiful and strange at the same time.”

He continued after a pause, and Victor could understand him well again.

“I’m not exactly the master of languages I made myself out to be. It’s English and Japanese for me, and a bit of Mandarin. That’s spoken in China.” Before Victor could respond, he added, “Across the world again, though come to think of it, it’s just south of Russia – ”

“Actually, I _have _heard of China.”

“You have?”

“Indeed. Europeans live there. About a hundred years ago, there was a fellow called Marco Polo – ”

“Oh, I’ve heard of him.”

“You have?”

They both laughed. “We’ve got so much to talk about,” Yuuri said with a smile. “I never realised how much fun it could be. With you. That’s…um, apart from the other fun we just had, and I never knew how amazing that could be, either.” A rosy blush tinted his cheeks.

Victor gave him a contented grin, tilting his head up with a finger under his chin for a kiss. Nude and tangled together like this, it was the most delectable sensation. “I’m looking forward to more of that kind of fun with you,” he said. “As much as you want. In many different ways. Oh, Yuuri.” He kissed him again, their tongues lazily curling together. Victor was spent, but it still sent tingles through him. 

“Your name,” he said, pulling away to look into those brown eyes. “I meant to ask you if it has a meaning.”

Yuuri smirked and gave a little huff, as if it were embarrassing. “I’m told it’s supposed to mean courage, bravery, heroism, that kind of thing. I never – ”

“You were well named, then.”

Another huff. “No one where I come from would believe it.”

“Then they don’t know you like I do.” Victor ran the backs of his fingers down Yuuri’s neck and along his collarbone. “Do you have a nickname?”

“I’ve never had one, no.”

“Never?” Yuuri shook his head. “Well, then. I can think of a few. But…” He chuckled. “…they’re only the silly things lovers say to each other. I think they must sound better in the moment.”

“We’re lovers now,” Yuuri said quietly, cupping the back of Victor’s head, “so I’d say that was appropriate. My sweet, my darling, my love…I heard all of those. I like them.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Go on, then. What other things do lovers call each other in this time?”

Victor bit his lip and considered. “My dove…my sweeting…”

Yuuri giggled. “Sweeting?”

“The fairest flower of the field,” Victor continued, smiling again. “Brighter than the day’s light. Full comely creature.”

Yuuri burst out laughing.

“I’m toying with you just a bit,” Victor admitted. “But you _are _lovely. Oh…” he said, struck by an idea. “…I know. This one I mean, truly. Yuuri…my own heart’s root.”

“That’s beautiful,” Yuuri whispered.

“It’s what you are to me,” Victor said softly, stealing another kiss. He could do this all night, he decided, floating in bliss. Pulling back, he murmured, “_I _have a nickname. But I only let people who are close to me use it. No one does now.”

“What is it?”

“Vitya. Will you call me that sometimes, when we’re alone?”

“Of course I will. It’s sweet. Just like its owner. Vitya.”

“I love how you say it.”

“And…‘my angel’?” Yuuri said with a knowing smile.

Victor blew out a breath. “You seem to have found a weak spot I never knew existed. I didn’t think anyone would ever call me such a thing.”

“A weak spot, eh? I’ll remember that.”

Victor kissed away his cheeky grin.

* * *

_I want to know all about you, Yuuri. Tell me. Please._

Victor didn’t know what the time was, and he didn’t care. He was hungry for knowledge; hungry in so many ways for this man lying next to him. They’d eased apart, and were each propped up on an elbow, speaking in a way that reminded Victor of close friends reuniting after long journeys. Yuuri said he thought it might help to begin by describing what life was like in York in the year 2121.

York. The very same city Victor knew. And yet utterly changed.

Vehicles that transported people through the air. Communication over long distances. Travel across the entire world in a matter of hours. Climate control. No kings or nobles, no knights, no fear of attack or being sent to participate in one. Devices to do everything from cleaning one’s residence like a servant, to cooking food and providing entertainment. China as the most powerful country, having influenced fashions the world over for almost a century. And people wore face paint, drawing colourful designs on their skin.

Victor struggled to visualise much of it, though he didn’t think Yuuri could be any clearer in his descriptions. As amazing as the flying vehicles sounded, what captured his imagination the most was what people looked like; he wanted to see their clothes, their hair, and the colours on their faces. Yuuri said his own black clothes were casual, and not representative of anything fashionable. He also hadn’t brought any face paint. But then, where he’d been going, the styles were very different.

A strange and marvellous place, Victor thought. Yet he got the impression, just from the way Yuuri spoke and the body language he used, that he hadn’t been particularly happy there. He wondered about this, but said nothing for now.

Finally he received the most interesting information of all, because it shone light into the shadows that had hidden Yuuri’s personal details to the point where Victor had thought perhaps he’d been put in the Courtenays’ dungeon. His dwelling place was located in a building that had been subdivided into apartments, like the ones Victor had seen in Rome. He earned money from repairing devices at a university, as he’d tried to explain in the woods. He had an older sister, Mari, who lived apart from him, but not far away. There was no mention of his parents, and Victor again decided this was not the best moment to pry.

Yuuri explained that he’d been chosen for his mission because of his professional knowledge, though it hadn’t counted for a great deal because what Ailis had invented was beyond what anyone from their time yet comprehended. And also because he’d had some experience in the use of a sword, though it had come about in Immersion, which meant it had been for recreational use in a game rather than in real life.

An idea suddenly struck Victor. This incredible, impossible-seeming dream-game. “When you said you’d never done these things with a real person, did you…was it possible to…” But the look on Yuuri’s face, along with the blush, spoke for themselves. Victor raised an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Well…yeah,” Yuuri said quietly. “Just a few times. I wanted to learn, and I didn’t have a partner, so…”

“But how does that even work?”

Yuuri gave him a shy smile. “Oh God,” he muttered to himself. “Um, there’s this apparatus you hook yourself up to. So…so it…” He broke off. “Really, you don’t want to know.”

“I do, actually,” Victor replied with a crooked grin.

Yuuri rolled onto his back and looked at the canopy above him. “Fuck,” he said with a little laugh, closing his eyes.

Victor didn’t press the point, even though he was intensely curious. Honestly, how _did _people live ordinary lives in the future with such temptations at hand? But it wasn’t his intention to make Yuuri flustered. “So you were never a knight – there are no knights in your time, you said – and you never had any proper training in the use of a longsword?”

“That’s right,” Yuuri replied, opening his eyes and looking at him. “As soon as I got here, I became Sir Justin. I can’t say I was used to it. People here train for these things for years.”

“That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier in your heart or mind.”

Yuuri nodded. “I’m sure.”

Victor thought about this, meeting his gaze. He said softly, “What must it have been like for you? Trying to fool that woman, and everyone else, into thinking you were the real Justin. Having to defend yourself with your sword the moment you arrived. All this time, you never said. I wish I’d known.”

Yuuri’s hand found his own, and squeezed it. “You’ve done a good job of training me so far. But yeah, it was frightening. I didn’t even know how to ride a horse at first. I knew I had to learn fast, or I’d attract attention as the world’s most incompetent knight.” He huffed a laugh.

Victor’s eyes went wide. “All that time you spent with Emil and the horses – it makes sense now. Yuuri, you’ve been incredible. And then with Tyler challenging you…perhaps I can understand why that would make you anxious. I think anyone in that situation would feel the same.”

“Well, from what you’ve told me about him, then even if I was a real knight, I’d have plenty to be concerned about.”

“You _are _a real knight,” Victor said, squeezing his hand back. “You’ve proved it many times over.”

“Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Does anyone else here know who you really are?”

“No. You’re the first – and, I hope, the only.”

Victor shifted his elbow so that he was a little lower, and ran his hand up Yuuri’s arm in a caress. “And I thought you were Justin ‘le Savage’, who’d had some bewildering change of heart. He’s known to have killed other knights. But you’ve never killed anyone, have you? Never fought in a duel before you came here, or a battle, or – ”

“No. Though they – the people who sent me here – told me I ought to consider killing Ailis as an option, when I find her.” He propped himself up on his elbow again, eyes flashing. “I don’t want to, Victor. I don’t want to kill anyone. My time is peaceful, and killing for any reason is seen as…as a dreadful thing.”

“What a world you must live in,” Victor said in quiet awe.

“Most people aren’t even armed. Laser guns are only supposed to be carried by, um, our version of sheriffs.” After a pause, he added, “But I want to say that it’s been…” He shook his head slightly, searching for words. “…touching, moving, to watch you in your day-to-day life here.” His warm grin went straight to Victor’s heart. “I’ve seen you in the manorial court. You try to inform everything you do with wisdom and compassion.”

Victor was flattered, but he couldn’t help but feel the praise was undeserved. “It seems I could learn yet more of these things from you.”

“You’ve already had a good teacher, from what you’ve said. You had Irene. She sounds wonderful; I wish I could’ve met her.”

Swallowing, Victor thought back to how he’d treated this extraordinary man over the past several days, and murmured in a tone full of regret, “You said I was cruel. I was. To you. I didn’t mean to be.” 

Yuuri leaned closer, gently running his fingers through Victor’s hair. “We’ve been over that. It’s OK.”

Victor took a moment to remember what the combination of two letters meant. But no, it wasn’t OK. “I said some horrible things. You didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so sorry, Yuuri.”

“You’ve told me already. I believe you.” He cupped a cheek.

“But – ”

Yuuri shushed him softly and placed a finger on his lips. “Forget about it…Vitya. Please.”

Victor’s breath caught as a heady warmth spread through him. Yuuri lowered his eyes and parted his lips, fingers dropping away. They came together slowly, and Victor felt the touch of Yuuri’s lips once more, soft, bewitching. He stroked thick dark hair, caressed a cheek, reached around to the nape of his neck and cupped. Touched the tip of his tongue to Yuuri’s and was answered with a sigh and a quiet moan that reawakened an ache inside of him.

Their hands wandered, lazily at first, then more insistently as their kisses became heated. Yuuri really did have the most exquisitely curved yet firm arse. When Victor began to knead it, Yuuri groaned against his mouth and nudged as close as he could. Thoughts fragmenting, Victor responded with a deep, wet kiss full of want, and felt Yuuri grasping at his back. How had they gone so quickly from talking, to this? The flames had leapt seemingly out of nowhere, and were licking at Victor in the most tantalising way. They were already in bed, nude, in each other’s arms. How wonderfully convenient.

“Victor,” Yuuri breathed against his cheek. “I, um…”

“Yes, my love?” he whispered.

“Is this OK? I mean…”

Victor decided he loved that word, or abbreviation, or whatever it was.

“We just…not that long ago…if you don’t want to – ”

“Yuuri,” he said, smiling down, their lips still so close, “if you’re asking me if I’m up for this again, then yes, it’s very much OK. Look at the state of me and try to tell me I don’t want you.” His chest was rising and falling, his face flushed, cock straining against Yuuri’s body. Was he OK with this – ? God’s bones, had there been any need to ask? His love was in his arms – hot, eager, untouched by anyone else until now. And fair driving him to distraction. He gave a little thrust, so that their erections slid and pressed together.

Yuuri gasped and trembled, then crushed Victor to him and kissed him fervently, wrapping his legs around him and stroking his calves with his feet. His brain dulling in a haze of need, Victor flung the covers off and flipped them so that Yuuri was underneath him, while he held himself poised above, dipping down for more urgent kisses. He felt Yuuri’s legs sliding against his own – then cried out in surprise and pleasure as Yuuri took his cock and began to pump it.

Victor moaned his name, feeling undone already. As careful and focused on Yuuri’s needs as he’d been the first time, it was difficult to fight the urge to quickly claim him now, especially as he seemed to want it too, if his panting breaths and writhing limbs were any indication. And Jesus, Victor was on fire for him.

“Victor…please…” Yuuri breathed.

Victor grabbed the bottle of oil and wrested out the stopper, then splashed some into his hand, spilling a little onto the sheet. The considerate thing to do would be to allow Yuuri to slick him up. At any other time, the idea would send ripples of anticipation through him. But not now; not when they were both gasping. He quickly slathered the oil over his cock, positioning himself at Yuuri’s entrance as strong legs gripped him tight.

“You might not need me to stretch you again,” he said, “but I don’t want to hurt you. If – ”

“Victor,” Yuuri cut him off in that soft voice which somehow brooked no argument, “fuck me.”

It was all the invitation he needed. Forcing himself to take it more slowly than he would have liked, just to be sure Yuuri was all right, it still wasn’t long before Victor was buried inside of him, stroking deep. He nuzzled and kissed Yuuri’s neck, whispering those lovers’ names into it, as Yuuri gasped and sighed against him, rocking his hips to the rhythm.

“Yes, Vitya…faster.”

Victor happily obliged, his thrusts becoming short and sharp. Both of them panting now, he gave up on kissing and rested their foreheads together, looking into beautiful large brown eyes with wide pupils. And they were full of love. It sent a dart straight to his heart, but was also the most potent aphrodisiac.

He was going to let Yuuri watch what they were doing together, and he wanted to be treated to the full sight of his love climaxing; he’d missed it last time. Wary for any signs of uncertainty, he took hold of Yuuri’s arse and lifted it while he rocked back onto his shins. It wasn’t a difficult weight for him to bear with his arms; and understanding what was happening, Yuuri clung tight again, those gorgeous leg muscles sharply defined as they flexed. Victor smiled in blissful delight when he realised that far from objecting, Yuuri’s gaze was fixed on where they were joined. Victor slid in and out and saw Yuuri’s cock pulse, and felt his own respond.

“Dear Lord,” Victor breathed. “I shan’t last. This is too good.”

Yuuri seemed to be attempting a response, but the words didn’t come. Victor adjusted the angle between them, pulling him closer and higher.

“V-Vitya,” Yuuri exhaled, his hands flying backward to press against the wooden slats, fingers splayed and grasping at nothing. “Just…just there, like that…oh God.” His words tumbled away, eyes shut tight as he made rhythmic cries.

It was incredible to watch. The tendons in his arms strained, and he tossed his head. Victor wondered if he’d ever seen anything so sensual in his life. He quickened his pace, waves of pleasure racing up and through him, dimly wondering what he could do to help Yuuri reach his peak, since his own hands were taken up with supporting the weight of his body.

But he needn’t have worried. A final cry wrenched from Yuuri’s throat as pulses of white arced out, painting his abdomen. The sight of it tipped Victor straight over the edge as well; thrusting deep, he groaned Yuuri’s name as spasms shook him. He dug his fingers into Yuuri’s buttocks, eventually easing his hold as his body went limp. Then he gently lowered him to the bed.

He was a picture of lassitude, cheeks glowing, a faint grin on his face as he sank into the pillows. Victor smiled to see it, cleaning them up once more and then slumping down next to him, watching Yuuri’s quiescent form lying still and peaceful, seemingly without a care in the world.

After a while, a brown eye opened, and Yuuri smiled. “Hey.”

Victor chuckled. “There’s none here. But…hey.”

“You didn’t think I’d gone to sleep, did you?”

“You’re welcome to do whatever you like, my sweet. It’s surely very late.”

“I can’t do something that wonderful with you and just roll over and drop off afterward.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“Of course not. I was just waiting for my brain to start working again,” Yuuri said with a little laugh. “That was…” His words trailed off.

“It _was_,” Victor purred with a grin.

With shining eyes, Yuuri added, “I never thought it could be like this. I mean, I’ve had sex in Immersion, and I…well, I pleasure myself…” He stopped and smirked. “I saw that look in your eyes. You must do it, too. Most people do.”

“Oh…I was just imagining what it might look like. If it’s anything like what I just saw, I’m not sure my heart could survive the experience.”

Yuuri laughed.

“We could do it together. We could take turns. We could…do so many things.”

“Yeah, we could,” Yuuri said softly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “I’d like that. But I was going to say that everything I’ve done up to now was just physical. The people in Immersion aren’t real. When you’re pleasuring yourself, it might feel good; but when you’re finished, sometimes it just seems to emphasise the fact that you’re alone. Do you ever find that?”

Victor blinked and nodded.

“Could we get under the covers again?”

“Of course.” Victor pulled them aside; they were already rumpled from when he’d hastily removed them. Once underneath, they lay on their sides facing each other; Yuuri tucked a hand under a pillow, while his other one lightly caressed Victor’s arm and chest as he spoke.

“What we’ve been doing tonight…it’s been so special, Vitya. The way you make me feel…” He shook his head and gave him a faint grin. “I don’t know how to describe it. But if it meant I had to travel all the way to 1392 to find you, I’d say it was worth it ten times over.” 

Victor stroked his cheek, unsure how to answer this, though his heart was brimming over. Finally he replied, “I’m so glad you did.”

“So, I suppose this means we’re a couple?” Yuuri said with a coy smile, snuggling further into the pillows. “You, um…” His smile faded. “I mean, if other men you’ve been with before came to visit the castle – ”

“Absolutely not,” Victor said straight away. Then decided he’d better clarify. “I have no interest in them. And yes,” he added, giving Yuuri’s nose a playful ping, “I very much want to be a couple. But I’m sure there’s a great deal I don’t yet understand about your time. Is it common for people to be in a couple, or do they have many lovers, or – ”

“People do different things, but plenty are in exclusive relationships.”

“Is that what you want with me? You’re not keen to have other lovers?”

Yuuri laughed. “Victor, think about it. I’ve been crazy about you since I first got here, and I can’t describe the struggle I went through to keep my secret as long as I did. Of course I don’t want other lovers. I was never interested in that before I met you, either, unless I’d found someone I really cared about first, which I didn’t. Anything else would’ve felt…I don’t know, like we were just using each other.”

Victor thought about this. “I wish that had occurred to me years ago,” he said. “I used to think it was fun. Sometimes it was. But you’re right – nothing compares to when you’re with someone you love.” He smiled fondly. “You taught me that tonight. I hope…”

_I hope we can continue to discover what it’s like, together. _His face fell as he was struck by how ephemeral their relationship might turn out to be. _I was trying to protect you from getting involved with someone who might not be here long, _Yuuri had said. And oh, how Victor understood that now, though he still didn’t agree with the premise. Because even while he ached with the joy of this, there were barbs waiting to prick and sting. 

“What is it?” Yuuri said, propping himself up higher, his brow wrinkling with concern.

“I…” Victor looked down for a moment, wondering how he could put his swirling emotions into words. Meeting Yuuri’s eyes again, he said, “I know it’s selfish of me. You have your own life, family, friends, but…” He swallowed, and finished in a shaky voice, “I don’t want to lose you. I’ve felt like that for a while, but now it seems to have a new meaning.”

Yuuri caressed his shoulder. “It’s been so hard for me to know what to do,” he said softly. “I had no idea you were dealing with something like this already.” He paused. “If you don’t want to answer, I’d understand, but…you told me about Alexander earlier. Did he die in a fight? A duel?”

Victor shook his head, wondering if he’d be able to speak of this without feeling as if he were coming undone. But he was lying here, safe and warm, with Yuuri. Perhaps that would give him the courage he needed.

“No, not a fight. Which would at least have been suitable for a knight. He died of plague.” A look of horrified surprise crossed Yuuri’s face, and Victor wondered if people in his time still suffered from such scourges, but was not inclined to take the conversation in that direction. “He was three years younger than me. I always felt it was my responsibility to look after him.” Saying this much wrenched something out of him, and suddenly he was tired.

“I’m sure you did.”

“Not enough.”

“You can’t cure someone of plague.”

Victor shuddered and closed his eyes.

“Victor. There’s a reason why I didn’t mention my parents earlier, when I was telling you about my life. It’s because they’re not in it. My sister Mari took care of me; she’s five years older.”

The usual platitudes ran through Victor’s head, most of which he’d heard when Alex had died, none of them helpful. _I’m sorry to hear. You seem to be handling it well. These things are unfair. Cherish the memories and move on. _Possibly the worst was, _It was a while ago. What still ails you? _He hoped Yuuri could see the sympathy in his eyes as he said quietly, “How did it happen?”

After a moment, he answered, “Those flying vehicles I mentioned to you? Well, ordinarily they’re very safe. But accidents happen once in a while. They were both together in one, coming home from their first holiday together without Mari and me. They, um, never made it back.”

“Oh, Yuuri.”

“I had a fear of flying vehicles for a while. I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable in them now, but it’s OK. There were other things I was afraid of. Things weren’t easy.” He gave a little sigh. “Eventually I made a promise to them and to myself. I thought, since I hadn’t been in that vehicle and still had a life to live, I’d better do it. Or at least try my best. So I decided to make my motto _carpe diem_.” He bit his lip. “I have to turn my translator off if I want to say something like that; did it sound like Latin to you?”

“ ‘Pluck the day’? Oh – I know. It’s from Horace. The full phrase is, I believe, ‘Pluck the day, trusting as little as possible in the future.’ As in picking a ripe piece of fruit.”

“Like apples in December,” Yuuri said with a quiet laugh. “Most people in my time translate it as ‘seize the day’ – sounds more dramatic, doesn’t it?”

Victor smiled. “Indeed.”

“The thing is, it’s bloody difficult. I don’t think I did very well most of the time. But I kept it in mind, and I tried. I thought, they’d want me to live, Victor.” His eyes danced as he said this.

“Are you telling me I should do the same?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Everyone’s different. That’s just been my own way of coping. It’s why I agreed to go on this mission. It’s why…” That shy smile and blush returned. “It’s why I kissed you.” He reached out to stroke Victor’s fringe back, which always insisted on flopping over his eye. “And now that I’m with you…whatever the future holds, we’ve got this moment.”

“I daresay we’ve been making good use of it,” Victor said with a small grin. “You’ve given me a great deal to think upon, my dear Yuuri.”

Yuuri initially smiled back, but it faded, and he looked down, as if a cloud had hidden his sunshine. “Victor,” he said, “there’s one more element to time travel, at least the way Ailis’s devices do it, that I haven’t explained yet.” His expression was grave as he met his gaze again. “I told you that when you travel through the timestream, you swap places with someone at your destination, which is how I stepped into Justin’s life. But there’s a catch. You end up with a kind of connection to each other across time. If one person dies, the other returns to their own life. So…” His voice quietened. “…if anything were to happen to the real Justin, I’d be pulled back to 2121, wherever he is. The same goes for Ailis, though her counterpart in my time is either lost or doesn’t want to be found, and no one knows what her identity is – who Ailis swapped with from the castle.”

Victor had been taking in his words with growing trepidation, but now his jaw dropped, and he gasped.

“It’s very unlikely that anything bad will happen to either of them,” Yuuri added hastily. “Like I told you, I come from a peaceful time. My colleagues are taking good care of Justin. It’s more likely that something will happen to me here, and…”

Victor’s eyes went wider. It suddenly seemed as if the very essence of the man beside him was as transient as a snowflake on the tongue.

“I don’t suppose it helps to say that, actually. I’m so sorry, Victor. I try not to think about these things most of the time, because it’s impossible to know what’s going to happen. Maybe you can see now why I thought it was best not to tell you about me. But once you found out anyway…” He gave him a little smile.

Victor blew out a small breath. “I must be the happiest and the saddest man in the world.”

A look of alarm crossed Yuuri’s face. “If you regret anything we’ve done – ”

“No,” Victor said quickly. “Don’t think that for a moment. _Carpe diem_. I’ll remember.”

“I’m going to worry about you, too, though,” Yuuri whispered. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with Ailis, but I’ll do my best to bring this to some kind of peaceful conclusion. If you see any more blue light like we did in the woods, stay away from it; a laser gun can cut through armour and what’s underneath it like butter.”

A shiver passed through Victor. But he was a knight, and this was Yuuri he was protecting. He’d stand in front of him while a landslide headed their way, if he thought it would help. “I want to assist you in any way I can,” he said. “I might not understand these devices from the future, but I can press a button, or anything else you need me to do. Summon every fighter in the castle. Have her arrested.”

“Thank you. I just wish it was that easy. But what I want is for you to be extremely cautious. Swords aren’t any kind of defence against a laser gun.” Yuuri’s gaze was earnest as he placed a hand on Victor’s cheek. “Promise me – please, Victor, promise me you’ll be careful. If anything happened to you – ”

“I promise, my love,” Victor replied, taking his hand and kissing it.

“And I need you to keep training me hard, too. Even though we’re in a relationship. I’ve got a duel to fight.”

“I would have thought being in a relationship _was_ a good reason to keep training you hard.” He placed another soft kiss on the backs of Yuuri’s fingers. “Of course I will.”

They ended up wrapped in each other’s arms, there in the small hours of the morning, the worries and fears they’d voiced seeming to Victor like nothing more than the lingering shadows of nightmares. The simple fact that Yuuri was here with him like this, at peace, soothed his heart and made it glad.

But it was a while yet before he succumbed to the slumber that had claimed his love, if his quiet, even breaths were any indication. Victor relaxed into the warmth they shared, but stared at the little glowing flame of the oil lamp on the far side of the bed, casting its gentle golden glow across smooth skin and white sheets. Wondering at the circumstances that had brought the two of them together…and how many hours and days Fate might grant them before they were torn asunder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Middle English translation:
> 
> “Thoh spak of Geffrey Chaucer and his tallis of Caunterbury. Al Ee con saye is that hei is k’nawn to beh wriiting the tallis; it semmess mei thei er lang finist in thii tiim. The king and the duk of Lancastre er greit praysers of his bokis, and patronis ek. But…that thoh k’naw of him aftir al tho yerris…it is a mervayl.”
> 
> _“You mentioned Geoffrey Chaucer and _The Canterbury Tales_. All I can say is that he’s known to be writing the tales; I take it they’ve long been finished in your time. The king and the Duke of Lancaster are great admirers of his work, and patrons. But the fact that you’re aware of him after all those years…it’s incredible.”_
> 
> Visit Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html) for more info on the Middle English in this story!


	69. Tempus Fugit (Part 9)

Yuuri’s sleep-glazed mind slowly registered the sunlight. Thin, bright shafts shining from underneath the shuttered window. Usually he was up with the dawn. What time was it? He needed to get down to the training field.

Wait –

_Oh my God. I’m in Victor’s bed. And…_He opened his eyes completely. There was Victor, sleeping peacefully next to him with the covers pulled up to his chest, an arm draped over the top.

_Holy Christ, we had sex last night. Twice. Intense, incredible sex. After he shoved me to the ground and told me he loved me, and I kissed him, and…_

He ran a hand across his face in disbelief, noticing he was buried under the covers himself, arms and all. They’d fallen asleep tangled up together, but they’d moved apart a little since then. Yuuri’s hand was tucked under his pillow and he was lying on his side, picking out Victor’s beautiful features in the shadows. For a long moment, his thoughts stopped completely and he simply stared, his heart full to overflowing.

Eventually he turned his head, blinking. It looked like a sunny day, though the shutters let only a few slivers of light slip through. All those candles had burned out in the night. He briefly wondered whose job it was to clean up the wax and bring new ones. A flame continued to dance atop the little oil lamp on the bedside table.

Yuuri looked again at the man lying next to him as he snuggled back down under the covers into the warmth. This was the softest bed he’d ever slept in, like sinking into a marshmallow, though at the same time the mattress had been well-stuffed and had good support underneath.

So comfortable…It was tempting to drift back into sleep, watching Victor until his eyes drooped shut. But he had no idea what the time was. They both must have slept late. Victor was usually a morning lark, from the little Yuuri knew of his habits. He smirked when he thought about the cause of their lie-in.

_I guess, in the end, you weren’t so put off by the idea of the real me, _he thought, a sappy grin spreading across his face.

_I love you._

This would take some getting used to, after months of being convinced it couldn’t – shouldn’t – ever happen. But he could deal with that.

Rolling onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling – or, rather, the canopy of the four-poster bed. With curtains and everything, though they were neatly tied out of the way. It was an amazing room; he’d meant what he’d said about never having seen anything like it apart from in museums and reconstructions. It wouldn’t be surprising to spot red ropes designating this area as out of bounds, with a guard ready to kick him off the priceless period furniture.

He’d hardly noticed the other items in here, having been focused on other things before. A rectangular dining table made of dark, heavy wood, the chairs around it upholstered in a rich blue velvety material. Little tiles like tesserae tracing out circles and plaits and other geometric patterns on the floor, covered here and there by what looked like sheepskin rugs. A large fireplace with a white marble hood. On a stand against the wall, a glimmering gold pitcher and basin encrusted with gems, like something from Aladdin’s cave. And that immense bath bucket. It was so over the top, you had to laugh. But using it had been _fun. _And then Yuuri remembered what they’d been doing in it just before they’d got out, and his breath caught.

Touching each other so intimately, now that they finally could…he was sure he’d treasure those moments for the rest of his life. Sex with Victor had made his ventures in Immersion seem no more tangible than lingering dreams upon waking. Though a big part of the turn-on, as he’d expected long before he’d met Victor, was being with someone he loved. He felt himself growing hard as he recalled everything they’d done.

Maybe he ought to reach out and touch that wonderful fine hair. With a little smile, he recalled what it had been like to rake his hands through it. This time he would stroke it back gently. But maybe, Yuuri decided, he wouldn’t wake him just yet.

_God, how can you be real?_

And yet, in the midst of the pleasure and passion, they’d discussed some sobering things. Alexander. Yuuri’s parents. The possibility that –

_I don’t want to think about it._

But there was no hiding; it was still there, as it had been all this time. The harrowing possibility that they might lose each other. And he’d never mentioned Victor’s death date, which was perhaps the most disturbing part of it all. Victor didn’t need such a burden added to what was already on his shoulders.

A pair of blue eyes opened, and Victor gave him a sleepy smile. “It’s the man of the fay. Still in my bed. You’re not a dream.”

The anxious thoughts trailed away with the sound of that voice. “I’m as human as you are,” Yuuri replied with a soft grin. “So you remember what I said in the tent at the tournament.”

Victor hummed in acknowledgement, then reached out to caress Yuuri’s cheek, sending a frisson through him. “Are you tired, my love?”

“A little. I think. It doesn’t matter. I’m here with you, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“You’ve already introduced me to a new pleasure this morning.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

“Not wanting to get out of bed, because it means leaving the side of the person next to me. In fact…” Blinking, he propped himself up on his elbow. “…I have a suggestion. Something you might like to consider.”

“Oh?”

Victor hesitated, looking almost shy for a moment. Then he said quietly, “The room next to this one adjoins it through the door over there.” He briefly tilted his head in the direction of the far wall. “And it’s vacant. It’s used for important guests, but there are other rooms. If you wanted to move in – not that you have to, mind; it’s your choice, and you’re welcome to take as long as – ”

“Yes,” Yuuri blurted with what felt like an idiotic smile. He didn’t care.

“Yes?” Victor echoed, eyes shining.

“Yes, I want to move in,” he confirmed with a laugh. “Of course I do.” Trying to make sense of things through the surprise and delight fizzing inside of him, Yuuri realised he’d answered without thinking. But what was there to consider? _I love him and I want to be with him, while…while I have the chance. _It occurred to him now that he would also be able to keep a closer eye on Victor, and hopefully do a better job of protecting him than he could before.

“Oh,” Victor breathed, turning to lie on his back, stretching his arms over his head, reminding Yuuri of a purring cat as he closed his eyes and grinned. “That’s good. That’s…” He sighed. “Lovely.”

A shiver passed through Yuuri as he took in Victor’s obvious pleasure at his response. He really did want him here. Very much. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him until now that Victor might actually be as crazily in love as he himself was.

Victor turned his head to look at him. “I’ll make arrangements to have your things moved today, then, if that suits you – unless you need more time.”

“No, I’m good,” Yuuri said quickly. “I mean, sure. I don’t have that much anyway. But I’ll need to go down to my old room before anyone else. My armour’s there, of course. I’ve also got a few things hidden that I’d prefer nobody accidentally came across, and I’ll need to get them and find a place to put them next door.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“If it was anything super special or helpful, I’d be done with my mission by now.”

“Then if they’re the most worthless, pointless objects ever invented, I’m glad. Because that means you’re here with me.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “We’ll ignore the fact that Ailis could have been causing devastation all this time.”

“Will you show them to me once you have them here?”

“I’ll show you anything you want to see, Vitya,” Yuuri said, fluttering his eyelashes playfully.

Victor’s eyes narrowed, and there was the catlike grin again. “Then pull the blankets down.”

“It’s cold.”

“I’ll make sure you’re warm.”

Yuuri’s blood was racing now. “My breath – I haven’t cleaned my teeth. And my hair – ”

Victor rolled onto his side, smirking. “I care not one jot. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had something to hide.”

Until recently, that had been the truth. Perhaps it was a reminder of lingering feelings. But a gentle one. Yuuri gave a small teasing smile and began to slowly pull the blankets away, wondering what kind of pose to strike. What could he do that would look come-hither without crossing the line into ridiculousness?

_This is Victor. You’re not giving a stage performance. Relax._

He lay on his back, one arm still behind his pillow, in seeming nonchalance. Legs comfortably separated, a knee facing outward, a hand resting on a thigh. Though his earlier erection had disappeared with his worries, it was returning now. Victor wasn’t making any secret of what he was looking at as he got on all fours over him, fringe hanging down. Then blue eyes met his own.

“I didn’t say a proper good morning to you. Careless of me.”

Yuuri prepared himself for something rough and heated, and was surprised when soft, gentle lips met his own. Victor’s kiss was slow and tender, and sent ripples of pleasure through his body. Yuuri wrapped his arms around him, fingers playing in soft fine hairs. As their tongues touched and curled, Victor lowered himself until their bodies were pressed together. Yuuri gave a quiet moan and caressed his back.

“Told you I’d keep you warm.”

“Victor,” Yuuri sighed. “Vitya.” He cupped a cheek and captured his mouth, deeper and more urgent this time. The long kiss lit a flame in him before breaking into a series of shorter ones punctuated by sighs and whimpers as lips explored and pressed against cheeks, eyelids, temples.

Victor licked a trail of wet kisses down Yuuri’s throat, drawing another moan. “I could pleasure you all day,” he murmured against his skin. “There’s so much I want to discover.”

_Me too, _Yuuri thought through a haze of desire. But Victor was taking charge again, maybe assuming it would put him at his ease due to his inexperience. Not that it was unwelcome. Not that Yuuri wasn’t loving what Victor was doing with his lips and tongue, or the expression on his face reminiscent of savouring a decadent dessert and craving more. He could _watch _that all day until it drove him mad with want.

But the thought of taking control himself was tantalising, too. He knew he could. It didn’t exactly require a PhD. He’d done it in Immersion, hooked up to that awkward apparatus he’d been too embarrassed to describe. Maybe Victor would like it.

Gathering his strength, as if they were grappling on the training field, Yuuri flipped them over so that Victor was beneath him. Surprise registered on his face. But only for a moment. Pupils blown wide, he gripped the back of Yuuri’s neck and tilted his head up for a hungry kiss. Yuuri thrust against him and Victor cried out against his mouth, cock twitching.

_Holy shit. _Yuuri pulled back and breathed, “My turn.” Then he paused. “But only if you – ”

“God, yes, Yuuri,” Victor groaned. “Take me.”

A wave of lust rocked through Yuuri and he blew out a breath, cupping a hand firmly against the side of Victor’s face, fingers tangling in his hair, searching blue eyes for confirmation that this was what he wanted. Victor gazed back at him, lips parted, panting.

“The oil is there on the table. Love me, my sweet.”

With trembling fingers, Yuuri reached for the little bottle and pulled the stopper out, then slicked himself and Victor, wrapping his fist around his cock and giving it a few strokes. Victor bucked his hips and moaned, and Yuuri ached to bury himself inside him, but hesitated with the bottle of oil. This wasn’t something he’d ever done, apart from to himself.

“Pour some into your hand,” Victor said softly, and Yuuri recognised the tone of voice from last night – guiding, reassuring, however urgent his own need. He did so, then put the bottle down and dipped his fingers into his palm. Victor folded his legs up high and tight, then took Yuuri’s hand and brought it to his entrance, pressing it there. Looking into his eyes all the while, Yuuri was surprised to see no self-consciousness; nothing but love and desire. It ought to have been one of the most embarrassing positions possible, but Victor simply waited, a reassuring grin ghosting his face. Yuuri’s heart overflowed with love for this man as he gently slipped a finger in and slowly began to work him open.

“Faster,” Victor whispered. “I love your delicate touch, but you don’t need it for this.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Yuuri continued in silence for a moment, caressing the inside of Victor’s thigh as he slipped a second finger in. “I’m so lucky,” he murmured.

Victor smiled. “Will you give my yard a stroke while you’re doing that?”

Yuuri’s face clouded. But of course, it was obvious what he meant.

“Prick. Rod,” Victor added, looking caught between amusement and lust. 

“Cock,” Yuuri said, grabbing it and doing as Victor had asked.

“That works too,” Victor replied with a shaky sigh, closing his eyes and clutching at the sheets. “Very well indeed.”

Trembling with anticipation, Yuuri watched him, wondering how much stretching Victor wanted before he felt comfortable. It wasn’t long.

“I’m ready,” he said. “Please…”

Yuuri positioned himself over him, planting his palms on the mattress, taking in his flushed face and sparkling eyes, once again amazed at how much this man seemed to want him. Living in the room next door. Making love with him. Victor wrapped his legs around him, feet pressing at the small of his back, and Yuuri began to push in, taking his time, alert for any signs of pain. But Victor met his gaze as if nothing else in the world mattered.

“I love you,” Yuuri whispered. Victor stroked his cheek, then rested his palms lightly on either side of his neck.

“You’re so gentle,” Victor said with a smile. “So lovely…but I’m not made of glass. I won’t break, my love.” As Yuuri continued to stare, he added with a bit of a smirk, “Take me. Fuck me. Give in to it. If it’s too much, I’ll let you know. But I doubt it will be.”

Yuuri swallowed and nodded. With a rush of heat, he pushed the rest of the way in, Victor’s breaths fanning his face. Then their lips met and Yuuri kissed him deeply, thinking about how Victor was letting him in, eager and welcoming. Soon he wasn’t thinking at all, but thrusting, slow at first, feeling his way. Then quicker as his confidence began to build. Victor’s heels were firm against his back, fingers stroking at his neck.

“Vitya, you feel…incredible.” Yuuri gave his earlobe a gentle nip and a suck, and was answered with a whimper.

“Do me hard, my love. Please.”

Concerned he would end up hurting him, Yuuri realised he’d still been holding back, but he’d had plenty of reassurance now that this was what Victor really wanted. Instinct had been urging him to take them both to a climax, as long as he trusted it, and Victor. It wasn’t a difficult decision.

He stepped up his pace, thrusting with his full length, a coil of sweet tension quickly building in his groin. Jesus, this was like nothing else on earth – the man he loved underneath him, his heat, the feel of him. Victor’s breaths grew ragged, and with a cracked moan, he angled up for a deep kiss, soon broken by their gasps. Seeing Victor swept away like this triggered something inside Yuuri, and he pounded into him, gritting his teeth, muscles straining.

“Victor…fuck…” he groaned, waves of pleasure racing through him.

Victor clutched at his back, mouth hanging open, hips moving in time to their rhythm. Dimly aware that if he was going to do something to help bring Victor to the edge with him, it had to be now, Yuuri reached between them, grasped Victor’s cock and began to pump it the way he liked himself, hoping it would be enough for Victor right now too.

But there was no need to worry, because almost instantly he was treated to the sight of this powerful man going to pieces underneath him. Victor screwed his eyes shut, gasps and cries spilling from his lips as he arched his back.

“Vitya,” Yuuri bit out. “Yes…” He trailed away into swears and grunts, forcing himself all the while to remember to keep stroking Victor. The coil inside him grew tighter, tighter – and Victor called out his name as he threw his head back and coated his hand with his release. Shockwaves of heat pulsed down Yuuri’s spine, and he finished with a hard thrust and a cry of his own.

They remained as they were for some time, breaths sounding in the quiet room. Yuuri gradually became aware of the world around them – his arm taking his weight, Victor’s chest rising and falling, wet warmth on his hand. Fingers were skating across his cheek, and Victor sighed languidly. Yuuri’s heart was full.

“Victor,” he said softly, gently kissing his cheek. “My Vitya.”

Victor gave him a little smile, looking like he’d just come down to earth and hadn’t quite worked out where he was. “My lovely Yuuri.” They exchanged short, playful kisses and slow caresses.

Eventually Yuuri decided he ought to move and let Victor get more comfortable. He stood and fetched a cloth from the shelf underneath the pitcher and basin, then returned and cleaned them both. Victor asked if he’d like to be held for a while, and they snuggled under the covers, wrapped in each other’s arms. Yuuri felt kisses in his hair and on his forehead while he nuzzled Victor’s jaw and neck.

“I wish if I held you like this long enough, it would mean you’d never go,” Victor murmured.

Yuuri felt a pang in his heart. It was sad, and absurd, and so very true.

“Would you be willing to tell me more about your mission, and this woman Ailis you’re looking for?”

Yuuri tilted his head up to meet his gaze. “Sure. It’s not a secret; well, not anymore, now that you know who I am. There’s not much more to tell, though.”

“Give me a moment,” Victor said, laying a finger across Yuuri’s lips. He stood and went to the window, unlatching the shutters and pulling them open. Yuuri’s eyes widened, and he wondered at Victor’s nonchalance at being on view, though the fact that they were upstairs possibly mitigated things. He didn’t linger, but went to stoke the fire high from the embers glowing under the ash, then crossed the room to the table, taking a wooden tray, a jug, and two mazers. To these he added the food from the plank that had been across the bath the night before. Yuuri watched him, muscles rippling under smooth pale skin.

“Share?” Victor said, returning to the bed with his back propped against the pillows. Yuuri sat up cross-legged, feeling a blush stain his cheeks as Victor carefully placed the tray across their thighs. It would take some time for the fire to warm the room, and it was chilly; but there was something decadent and a little bit mad about being nude alongside Victor in bed like this, with wine and olives and other things for their delectation. Roman emperors could hardly have lived better. It wasn’t the kind of thing that would ordinarily have appealed to him, but somehow, right now, it did.

“Hypocras?” Victor asked, lifting the jug. Yuuri nodded, and he poured some for them both. “Meagre fare after such an active night, I know.” He grinned. “But I think it’ll do for now.”

“Thank you; it’s fine. I’d hate to think it was going to waste.” Yuuri took some olives and a hunk of bread, and sipped his wine.

“So, Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor said softly, chewing his own bread and gazing at him steadily, “tell me more. And why did you have to leave your possessions behind before you came here? Did something go wrong?”

As he ate and drank, Yuuri explained what he’d learned about Ailis from the information he’d been given, and about the incident with Ian the day he’d travelled. The laser guns would have been the most useful item out of everything he’d been prepared to take with him; he also regretted not being able to bring the nanobots and all the kit associated with those, certainly when he’d become ill in York, but also since then, wondering what other bug might strike him or even Victor. He made no mention of it, however, since a proper explanation would include references to the microscopic world, and that would take some thought. But then he discovered the simple pleasure of describing the other more ordinary items he’d originally packed, such as toothpaste and shaving accoutrements.

“You use a _brush _on your _teeth_?” Victor echoed, looking at him in puzzlement.

“You _don’t_?” Yuuri laughed. “How can you not? It gets them cleaner than a cloth. And this weird stuff you have here to smear them with, fucking hell.”

“What’s weird is this peppermint-flavoured paste. You say it can have stripes in it? How? What’s it even made of?”

“You know, I have no idea. I’ll have to get Phichit to read out a list of ingredients.”

Victor was obviously digesting all of this. “What tool…device…do you miss the most?”

Yuuri finished his mazer of wine and considered. Victor’s questions were making him think about things he often took for granted. “I miss the electrical devices. Hair dryers. Bright lights. God, a kettle. I can’t have tea or coffee here. Not that I could anyway, because you jacks have never heard of either.”

“What are they?”

“Drinks. There’ll come a time when most English people can’t get through the day without a few cups of tea with milk and sugar.”

Victor looked at him in wonderment. “It sounds potently addictive.”

Yuuri laughed. “In some ways, maybe. But no, I think people just like it. I wish I could make you some. I think the closest you’d come here would be herbal tea, something like steeping mint or chamomile in hot water.”

“Herbalists give such potions to people when they’re ill or distempered. I’ve had sleeping draughts made from lavender, valerian, lemon balm, magnolia bark…it had a strange taste, but I thought it helped.”

“Magnolia bark?”

“Indeed. Are you finished?” When Yuuri nodded, Victor shifted the tray to the table next to the bed, then got halfway under the covers, Yuuri copying him so that they were lying on their sides facing each other, wondering what he had in mind. A day of sex? He’d have to wait a little while yet before his body would allow anything more…But Victor’s eyes had become grave, and Yuuri knew his thoughts must be following a different track entirely.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for asking so many questions. It’s hard not to be curious.”

“Of course; I understand. I’m sure I’ll have questions for you, too. There are still things about this place that can be surprising or confusing.”

“But I don’t have knowledge of the future.”

_Oh. _It shouldn’t have been unexpected, but Yuuri felt himself tensing as he wondered what Victor wanted to know.

“You said there are no lords in your time. What remains of us? Does anything we build survive? Castles…?”

“Yes,” Yuuri answered, not sure he liked where this seemed to be heading. “Some are intact; they’ve been deliberately preserved, or altered and used for different things over the centuries, or both. Most are in ruins, or gone altogether.”

Victor stared, his eyes keen. “And this one – ?”

“Yes, it’s here…parts of it.” _Please don’t ask me to tell you more._

“What about my family? Me?”

Yuuri looked down, feeling sick. _Why, Victor? Just when I’ve finally been able to be honest with you, you put me in an impossible situation. _But Victor was waiting, his expression growing anxious.

“This is a time in the distant past,” he answered carefully. “Well, _my _distant past. It’s up to monks sitting in the corners of abbeys to tell future generations about people and events. And they’re not always consistent or honest. You’ve heard of Herodotus, the ancient Greek historian? Probably made up half the things he said just because he thought his readers would like it.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Victor said quietly.

“Everyone dies, Victor,” Yuuri replied, failing to keep the acerbity out of his voice. “That’s what always happens, and the world moves on.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “The answer is that…” He paused. _I have to lie. Again. _“Even people who think they’re incredibly important don’t get a mention from this far back in time. Or if they did, the books have been lost, burned, crumbled to dust. We know what kings did. A few other people. That’s all.”

Victor blinked but said nothing. Yuuri wondered how far he believed him, dreading another rift between the two of them. And less than a day after they’d healed the first one.

“You have Chaucer’s writings.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “Yes…”

“You mentioned _The Canterbury Tales_. Texts, or at least what they contained, survive into your time. I can imagine that if the originals were lost, copies might survive. Such has been the case with the Bible, over many more years. We know about the history of other cultures. You didn’t require the original books of Herodotus to read what he wrote, did you?”

“Victor – ”

“Yuuri.” His voice was nearly a whisper. “Whatever you do, please just…don’t lie to me. You said before that it was for my own protection. Can I not have a say in what I believe would be to my own benefit?”

Heart hammering, Yuuri simply looked at him, without a clue how to reply. He’d been called out, repeating the same actions that had resulted in Victor being angry at him for days. Except he was attempting to discuss it this time.

_Oh God, Victor. I can’t tell you you’re destined to die this year, possibly at any moment. I can’t. Maybe you feel I’m being condescending by not telling you the truth, but sometimes we really do want to protect the people we love._

“I have knowledge of some things that…that might be dangerous,” Yuuri said, his voice shaking. “If I revealed certain things to certain people, it could cause them to act in ways that might have unexpected consequences.” He swallowed. “When I saw the Duke of York, I knew how he was going to die. When I was with his son Edward, I knew that too. He was riding next to me, and…and I was haunted by that. But I didn’t say anything to them to try to change it. I thought about it, but…I didn’t know what the best thing to do was, so I stayed quiet.”

Victor’s eyes went wide.

“Maybe there’s a good reason why we don’t know what’s going to happen in the future,” Yuuri continued. “We…we still don’t know if these things are predestined, set in stone, or if they can be changed. Or what kinds of ripples the changes might make through time. The death of one person could result in someone important never being born. Saving someone might mean somewhere down the line, a person _is _born who ends up doing terrible things.” He blinked back a tear. “I’ve got that responsibility on my shoulders. Everything I do here, I have to think about that. While I’m trying to make sure Ailis doesn’t cause a disaster, I have to try not to cause one myself.” 

“Of course.” Blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully. “But can you honestly say you haven’t changed anything yet?”

_Maybe not much, but I’m going to do everything in my power to change them for you. So I’m a hypocrite as well as a liar. _“I’ve been careful,” he said. “I don’t intend to kill anyone, or – ”

“As a knight, you might have to. You’ll also be trying to kill Tyler, will you not?”

Yuuri looked down. The truth was that he didn’t have an answer to this, other than that he was attempting to be ethical, unlike Ailis’s uneven interpretation of the term. But there were no rules or laws about this. Nothing but good judgement and gut feeling, both of which could be misleading.

“Perhaps changing events isn’t always so bad a deed,” Victor said, seeming to sense the struggle within him. “Has that not occurred to you?”

“Well…”

“Saving Julia from the pillory. Bringing the Sheriff of York to justice.” He paused. “Being here like this, with me. You’ve shone a light into my life, Yuuri, and gladdened my heart.”

Yuuri let out a shuddering breath. “You’re too good to me.” After a pause, he continued, “I’m sorry I said what I did about…about not knowing about the past. It’s true that a lot from this time doesn’t survive, though it’s more than I said, you’re right. But there are things I don’t think I can tell you, Victor, and…” He wiped at his eyes. “…I’m going to have to ask you to trust me, or at least the reasons I have for that.”

“Will you answer one question, then? Do you know how I die, or when? Is that knowledge in your possession?”

Yuuri bit his lip. “If I said it was, how would that help? Would you be resentful that I refused to tell you? Would you make assumptions based on my silence? I don’t even know how the fact of me being here with you now is going to affect things.”

“What if I were destined to die in battle? You could tell me not to go.”

“As if you’d want to anyway. Victor, I’ve already thought about these things. We’re in a castle full of fighters. Am I supposed to go around trying to prevent the fate of each one?” Before Victor could answer, he added, “I – I’d move heaven and earth if I could, if I had to, for you. But I don’t know how telling you anything – if there was anything to tell – would help. If you _were _destined to die in battle, I don’t know if it could be prevented. Maybe some things are impossible to change, and have to play out. I don’t think anyone knows for sure, even Ailis. We haven’t had a chance to discover what the rules of this are yet.” He leaned forward and said fervently, “But until I can learn more about them – please, Victor – if you love me, don’t ask me again. About yourself, or anyone else here that we know. Not your father or your mother, or Julia, or…or anyone.”

Victor met his gaze, and Yuuri saw a fight to understand, and to come to a decision. Finally, he nodded solemnly. “I hope one day you’ll deem it wise to tell me what you can. But yes, I promise.”

Yuuri let out a deep sigh. “Thank you. If…if I knew for sure that something awful was going to happen to you soon, and what it was, and how to prevent it, I’d tell, you Victor. I swear I would.”

“I believe that, my sweet.” Victor took his hand and ran his thumb over the top. Then a smile fluttered across his face. “You’ve told me about your own time. Would you be willing to tell me about a future that’s beyond the scope of my interference, perhaps, but which is closer to this time?”

“I’d enjoy that,” Yuuri said quietly. His voice quavered as he added, “I don’t want to drive you away again, or for you to feel like I can’t be trusted.” He paused. “_My_ promise to _you_ is that I’ll be honest and tell you everything I can, and let you know if I can’t, rather than…well, rather than making something up. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Victor. I love you.”

Victor stopped a meandering tear on Yuuri’s cheek with a gentle finger. “Say no more about it. Let’s enjoy this wonderful time we have together, shall we?”

They leaned forward at the same time, sharing a long kiss, tongues tangling. Afterward, they remained in a loose embrace, and Victor smiled, smoothing wayward strands of hair from Yuuri’s forehead.

The painful moments with him – as well as the pleasurable ones – were surprising in their intensity, Yuuri mused; but then, the two of them were from such different backgrounds. He hoped they could see that in a positive light and continue to learn about each other, rather than it being an endless source of conflict. And after all, if he had the opportunity himself to meet a traveller from the future, wouldn’t he be tempted to ask the same kinds of things?

“Julia will be knocking sometime,” Victor said, “probably with the remains of dinner. I told her not to come until late. Sometimes she leaves a tray on the floor outside.”

Considering this, Yuuri said, “I imagine she’d want to come in? If I’m dressed, and looking like Justin, I can’t see why it’d be a problem, unless…” Unless she wasn’t good with him having sex with Victor and essentially living with him. Not that he needed her permission, of course. But it could make things difficult.

“The room next door will be your own,” Victor said. “You could leave the adjoining door open as you pleased, or close it, and no one would disturb you. Julia comes and goes from my room, and she has a key – but she always knocks first, and if I’m in, she doesn’t enter without my permission.”

“Emil does the same. But he’s never seen me as anyone other than Justin. It needs to be like that with Julia. I’ll have to be careful about the times I let my real appearance show.”

“That’s a shame,” Victor said, stroking a finger across his cheek. “But I understand. Your secret is safe with me, just like Julia’s always has been.”

“I know,” Yuuri replied softly.

“But then there’s our other secret. I’m not sure we can prevent our squires, or anyone else, from discovering we’re a couple.” The corners of Victor’s mouth quirked up. “You moving into the next room will make it rather obvious.”

“Emil already knows. How do you think Julia will react?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure.” Victor paused. “You said yes to this very quickly. If you’d like more time to think about it – ”

“No, I don’t need more time,” Yuuri interrupted with a smile. “I said yes because I knew it was what I wanted. If Julia’s upset, I’ll do my best to bring her round. I don’t want to…to damage your relationship with her.”

“She can be reasonable, after a fashion,” Victor chuckled. “I don’t think you need worry about that. But just so you understand, I’ll need time in here on my own on occasion, with her, and castle officials, and visitors. Not that you’ll ever be unwelcome, but – ”

“Sure, I wouldn’t expect anything else. And we can go to the main garrison room sometimes too, can’t we?”

“Depend upon it,” Victor said with a grin. He shifted and pulled the sheets away, Yuuri watching. “Plenty of time later to look and touch.” His voice was low and laden with promise, and Yuuri felt his cock twitch, wondering if the idea of all-day sex wasn’t such a bad one after all. “I’m going to heroically resist the temptation in front of me, get out of bed, use the garderobe, and have a shave. You’re welcome to do what pleases you. If the bathwater isn’t too cold for comfort, you might like to take a dip in that.” He winked and got up, and the bed next to Yuuri was suddenly cold and empty.

When he followed suit a few minutes later, he avoided going anywhere near the window. They were higher than most of the rest of the castle here, so it would be difficult for anyone to see inside, but he didn’t want to make any careless mistakes. If he were to spend any time sitting on the window seat, putting himself in possible view, he’d have to do it as Justin. For now, however, he was Yuuri, and he was going to have a wash.

The bath bucket was near the fire, and he was soon luxuriating in that, though his nether regions under the water shivered a little. It made a welcome change to be able to stretch out fully, and he waved his arms and legs as if he were in a pool, then soaped himself clean. As they went through their morning routines, Victor taking a quick turn in the bath himself, Yuuri realised the tension that had gripped him when Victor had asked about his future had faded away. Despite the grandeur of the room, it was a welcoming place, with its soft warm rugs, bright window and glowing fire. Victor seemed as much at ease with him here as if they’d been waking up together all their lives.

They continued in companionable silence until Victor was shaving in front of his mirror. “Yuuri…” he began, then hesitated before continuing. “I was just wondering. Will you answer some questions about the future if they’re not too…specific about this time and place, or myself, or my family, or – ”

“I get the idea,” Yuuri laughed quietly, rubbing some ash paste onto a cloth for cleaning his teeth. It was what he’d agreed to do, after all. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to answer them, but go ahead.”

“All right,” Victor said to the mirror. “Who will be the next king, and when will he be crowned?”

“No. Too close to this time period.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “But the king is only twenty-seven. His grandfather, Edward the Third, reigned for fifty years.” He added thoughtfully, “I take it his own reign is destined to be a short one, then.”

Yuuri huffed, reminding himself never to underestimate Victor’s insightful mind. “Anyway, how do you know the next monarch won’t be a queen?”

“_Is _it?”

“I said I wasn’t talking.” He ran the cloth over his teeth, then spat the paste into the water in the opulent solid gold basin Victor insisted he should use, even though it felt like he was vandalising it. “You _will _get a queen, though, in…” He thought. “I can’t remember the year. Mid-1500s. She’s juke, too. Strong, intelligent…”

“Juke?”

“Amazing. Like you,” Yuuri added with a smile.

“Oh.” Victor sounded pleased. “So if there are no kings or queens or lords in your time, how do things work? What’s the structure of your society?”

_Is _that _all you want to know. _He finished with the cloth, then went to the table and picked up his com, strapping it around his wrist. “It’d take a long time to explain. But it’s a kind of democracy.”

“Like they had in Greece? But how – ”

“I promise I’ll tell you sometime,” Yuuri said, returning to his bag for his bottle of oil. He’d washed his hair in the bath, and decided he’d slick it back again, even though he’d probably be obliged to look like Justin for most of the rest of the day. “How about a simpler question for now?”

“Well, then – how do you eat without knives?”

“What?”

“I had to show you how to sharpen your knife. Ergo, you don’t have knives. Do you have a device that feeds you?”

Yuuri thought about this, then started laughing and had to grab the stand in front of him before he doubled over. Victor eventually joined in, just watching him.

“No, we do have knives,” he said, wiping his eyes. “We use forks to spear food, and knives to cut with; most are permanently sharp, though there are some specialty ones that you can sharpen with a device.” Putting the oil away, he began to gather his clothing from the night before, strewn across the floor, to return to his bag; he couldn’t go around the castle in his eros outfit, let alone wear it under his armour. “You keep knives in a drawer in the kitchen where you live, though,” he added, folding the doublet carefully and stashing it. “You don’t carry them around. Just like you don’t carry a sword. Belts are only a fashion statement, or to keep your trousers from falling down.”

“How do you chop things when you need to, then?”

Yuuri glanced at him and saw he was wiping his face with a cloth, looking back at him in fascination. Suddenly ashamed of his laughter, which he hoped Victor hadn’t construed as derisory, Yuuri gave him a warm smile before continuing to sort his clothes out. Wearing only his braies, he pulled hose and a tunic out of his bag. “Scissors? Lasers?” he replied. “Most people don’t spend much of their lives outdoors. I’ve never had to go hunting for firewood and chop branches or kindling or anything like that.”

Victor shook his head. “I can’t fathom it.”

“Actually, you have a good imagination,” Yuuri told him as he began tying the tops of his hose to the rope belt around his braies, always having to take his time because it was a fiddly task, especially at the back. “You were right, in a way. We do get fed. By capsules about the size of almonds. They’re called nutri-pills, and they give you almost all the nutrition you need. Then you don’t have to bother with food.”

Victor put his cloth down and strode over to join him, saying as he walked, “Bother? You mean you skip eating?”

“There’s no need to eat. Not all the time, anyway. You still have to have real food occasionally; the pills aren’t perfect. But…oh,” he finished in a small voice as Victor came to stand so close that they were almost bare chest to bare chest, Victor with only his braies and hose on as well.

“I noticed you were having some difficulty. Would you like some help?” He glanced down to the drooping tops of Yuuri’s hose.

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered, suddenly forgetting what they were discussing.

The next thing he knew, Victor had moved to stand behind him, and deft fingers were brushing against the top of a thigh, tying strings together. “Don’t you miss real food, in that future time?” he said softly as he worked.

Food – that was what they’d been talking about. It was difficult to concentrate while he was being distracted like this. “I do, which is why I still have it most of the time. I like cooking. I…” He gasped as he felt a caress in a sensitive area, and swallowed, fingers faltering with the tie they’d been holding.

“I love hose,” Victor said in a low, amused voice.

“I love taking them off,” Yuuri replied seductively, cheeks pinking.

“Oh,” Victor sighed. “I’m looking forward to it already.”

On impulse, Yuuri reached back, grabbed Victor’s hand, and pressed it palm down against the top of a hose-piece near the inside of his thigh.

Victor breathed out in surprise, then gripped Yuuri’s waist with his other hand and bent down to kiss the nape of his neck. Yuuri shuddered, pressing Victor’s hand harder, and let out a quiet moan.

“You need no dance clothes to capture eros,” Victor murmured against his skin, laving kisses down his neck to his shoulder. “Oh, Yuuri. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I keep wanting you.”

Yuuri spun around and pulled Victor against him, tilting his head up and claiming his mouth in a heated kiss. He’d forgotten how many times they’d done this. It didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the man in his arms.

A knock sounded on the door. “Master, are you in?”

Julia. Victor glanced at the door, then looked down at Yuuri, who nodded, his racing blood beginning to calm. They separated, Victor taking his dark grey tunic trimmed with silver from where he’d draped it over the back of a chair and slinging it over his arm. Yuuri had left his own tunic lying on the top of his bag, and went to pick it up.

“Sir? I have food and drink,” Julia called more loudly. Immediately after she’d spoken, Victor unlatched the door and pulled it open to reveal her standing in the hall, holding a laden silver tray.

“Good morning,” he said. He moved aside and she bustled in. She didn’t seem to see Yuuri at first, going straight to the table and arranging the items there from the tray.

“I’ve got you some thin wine – I thought you might like something more refreshing, after that heavy hypocras you asked for last night. Broth of capons, Parmesan meat pie, parsnip and apple fritters in ale batter, quince in confit…”

“It sounds delightful,” Victor said with a smile, pulling his tunic over his head.

“Did you have a good lie-in?”

“I did.”

“What can I do for you this morning, then? Do you require a shave?”

“Did I do such a bad job that you can’t tell?” Victor laughed.

“It’s quite late. Will you still be able to practise the bow with me this afternoon?”

“Of course, my girl.”

Then, whether via a sixth sense or because she’d caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, Julia turned and saw Yuuri, who had switched on Justin’s projection but was still buttoning up his tunic. He paused and returned her surprised stare quietly. She blinked, obviously taking in what she was seeing. With a small sigh, she turned to Victor.

“I’ll return to the kitchen and get more food.” She picked up the tray.

Victor looked over to Yuuri, then met her gaze again with a warm smile that seemed to contain a hint of relief as well. “Thank you,” he said.


	70. Chapter 70

Yuuri sat down, slowly at first, feeling how the mattress sank underneath him, running his hands over the sheets. Everything in this room was “not quite as much” as Victor’s – not as ornate, or as large, or as well-furnished. Not that it bothered him; it was palatial compared to his room on the first floor of the garrison. The insistence on social rank here filtered into everything, though, and when it didn’t annoy him, he could sometimes see the humour in it. _You’re very important, but don’t get above yourself – you’re not a member of the baron’s family, _it seemed to say. As if that meant anything to him. As if it ought to mean anything to anybody.

The bed was large – more than enough room for two, he was pleased to discover. Soft, with smooth ivory sheets. It wasn’t a four-poster, but it had a solid dark wood headboard with heraldic carvings along the edges. A generous fireplace with white marble trim on the other side of the wall from Victor’s warmed the room. Iron candelabras stood in the corners. And he had his own garderobe, complete with a tall slit of a window that was glazed and could be opened and closed. There were floorboards instead of tiles, but Yuuri preferred that anyway; they weren’t as cold on bare feet. A wooden table with four chairs, plain but sturdy. Two huge tapestries – one showing a royal-looking feast, the other depicting a rural idyll of bountiful crops, oxen pulling ploughs, and colourfully clad peasants tilling fields, with a castle and church on a hill in the background. While they were obviously meant to illustrate the idea of everyone being content with their position in life and all being right with the world, Yuuri had to admit they were mesmerising in their detail and skill. He wondered how he would ever get over the feeling that he’d broken into a museum and was abusing the exhibits.

Leaning back, he fluffed one of the large pillows. A bed with a mattress and linen like this, all natural materials, would be incredibly expensive in his own time. But maybe he’d allow himself to shamelessly indulge in this one luxury. It was wonderfully comfortable, and he could imagine Victor here with him in a heated embrace, or simply lying in his arms as they held each other tight.

That was something new – knowing the fantasy could be reality, no longer something longed-for yet out of reach. He wondered how often Victor would want to be in here with him, or if he’d prefer the familiar conveniences of his own room.

Spotting movement in the doorway, Yuuri turned to see Victor walking in and then stopping to linger, holding a neatly folded dark blue blanket in his arms. “Julia’s just cleared our dinner things and gone. I said I’d do some bow practice with her when we get to the training field. She…doesn’t seem surprised.” He grinned. “I assure you, I didn’t betray any confidences to her.”

“I never thought you had. I get the impression she’s a good observer of what’s going on around her.”

“She is indeed.” Victor glanced around the room. “So what do you think?” he asked almost shyly. “I know it’s not grand, but – ”

“Not grand?” Yuuri echoed. “You should see my bedroom back home. It’s…I don’t even know how to describe it. ‘Functional’ might be the best word.”

Victor’s face fell. “_Too _grand, then?”

“It’s fantastic,” Yuuri laughed. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

“I thought you might like this.” Victor placed the blanket on the bed. Yuuri lifted a fold – and gasped. The thick satiny material was covered with intricate embroidery, gold with tiny pearls. There were peacocks, horses, lions, and an amazing variety of fantastical creatures – griffins, dragons, birds with animal legs, animals with fish scales and tails. All with a background of entwining vines, flowers, heads of grain, and clusters of leaves. It must have taken someone, or several people, an unimaginable length of time to stitch it all by hand.

“I…I’ve never seen anything like this,” Yuuri whispered. Then he looked up. “You can’t mean for me to actually use this – ?”

“Is it not to your liking?”

“Well – yes. Very much. But it’s…too precious just to wrap around you in bed, isn’t it? It belongs in a museum.”

Victor sat down next to him and gently moved the blanket aside. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned this word, ‘museum’. What is one of those?”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow, wondering how to answer. “It’s a building that houses collections of relics from past times. Well, that’s what most of them are for. You can see them and learn about where they came from, how they were used…” Though most people viewed them on the Cloud, via interactive holograms, or even in Immersion; but if he tried to explain all of _that _in one go, he knew they’d be here all afternoon.

“It sounds a little like my family’s collection of silver and gold on the sideboard in the great hall. Are people able to use the items in the museum for the purpose for which they were intended?”

“Well, no. That’s the point. They’re protected and preserved. Some of them are extremely delicate.”

“What an unusual way of seeing things,” Victor said, looking thoughtful. “Surely fine items were meant to be used and enjoyed.” He ran a finger along the embroidery on the blanket. “This has been in my family for some time. It was passed on to me, though it’s been sitting in my linen cupboard a while. I have plenty to spare, and I thought you might like to make use of it. But if you’d rather – ”

“No, no,” Yuuri said quickly. “I’d love to have it in here. It’s incredible, Victor. And special. Thank you.”

Victor ghosted his fingers over Yuuri’s thigh. “I daresay you won’t be using it too often…or we’ll be under it together.” As Yuuri stared with a small smile, he added, “When it’s just you and me like this, will you show me your true self? I locked the door after Julia left. The servants don’t have a key. Unless…” He looked at him uncertainly. “…you’re happy for me to kiss you as Justin?” A pink glow warmed his cheeks. “I did dream about that, and many things besides. Though if you asked me, I’d have to say I prefer you as yourself. Does that make sense? But I said that before, didn’t I? I’m not sure you had an answer.”

Yuuri’s smile grew, and he reached out to stroke Victor’s cheek. “If changing my appearance suddenly like that doesn’t bother you, then of course I want to look like myself, whenever I can.”

“Now?” Victor whispered.

Yuuri turned his projector off. “I wouldn’t stop you from kissing me as Justin, but it’d be strange, don’t you think?”

“Not for me. I fell in love with you as Justin. I realised it when I saw you as Yuuri. Though you’re the same person. Only, Yuuri has a history, and a home, and a mission. And…” He swallowed, his expression earnest. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “I…I can’t – ”

“Believe it,” Victor told him, tilting his head down to meet his lips.

* * *

Yuuri felt like he was floating on air as he jogged along the path near the Ouse. A sizeable boat was being rowed in the direction of York, laden with barrels and boxes, and he passed the occasional traveller on horseback, or merchant pulling a cart. People often looked at him as if a knight on a run in his armour was a strange thing to see, and for them perhaps it was. None of it bothered him today, though.

Yesterday he’d been hungry from days of hardly eating, exhausted from driving himself too hard, and heartsore from the continuing rift with Victor. Now it all seemed like some vague nightmare that had vanished with the morning sun.

_And my handsome prince has claimed me, and I’m going to live with him in his castle._

They’d hesitated to leave Yuuri’s room, but various tasks were awaiting them. Victor had been keen to keep his word to Julia about shooting practice, and Yuuri felt better for getting some sun and exercise, though he had no intention of overdoing it this time. But whenever his thoughts strayed to later in the evening, and being alone with Victor, a jolt of excitement and anticipation passed through him.

_It’s not happily ever after, though, is it? Not with Ailis and her laser gun, planning God knows what. Not with Victor’s death date. Not with Tyler wanting me dead._

He huffed and shook his head.

_Why do I always have to spoil things by recalling that? It’s not as if I’m likely to forget any of it. Maybe I can enjoy a taste of happily ever after, for now. I’m in love with the most wonderful man in the world, and he loves me back. _

Stopping at a rocky outcrop where he could sit and view the hills tumbling away to the west and the meandering river, its dark waters glistening, he removed the small leather sack of watery beer he carried on his belt and took a hearty swig.

As he looked up at the pale disc of the sun behind thin white clouds, he thought about his parents, Hiroko and Toshiya. When he’d mentioned them to Victor, it had been the first time he’d done so to anyone in a long while.

He’d been under the impression that he’d managed to come to terms with their loss, more or less. But was he really so different from Victor in that regard? Victor didn’t want people to talk about Alexander, and hadn’t told Yuuri anything more than a few basic details. His feelings obviously bubbled to the surface occasionally, but the rest of the time, he seemed to want to keep them hidden. Which could mean there was an iceberg underneath the surface that he might not even be aware of. Lodged there, an unmoving mass.

Yuuri knew something about what that was like, though Mari had helped more than anyone to ensure it hadn’t lasted for either of them. They’d talked plenty about the parents they both missed dearly. But Yuuri hadn’t spoken to her much at all before he’d gone; hadn’t seen her, busy as they’d both been with their professional lives. And here at the castle, of course, he didn’t have his butsudan. Though they were only as useful as people made them.

Maybe he _was _guilty, in a way, of trying to erase his parents from his life, even if it wasn’t deliberate. It still hurt to think about them. Perhaps it always would. But it didn’t _only _have to be painful. Because he’d loved them and been happy with them, and he could recall that too.

Hiroko had been a professor of languages; she had instigated the family move to England, having taken a job at the University of York teaching Japanese and Mandarin. It was seen as a rather esoteric pursuit nowadays, with the ubiquity of mechanised translators, and tutorials on the Cloud; but there were still people who wanted to be able to speak other languages themselves, and learn them from another human being in person. At the same time, however, Hiroko had been the author of several series of Cloud seminars thanks to Toshiya, whose job it was to program Cloud tech with visuals and graphics. Yuuri had taken after his father in the technical aspect of things, though he couldn’t help but feel his parents would have been pleased if he’d shown more interest or aptitude in learning languages. The irony of claiming to Victor and his father that he was a master of them hadn’t been lost on him at the time.

What would they say about what he was doing now? He conjured his mother’s voice as he remembered it, speaking in Japanese now. _Why are you wearing that translator all the time there? Haven’t I always told you that the best way to get to know a culture is to learn its language? And you should eat more. They may not have rice, natto, miso or tamari in medieval England, but I suppose you’ll have to make do. Just promise me you’ll have a big bowl of katsudon when you get home. It was always your favourite._

Giving a little laugh, he speculated about his father next. _They’re teaching you the ancient art of swordfighting, are they? _Sugoi._ Do you think there might be money to be made out of this? Action holograms? Re-enactments?_

Continuing to smile, he looked down, feeling suddenly like he wanted to cry at the same time. Of course they’d be proud of him, too. Just for finding the courage to come here on this mission. He’d never been sure before what they’d say about the choices he’d made and how he was leading his life, though he thought it likely they’d be disappointed, believing he was wasting whatever potential he had and not meeting enough people. In fact, this was perhaps the first occasion he could remember where he’d imagined otherwise. It gave him a warm glow inside.

_I wonder what you’d make of Victor._

This was more difficult, because his mind seemed to be forever stuck in a place where his parents still spoke to him as if he were thirteen. He felt sure they’d love him, though was that because he loved Victor himself? But how could they feel any differently? Victor had been looking after him all this time. Nothing would impress them more.

And yet, it was not to be. He kept them in his heart because they were no longer part of his life.

_I love you, Okasan, Otousan. _Carpe diem.

He stowed the empty beer sack on his belt and jogged back to the castle. 

* * *

Sparring with Victor once he arrived at the training field had a comforting feel of normality to it, even if it included being beaten time and time again, and pushed to the ground. If Victor’s hands lingered on him a little longer than usual in those circumstances, or if his did the same, he didn’t suppose they could be blamed for expressing some surreptitious affection. The aggressive approach Victor had taken with him the day before was gone, though he made it clear he had no intention of going easy on him, and Yuuri would not have wanted him to.

Afterward, Victor suggested they take some wildflowers back to brighten their rooms, and they picked some near the training field where the blue muscari was growing. Yuuri remembered he still had some in his purse from yesterday, when Julia had come to see him. He scattered the wilting blossoms over the grass and chose new ones, marvelling at the difference a single day could make in how he felt.

They walked back to the castle with their squires, who accompanied them to their rooms. When Yuuri entered his with the key Victor had given him, he saw that his possessions had been delivered, mainly chests of clothing. His bath bucket was here too, and on the mantel were the little empty vase and the hand warmer that Victor had given him. 

“I’ve also taken the liberty of airing out the wardrobe for you,” Emil said.

Yuuri turned to him in surprise. “Don’t tell me you did all this yourself?”

“I did have some help,” Emil laughed. “It would have been difficult to manage the chests on my own.”

“Thank you.” Yuuri picked up the vase and put the wildflowers inside. “Emil – you know I’d still like to have your help, don’t you? You’re still my squire. Just because I’m going to be living here now, it doesn’t change that. Unless…if you don’t feel comfortable with – ”

“I’m delighted that you wish to carry on with our arrangements, sir,” Emil replied. “I daresay this is a fine room. Your pitcher is filled with water – there’s a pipe in the hall, though I believe there are also some that service Sir Victor’s room directly. There’s wine and cups on your table. Sir Victor said he’d give me a key, with your permission.”

“Of course.”

“I wouldn’t enter without first knocking.”

Yuuri nodded, realising he was trying to be tactful about the situation. “I know. Though sometimes I might be in Victor’s room – you could try knocking there if I don’t answer here.” He felt his cheeks begin to glow.

“Just as you please, master. I believe Sir Victor has instructed Julius to do something similar.” Without missing a beat, he added, “We both thought it an appropriate evening for cleaning and polishing armour. Would you like to give me yours?”

Yuuri removed it and Emil departed, saying he’d see him at supper. Afterward, Yuuri locked the door and hovered near the one adjoining his room with Victor’s, which had been closed since he’d come in. There weren’t any sounds from the other side. Was Julia still there? But if so, did it matter? Should he knock? Leave it open or closed as you please, Victor had said, but…

He jumped as a knock sounded in front of him. “Yuuri? Is it all right if I open the door?”

Yuuri pulled it open himself, revealing a surprised-looking Victor minus his armour. “I was just wondering if you were, um, if it was all right for me to come in,” Yuuri said.

“Of course it is.” Victor moved aside, and Yuuri entered the room.

“Is your door locked?”

“Julia left a moment ago, and I locked it after her.”

Yuuri turned his projector off and took in what he saw. He was used to servants coming to his room, but it was like an army of them had descended on this place while they’d been away. The bath bucket was empty, the plank replaced across it with a fresh candle and bar of soap. In fact, there were fresh candles everywhere, all obvious traces of spilled wax having been removed. He saw that the bed was made and the linen changed, if the new blanket was anything to go by; and then he thought about strangers washing it all by hand downstairs in the servants’ quarters, and what they’d know, and if they cared.

“Is something wrong, my love?” Victor asked, gazing at him in concern.

“I was just amazed at what someone managed to do with the room.”

Victor glanced around. “They’re quite efficient, aren’t they?”

“I suppose so. I hardly ever saw the servants in my old room. It’s like they aren’t even there.”

“That’s what they’re trained to do. Would you want to be sitting in your room while the floor was being scrubbed or someone was fussing with your bedclothes?” Victor paused and said more softly, “I take such things aren’t common in your time? Do you have servants?”

“Most people don’t. But they’re not needed anyway; we have devices that do most of the chores.”

“Of course; I remember you mentioning those now. What an incredible world yours must be.”

“This one isn’t too bad sometimes. In fact…” Yuuri gave him a coy grin, running a hand up his arm. “…it’s wonderful, in some ways. It produced you.”

“Flatterer,” Victor whispered with a smile, dipping down for a kiss that was eagerly returned. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he pulled back briefly to murmur.

“Me too,” Yuuri said, pulling a finger playfully across his jaw. He used it to guide Victor toward him for a deeper kiss, caressing his face while Victor wrapped his arms around him.

“I believe we’re expected for supper,” Victor eventually sighed, trailing kisses along Yuuri’s jaw. “I know which I’d rather be doing.”

“Man cannot live on kisses alone. Though I have to say I agree with you.”

“Let’s stay, then.” Victor had reached Yuuri’s ear and was beginning to work his way down his throat. “As soon as you’d put this tunic on earlier, I thought it would look better off you.”

Yuuri blew out a breath, his thoughts quickly spiralling away. “Let’s eat, then come back.”

“That sounds too sensible,” Victor replied with a touch of mock petulance. 

“It’s a shame you don’t have a sofa. We could look forward to having a snuggle together in front of the fire.”

Victor drew away to look at him. “What’s that?”

“I haven’t seen any around the castle. Maybe they haven’t been invented yet, not here. Imagine a church pew – ”

“A what?” Victor asked with a laugh.

Yuuri sighed. “A…bench. With a back and sides, like a chair that’s been stretched wide to accommodate more than one person. With padding. It seems like such a simple thing. You honestly don’t have them in this time?”

“I suppose we sit at the table, or some people will sit on the floor, though not ones of rank. Many simply stand.” He considered. “An extended chair, you say? I suppose the window seat might qualify, though it can get draughty there.” A smile quirked the edges of his mouth. “But why bother with a clumsy piece of furniture when you can lie together on a rug in front of the fire? Undressing each other while the heat flames your skin. Can you do that on a sofa?” he finished softly.

Yuuri’s throat caught. “I…yes, you could.” He lowered his voice. “But you know, I think I like the rug idea better.”

“There’s the bed idea, too. The most comfortable one of all.”

As Victor nuzzled his cheek, then brought his lips closer, Yuuri said with a little laugh, “That’s too tempting. We’ll never make it to supper, and Emil and Julia will know what we’ve been doing – ”

“I thought it was already clear what we’ve been doing. They won’t construe it any other way.”

“I was going to say they’ll be picked at us,” Yuuri continued, wondering how he was finding the strength to resist, “because we told them we’d be there, and they’ll probably end up having to serve other people again. I think they like serving their own knights when they can.”

“Picked,” Victor echoed.

“It means – ”

“Angry.” He trailed a finger down Yuuri’s cheek. “I believe you may be right. In light of that, perhaps other more pleasurable things can wait. Though I’ll have you know it won’t be easy.”

Eyes sparkling, Yuuri smiled at him and stole a quick final kiss, then turned his projector back on.


	71. Chapter 71

The meal passed with them in their usual places, of course. Yuuri knew he wasn’t going to suddenly find himself sitting next to Victor at the high table with his parents and the castle officials. But he couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration.

Despite that, however, as the servants brought the different courses, and Emil and Roland carved the meat, and the musicians played, he was surprised to discover he felt more relaxed than he often did – even with Sir Charles at his side, who often had a great deal of no consequence to say while rarely showing interest in what anyone else wanted to contribute. Maybe it was because he no longer felt like a schoolboy glancing secretly at his crush, wondering what was going on in his world and whether it was possible that he fancied him back. They were together, and intimate. For a moment, the thought of it dispelled the atmosphere of the carefully constructed hierarchy in the room. _That amazing man over there at the high table – the son of your lord, who I’m apparently not fit to be near. I’ve seen who he is underneath the embroidered clothes and hat and boots. Embraced him in the night. He’s been inside me and I’ve been inside him._

A thrill ran through him at the thought, until it occurred that many couples in the room could also say similar things about each other. Which made the formality of these meals seem rather ridiculous. Not that it hadn’t already.

“Sambocade, sir?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Yuuri gazed at the diminutive servant standing on the other side of the table, proffering a silver plate with a slice of the cheesecake on it. He recognised him as one of the pages, perhaps eight years old, one leg green and one red, with a similar patchwork tunic, pointy red shoes, and a matching liripipe hood. He really did look like a jester.

“Are you sure that isn’t meant for the high table?” Yuuri said to the boy. “The cook doesn’t send things like that to us.”

“Why complain?” Charles muttered next to him. “Indulge in rich pickings, my good fellow, when you have the chance, eh?”

Before Yuuri could say anything else, the boy turned his head to stare uncertainly across the room, where Victor was looking their way with a smile and a nod.

“A favour from the lord,” the boy said with a bow. Yuuri took the plate and thanked him, then watched him hurry off.

“I don’t suppose you could find it in your heart to let me try some?” Charles said, eyeing the dessert.

Yuuri cut a piece with his knife and placed it on Charles’s plate, then took a bite himself, gazing at Victor with a grin, blue eyes meeting his own. 

* * *

“There must be more important things for you to do than watch me put my clothes away.”

Victor had left the great hall with the others at the high table as usual, but had asked Yuuri to come to his room after the meal. As soon as he’d entered, turned his projector off and locked the door, Victor had been ready with a kiss, suggesting they “christen” Yuuri’s new room tonight. He’d been happy to agree, but said he preferred to finish moving in first. Not that it would take long.

“It would interest me to watch you do anything, my love,” Victor said as he sat on a chair, resting his head in a hand. “And I’ve barely been treated to the sight of your real face yet.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh, placing a tunic on a shelf in the wardrobe.

“I can of course give you your privacy, if you’d rather – ”

“No, don’t go,” Yuuri said, turning to him. “I wanted to see you. It’s just…I hope you haven’t been missing out on anything important by spending all this time with me.”

“You _are _important.” Victor gave him a smile, then poured himself a mazer of wine from the jug on the table and took a sip. “Besides, my time is my own to spend as I please. I’ll attend to castle business as necessary. But I’m in no hurry tonight.”

“Good,” Yuuri murmured with a little grin, taking a shirt out of a chest, unfolding it, and hanging it on a peg on the wall. They didn’t appear to have heard of hangers yet, and the inside of the wardrobe only consisted of shelves. Not that he was ever worried about a few wrinkles in his clothes, or that many were loose enough for them to show anyway.

He was soon finished, taking a moment to make sure his toiletries were to hand next to the pitcher and basin, and that there were cloths stored below. Someone had placed a bowl of dried rose petals, lavender, pine cones and other sweet-smelling herbs and spices on the stand next to the bed, and spread Victor’s blanket neatly across the mattress. It felt like checking into a medieval-themed hotel suite.

“Were there suitable places in here for hiding your…items from the future?” Victor asked, finishing his mazer.

Yuuri grinned to himself. He’d been looking forward to sharing more of this with Victor at a time when he was receptive and curious. A memory of him standing in the window guard in the woods, stunned and frightened, flashed through his mind. At least that was behind them now.

“Yes, there were,” he answered, getting on his knees in front of the bed and reaching underneath for the floorboard he’d loosened there. Pulling it up, he removed the golden sphere from the cache and went to sit next to Victor. “This is how I got here.” He held it out in the palm of his hand.

“Can I…?” Victor asked, tentatively reaching.

“Sure. It’d be safe to hold anyway, but it’s probably not going to be doing anything again. It’s been damaged.”

Victor took it and moved his hand up and down as if weighing it. “It looks like it’s made of gold, but it’s lighter than any metal I know of. Is there anything inside?”

Yuuri rested his arms on the table, watching him. “I wish I could tell you more about it. We don’t know what it’s made of, and there don’t appear to be any seams where it was joined together. It has to be hollow, though. We have devices that can see inside things, but they can’t see inside this. Ailis is light years ahead of everyone else in my time with this stuff.” When Victor gave him a blank look, he added, “The distance light travels in a year. It’s about 63,000 times the distance between the earth and the sun. Which is, um, a lot. It’s just an expression anyway,” he finished with a little laugh.

Victor smiled and shook his head, then looked at the sphere again. He stood it on the table and ran a finger across the small rectangular screen. “Its appearance is so simple. I could easily believe it was something cleverly made in this time. How is it used?”

“Well if it _was _working, then once you were holding it, you could call up a BCI menu in your head – that’s the way the device speaks with your brain. Thought-controlled. Or tap the screen with your finger. It’s easy to use; you just program your point of origin and your destination with the day, month and year. I did that when I was ready to come here, then I touched the hourglass symbol on the screen. I got the impression Ailis enjoyed designing it, and she also made sure anyone else would struggle to understand how it was put together and how all the components work. Try to force it open and you risk damaging whatever’s inside. And anyway, according to Ailis herself – we were able to speak to her over a com before I came here – a key component in it was damaged by the timestream, including the spare she had with her. If anyone would know how to make a new one, if it could even be done here, it’s her, but…” He shrugged. “This is probably just a piece of junk now, but I may as well keep it. I certainly wouldn’t want anyone else here getting hold of it.”

“You and she are both stranded here.”

“I’m working on the assumption that we are. But if she was able to invent these things in the first place, who knows what she’s capable of. Though even Ailis might be defeated by the challenge of building a new temporal stabiliser in 1393. They don’t exactly manufacture nanotech or the tools to use with it here.” Then he thought about Victor’s words. “I don’t feel stranded. I’m here with you.”

After a pause, Victor said, “There must be a lot about your world you miss.” He held Yuuri’s gaze for a moment, then poured himself another mazer of wine. “Would you like some?”

Yuuri nodded, and Victor passed it to him. He took a sip, considering. “It just feels normal if you were born into it. There are good things about it, yeah. But then…” He sighed. “I don’t know. What was I accomplishing, being a techie? Fixing things every day. Sure, it’s useful. But we’re starting to have sophisticated tech that fixes other tech now, and people like me aren’t in demand so much. I suppose I could go into actually designing tech, with some training. But I don’t know if I’m creative enough. And as for a romantic life…” He took another sip of wine. “Well, there wasn’t anyone before you. It can be hard to meet people; we’re not as social as you are here, unless we deliberately attend get-togethers. Dance clubs, restaurants, that kind of thing.” He gave a little laugh. “A restaurant is like eating in the great hall here, only you pay for the privilege.”

“Aren’t there other people where you live?”

“It’s not like a castle. Or even a village. I mean, I have neighbours, but…” He smiled. “Actually, there’s Mrs. Wells next door. She’s in her nineties. I help her with a few things.”

“Her nineties? Do people usually live so long?”

“Without someone trying to cut you down with a sword or zap you with a laser gun? Or all the other things that can happen here? There’s a good chance.”

“I can’t imagine what it would be like to be in my nineties,” Victor said with a grin. “I’ve never known anyone who lived so long.”

“Speaking of staying alive.” Yuuri reached into the purse on his belt and took out his laser pen. “I want you to have this.”

Victor’s eyes went wide. “That’s yours. I couldn’t – ”

“You could, and I want you to. Ailis will plan anything she does with the belief that I’ve got it, not you. It’s no laser gun, but at close quarters, it could give her something to think about. Anyway, it’s more protection against her than a sword.”

“You said it was a tool that helped you with your job. And how will you stay safe?”

“If I need it back, I’ll let you know. Please, Victor – I’d worry less if I knew you had it.”

Victor accepted it gingerly. “Promise me you’ll take it back if you do anything dangerous. Better yet, make sure I’m there by your side.”

“Victor – ”

“I’m a trained knight,” Victor said firmly, “and I daresay quite a good one. That doesn’t mean I forget everything I know when a sword is no use. And also, I love you. So don’t expect me to stand back without trying to help.”

Yuuri considered arguing, but then let it go. If their situations were reversed, he was certain he’d be saying the same things. “OK,” he said softly. “Thank you. But be careful. Keep that pen with you all the time. In your purse; under your pillow, even. I’ll show you how to use it. Have you got something we could cut – a piece of wood or metal you don’t mind damaging?”

Victor stood and went into his room, then returned with a wooden tray. He sat down and held it propped up on his knee, and Yuuri showed him what to do. As Victor cut pieces out of the wood with the beam, it emitted a faint high noise. “I must confess I’m enjoying this,” he said, running a finger along the side of a circle-shaped hole. “It’s so smooth. The wood is charred but it’s not burning. And there’s no resistance at all when you cut; it isn’t like a knife.”

“It’s powerful and precise. Like I said, it was meant to be a tool, not a weapon. If you want to make deep cuts like I showed you, you have to move it slowly; but even then, it won’t match what an actual gun can do.”

Victor cut more shapes, then tossed them and the remains of the tray onto the fire. He took his mazer as he sat down and sipped from it, holding the pen with his other hand and staring at it curiously. “Can you tell me about the blue light this makes? Is it the lightning the people in your time have harnessed?”

Yuuri really did regret his laughter that morning. Victor wasn’t afraid to imagine and speculate, even if he ended up getting it wrong.

“Was it a silly question?” Victor said, tilting his head.

“No, it was a reasonable guess. We’d say a laser beam is a highly coherent and collimated emission of photons. You can think of it as an intense beam of light.”

Victor considered this. “Certain types of glass can concentrate sunlight until it’s strong enough to kindle a flame.”

“That’s a good way to look at it. Multiply the effect many times, and this is what you have.”

Victor put his chin in his hand and gazed at him in wonder. “All this knowledge of the world you possess. Strange words to describe things that haven’t been discovered or invented yet. I never know what you’re going to say next.”

And that was the bittersweet truth, Yuuri decided, because it also underlined the fact that they were 728 years apart. How much easier it would have been for them both if he really was someone like Justin; they would have understood one another on an instinctive level. At least Victor had fallen in love with him as Justin first, because he’d never be tempted to speculate about whether some kind of mystique regarding his status as a time traveller might have been involved. But then, if they needed a better understanding of each other, he reckoned they’d made a good start. And if Victor was curious about what he’d say next, Yuuri was curious about what he was going to ask.

“Come now,” Victor said quietly. “What are your thoughts? Do I seem like a simpleton to you? I must be ignorant of the most basic things, in your eyes.” 

“No,” Yuuri said, taking Victor’s hand and squeezing it. “I’d never see you like that. This is the world you live in, and you can’t be expected to know anything more than what’s available to you. I’m going to enjoy explaining. I’ve just been thinking about how wonderful it is that you’re interested, and aren’t put off by who I am.”

“Hardly,” Victor replied, squeezing back. “I must admit it’s difficult to fathom this place you come from. But what’s important is you. You may have made a pretence of being Justin, but you’ve only ever been yourself. I can see that. I saw it yesterday.”

Yuuri stared into deep blue eyes. “I love you.” Victor squeezed his hand again, his expression warm and fond. “You know, there’s something else I can show you.” He stood up. “And maybe you ought to put the laser pen in your purse. Keep it safe. Don’t show it to anyone; don’t let them see you using it.”

“Shame,” Victor said as he did so. “It would make a talking point for a long time to come if I used it to carve a roast.”

Yuuri snorted a laugh. “Somehow I think a proper carving knife might actually be easier, though.” He took the time-travel sphere and replaced it under its floorboard, then went to a chest and opened the lid, moving Justin’s old clothing aside that he never intended to wear. At the bottom were his modern clothes. He pulled out his coat and athletic wear, and his pair of trainers, and put it all on the table in front of Victor. “That’s what I wore here. I still put it on sometimes, because I can have the projector make it look like I’m wearing something else. But I don’t see a reason to very often.” He laughed. “I have to wash them myself. It’s hard work.”

Victor had picked up the black long-sleeved top and was running his fingers over it. “I’ve never felt material like this. And it’s so neatly and intricately sewn. Who has the skill to make such things?”

“Most of our clothes are made by machines. Devices. I suppose that won’t surprise you by now. Even the material itself.”

“No buttons or ties…and it stretches.” He looked at Yuuri. “I don’t suppose you brought more of this material, by any chance? Just in case you found a swain who was fond of it and fancied some new clothes?”

Yuuri laughed. “No. It’s very common where I come from, though. People mainly wear it for exercising, but it’s comfortable for day-to-day activities, too.”

Victor held the shirt to his face, then folded it and put it back on the table. “It smells of you.”

A tingle ran through Yuuri, and he stared.

“What else do people wear, then? In the future.” Victor lifted a lapel of the coat between his fingers. “You didn’t say much about it last night. Only that these clothes you brought weren’t very fashionable, and that people liked to wear Chinese things. What do they look like?”

Yuuri explained while Victor continued to examine the clothes; he was particularly fascinated with the trainers. They were rather beaten and mud-stained, and Yuuri was sure no one else on earth would want to come near them like this. He told Victor about Chinese-inspired fashions, and how there were different kinds of clothes for different things – swimming, sleeping, formal wear, things for work, what people liked to lounge around in. He attempted to keep it brief, or they’d be sitting here til midnight, and wondered how much Victor could imagine without actually being able to see it.

“I think this must rival the flying vehicles for the most wonderful thing of all about your time,” Victor said, sipping more wine while he pulled at the lace of a trainer. His eyes sparkled. “Is everyone wealthy? I’m not sure even I have so many things to wear.”

“I suppose clothes are fairly cheap, because they’re made by machines. If everything was hand-made, hardly anyone would be able to afford much.”

Victor finished his mazer and looked pointedly at him. “You told me all this, but what you didn’t tell me was what _you _wear.”

“Well, I own a few of all those things. Men, and some women, tend to wear tunics to work, actually. They’re not like what you have here, though. They’re longer, the sleeves are baggier, and it’s a silky kind of material they’re usually made from. They do button up, but whoever makes them understands that no one wants to spend all morning fiddling with dozens of tiny buttons. Oh, and some genius somewhere along the line decided that joined-up trousers might be a good idea.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “No hose?”

Yuuri smirked. “Not for men, no.”

“What a crime. But surely joined-up trousers would restrict your movements.”

“People don’t exactly put them on intending to do splits in them.”

“Wouldn’t you say it was helpful to have quick and easy access to certain parts?”

“Well, yeah,” Yuuri laughed. “They design trousers that way. But your underthings don’t show on the outside.”

Victor gave him a mischievous grin. “We’ll go somewhere pleasant and quiet outdoors sometime, and have some fun together, and I’ll ask you afterwards if you still miss those future trousers of yours.” He picked up the jogging bottoms on the table and frowned. “These would be completely inappropriate for such things.”

Yuuri’s jaw dropped, and he felt his face flush.

“I notice you’re not saying no,” Victor purred. Then he turned to the coat. “This is amazing. Can I try it on?”

Forcing himself to regain some composure after speculating about what Victor had just suggested, Yuuri swallowed and nodded. “If it fits. It might be a bit narrow across the shoulders.”

Victor stood, holding the coat in front of him at the neck and taking a better look. It came down to just below mid-calf, while it was almost ankle-length on Yuuri. “How could something this elegant not be fashionable? If it were brightly coloured, people here would love it.” He paused. “Actually, I have an idea. Why don’t we swap?”

“Swap?”

“You wear something of mine, since I’m putting on something of yours.”

“Oh. Sure,” Yuuri answered, wondering what Victor had in mind.

Draping the coat over a chair, Victor removed his belt and placed it on the table, then pulled his tunic over his head and handed it to Yuuri, who stared at it in his lap. He ran his hand over the fabric. Smooth and soft, and heavy enough to keep a person warm on chilly days. Looking more carefully at the silver trim around the edges, he saw it was sewn into minuscule raised vines and leaves. The threads glinted in the candlelight. Then the urge caught him to do what Victor had done, and he held it to his face, breathing in Victor’s natural scent. Yes, he definitely wanted to wear this.

“It does fit,” Victor said. “Almost.”

Yuuri looked up and was momentarily lost for words. Victor had pulled the coat on over his bare chest, though it was gapping open. “It’s a bit tight around the middle,” he said. “I didn’t want to risk popping any buttons off. How can it be this warm, when it’s not made of fur?” He glanced down at the tunic on Yuuri’s lap. “Would you like some help with that?” he said with a mischievous smile.

_I’m not going to let him keep getting the better of me, _Yuuri decided, forcing his thoughts into coherence. He put the tunic on the table and stood in front of Victor. “Let’s see how good you are with all these buttons, then.”

Victor unbuckled Yuuri’s belt and placed it next to his own; then his fingers worked their way deftly down the row of gold buttons. Yuuri’s eyes were drawn to glimpses of taut skin over curves and planes showing underneath the coat. _His _coat. A wave of heat swept through him. Then Victor was slipping the tunic off his shoulders, slowly, eyes fixed on what he was revealing, until the garment fell to the floor.

“It almost seems a shame to cover you up,” he said softly, placing a hand on Yuuri’s chest and skimming it downward.

With a sigh, Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor and tilted his head up, capturing his lips in a kiss. He felt Victor’s hands on his back, caressing. The coat seemed to be trapping the heat between them ,the feel of the material under his fingers familiar, yet somehow erotic as well. Grabbing a dangling coat tie with each hand, he pulled Victor closer still, until their bodies were pressed firmly together. He gasped at the feel of Victor’s erection unfurling against him, his own cock responding with a pulse and a quiver. Vaguely he decided Victor was right about hose instead of joined-up trousers. The fabric of the braies between them hid very little. Victor licked into his mouth, and Yuuri moaned, making little movements with his hips.

Pulling away slightly with a little gasp, Victor cupped the back of Yuuri’s head and said, “Will you put my tunic on?”

Yuuri picked it up and slipped it over his head. The material was warm and indulgently comfortable, softly clinging. It made him feel sensual…and bold. Maybe instinct would guide him in discovering ways to elicit more of those gasps from Victor.

“Do you like it?” Victor asked, gliding his hands slowly along chest, shoulders, arms.

Yuuri hooded his eyes. “It makes me feel like you’re holding me. Like you’re all around me.”

Victor let out a breath. “I could say the same about this coat. Yuuri, I’ve never done something like this with anyone. It feels wonderful. Not that I think we should dive into each other’s wardrobes,” he added with a chuckle. “But right now, it’s special.”

A warm glow spread through Yuuri’s chest. “Yeah, it is.”

Victor rested a hand on either side of his neck, then kissed him – gently at first, but then more urgently as the fire between them caught again. Yuuri broke away to smear kisses across Victor’s jaw, and was rewarded with a shaky sigh as Victor wrapped his arms around him. Trailing lips and tongue down the hard tendon in Victor’s neck, he heard little cries, the fingers on his back tensing. Drunk on the responses, Yuuri licked along a collarbone, slipping his hands under the coat to caress the bare skin there; Victor moaned his name. Lowering himself, he kissed his way to a nipple and laved it, moving his hands without thinking until they cupped Victor’s arse and kneaded. A loud gasp this time. Victor’s hands mirrored his actions, and Yuuri exhaled in surprise as he was urged forward until their hips were pushing together.

Victor’s fingers dug and pulled as he grinded in a sensual rhythm. Yuuri lost himself to it, tilting his head back and groaning. They were making love through their clothing, he realised, the thin cotton gliding between their cocks. Victor leaned down to kiss his exposed neck, and Yuuri choked out his name, beginning to thrust back with equal fervour. Love and desire mixed and burned bright within him, and his thoughts tumbled away as his body reached for completion.

“Yuuri…” Victor panted near his cheek. “…Yuuri…this is incredible, but it isn’t…I wanted…”

Yuuri stilled his movements, face glowing, breaths quick. He forced his brain to the fore and looked at Victor in concern. “What did you want? Tell me.”

Victor swallowed, his hands fluttering up Yuuri’s arms. Was he _nervous_ about whatever it was he wanted to say? It seemed surprising. But then again, he’d said he was new to what they were doing.

“There will be plenty of other times for this,” Victor told him more assuredly as he got his breath back. “But while we’re dressed like this…” His voice dropped. “…can I ride you? With everything you’re wearing?” With a lustful grin, he added, “You can take your boots off.”

Yuuri struggled for a moment to work out how this would be possible or practical, until he recalled what they’d been discussing only recently. Quick and easy access. Imagining it made him tremble, and he nodded, pulling off his boots while Victor did the same.

“Sit on the bed with your back against the headboard,” Victor said quietly, “with however many pillows you need to be comfortable. Legs stretched out in front of you, opened up a little.”

So he wanted the reverse of what they’d done the night before, Yuuri thought as he got onto the bed and did as he’d been asked. Victor clinging to him while taking him deep inside, again and again. Suddenly Yuuri couldn’t get positioned fast enough. He shoved a couple of pillows behind him and looked at Victor expectantly. “What are you waiting for?” he said in the sultriest voice he could manage.

Victor’s eyes flashed, and he climbed onto the bed, nudging Yuuri’s legs further apart, then sat down between them, his own legs bent at the knees and splayed so that his feet rested on the mattress on either side. Yuuri stared; he couldn’t help it. “You’re still wearing my coat,” he said.

“Oh yes.” Victor paused. “Is that…OK?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said hoarsely.

“I could do with some help taking these hose off. Would you oblige, my lover?”

Wondering how he was going to survive this in one piece, Yuuri swallowed and leaned forward, undoing the ties at the top of a thigh while Victor reached underneath to do the same. Yuuri’s fingers didn’t seem to want to obey his commands at first, but then the ties were free. Victor watched silently as he ran his hands up the smooth material, feeling muscle and bone. At the top was the heat of Victor’s inner thigh, and the evidence of his arousal through his braies. He let out a shuddering breath, receiving a warm smile with a touch of amusement.

Slowly he revealed a beautiful pale leg as he guided the material down. He caressed as he went along, aching to be touched himself. It was the biggest tease and the biggest turn-on, he decided through a haze of want. By the time the hose-piece was gone and he’d finished with the second one, he felt ready to tackle Victor down to the bed and take him, but somehow found the patience to carry on with what they’d started.

Victor got on his knees, flicking the coat so that it was fanned out behind him, and came close, Yuuri splaying his legs further to give him room. Before Victor could say anything, however, Yuuri acted, figuring he knew what he was going to be asked to do. He untied the rope holding Victor’s braies to his waist, as Victor closed his eyes and sighed, draping his arms over his shoulders.

“You have such gentle hands for a knight,” Victor whispered. Then he looked down somewhat sheepishly. “I – ”

“It’s OK,” Yuuri replied softly. “I _am _a knight. I just haven’t been one for long.” He pulled Victor’s braies down, breath catching as he manoeuvred them over where they were tented. Victor shifted briefly to pull them out of the way, arms never moving from Yuuri’s shoulders.

Maybe Victor wanted the oil next. Maybe he’d like kisses first. Yuuri wasn’t sure, though he knew he could ask, or initiate something and discover what the reaction was. Faced with Victor’s full, hard cock, as perfect as the rest of him, he was rocked by a wave of desire, tempted to swallow him down dramatically to see what kind of noise he could draw out. But he’d never done this before, even in Immersion, and decided to start gently. He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the head, stroking the taut line of skin on the bottom with the tip of his tongue.

He heard a sharp gasp and felt Victor shudder. Despite not being touched himself, desire flamed from Yuuri’s chest to his groin, and he ached to be inside him, but wanted to see where this would lead. Doing what he imagined he’d enjoy himself, he grasped the base of Victor’s cock and laved his tongue a couple of times from root to tip, feeling wonderfully lascivious.

Victor moaned loudly, clutching the back of Yuuri’s neck. “Stop, my love, stop, or I’ll be no good to you,” he breathed. “I was hot already. What you do to me…seeing you like that, with my tunic…” More quietly, he said, “I need you.”

Yuuri pulled away and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to tame his racing blood. “The oil’s – ”

“Just here, in the niche in the wall – I see it.” Yuuri watched him take it and remove the stopper. He poured some into his hand and reached back to slick himself. “I only need a little. It’s quicker.”

Gaping at the sight of Victor doing this, with the coat draped over his shoulders and falling elegantly behind him, Yuuri almost forgot to do his part. And yet he was fully dressed. He couldn’t just…well, yes he could. There was no shame in this. He rucked the tunic up to his waist and drew his cock out of his braies, taking the bottle of oil from Victor’s hand and slicking it over. Replacing it in the niche, he rested a hand on Victor’s hip and held himself ready, feeling his cheeks flush as he realised how lewd this must look.

Victor watched him, lips parted, his own cheeks painted pink. Then he closed the distance between them, draping his arms over Yuuri’s shoulders once again while he began to sink down. He cupped Yuuri’s cheek, holding his gaze. It wasn’t long before Victor took the rest of him in, and both of them moaned as he bottomed out in Yuuri’s lap.

“Yuuri…my Yuuri,” Victor sighed, dipping his head down for a kiss.

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmured against his lips.

“My heart’s root. I love you.” A deeper kiss, tongues curling; then with a sigh, “I want you.” He began to move, and Yuuri moaned into another kiss, clasping him tightly under the coat.

The feel of him, of everything, was amazing. The clothes partially veiling them from each other, the glide of fabric, the heat and friction where they were joined. Lips sliding and caressing; Victor’s cock pressed between them. He seemed to like running his hands over the tunic, but they alighted just as often on Yuuri’s cheeks and neck, or skimmed through his hair. Yuuri angled hungrily for open-mouthed kisses, but was losing his concentration with the quickening rhythm of Victor’s movements, fluid and assured, as if he knew just what to do to chase his own pleasure and wanted Yuuri to follow. Clutching at Victor’s back, Yuuri fought to keep his eyes open as soft cries escaped his throat, mixed with Victor’s name, and “Vitya”, and “yes”. Some distant part of him remembered “my shining angel” too; Victor groaned, and Yuuri looked up at him. Sweat was standing out along his hairline.

“Are you ready to finish, my sweet?” Victor whispered. When Yuuri nodded, he said, his voice quavering, “I am, too. You inside me, and wearing my shirt. Fuck, Yuuri.”

He rocked in Yuuri’s lap, faster, harder, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s back. Yuuri’s mouth dropped open and his mind went blank as spikes of pleasure shot through him. He dug his fingers into Victor’s buttocks, feeling the muscles flex. Victor’s panting breaths were against his forehead, his temple. Then he slammed himself down once, twice, and again, and buried his face in Yuuri’s hair with a cry. Yuuri’s own orgasm was wrenched from him, and he called out Victor’s name, hips thrusting a final time before stilling.

The crackling of the fire reminded him where he was. Returning was like falling back down to earth after soaring – though Victor was there to catch him. They were wrapped up in each other, as close as two people could be. And they still had that, even when everything else gradually came back into focus.

Yuuri’s body was warm and tingling, waves of contentment lapping through him. “Vitya,” he sighed, the nickname syrupy on his lips. Victor hummed into his hair, then looked down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. They shared a soft, messy kiss, and Yuuri wondered if there could ever be a more perfect moment in life.

“I love you,” they both whispered at the same time, and then laughed.

“Maybe you won’t when you see the state of your shirt,” Yuuri said, caressing Victor’s cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“My fault entirely. And I don’t care. You’re so alluring.”

“Do you use the word ‘sexy’ here? Is that even making it through the translator?”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Sexy.”

“Yeah.”

“No, I’ve never heard it before,” Victor said with a soft chuckle. He kissed Yuuri’s forehead. “Tell me what it means.”

“Attractive, appealing…alluring.” He smiled, nuzzling at Victor. “Like you. You’re sexy. I like being able to say that.”

“Say it any time you want, my dove. I like it, too.”

A knock sounded on the door of Victor’s room. They exchanged stares.

“Master, Emil and I have brought your armour and Sir Justin’s,” Yuuri was just able to hear Julia call.

“I’ll answer,” Victor said, getting up.

“Maybe I should – ” Yuuri began; but Victor looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He hastily rearranged his nether regions and pulled off Victor’s tunic. “What about you? You can’t go to the door like that.”

“Really?” Victor said with a wink. He took Yuuri’s coat off, laid it on the table, and began to put his braies on. “I’ll be there shortly,” he called through the doorway between their rooms. Then he pulled his hose on and tied them quicker than Yuuri thought was possible. Meeting his gaze as he stepped into his boots, he said, “I could always tell them to come back later. Or tomorrow.”

“No, don’t do that. It’d be nice – pleasant – to see them.”

Victor gave him a little smile, then disappeared into his room, snatching a shirt off a peg and pulling it on. Yuuri stood, took his com from where he’d left it on the table next to the bed, and strapped it on his wrist, summoning Justin’s projection as he grabbed his tunic off the floor and began buttoning. It seemed a shame to have the peaceful moment they’d been sharing shattered like this, though he supposed visitors coming to their rooms, especially Victor’s, was going to be a regular occurrence. At least they could lock the doors, and Victor was willing to dismiss anyone who arrived at an inconvenient time.

But as he listened to the sounds of Julia and Emil entering and talking with Victor, Yuuri realised the long nights alone in his downstairs room were at an end. These were friendly people whose company he enjoyed. And of course, he’d be seeing plenty of Victor. Not just on the training field, in the main garrison room, or on travels. Not just in bed, either, though he looked forward to more of that. But as his best friend and companion. For a moment, the realisation sent such a sweep of awe and joy through him that tears sprang to his eyes.

There was something he ought to do before he left his room, however. He called out that he’d be over in a minute and shut his door, then got Phichit on the com. They had a brief conversation, but Yuuri didn’t mention the obvious. He wasn’t sure how, and was uncertain of his friend’s reaction. Under normal circumstances, he knew Phichit would be happy for him. But now…? If _he _wasn’t concerned about Yuuri fraternising so intimately with a nobleman of 1393, Celestino would probably have something to say about it. Yuuri wasn’t looking forward to the fallout from that, though he knew he’d have to address the issue soon.

For now, however, he was going to make the most of the moment. He shoved his boots on, then decided he’d at least put on a pretence of not having been shagging and dishevelled shortly before the squires had arrived. Strapping his belt back on and pulling his hat over his head, he opened the door and went to join Victor and the squires drinking beer together at the table.

* * *

“I never knew Julia could speak Greek, or that she’d actually been to Greece,” Yuuri commented. He was lying in his bed, propped up on an elbow, Victor’s embroidered blanket at his waist.

After a long drink and chat with the squires, they’d retired to his room, stoking the fire and then changing into simple linen shirts and stripping down to their braies. Victor had brought his citole and a half-finished jug of thin wine with two mazers, which he’d placed on the bedside table. He was lying on top of the blanket now, plucking idly at the strings as Yuuri had often seen him do in the main garrison room.

“Ah well, you see, you’ll usually discover something interesting about anyone if you persevere.” He strummed gentle chords as he spoke. “Julia’s not the most forthcoming of people, and it didn’t go well with the two of you at first.” He smiled. “Though it was hardly your fault, since she thought you were Justin, and had rather unpleasant memories of the fellow.” He took his mazer and sipped some wine. “Shall I pour you some more, my love?”

“Go on, then.” Victor handed Yuuri a mazer, and he drank while he listened to broken bits of music lilt and dissipate. “I wish I could play an instrument. Electronic devices make most of the music in my time, but I don’t think they can ever really replace a physical instrument played by a real person. I’d never even heard of a citole before I came here. Or a shawm, or a hurdy-gurdy. But they sound beautiful.”

“Really?” Victor looked down at him. “What kinds of instruments are there in your time? And how could something as lovely as this – ” He patted the strings of the citole affectionately. “ – disappear?”

Yuuri confessed he didn’t have an answer to that, then told him about different types of instruments, knowing he wasn’t doing very well with explaining the sounds they made; it was difficult to encapsulate them in words. Victor was amazed when he heard about orchestras, and music written for so many different instruments to play.

“What kinds of things do people sing about?” he asked, sipping his wine, his eyes fixed on Yuuri in fascination.

“I suppose the same sorts of things they sing about now,” he replied with a smile. “Love…actually, that’s the main thing. I guess that never really changes. But it can be anything. Themselves, places, people they’ve known, moods…Sometimes they’re nonsense songs; sometimes they don’t have vocals at all. There are Christmas songs, religious songs, children’s songs…”

“Will you sing me one?”

“Me? Oh. Well…”

“You have a lovely voice. But all those evenings downstairs in the garrison, you were singing songs of this time. Sing me one of yours?”

Yuuri finished the contents of his mazer and handed it to Victor, who put it on the table next to his own empty one. “Let me think.” Something that wouldn’t sound too strange or outlandish. That wouldn’t overly challenge the translator, or be incomprehensible anyway due to the context. And he had over two hundred years of popular music to choose from, much of which people still listened to, from big band to junkyard, rock and roll to fractal. Elvis Presley, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Michael Jackson, Queen, Candy Yao, Lightstorm…

“I wasn’t aware it was a difficult question,” Victor said quietly, giving him a little grin.

“Only because I don’t know what to pick. Sometimes it’s not the same without the music, anyway. Wait…OK, I’ve thought of something. A lot of different people have sung it over the years; I’m not sure when the original was written. But it’s short and happy.”

_Can you hear my heartbeat? _  
_Tired of feeling never enough_  
_I close my eyes and tell myself_  
_That my dreams will come true_

_There’ll be no more darkness _  
_When you believe in yourself, you are unstoppable_  
_Where your destiny lies, dancing through the years_  
_You set my heart on fire_

_Don’t stop us now, the moment of truth_  
_We were born to make history_  
_We’ll make it happen, we’ll turn it around_  
_Yes, we were born to make history_

Victor sang the last line a few times. “Do you reckon?”

“Who knows?”

“It’s very catchy. I like it. I should sing it to you as your trainer when we’re out in the field.”

“Before or after you twat me?”

Victor burst out laughing. “I’m serious, though. If I got to know it well enough, I might be able to play the tune on my citole.”

“That’d be ting.”

Another laugh. “Yuuri, you make such a refreshing change from everything I ever thought I knew.” He sighed and laced his fingers loosely through his. “I love you so much.”

Yuuri leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Your turn,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“Sing me a song. I love your voice. I could never tell you how much before.”

Victor stared for a moment, his eyes dancing. “You say the sweetest things. Now _I _have to think.” He plucked at some strings.

Yuuri snuggled down into the bed, tucking a hand under his pillow. The sheets were soft and smooth on his skin, the blanket warm. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt more relaxed.

_When the nightingale sings_  
_The woods grow green,_  
_Leaf and grass and blossom spring_  
_In April, I believe._  
_And love is to my heart gone_  
_With a spear so keen,_  
_Night and day my blood it drinks_  
_My heart causes me pain._

“Not a happy song, then,” Yuuri mumbled.

Victor stopped and looked at him with the ghost of a grin. “Most love songs are about pain and longing. Perhaps those things make the reward all the sweeter.”

“Maybe. I’m sorry I interrupted. Did I tell you that you have a beautiful voice?” Yuuri felt his eyelids drooping.

“You did.” Victor leaned down and kissed the top of Yuuri’s head, then strummed again.

_I have loved all this year_  
_Such that I may love no more;_  
_I have sighed many sighs,_  
_Beloved, for your pity._  
_To me love is never any nearer,_  
_And that I sorely regret._  
_Sweet beloved, think on me – _  
_I have loved you long._

Yuuri had been wondering lazily what else they could get up to tonight. But he _was _tired from the night before, and Victor’s voice was soft and soporific. He decided to focus on the sound of it, and turned his translator off.

_Sweit leman, Ee prei thei of lohv an speech,_  
_Whils Ee liv in world so wiid other nul Ee seich. _  
_With thii lov mii sweit lohv mii bliss thoh miihtess eich,_  
_Ah sweit coz of thii mohth miiht bei mii leich._

_Sweit leman, ee prei thei of a lohv bein,_  
_If thoh mei lovess as men sayes leman as Ee wein…_

_Victor, you’re so beautiful._

Yuuri was floating on waves of music and the voice of the most wonderful man in the world, like a lullaby. His mind picked out words like “sweet” and “love” before it gave up and drifted on the tide.

With a contented sigh, he shut his eyes, and knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Victor sings while playing his citole for Yuuri is [“When the Nightingale Sings”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JybUNBaeCew).  
[Poem and translation](http://www.luminarium.org/medlit/medlyric/nyhtegale.php)


	72. Chapter 72

_Thank God – he’s still here._

Victor’s heart was glad as he took in the sight of the lovely man with the thick, unruly brown hair and long-lashed exotic eyes, now shut in sleep here in his new room. Yet he wondered if every morning would be like this; if his first thought would be, _Has he returned to his own time? _Because one day upon waking, there might be an empty space in the bed, with no sign that Yuuri had ever even been there.

_That’s why he said _carpe diem. _I’ve accepted this, and other things besides, as the cost of being with him; and I’ll bear it willingly. _And he knew it was the truth, because he was also flying high with the dizzy joy of being in love for the first time. Nothing he’d done with anyone else in the past could compare; it was so obvious that he’d stopped trying to do so.

_He makes love with the maturity of a man, but also the eager enthusiasm of a lad for whom it’s a new experience. _An unusual mix – and a sexy one, if that was the correct use of the word. Victor could happily spend the rest of his life in these rooms with his beloved, indulging in pleasure after pleasure, and leave the rest of the world to get on with its business. Appealing…though sadly impossible.

_What a sweet song he sang. “There’ll be no more darkness when you believe in yourself, you are unstoppable.” Yet he often seems to be weighed down by the very opposite notion. Perhaps that’s why he likes it. Simplistic in its optimism – or a wake-up call to those who have been pessimistic for too long?_

Victor continued to watch him quietly as the slivers of sunlight grew in strength from under the shuttered window, gradually outshining the glow from the low candle on the bedside table, and recalled the details of their discussion from the previous morning. There were many to try to remember, of what Yuuri had explained about his mission, and how people lived in his time. Things that he’d continued to feed into their conversations until he’d fallen asleep the night before. Devices that seemed to do almost anything. Toothpaste. Chinese clothes. Huge gatherings of musicians playing in harmony, beyond anything Victor had ever imagined.

But there was a darker side to all the fascinating revelations, because Yuuri also knew about things that were going to happen in the future. Either that, or he had access to the information. Some of it, anyway.

_He knows something about my own future. But he’s afraid to tell me, or thinks it best not to. I wonder what it is, though I’m afraid, too. If he imparted the knowledge, and it somehow burned my brain, slowly driving me mad, what then? Perhaps there’s wisdom in his reticence after all. _

_I’ll stand by my promise not to ask, and try to trust in his judgement. Would that such tantalising information didn’t exist in the first place, just beyond my reach._

Someone walked down the hall outside with a clatter; it sounded as if they’d dropped a tray. But there was no knock on either of the doors. Julia knew not to disturb them; Victor had wanted one more morning of peace next to his love. According to Yuuri, it was Emil’s habit to wake him, but he would surely know that wasn’t needed now.

Dour images of Matt and John, accounts and ledgers and scrolls flashed through his mind. It couldn’t be helped; he’d have to spend part of the day meeting with them and others. Julia mustn’t be neglected, either. But perhaps it would yet be possible to spare a good space of time for Yuuri. If the weather were favourable, they might leave the field and practise elsewhere, or go on a run. He could steal kisses when no one was there to see. Certain possibilities presented themselves…and suddenly the day was full of promise.

“Vitya. Good morning,” came a soft, sleepy voice. Victor turned and saw Yuuri’s eyelids fluttering open, a warm smile on his face. He was sure he’d never seen anything so beautiful. All other thoughts flew from his head.

“Good morning, my sunshine.” He smiled like an infatuated boy.

Yuuri gave a little laugh. “Hey.”

“I like your room, and your bed. I think I may need to spend more time here. Much more. In fact, I daresay you’ll have trouble getting rid of me.”

“That’s the last thing I’d want.” Yuuri touched a hand to his cheek. “Stay. Be with me, Vitya.”

Victor was lost in those brown eyes; the gentle voice. The rest of the world could go hang, whatever the time. He slid an arm around Yuuri, pressed close, and found warm lips waiting to return his kisses.

* * *

“I’ve heard say that it will be a good year for oats.”

“According to whom?” Victor asked.

“The royal prognosticator, my lord.”

Victor was making his way through the hall with the bailiff, Theodore Pritchard, at his side, whom he’d promised to meet after he’d consulted with John de Lacey. That had taken longer than expected because Andrei had decided to join them, insisting on combing through every sum to ensure they added up. John’s face always went red when it happened, and he would stand in stony silence; he hated having doubt cast on his capabilities. Victor attempted to place more trust in the officials to do their jobs properly, though it was just as well to check on them. And Theo, while knowledgeable in all aspects of agriculture, obtained that knowledge from some dubious sources at times.

“The royal prognosticator knows this because…?”

“The winter was dry and bright, and the spring so far has been warm and damp. If it please God, these continued conditions will be perfect for that particular crop. The clouds have shown a favourable aspect, so I understand.”

“I hope so. If the storm we had the other night is any indication, we may be in for a period of rough weather.”

“I hear the king’s philosophers are consulting with the clergy upon the possibility that it was divine retribution for the traitorous schemes of the Earl of Warwick and Dafydd ap Tewdwr. They say that when the men were hanged, a black cloud descended upon Tower Hill, and Satan showed a dreadful aspect, and tongues of lightning issued to the ground.”

Victor stared at him for a moment. “Rough weather.”

Pritchard coughed. “Indeed, my lord.”

They continued to confer as they strolled to the garrison. Regardless of the weather, the tenants needed to have finalised their plans for the crops they would be growing that year, when, and in what quantities. That manure, marl and seaweed were on hand to add nutrients to the soil. That there were no clashes regarding which fallow fields the livestock would graze on. Tedious issues for someone like himself, but matters of life and death for the villeins. And Theodore Pritchard’s job was to oversee them.

They stepped into Victor’s room, took seats at the table, and partook of a jug of wine for a while longer before their business was concluded. Then Victor poured himself a goblet and positioned himself in the window seat with his back to the wall and his legs stretched the length of the cushions, sipping while he watched people go about their business in the courtyard below. It was a warm and dry day, but dark, the sky a flat slate that cast no shadows. Yuuri would be out there somewhere, training, exercising. He’d go down to join him soon, but a moment of quiet rest after tiring meetings wouldn’t go amiss first.

“Master, are you there?” Julia called, knocking on the door. With a small sigh, Victor stood.

“Come in,” he said, placing his goblet on the table.

The door opened and Julia entered, going straight over to examine the pitcher and basin. “Master Steggles has a message for you, sir,” she said, tipping the water from the basin into the grate below the copper tap on the far wall and rinsing it out. “He says he has a selection of new materials to bring to you, and can he do so tonight, and advise you in getting them made up into the latest fashions.”

He thought a moment. It had been a while since he’d seen Percy. And he had someone to dress well for now. Yuuri might not understand the finer points of the fashions of this time, but perhaps he would appreciate the ways they could flatter the figure. Maybe some of that material could even be commissioned for clothing for him. After last night, Victor decided he was quite keen to explore the possibilities.

“Fernand would like your input for the Lenten meals during the week before Easter,” Julia continued, replacing the basin and taking the pitcher to the tap to fill up. “He’s already asked the lord and lady, but he’d like to hear from you as well.” She placed the full pitcher back on the stand. “I wonder if you could ask him to serve egg and leek tart? It was always one of my favourites.”

“With cheddar cheese on top,” he said with a smile.

She brightened. “You remember.”

“Of course I do, though you know we can’t have cheese on fasting days. I’ll think about it and give you a list. For now, though, I need to go down to the training field.”

“I’ll put your armour on.” She went to the chest where it was stored and collected up the pieces. “Is there aught else you need me to do while I’m here? Are you running low on anything? Cream for your teeth? Soap? Do you have enough wine?” She eyed the jug on the table.

“Julia. The servants see to most of those things.” He tilted his head. “But if you’ll bring me my armour…”

She placed it on the floor and began with his gambeson. “Yes, master.”

Victor let her lace the front, then said, “I realise that Justin living in the room next door is quite a big change. He’ll be here with me, with us, quite regularly.” When she didn’t reply, but started to tie on his sabatons and greaves, he added, “I’ve been wondering how you feel about that.”

“It’s not my place to question.”

He bit his lip. “I wasn’t asking you to do that, but…I’m concerned. I’ve always wanted you to be happy here.”

She glanced up at him. After a moment, she replied, “Emil and I have discussed it. We’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want things to change between you and me. You’ll always be my squire, until you’re knighted.”

She huffed, her fingers beginning to fumble. Then she stood and gazed at him, frowning, eyes bright. “It’s just…” She glanced down, crossing her arms over her chest. Victor waited. “I can still look after you, can’t I?”

“Of course.”

“He won’t be attending to your armour, or grooming your horses, or bringing your wine, or – ”

“He may help me with my armour on occasion, if he’s here. Sometimes I see to it myself, as you know. But your services won’t be dismissed, by any means.”

“You’ll still train me?”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Why would I do otherwise? You’re my squire.”

“Must I knock every time I come to your room? I still have the key you gave me.”

“Now you know that’s always been the case anyway. I believe I may have been getting lax about that. I value my privacy. But if I’m here and I’m not indisposed, I’ll invite you in, as always.”

She thought about this, then uncrossed her arms and began to strap the next piece of armour onto his thigh. “He’s not like the others, is he?” she said more quietly. “The men who come up here to visit you. He’s staying.”

“He is. He’s very dear to me, Julia. I love him.”

She met his eyes in surprise. Then she shook her head and got back to work. “He’d bloody well better be good to you, then.”

Victor chuckled. “I’m going to train with him for a while today, but you’ll have me to yourself tomorrow, I promise.”

She tied the rest of his armour on, finishing with the vambraces on his forearms. “Will you walk to the training field with me, master? Abelard’s expecting me.”

“You go down, my girl. I’ll be a few minutes yet.”

Glancing at the table, she picked up his sword belt. “Allow me.” She strapped it on him and nodded. “Are your gauntlets at the stable?”

“They are.” He playfully prodded her chin. “Thank you.”

Once she’d gone, he drank the remaining wine in his goblet and sat down to finish one final piece of business before he forgot; a message to the reeve, who he’d met with earlier, about fodder storage. Leaving the ink to dry, he stood, then noticed the open door between his room and Yuuri’s and smiled, recalling the night and morning they’d shared. How novel, how wonderful, to have a companion living there. Not just any companion. Yuuri. His lover, his friend.

Wonderful…but new and strange. It would take some getting used to, along with the new dimension to their relationship, and everything he was now learning about who Yuuri was and where he’d come from. To his surprise, Victor still felt little pangs of missing Justin at times, although it didn’t make logical sense. He supposed what he really missed was the way they had been, uncomplicated by all these other factors. But when he looked at Yuuri, though his face was different, everything about him was still Justin, as if that were a facet of himself buried deep within. They _were _the same – but Yuuri was the whole person, with a life he could share, _wanted _to share – with him.

It had already brought something out in Yuuri that had clearly been stifled before. He was more relaxed. Exuberant. More _present _now. The bewildering mystery surrounding him was gone. There would be no more longing for what Yuuri never seemed to want to give.

_Unless he were willing and able to stay here with me. But that appears to be beyond his control. He has a duty. I can understand that. _

_I wonder what the real Justin is making of the future. Of this university where he’s being kept. If he’s amenable to it, I imagine it might have much to offer him. If he’s sensible, he’ll take advantage of it._

_Live to a ripe old age, Justin, and be happy. If only Yuuri and I could hope for the same._

He left his room and made his way down to the training field, watching the squires with Abelard for a few minutes.

“Och, Sir Victor, this here Julius of yours gave one of our soldiers a bollocking earlier. What have you been feeding him, haggis?”

Julia beamed at him and he laughed and waved at her, then entered the stable to find Yuuri grooming Blaze, with no one else around. He went to the stall and leaned on the gate.

“Hi,” Yuuri said between bouts of picking dried mud out of the stallion’s hoofs.

“Hey.”

Yuuri glanced at him with a knowing smile. “You’re getting used to it now. You’ll sound like me before long. Just have to cure you of this Middle English first.”

Victor laughed. “Is that what you call what we speak? As opposed to what, Late English?”

“Modern English.”

“This _is _modern English.”

Yuuri glanced around, presumably to make sure they were still alone. “Wan that April with his shore-uhs so-tuh, the drocht of March hath pers-uhd to the ro-tuh…Wait, how does that go?”

Victor leaned his head in his hand, eyes sparkling in surprise and delight.

“And bath-uhd every vine in switch liquoor…I can’t remember any more.”

“You turned your translator off.”

“That’s the only Middle English I know. I couldn’t tell you what most of it means.”

“We’ll have to spend some time on this in my room. I’ll teach you.”

“I’d like that.”

“Perhaps you could teach me some Japanese.”

Yuuri put the hoof pick down and came to stand on the other side of the gate. “_Aishiteru_, Vitya.”

From the way he said it, Victor had a feeling he knew what it meant, but he asked anyway.

“It means ‘I love you’,” Yuuri whispered, so very close. He looked like Justin. They’d agreed to avoid this where possible. But he was still Yuuri. And he was irresistible.

“_Aishiteru_, Yuuri,” Victor said softly, capturing his lips for just a moment. When he drew back, Yuuri looked as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was. Victor realised he’d love to join him there in the stall and make one of his fantasies come true, but seeing as how it would be inappropriate at best and dangerous at worst, he decided to savour the stolen kiss, and took up his trainer’s voice. “I’m pleased to see you haven’t been overdoing things. I was worried about you for a while.”

“Oh?” Yuuri blinked, then resumed his work on Blaze’s hoofs.

“It isn’t heroic to overexercise and not eat enough. I saw how you were ignoring your food during meals while…” _While I was being horrible to you. _

“It was a hard few days. But for some reason, I feel amazing now.” Yuuri gave a little laugh, moving to work on Blaze’s hind leg.

“Yuuri,” Victor said gently, “I think it’s worth pointing out that you have a tendency not to eat when you’re upset, and to take it out on your body by exhausting yourself. If you do that before the duel, it will be self-defeating.”

Yuuri paused, and there was a spark in his eyes when he looked up. “_You_ try eating when you’re upset.”

Victor considered what to say next. This lovely man was perhaps also the most stubborn person he’d ever met, and he included Julia in that, which was saying something. _He wants me to train him, but he prefers hugs and hates lectures. The lectures still have to come sometimes, though. _

“I do eat when I’m upset,” he said, “because I know it’s important to take care of myself. No one who comes to me looking for a fight is going to ask first if it’s a convenient time for me, or if I’d rather he returned when I was feeling better.”

Yuuri continued scraping for a moment, then let out a laugh he appeared to have been holding in. He put the tool down, patting Blaze and returning to the gate. “I can’t argue with that.”

“I thought we might train together for a while, if you’d like. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier. My father – ”

“I know. You don’t have to explain,” Yuuri said, laying a hand on his armoured arm resting across the top of the gate. “So what did you have in mind?”

“Does a run across the countryside take your fancy?”

Yuuri smiled. “Sounds great.”

* * *

“Where is this place? There’s no way I’d be able to get back to the castle on my own from here. I’m lost.”

“Good thing I’m with you, then.” Victor had led them along little-used paths through a wooded area with rocky outcrops. Many was the time he’d gone exploring as a youth, and he could practically navigate a radius of several miles from the castle with his eyes closed. Farmers seldom came this way; they worked in their fields or travelled along the main roads. In fact, they hadn’t seen another soul on their journey, apart from the typical denizens of the outdoors – red squirrels, a stag, scurrying rodents, and birds of diverse kinds.

“I’d forgotten about this here,” Victor said as he jogged over to the remainder of what had once been a huge holly tree, which still stood a little over the height of a normal man before it was abruptly truncated.

“What, the dead tree?” Yuuri asked, following. They came to a halt near the vast trunk.

“Yes. Let me see.” Victor circled it until he came to an area where the bark had been stripped and a large face was carved into the smooth wood underneath. Yuuri walked up to it.

“Wow. That’s like one of those fantastic faces you see carved at the base of arches in cathedrals, only bigger. I always thought they had so much character, but were strange, too. It made me wonder what was in the minds of the people who made them.”

“Cathedrals still exist in your time?”

Yuuri nodded. “York Minster’s still there. A lot of other churches, too.”

Victor stared at him in wonder, then turned back to the face. It stood out in high relief, the hollowed-out pupils focused slightly upward with a sly squint. The mouth was open, possibly in a smile, though it was difficult to tell, because carved vines flowed around the chin and ended between the teeth. He had a beard of leaves, which also covered his head and curled down to lie between his bushy eyebrows.

“This isn’t a Christian carving,” Victor said.

“It looks like a version of the Green Man.”

“You know about that, too?”

Yuuri smiled. “We’re not completely ignorant of folklore. This kind of thing has a long history.” He ran his fingers over the contours of the vines. “Do you know who made it?”

“Some say this is an ancient wood where the Druids used to meet to worship Cernunnos, the wild god of the forest. There are tales of pagan dancers being turned into trees or stones at dawn. I’ve heard it claimed that an altar was here once, covered in bloodstains from sacrifices. If you ask me, people have a vivid imagination.”

“You’ve brought me to an enchanted wood,” Yuuri laughed. “It’s beautiful here, with all the holly and firs, though I’m sure it’ll be even better when the other trees get their leaves.” He examined the carving again. “This does look old. You can see places where the wood’s split over the years from weathering.”

“So Christianity has survived into your time? Do you still have fast days, and pilgrimages, and penances – ”

“Believe it or not, people are free to ignore all of that, and most of them do.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “Free to ignore it? Yuuri, if I weren’t a baron’s son, I don’t like to think what would have been done to me by now for all my…indiscretions. Mortal sins, they’d call them.”

“You know what?” Yuuri said with flashing eyes. “In my time, you and I could hold hands and walk right down the streets of York, and no one would bat an eyelid.” As Victor fell speechless, he added, “We could even kiss each other. We wouldn’t get in trouble with anyone.”

Victor’s hand fluttered to his mouth, and tears threatened his eyes for a moment. How could there ever be such a place?

“It’s true,” Yuuri said, slipping his arm around his metal-clad waist. “Imagine that.”

Victor tried as he stared at the tree, then at Yuuri. It made his heart feel light.

“The minster and the churches aren’t there in my time because of Christianity, though. I mean, they’re still used for ceremonies, but we also have an appreciation of history and old buildings. There are a lot of other religions too, and people who believe in some kind of god but don’t belong to a religion at all, and people who don’t believe in any of it.”

Victor shook his head in awe. “The Church has so much of a say over our lives here. Don’t let Father Maynard hear you speaking so.” He huffed. “But I daresay there are worse things than risking his displeasure.” 

Yuuri smiled. “Wait until King Henry the Eighth comes along. He’ll start putting the wind up the clergy. Though come to think of it, there’ll be a lot of religious wars afterward. Persecutions for not being the right kind of Christian.” He paused. “History’s full of depressing things like that. But I like the idea of this wild forest god. It’s kind of sexy.”

“Why don’t we have a race in his honour, then.”

“A race?”

“What, are you afraid you’ll lose?”

“No fear, Nikiforov.”

Victor laughed. “No one’s ever called me that.”

“Why not? It’s your name. So, where are we running to? Just so I know, because I don’t intend to be following you.”

_I love this man. _“You see the stream just over there?” He pointed. “There’s a little path that runs alongside it. Carry on until you reach the pond.”

“Where is it?”

“You’ll know it when you see it. A small body of water. We have those here.”

“The bloody cheek,” Yuuri muttered with a grin, stepping aside and adjusting his belt. He looked as if he were about to say something else, then he spun around and took off sprinting toward the stream.

“Oi!” Victor called, leaping into action with a clatter of his armour. “That’s not fair – I was going to count down from three!” But the only answer he received was an impish laugh floating through the air.

_I’ll get you, see if I don’t. You can’t sprint all the way there either, it’s too far._

Yuuri eventually realised this, slowing his pace. He’d expended too much energy at first, not knowing what sort of distance they were covering and assuming it was short. Victor knew he had him, and kept a few steps behind, though they were still fair flying along. As was his very spirit. He wondered if he’d ever felt so alive.

The pond eventually came into sight, its still waters dark and flat between stands of fir trees. Yuuri glanced behind him, seemed alarmed to see Victor almost within arm’s distance, and put on a spurt of speed that Victor would swear no one could have in them by this point. He should have raced ahead while he had the chance, he chided himself, forcing his legs to move as fast as they could. And Yuuri was loving it – he stole one more glance behind him and _smiled._

However, as they reached the pond, Yuuri slowed, believing that was the end. Victor had no such intention, and tackled him to the ground with loud clangs. There they lay, among the firs and holly, reeds and rushes, soft grass and tall smooth grey stones, a breeze soughing through the branches. Yuuri beneath him, pinned, blinking in bemusement as he fought to get his breaths back.

“You win. I win. We both win,” Victor panted, staring down.

“We seem to end up like this a lot.” Yuuri slid a hand up his arm. “Metal,” he laughed softly.

But this was so very different from two days ago. Victor marvelled at the change in himself since then. And between them. No longer did he feel the pressing need to make a point; to express so many things that had been unsaid. The confused jumble of emotions had begun to fall into a pattern; one that felt comfortable, and right.

“I love you,” he whispered, meeting those deep brown eyes. His fringe brushed against the sheen of sweat on Yuuri’s forehead as he lowered himself for a kiss. Justin’s forehead.

“I love you too, Vitya.”

“Turn your projector off…please?”

Yuuri looked around. “Won’t we be seen?”

“That’s why I chose this place. It’s quite secluded, far away from everything. Rocks to hide us from view just in case.”

“You planned this all along?” Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “When you asked me if I wanted to go on a run – ?”

“The kinds of things I wanted to do weren’t really ideal for the stable, so…” Victor grinned at his look of astonishment. “Well, that was part of it. Though I really did think a run would be good for us both.” Trailing a finger down his breastplate, he added in a silky voice, “And, perhaps, other things.” A quick smile with hooded eyes, before he switched to a more sober tone. “Your decision, my sweet love. If you’d rather wait until we return to the castle, it’ll be good incentive to race you back. But if we stay, we needn’t do anything too… risqué.”

“I’m almost disappointed,” Yuuri said in a voice that sent tingles down Victor’s spine. Then he was looking at the man behind the mask, Justin having vanished.

Victor dipped down for a kiss, firm but quick, as they were still panting from their run. Another, and another, like a dance; teasing, smouldering. Quiet moans and soft sucks; gasps and puffs against cheeks. The tang of salt from sweat. Soon Victor was hard and trembling, amazed at how bright and hot his desire for this man always flared. He was determined that they would yet spend languorous nights in one another’s arms, taking the time to explore and discover, appreciate and savour. But not yet, and not now.

Yuuri was clutching at the plate covering his forearms. “These metal shells,” he said huskily. “Can’t feel you properly.”

“They have their advantages. Shall I show you?”

Yuuri’s gaze was questioning, but there was a frisson of excitement there, Victor thought. And then a silent nod. He couldn’t help but smirk in heated satisfaction. They hadn’t done this yet, he dearly wanted to discover how Yuuri would respond, and it was the ideal thing when out of the bedroom in their armour.

With a dark smile of promise, he shifted backward until he was kneeling between Yuuri’s legs, those brown eyes never leaving him. Resting a reassuring hand on a metal-clad thigh, he nudged up the faulds that stretched in horizontal layers over Yuuri’s hips, and reached into Yuuri’s braies, freeing his erection. The predictable gasp of surprise was delicious, as were the words that tumbled from his love’s lips when he lowered himself – Yuuri was propped up now on his elbows to see what he was doing – and sank his mouth over the top of his shaft.

“Oh my God, Victor,” he breathed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. “How…I…Jesus. Fuck.”

_In other words, you like this, _Victor thought with an inward smile, his own cock throbbing to the point of distraction to see Yuuri experiencing such pleasure at his touch, and to _be _touching him like this. He built up a rhythm, wrapping a hand around the base and exploring with his tongue. When he slanted lascivious glances, he found Yuuri staring back with wide eyes as if he couldn’t believe this was happening, lips parted, cheeks pink.

_Now, let’s see what we can do to tip you over into bliss. I’m going to get you to tell me your secrets, and make you glad you did._

“Which do you prefer?” he said. “When I do this?” He flicked his tongue back and forth over the tender thread of tight skin at the bottom of the head. “Or this?” He licked around the head and at its tip, lapping at the precome there.

Yuuri shuddered visibly. “It’s all good,” he breathed.

_Let’s have some more of that, then. _He carried on for a moment, then went down on him again. “Harder?”

“Not…too hard. Gentle. But…but faster.”

Victor grinned, then did as he asked. He ached to be touched, but it could be ignored. This was fun, and sexy. He tried a hand on the shaft, which Yuuri clearly enjoyed. Different kinds of pressure. Not wanting to be overly talkative, he quietly gauged reactions, and made it a little game when he did speak. “How about if I did this…or, hm, let’s give this a try…” He knew he was teasing a bit, but learning. How sad that he and his past partners had never cared enough about each other to do this kind of thing; it was simply assumed that one of them would say so if he wanted more of something or didn’t like something else.

_I love you, and I’m going to get this right for you._

He was succeeding already, from the look of it. Yuuri was panting like he’d been running again, his gaze unfocused. There wouldn’t be much time to try anything else. Pausing for a moment, Victor asked, “Would you like me to touch you…here?” He slipped a hand into Yuuri’s braies. Another gasp.

“Squeeze…” Yuuri choked out.

_My pleasure. And yours. _He returned to work with his mouth, giving Yuuri’s balls a knead as well, and was rewarded with little cries. Closing his eyes, Victor hummed around Yuuri’s rock-hard twitching cock, wishing for a moment he could ride it, or do _something_ to address the need this was stoking in him. But he’d be patient. If Yuuri didn’t feel like reciprocating today, perhaps he’d enjoy watching Victor take care of it himself.

Then he had an idea, one that he’d try as a surprise and see what happened. Withdrawing his hand for a moment, he spat onto his fingers. Yuuri hardly seemed to notice. Then he slipped his hand in again, guiding it further back, finding the ridge of skin behind Yuuri’s balls and stroking it backward and forward.

Yuuri tried to arch his back under the breastplate, hands clutching at the grass. His tenacious efforts to keep his noises under control were making Victor’s blood race. _Give in, my sweet. No one will hear you. Apart from me. I want to hear it all. _But he couldn’t stop to talk without taking the stimulation away, as he was using his other hand to prop himself up.

“Victor,” Yuuri gasped, “I – I’m close.”

_Oh good. _Perhaps it was meant as a warning, but Victor decided to take it as encouragement. He bobbed his head faster, then trailed a finger to Yuuri’s entrance and pressed there, penetrating slightly.

The reaction was instant. A cry ripped itself from Yuuri’s throat, and he scrunched his face up as if in pain, while Victor swallowed him down, milking him through the spasms that followed.

Finally Yuuri crashed onto his back, spent, looking dazed. Victor paid his love the courtesy of tucking him back into his braies and smoothing the front; then he rocked back on his shins and admired his handiwork.

“I’ve been wanting to taste you for so long,” he said in a low voice, running his thumb over his lower lip, then giving it a deliberate lick and grinning.

“Holy shit,” Yuuri muttered, staring. He raked his hair back, then looked around.

“It’s all right; there’s no one here, my love. It was amazing to watch you, and hear you. You’re so sensual. Has…anyone ever done that for you before?”

“No,” came the faint response.

“I’m privileged, then.” The sultry air Victor had taken on fell away, and he spoke plainly from his heart, gazing at him in admiration.

Yuuri sat up, brushed blades of grass out of his hair, and then got onto his shins as well, in front of Victor. Placing a hand on either side of his neck, gently, he looked into his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his gaze warm and deep. “I love you.” Then he leaned in for a kiss. Victor wrapped his arms around his waist, eagerly meeting his lips, and gave a small moan.

“Now it’s my turn to take care of you,” Yuuri said, pulling back.

“There’s never any obligation,” Victor replied. “I might even have enjoyed that as much as you.”

“You didn’t come.”

Victor stroked his cheek. “That isn’t necessary every time. You’re my beloved. I’m hardly keeping score.”

Yuuri laughed softly. “But I want to make you feel good, too. You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about this, in so many places – ” He choked his words off, a delightful pink stealing across his cheeks.

“Really?” Victor said, intrigued. He’d been concerned that Yuuri might not be comfortable with _al fresco _sex, and here was an indication that he was rather more adventurous than he’d given him credit for.

“I, um, I’ve never done this _to _anyone either, though. Not that I wouldn’t know how. Maybe you can…help me, like you wanted me to help you. Let me know what you like.”

This was getting better and better. Victor’s heart fluttered and his cock pulsed. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I’m sure. Let me pleasure you, Vitya,” he said softly, and gave Victor’s breastplate a gentle push. Victor lowered himself to the ground, lying propped up on his elbows as Yuuri had been doing moments before. Words catching in his throat, he forced himself to regain some composure.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you about Cernunnos,” he said as Yuuri got on all fours over him, so that they were face to face.

“Hm?”

“He’s also a god of fertility. So this seems an appropriate place to sow some wild oats.”

Yuuri huffed a small laugh. “None of them are going to be fertile.”

“That’s the beauty of it. All fun and no worries.”

Yuuri gave him a seductive smile, then kissed him. “I want to taste yours,” he whispered, and Victor shuddered, a surge of heat racing to his groin. Then Yuuri was mirroring what he’d done himself not long before, moving back and getting close to the ground, bracing himself by an arm while his mouth and other hand were free to do…anything.

“Would you like me to tell you when I’m close?” Victor thought he should ask, especially since Yuuri had done the same.

“Only if you want to excite me,” he said with another of _those _smiles; and Victor quivered in anticipation. Then his gentle fingers were wrapping around his cock, drawing it out, lips hovering near, and he almost forgot how to think.

“I’ll tell you how to make me come undone, shall I?” he said, aiming for sultry again. But Yuuri’s mouth was quickly on and around him, hot and teasing; and it was impossible to maintain any pretence of being in control. He gave over to Yuuri, ready to be taken apart piece by piece, and discovered that it was the most glorious sensation.

“Is this all right?” he heard Yuuri ask. “Or shall I – ”

But it was more than all right. “Oh…” Victor sighed shakily with a smile. “…just like that…that’s good. Yuuri, _yes_…”


	73. Chapter 73

_Just a few more minutes. Then I’ll get it over with._

Yuuri stood in front of the table in his room and poured himself a cup of thin wine, sipping at it as he watched the flames flicker on the candelabra in the corner of the room. It would be easy to contact Phichit; that was what he did every night, and why he’d shut himself in here now, while Victor met with Percy Steggles, keeper of the wardrobe, in his own room. Not so easy, however, to confess to his friend how he was now living.

Apparently that included receiving rich new clothes courtesy of Victor. Percy had arrived while they’d been in Victor’s room, sitting at the table and discussing what Yuuri might do in the way of training and exercise the following day while Victor was with Julia. The man was as flamboyant as ever, with his striped hose and extra-long pointy shoes, hands rarely fluttering far away from his chest. But when Victor insisted on including Yuuri in the decisions regarding which fabrics and styles would look best on him, and then said he wanted a garment and a hat made for him as well, which must have made the status of their relationship clear, Percy seemed delighted. Put unexpectedly at ease by this, his usual indifference to fashion notwithstanding, Yuuri had happily contributed. Though he suspected the clothed sex they’d had the night before might have something to do with it, too. He still got breathless when he thought about it.

_So in a few weeks’ time, I’ll have a nobleman’s top and chaperon to wear. _It was one thing imagining Victor’s beautiful contours and face wrapped in sumptuous fabrics, another to think of them wrapped around himself. The sleeves would be long and wide, because that apparently displayed his noble status, even if they were likely to get caught on door handles or dangle into his soup. The hat was also of a type only wealthy people wore. He suspected, however, that he might be tempted most of the time to swat the material away from his face so that he could see properly. In his opinion, a chaperon most resembled a towel draped in folds off the top of the head, with a useless strap hanging down around the neck and flipped back over the shoulder. So many clothes here had these silly accoutrements that Yuuri had begun to refer to them mentally on occasion as vestigial parts. Though it wasn’t a very good analogy, because vestigial _limbs_ by definition once had an actual purpose. Whereas the purpose of these seemed to be to say, _Look at me – I’m so rich that I can wear ridiculously impractical things because I have servants to do everything for me._

The voices of Victor and Percy continued to filter faintly through the closed door. Yuuri walked over to the fireplace, the blaze warming the front of his body while he sipped his wine. His armour lay in a pile on the floor nearby; he hadn’t bothered to put it away properly in its chest before he’d gone to supper earlier, and he knew Emil would hurry to tidy it if he stopped by. Deciding he’d be one nobleman who _didn’t _have servants doing everything for him, he drained his cup and placed it on the mantel, then opened the chest and collected up a few pieces of plate to put inside.

As he did, he recalled what he’d got up to while wearing it today. A bit of sparring in the training field before supper. And, well, he’d thought about the other things so many times already that he was in danger of giving himself a permanent fever, he reckoned.

The Green Man in the tree. Cernunnos’s woods. Victor with such a wistful look of longing when Yuuri had told him how open they’d be able to be about their relationship on the streets of modern York. He’d wished they could have been there together in that moment. Then the race to the pond. Yuuri smiled to himself as he remembered how Victor had forgotten about his stamina again. His cheeks glowed as he relived the sensation of being tackled to the ground, and what they’d done after that. It wasn’t an activity he would have thought of himself, let alone suggested; not outdoors. Even if he _had _fantasised about them doing it to each other in bed, and out – in the stable, in a river, against a tree…imagination was versatile that way…

But Jesus, he’d loved it, once he’d got over his surprise at what was happening and the initial stab of self-consciousness. Oral sex didn’t offer the same close physical or emotional connection as penetrative sex facing each other, but it took some beating in terms of sheer fun and pleasure, give and take, and communication. Or so he’d gathered, though he was by no means an expert after one experience. He wanted more; many more. The rapturous orgasm Yuuri had brought Victor to that afternoon – he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more stunning vision. _He’d _done that, and it had been his very first try, though Victor had guided him as he’d asked. 

He put the final few pieces of armour in the chest, and had the sudden urge to relieve the distraction between his legs that was the end result of all his reflections. The bed was just over there, and the main and adjoining doors locked; no one would be able to walk in on him…

_What am I like? What’s come over me? _

Stepping over to the mirror, he turned Justin’s projection off and stared. Yuuri Katsuki, 24. Alias Sir Justin Courtenay. Techie. Time-traveller. In love with the most wonderful knight in history. Sexually active in the real world for the first time. With a voracious appetite for it that he never knew he had.

_That’s not completely true, though, is it? I’ve pleasured myself for years. Sometimes a lot, sometimes not very often. Who can blame me for sex being on my mind so much now? God knows Victor isn’t fazed by it; he wants it, too. It’s a beautiful way to share this love we’ve finally been able to admit we feel. Especially since we seem to fancy the pants off each other, too._

Yuuri smiled at himself in the mirror. _He thinks I’m sexy. How can any of this even be real? But there I am. I’m still me. I just have to get used to a few changes, that’s all. A few very big changes._

He sighed. It would be easy to keep distracting himself, but he had to contact Phichit. There was no good reason to try to pretend to him about Victor, especially when he wanted – needed – to be able to talk about him openly.

_There’s nothing I need to apologise for._

Yuuri sat down on the edge of his bed and called him on the com.

“Hey, Yuuri. How’s it going?”

“Hey. Same old. Well, sort of. What have you been doing?”

“Living my glamorous night life.” He laughed. “Actually, I’ve been doing some research at the university. But I’m done now; just shutting up shop. Tomorrow, though, I’ve been invited to a party at Jasvinder Singh’s house. You know, from the biology department? Well, I say party. It’s likely to be pretty tame. Which, don’t get me wrong, is a good thing. You know I don’t like those ones where everyone gets crashed.”

Imagining a modern party made the medieval room in which Yuuri was sitting seem surreal. “You deserve to do stuff like that once in a while, Phichit. You ought to give the com to Celestino sometimes so that you can.”

“But I _like _being your contact. Besides, you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want Celestino to be picking up your calls.”

Yuuri stroked his chin. “You need a life, though. Let’s face it – none of us thought I’d still be here after all this time. I even thought myself that by now I’d either be dead, or have accomplished something with Ailis.”

“I do have a life. And I never assumed that.” He lowered his voice. “For what it’s worth, Yuuri, I always thought you’d do better than the other two people we sent. There’s a…I don’t know. A spark in you that they didn’t have.”

“A spark?”

“Yeah. Plus I think you have a pretty good understanding of people. That seems to have helped you keep your identity a secret and stay alive, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. But sometimes the people here mystify me. I wouldn’t say I had that good an understanding of them.”

“Who would? Have you seen some of the bizarre stuff they doodled in Bibles? Wait, let me look; there’s some pictures on the Cloud. Weird human/animal hybrids. There’s a dog and a rabbit jousting, and the dog’s riding on the shoulders of another rabbit, and the rabbit he’s fighting is riding on a snail, and the snail has the face of this jack with a beard? And here’s one of women picking penises from a tree – ”

Yuuri laughed. “They sound like masterpieces. Or bored monks with good imaginations.”

“You see? You do understand them.”

“Anyway, I _haven’t _kept my identity a secret. Victor knows it.”

“But he’s the only one, right?”

“Well, Ailis knows I’m here, but she doesn’t know who I am. I don’t think. If she did, I’m sure she’d come straight after me.”

“That’s good, after everything that happened with you finding her in the woods. I guess it’s back to a stalemate between the two of you, both trying to hide?”

“I guess so.” Yuuri swallowed. This was the moment. “Phichit…something else has changed. It doesn’t have anything to do with Ailis, but…”

“Really? What? Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m OK.” He smiled to himself. “More than OK. I…I’ve started a relationship with Victor.”

There was a pause, and Yuuri would have given anything to find out what Phichit was thinking, but made himself wait quietly. Finally he answered, “But you were in a relationship already.” Another pause, and then in an astonished tone, “Do you mean a _sexual _relationship?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Oh my God, Yuuri.”

“I told you I love him. It turned out he loves me too, so…”

“But – shit. A medieval knight?”

“Is that so weird?” Yuuri replied a bit heatedly. “That’s what _I _am. Anyway, I’ve moved into the room next to his. That’s where I am now.”

“When did you do that?”

“Yesterday.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure what you’d think. But I’m telling you now.”

“You didn’t waste any time moving.”

Yuuri’s brow wrinkled. “Why should I, when I have no idea what might happen from one moment to the next? Besides, I didn’t invite myself up here. Victor asked me.”

“Shit…”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Yuuri wasn’t inclined to try to defend himself to anyone, but eventually he said sombrely, “He’s amazing, Phichit. I’ve never known anyone like him. I don’t know how it’d be possible to meet someone like that and not…not want to be with them. I’m happier with him than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Wow,” Phichit breathed. “I have to say you’ve got me feeling kind of jealous. But you deserve it, Yuuri. I think you’ve needed someone like that for a long time.” 

“Thanks,” Yuuri whispered.

“But you’ve got to admit it’s not ideal circumstances. Medieval England, and Ailis there. Does Victor know everything about your mission now? What if he accidentally lets something slip, or – ”

“He won’t. He’s the baron’s son. That’s like being born into the world of politics. He thinks before he says anything. Besides, it wasn’t my fault he found out in the first place, though I’m glad he did. Maybe he can even help me.”

“Sword versus laser gun, Yuuri. Not much of a contest.”

“I’ve talked to him about that. Anyway, being who he is, he might hear something useful, or even help with some detective work.”

“What detective work are you planning?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t know yet. I need some kind of lead, some clue, to give me a direction.”

“Be careful.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. The last thing I’d want is for Victor to get hurt.”

“According to the Cloud, at least syphilis didn’t exist as a sexually transmitted infection in the 1390s.”

“What the fuck, Phichit?” Yuuri blurted, standing up.

“I just thought I’d look, OK? You weren’t able to bring your nanobot kit with you.”

“I’ve got them in my system, and I don’t have any diseases to transmit to Victor. Jesus.”

“I’m being serious. You’re a long way from anyplace where you could be diagnosed and treated by medtech.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Yuuri went to the table and poured himself a cup of wine, which he swigged. Sometimes he forgot how quickly Phichit could switch between sensitive and tactless and back again.

“I hate to have to ask, Yuuri, but have you thought about what might happen if people found out? From what I’ve read, I don’t think the Church was very keen on same-sex relations. At all.”

“Nobles seem to be able to get away with a lot here,” Yuuri said, steadily drinking his wine. He’d anticipated Phichit being full of questions, but not so many of a personal nature. “No surprise, I suppose. Apparently it’s pretty well known that Victor’s a snapdragon, and as long as he’s discreet, they sort of ignore it. He wouldn’t have asked me to move in next door if he thought it was going to be a problem.”

“But what if – ”

“You sounded happy for me for a while there,” Yuuri interrupted before he could bite it down. “What do you think I should do, move back to my old room and tell Victor it was all a mistake? I spent all that time trying to stay away from him, telling myself that I couldn’t let my feelings show, and it was fucking tearing me apart. I still did it, though, because I thought it was right. But I’m not going to go back to that, and I’m not hurting us both again.” He took a shuddering breath.

“I _am _happy for you,” Phichit said, sounding abashed. “Honest, Yuuri, I am. But I was going to say, what if Victor’s supposed to get married and have children, and you’re preventing it? You’re there to stop Ailis from changing history, not do it yourself. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but I just think these could be important things to think about.”

Yuuri poured himself more wine. “Seeing as how there’s the matter of Victor’s death date to sort out – that’s never going to be up for debate; I _am _going to sort it while there’s breath in my body – it doesn’t look like he’s destined to do those things anyway. But if – _when_ – that changes, he’s not engaged and doesn’t intend to be. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“A lot of people in history married for reasons other than love, and had a bit of this or that on the side. You don’t think Victor – ”

“No.”

“OK. You know him better than me.”

There was a long pause. Yuuri drained his wine, then sat back down on his bed. He could hear Percy’s voice enthusing about something beyond the door. “It’s not as if all the potential problems never occurred to me,” he said more quietly.” But what happened, happened. If it’s going to carry on happening, I want to make it good.”

“Sure, I get that. So what do you mean by making it good? Is that as in, have fun while you’re there? Or were you hoping for something else?”

Yuuri knitted his brows again. “Like what?”

“I don’t know; you tell me.”

“I’m not in this just for a little sex to spice things up while I try to find Ailis. I…I want to be with him. I don’t know how that’s possible in the long term, but I guess for now all I can do is get on with things from day to day and hope I can find a way.”

“Blimey, Yuuri. For your first romance, you sure picked a complicated situation.”

Yuuri huffed a little laugh. “Tell me about it.”

“For what it’s worth, though…nice one, mate.”

The laughter grew. “That’s very English.”

“I _have _been here a while. He’s your first, isn’t he? I mean, your first – ”

“Yeah, my first partner. I did stuff in Immersion, but you know it isn’t the same. It was completely worth the wait,” he sighed, leaning back, feeling suddenly like a gushing teenager.

“What’s he like? Not in _that _way, but – ”

“I wish you could meet him. He’s…a knight in shining armour,” he said with a grin. “A lord looking after his tenants and his squire – and me; he hasn’t stopped being my trainer.” Staring at the fire as he thought, he added, “He’s like the sun. Bright and fierce, but warm and comforting too. Impossibly beautiful. Ethereal. Hot,” he added with a laugh. “Absolutely blazing. I’d make a terrible poet.”

“That’s…wow, Yuuri,” Phichit said quietly. “I’d melt if someone described me like that. He sounds really special.”

“He is.” Then he had an idea. “You know, it’d be nice to be able to use the com sometimes when he’s around. I could even introduce you. You’ve got a translator, right? Would…that be OK?”

After a pause, Phichit said, “Me, talk to a jack like that? From the Middle Ages?” He thought for another moment, then answered, “Sure, why not?”

“I’ll look forward to it sometime,” Yuuri said with a grin, wondering briefly what they’d both make of each other. “Are you about ready to go home, then?”

“I’m already outside. Thought I’d walk and talk at the same time. Clever, huh?”

Yuuri laughed. “Where are you?”

“Um, let me see. The Gupta Building’s to my left.”

“That’s one of the accommodation centres, isn’t it? I’ve repaired stuff there before.”

“Yeah, I’ve been in there a few times lately. It’s where we’re keeping your friendly counterpart. Justin le Savage.”

“Has he not…got any better?”

“He’s not ill. Well, not physically. He’s still angry as hell, though he seems to have accepted the fact that he’s travelled in time and no one’s going to go to his father with a ransom demand.”

Yuuri felt a sudden flood of emotion for this man whose identity – whose very life, in a way – he’d stolen. “Phichit, is there a possibility that I might be able to talk to him?”

“Why?” he asked incredulously.

“I look like him, day and night, apart from when I’m by myself or with Victor. I forced him away from everyone and everything he knew, and maybe loved, so I could come here. I’d just…like to have a word. He could talk into your com, couldn’t he? You don’t have him physically restrained or anything, do you?”

“Jesus, Yuuri, do you think we’d do that? He’s violent, but he’s got a whole flat behind a glass window that people can talk to him through. We have to be careful when we go in and visit, but the rest of the time he’s OK there on his own.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri muttered. “Of course; I wasn’t thinking.”

_I’ve already been in this place too long, where a thief can be hanged for stealing a loaf of bread, and kids are put in the pillory in the middle of winter. _

“I’m not sure if talking with you would help him settle or wind him up more,” Phichit said, “but I suppose there’s no harm in trying. Give me a few minutes and I’ll see if he’s willing. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah, OK.” Yuuri cut the call and poured himself another cup of wine.

_Why did I suddenly decide I needed to talk to Justin? It had to do with more than what I said to Phichit. What was it?_

He sipped and thought, hearing Percy and Victor laugh. They were probably sharing a drink. Victor knew what Yuuri was doing in here; he’d whispered a quick explanation after they’d decided on the clothes that would be made for him. But he knew who he’d rather be speaking with. The thought of encountering the belligerent voice of the real Justin wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

_I need to know he’s OK. No, more than that – I want to believe that if he finds it impossible to be happy there now, maybe he’ll still be willing to give it a chance. So that I don’t feel so guilty about taking his place here…and maybe keeping it._

_I don’t know if I could do that to him, if I had a choice in the matter. _

He threw some logs on the fire, wondering how to guide a conversation with someone who’d been plucked from this very environment to live in his own. But then Phichit was calling again.

“Hey, Yuuri.” His voice was quiet; sombre. “He says he’ll talk to you. I’m gonna hold the com up to the mic; he’s on the other side of the glass window. He might sound a bit strange coming through that way, but I think you should be able to understand it.”

“Does he know about who I am and what I’m doing here?”

“Yeah, we told him everything. OK, whenever you’re ready. He’s listening.”

Yuuri imagined the man he saw in the mirror much of the time, standing there on the other side of a panel of safety glass, dressed in a Chinese tunic, or maybe jeans. Did he still have the long hair and goatee? _How should I start this?_

“Hail, Justin. God keep you.”

There was a long silence. Then a somewhat high-pitched male voice with a syrupy touch of the aristocratic about it said, “Don’t patronise me, you villainous wretch.” The words were distinctively clipped. “Your partner in crime, this brown-skinned chirping dalcop standing before me now, is hoping I’ll come to like you, and perhaps even forgive you for masquerading as me while I languish in this filthy sty as a prisoner. What have you to say about it? Have you enjoyed my clothing, my food, my bed?”

Yuuri’s mind raced. The man was angry, like Phichit had said. Justifiably so. He wondered how he might be able to mollify him while showing some backbone at the same time. It wasn’t going to be easy.

“I’m living at Crowood Castle, so it isn’t your food or bed. I’m a knight of the Nikiforovs.”

Justin snorted. “Very able, are you? Can you even tell a gauntlet from a greave?”

“I’ve survived up til now, so I’d say so, yes. What’s more, you can thank me for saving your life.”

“Saving my life? You _took _it, you rascal.”

Yuuri began to pace around the room as he spoke into his com, his voice low but firm. “You know what was happening when we swapped places. Victor was about to kill you. He gave you the chance to yield, and you refused.”

“I would rather have died than face such dishonour. My family’s castle and lands, ceded to that rapacious clan of foreigners,” he spat. “If I’d survived, they would have made me fight on their side, as a final insult.” He paused. “Which indeed they did, unaware they were bringing a cuckoo into their nest. I hope you’ve tried to repay their many kindnesses. A sword in the lord’s or Victor’s belly at night might not go amiss, if they trust you to keep one.”

Yuuri’s blood was suddenly racing. He forced himself to take a deep breath before he answered. Justin’s chuckle could just be heard, and then Phichit saying to him, “If all you want to do is insult Yuuri and say things like that, then – ”

“It’s OK, Phichit,” Yuuri said. “Really. Just let me talk.” A pause. “You know, Justin, people weren’t exactly welcoming of you here at first. I gather you said some things to one or two of them in the past which didn’t go down well. But thanks to me, you’ve got a reasonable reputation now. They’ve also been good to me, right from the beginning. I’ve been eating well, training, and living in the garrison. They trust me.”

“Then they’re fools. You and your friends in this time are ignoble curs, and base toads.”

“If I wanted a flyting contest, I would’ve asked for one.” This was met with silence. “For what it’s worth, I wanted to apologise for what happened to you. The only way we can travel in time is by swapping with someone random, and – ”

“Spare me the explanations, dullard. I’ve already been told you’re chasing after some whore from your own time. Many happy returns when you discover her.”

This man could rival Abelard for insults, Yuuri decided. Though on second thought, they weren’t as colourful. “Did anyone tell you that if she isn’t caught, history could be rewritten? It could have an immediate effect in your own time. She might be planning to kill the king, for example.”

“Then she wouldn’t be the first to have committed such a deed. If you believe that justifies your actions – ”

“Has anyone shown you a laser gun?”

A pause. “Yes…”

“If she introduces those here, can you imagine what might happen? She could cause mayhem, or enable someone else to. I have to stop her from doing whatever it is she came here for. I guess there are people here you care about? Who you don’t want to get hurt?”

“No. My family would have been shamed by my – and your – failure to win against Victor in the duel.”

Yuuri was tempted to say _You must have friends, _but then he realised that if Justin did, they presumably would have come to visit him at Crowood Castle by now. He truly seemed to be alone in the world…and moreso now that he was stuck in the future. “I’ve heard you’ve been working with Dr. Fay. She took you to the living history museum. And that you’ve met people in my time who are interested in your weapons, and language and so on. Did you…enjoy any of it?”

“Prisoners may be given entertainment every so often in an attempt to keep them docile. I assure you, no one is going to convince me to be content with my lot here. I’m being held against my will, and you all deserve to hang for it.” The volume of his voice had begun to climb with the final two sentences.

Yuuri replied hurriedly, “Justin, you’re hundreds of years in the future. You have chocolate and coffee. Flush toilets. Music and holograms at your fingertips. Even Immersion, if they’ve let you try that. Are you honestly telling me – ”

“And you expect me to be _grateful_?” He was practically shouting now. “No one asked me first if I wanted to be captured and taken to this place and imprisoned. I have no freedom. I’m told I may never see my home again.”

“I can only – ”

“You can _only_ join Satan and all his fiends in hell!” Yuuri flinched as Justin screamed. “Bastards and cuckolds and whores! A pox on the lot of you! I’ll gouge your eyes out if I ever meet you!”

Justin continued to rant as clicks and shuffling noises came across the com; and then Phichit spoke over it all. “Yuuri, I don’t think this is, um, helping. You’d better leave off for now. When he gets like this, there’s no reasoning with him. Look, I’ll talk to you later, OK?” And then he cut the call.

Yuuri folded his arms and stared at the fire, now ablaze with the fresh logs. He breathed a shaky sigh, and a tear trailed down his cheek.

_How could you not like it there? If for no other reason than because you won’t ever be obliged to fight anyone to the death ever again? No wars, no sieges, no duels._

_But he’s right – he’s a prisoner. He’s also gone from being the son of a wealthy nobleman to…a jack locked in a university flat. _

_It wouldn’t be so bad if he’d calm down and behave. They’d let him out then._

_And here I am, thinking about him like he’s some feral dog._

He sniffled and wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic.

“Yuuri?” A knock at the adjoining door. “Percy’s gone. Can I come in?”

“I, uh…” He gave his eyes a final swipe. “Yeah, sure.”

Victor opened the door, then stepped inside, at once concerned. He strode across the room and placed a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong, my love? Were you speaking with your friend Phichit?”

“Um. I was, yeah.” He took a calming breath. “Then I asked if I could talk to Justin. The – the real Justin.”

“Oh,” Victor said quietly.

“It was the first time. Maybe the last. He, um, wasn’t very happy. They’ve got him locked in a suite of rooms. We call it a flat. Like I live in myself. But they can’t let him go out on his own, because he’d probably try to run away, or hurt someone. I know it’s horrible, what’s happened to him.”

Victor held his other arm now, and those piercing blue eyes looked into his own. “It would have been more horrible if I’d killed him.” He paused, then continued softly, “That’s what I would’ve done, Yuuri. You saved him from that, and you saved me from having another death on my conscience. If he isn’t thankful, then I am.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri whispered, resting his hands on Victor’s waist; he was wearing one of his plain night shirts without a belt, having been draping material over his bare chest and shoulders while Percy measured and fussed. The soft voluminous folds and the warm, firm skin underneath were reassuring under Yuuri’s fingers. “But no, he’s not thankful. And I can’t deny he’s got a valid point. It’s unethical to force someone out of their own life like that without their permission. I know it’s Ailis’s fault originally, but it’s not fair on him.”

Victor’s gaze searched his own. “You seem to care a great deal about a man who’d probably run a sword through you as soon as look at you.”

“It’s not that I care about him,” Yuuri said quickly. “Not in the way you mean. I don’t even know him – well, just enough to know I don’t like him. But that doesn’t matter.” He took a breath, readying himself to explain. “In my time, we recognise that everyone has human rights; things they’re entitled to just because they’re people. To have their basic needs met – food, drink, shelter, companionship if they want it. No punishment without law. Religious freedom, access to education…”

“My God, Yuuri,” Victor said with wide eyes. “Those things are granted to everyone?”

“Those, and more, yeah. It’s easy to say that people who are good, kind, and law-abiding should have them. But everyone deserves them, even if they’re not very likeable, or they’ve done terrible things. Because if we start thinking about them as less human than anyone else, where does that lead us?”

Victor shook his head slightly. “This is…it’s so different from how we think here. Most of us. What a world yours is. I can hardly imagine it.”

Yuuri squeezed his waist. “But that’s why it’s so awful to do this to Justin. If anyone ever puts together a declaration of human rights for time-travellers, the right not to be forced out of your own timeline against your will would probably be one of the first things on the list.”

“Ailis has a lot to answer for.”

“And Justin hasn’t done anything wrong. Nothing that merits keeping him locked up in my time. He belongs in this one, back in his own life.”

They both fell silent for a while as they thought about this, and then Yuuri said, “I was hoping he’d tell me he likes it where he is, and that he never wants to come back.” Sniffing, he added, “It was stupid of me. I should’ve expected what I got.”

“I don’t want to consider him being here instead of you,” Victor said, his own eyes bright. “Nothing I could think of right now would give me more pain. You have such a well of compassion inside you, Yuuri. I’d hope I could say something of the kind for myself. But I would never hope to see him replace you. I don’t care how many rights he should be granted, or what his own opinion of it is. If that makes me a scoundrel, then so be it.” He swallowed.

Yuuri gave him a shaky smile. “We could be talking hypothetically, anyway. If there ends up being no way for me to go back to the future, this won’t be an issue. But I have to think about it, Victor. If I just did what I pleased, and didn’t care about the consequences…”

“You’d be like Ailis,” Victor finished for him. “Is that not so?”

Yuuri nodded. “But I…I don’t want…” He gave a sob.

“Oh, Yuuri.” Victor gathered him into his arms, and Yuuri clung to him, burying his face against his shoulder. They stood together for a moment while Victor caressed his back.

“We’ve only just started,” Yuuri said, his voice muffled. “I don’t want Justin, or Ailis, or Tyler, or anyone else to end it.”

“We’ll find a way, my sweet. We’ll find a way.” Victor slipped a finger under Yuuri’s chin and tilted his head up for a tender kiss. “Now, a very important question,” he said more brightly when he pulled back.

Yuuri braced himself inwardly. “Oh?”

“Yes. I can’t decide if I want the purple camlet made into a cotehardie or a houppelande. Percy waxed lyrical about the advantages and disadvantages of each, but there’s none more qualified than my lover to advise me on such a point.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Is your translator malfunctioning?”

A smirk took its time in creeping across Yuuri’s face. Then his worries fell to the side, and he gave Victor a playful shove. “Of course it isn’t.” He nodded toward the door. “Come on, then. My knowledge of 1393 won’t be complete until I’ve researched purple camlet cotehardies.”


	74. Chapter 74

_“We’re made of stardust, Victor. Everything is. You, me, this room, the castle, the earth…that’s where it all came from.”_

_"But how? It’s like a tale from a book of myths. Some say God created the universe in seven days. Some say it emerged from an egg. Or that it was fashioned from clay.”_

_“When a star explodes, it seeds the universe with the materials it needs to make new things – other stars, planets, life.”_

_“Ah, this is more to my liking. It’s not so different from what a man does in bed. Perhaps you’d be partial to re-enacting it with me?”_

* * *

“Yuuri, I – oh,” Victor said with a note of curiosity, eyeing the materials laid out in front of his love on the table in his room. Matthew had taken endless moments with castle business; and then Julia, who’d been attending to them, wanted to discuss the finer points of the boar’s tooth guard – though what she’d really needed was reassurance that she would continue to develop as a knight. Victor suspected she was continually frustrated by her lack of stature and strength, which affected her confidence, though it was a rare moment in which she confessed it in so many words.

It had therefore been a busy and rather tiring evening, and Victor had been looking forward all day to sharing private time with his beloved. But it was clear that Yuuri had been busy himself, he observed as he approached and stood next to him. 

“Hey,” Yuuri said, slipping an arm around his waist. Victor bent down for a kiss, then looked at the pieces of paper scattered around, with blotted scribblings that a young boy’s tutor would frown upon.

“It’s kind of a mess, I know. I had something better to write with when I got here, but it’s gone now. How do you people use this stuff?” He pushed the pot of ink aside. “And by candlelight, too.”

“Years of practice,” Victor said with a little laugh. “I did suggest a wax tablet instead, but I can see now why you wanted something larger. What are you doing, my sweet? These look like mathematical notations and designs.”

“I was thinking I ought to get a hobby.” He rested his chin in his hand. “Something to do in the evenings.”

“I can think of a few things,” Victor purred, trailing a finger across the exposed nape of Yuuri’s neck and eliciting the hoped-for shiver. “There’s so much yet to explore. I could have the servants draw a bath one night, with whatever food and drink you like.”

“That…that sounds wonderful,” Yuuri said in a slightly choked voice, and Victor smiled to hear it, wishing they could be in the bath right now. “But you’re busy in your room sometimes – no, it’s OK, I understand,” he said before Victor could respond. “I spent a lot of time by myself in my old room downstairs without much to do, too. I didn’t think I’d be here this long at first, but I ought to do something constructive, and it’d help take my mind off things. So I thought that with Phichit’s help – he can look up information for me – maybe I could build a clock.”

“A clock?” Victor echoed, unsure what he’d been expecting to hear, though he wouldn’t have guessed this.

“A mechanical clock. I still get picked that the only way to tell time here is to listen for church bells. Sometimes that just depends on when the monks feel like ringing them, or remember.”

Victor thought a moment. “Only cathedrals have clocks like that here. Not all of those are reliable, either. Though there’s a sundial in one of the castle gardens. And – come look.”

Yuuri followed him to the window in his room, where he opened one of the shutters. The night was clear and starry; perfect. A bronze disc the size of a small dinner plate hung on a chain from a hook on the wall; he removed it and showed it to Yuuri.

“I suppose you must have much more sophisticated devices than this,” he said almost apologetically. “But it has many uses. Hundreds, in fact. I must confess I hardly touch it myself, though.” Noting the blank look of surprise on Yuuri’s face as he ran his fingers across the plates and pointers, he said, “Have you never seen one before?”

“No, but it’s beautiful, like a work of art. What is it?”

“It’s an astrolabe,” Victor explained, feeling a surge of pleasure at having found something he could teach Yuuri. “People use it for navigation on land and sea, calculating heights and distances, finding the date and the position of the planets; all kinds of things. I occasionally use it in the day. At night it requires a clear sky, though you wouldn’t necessarily need it to calculate the time then, because you could see where the constellations were.”

“You know which stars are in the sky at different times of year?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“I’d look it up on the Cloud,” Yuuri laughed. “A device that stores information.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “How does your memory not atrophy if you don’t use it? Or what if you find yourself in a place where you don’t have access to this Cloud?”

“To be honest with you, most of us would be totally helpless if we had to live a more basic existence. We _are _very reliant on tech. But will you show me how to use this? Could it tell us the time now?”

Victor gave him a warm smile and turned to the window, holding the disc at head height. Then he paused. “Maybe you’d like to try it yourself? You’re the…techie. This must be an ancestor of the devices you use. I’ll tell you what to do.”

Yuuri scooted nearer, and Victor gave him the disc. He held it up the way he’d seen Victor doing it. “That’s right. Now, let’s spot a star.” He leaned forward and searched the sky. “The summer triangle’s easy to see. There’s Deneb at the top.” He pointed. “The rule – that’s the long bar across the front of the disc – should be perfectly horizontal.” Yuuri adjusted it. “Now from eye level, sight its altitude, and move the rule so that it matches the angle.”

“Like that?”

“Mm. Now we find the star on the rete – the plate on the front.” Yuuri lowered the disc and held it like a servant proffering a dish at table while Victor located Deneb and placed a finger on it. “It’s easy from here. You just move the rete until it matches the altitude you measured, and you’ll see that it tells you the time on the rim. This would be twenty minutes past nine of the clock.”

“That’s amazing,” Yuuri said, peering at it. “So simple to use. It’s ingenious.”

“Maybe we’re not so primitive after all, then.”

“I never said you were.” He handed the disc back, and Victor replaced it on the chain, then closed the shutter. “I’m still building a clock, though. It’ll be fun. I should be able to get some basic woodworking tools from the carpenter behind the castle, and I’ve got my toolkit. Oh – I might have to ask to borrow my laser pen back sometimes. It’s about the best thing there is to cut with.”

“Of course. It belongs to you.”

“Have you used it yet?”

“It’s for emergencies, isn’t it?”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been curious.”

Victor stared back, then finally said, “How did you know?”

“What did you do?”

“I took an old dagger and cut the end off to see how sharp it would be.”

“Smooth enough to stroke your finger across the edge?”

“Yes. It made a useless dagger worse than useless,” he chuckled.

“There must be something you can do with it. Giant butter knife.”

Victor laughed, thinking for the five hundredth time that he adored this man.

“Anyway, this clock. Once I start building it, I’ll have to stash it in the wardrobe or something when I’m not in; it won’t be good to have it on display where someone might see it and wonder what the hell I’m doing. But there are too many cloudy days and nights here for an astrolabe to be useful a lot of the time, and I’ve had enough of hours that change their length every day, so…”

Victor closed the distance between them and stroked Yuuri’s cheek. “The time traveller wants to build a clock,” he said softly.

“_Tempus fugit. _Time flies,” Yuuri replied, meeting his gaze earnestly.

“_Carpe diem,_” Victor countered, leaning down for a kiss. 

* * *

_“How would you know if what you read in a history book is the result of the natural order of events, or whether someone travelled back in time and changed something, and what you’re reading reflects that? What if the change was made in your own lifetime – would you have any memory of the past as it originally was?”_

_“I wish we knew. I don’t think even Ailis knows. We’re having to find out as we go along.”_

_“Then how do you know that someone hasn’t already changed history? That many people have? If one person may travel in time, surely others can. What if...what if the Roman Empire was never supposed to fall? Or William the Conqueror never invaded England? What if some other land originally ruled us all? What if Constantine the Great had never converted to Christianity, and a different religion gained prominence in the world? Or – ”_

_“We’d all be performing rites to Cernunnos in the woods? That sounds a lot more fun than Christianity, if you ask me. Minus the blood sacrifices on altars.”_

_“In all seriousness, though, Yuuri.”_

_“We can only go by what we believe we know. I don’t see how we can do anything else.”_

_“Or perhaps you’re the first of a band of lawmen who enforce the rules of time for those who come after you. The moral rules.”_

_“I’m no sheriff, Victor.”_

_“I’m not sure the Duke of York would agree with you.”_

_“At the moment, Ailis and I are stuck here and trying to find each other. I just hope I succeed before she does.”_

_“I’m with you now, my love. The eyes of two hawks are better than a lone pair.” _

* * *

“Good, Yuuri, good,” Victor panted, planting the tip of his sword in the ground and leaning on the crossguard. “Your actions are becoming more instinctive. That’s something only practice and experience can achieve.”

“But?” Yuuri said, standing in front of him and adjusting a gauntlet while holding his sword tucked under his arm. “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

“Shouldn’t there be, if I’m your trainer?”

Yuuri waited.

“I think perhaps it’s time to intensify things.”

“How?”

“If I’m going to help you prepare for your duel, you need to know what to expect from Tyler. He’ll…” Victor trailed off. Everything he wanted to say about this lately, he’d bitten back for fear of stoking Yuuri’s anxiety. But there was no getting around the fact, as much as he hated it with every bone in his body, that the duel would take place in almost two months’ time.

“He’ll what?” Yuuri paused, then said quietly, “I’m not made of glass. I won’t break if you’re honest with me.”

_My own words, spoken in a moment of passion. _Victor’s heart was moved. Very well, then. “He’ll come at you like the Devil. As I would myself, with anyone who offered a sufficient challenge. You’ll have to anticipate it and answer in kind.”

“Don’t I already?” When Victor took his time in replying, he added, “You keep telling me to fight you, but I do.”

Victor glanced down, collecting his thoughts, then met his gaze again. “Oh Yuuri, my love. I’m not accusing you of failing to put your best effort forward. I think what we’re really discussing is your mindset, and that can be as crucial as any fundamental moves you learn. I didn’t understand the full picture before, but there are two possibilities I see now. One is that you’re a compassionate man from a more compassionate world who has a strong natural aversion to harming someone else. And believe me, I wish we were all that way here, and we’d be happier. But in order to save your own life, you’ll have to take Tyler’s, and that will require a certain…” He swallowed, revulsion settling in the pit of his stomach. “…viciousness.”

“The angel of wrath,” Yuuri muttered.

Victor stared. “What?”

Brown eyes, surrounded by Justin’s visage, looked back plainly. “That’s what I thought of you when I first saw you. Though ‘wrath’ and ‘death’ were interchangeable at the time.”

_My shining angel. _In his mind, Victor returned to their duel, the red-faced hellion who was prepared to have his blood spilled before he yielded disappearing in an instant, to be replaced by a sweet, confused, and terrified man who was not a knight and had little or no understanding of the place he’d journeyed to and what awaited him there. And this was what he’d been thinking. Victor placed a hand over his mouth, silently taking this in.

“You said there was another possibility. For my…my mindset.”

“Oh.” Victor’s hand fell back to the crossguard. “Yes. I thought perhaps it was also because you didn’t want to hurt me.”

Yuuri huffed. “I don’t.” He quickly added, “But I think I understand what you’re saying. That I’ve got a mental barrier against fighting you.” He bit his lip and considered. “I was sure before that you were wrong, but…now I don’t know.” 

“It doesn’t help when I tell you that you _won’t _hurt me even if you try?”

Yuuri’s eyes flashed. “What do you think set the anxiety attack off that day? I scratched your cheek.”

“It was just a scratch, Yuuri.”

“It could’ve been more. And how did it happen – ? You’d been criticising, and I was picked, and thought, _I’ll show you._”

“But that’s good,” Victor said with the ghost of a laugh. “_I’ll show you _is what you should be aiming for. It’s what got you under my guard.”

“What else should I be aiming for, then? Chopping off a limb?”

“Yuuri,” Victor said firmly, “that won’t happen. I need you to trust me when I say so. You have to be able to attack me with everything you’ve got, so that it comes naturally to you when you’re fighting Tyler. And in fact, when I said I wanted to intensify things, I meant that I think it would be helpful if I could be more aggressive, too.”

“Like…the other week? When you…and then I…”

“Yes, when I tackled you to the ground and you kissed me,” Victor finished for him, knowing the irony of it full well. He sighed. “Which may have ended up being the most wonderful day of my life for that reason.” He returned Yuuri’s smile. “But I had the same thing on my mind then, my sweet – as well as others, I’ll grant you. I wanted to provoke you into fighting me with every fibre of your being. Now I’m standing here quite calmly asking you to. _Telling _you to, if you want to win against Tyler. Trust in my ability to defend myself, and in my love for you.”

“Trust you enough to try to kill you,” Yuuri said quietly, looking down. “Jesus, Victor.”

“I promise I won’t hold it against you.” The corner of his mouth twitched as Yuuri gazed back at him again.

After a long pause, Yuuri said, “I’ll try.”

“Good lad.”

Yuuri gripped his sword. “Have at you, villain.”

Victor smiled. “Do your worst, knave.”

The clang of metal drifted across the field.

* * *

_“Do people in your time understand anything of the nature of God?”_

_“We don’t even agree that such a thing exists. People are free to believe what they want.”_

_“What of death, then? Do you know what happens to someone after they die?”_

_“No, nothing certain. Again, it’s mainly a matter of belief.”_

_“The meaning of life, then? Or of love?”_

_“Maybe poets and philosophers have an idea. I don’t. Or, I didn’t until I came here – and met you.”_

_“Ah, then perhaps our times aren’t so very different after all.”_

* * *

“Fuck. How could such a simple game be so much fun?” Yuuri said as he closed the door behind him and turned off his projector.

Victor opened a chest and placed the wooden board inside, along with the cloth bag containing glass pieces the size of small pebbles, nine blue and nine white. Yuuri watched him fumble with tying the drawstring first. They’d both had rather a lot to drink. But that was Victor’s fault.

They’d been in the main garrison room, playing this game Victor had only just remembered he owned called nine men’s morris, while their squires and the other fighting men came and went. Three concentric squares had been carved into the board, each with eight dots around its perimeter; the object of the game was to make rows of three so-called “mills” with the glass beads. Every time a player made a mill, he got to permanently remove one of the other player’s glass beads from the game, and the winner was declared when the other player was reduced to two pieces or was unable to move. Yuuri thought it might up the stakes if they drank a mazer of wine every time someone lost a piece, but the wine was so weak that it hadn’t made much difference, so Victor had sent Julia for some vodka. That was where Yuuri’s memory started to get a little hazy.

“I’ve always liked it,” Victor replied, shutting the chest. “but I haven’t played it in years. John mentioned morris men at supper, and I remembered, and decided I’d ask you if you wanted to learn to play.”

“Who won?” Yuuri asked, wrinkling his brow.

“I did.” Victor came to stand next to him near the table. “Because you couldn’t move your men on the board, and you can’t hold your drink as well as I can.”

“That was bloody vodka you had Julia get,” Yuuri complained, giving Victor’s chest a little push. His crimson tunic was made of some silky kind of material and slid under his touch. “I’ve never drunk it in my life before tonight.”

“Don’t they have vodka in your time?”

“Yeah, but I never drank it.”

“How unadventurous of you.”

“It tastes like pine-flavoured disinfectant.”

“Like what – ?”

“I need to call Phichit. I do that every night.”

“Oh.” Victor nodded. “When you’re done, I’ll be in here. Please feel free to join me. I’d…I’d like you to, if you’d like you to.”

“I could call him here in your room. He knows who you are. He even said he’d like to meet you.”

Victor looked pleased. “He did?”

“Yeah. He’s a nice jack. I mean – ”

“I know. ‘Nice’ as in ‘pleasant’. Are you sure, though? Maybe you should wait til you’re not so drunk.”

“I’m _not _drunk. You just want to think I can’t take my vodka.”

Victor laughed. “You can’t.”

“Anyway, Phichit’s seen me worse. A lot worse. He’s _been _a lot worse. With me. He won’t mind. I used to do this because he was hoping I’d tell him something about Ailis that he could pass on to Celestino. But now I do it so he knows I haven’t died.”

“That’s not a cheering thought. Come sit down on the bed with me, then? We’ll talk to him together.”

“OK.” Yuuri followed him there, making sure they sat so that their legs were touching. Victor was wearing tight brown hose. Yuuri put a hand on his thigh. “Mind you,” he said in a low voice with hooded eyes, “there are other things we could do first.” He kissed Victor’s shoulder through his tunic. “My beautiful Vitya.” He sighed and kissed higher up. “My angel.”

Victor blew out a breath, then hooked a finger under Yuuri’s chin and guided his head up. “I’ve love to, my sweet Yuuri. Later. Let’s say hello to Phichit, hm?”

“Phichit…OK.”

“Is there anything I should know about him beforehand?”

Yuuri thought for a moment. “He’s twenty-one, and from Thailand. That’s…a long way away. Likes hamsters. Good cook. Listens to junkyard, fractal and wave, big fan of Brazilian Wax and Zamzam. And he’s a brilliant quantum physicist. He invents the shit I fix.”

Victor’s face went blank. “What’s a – ” But Yuuri was already calling him.

“Yuuri, hey. How’s it going?”

“Good,” Yuuri replied, holding his wrist up to talk into the com. “How are you?”

“I’m good, too. I got a research grant today. Celestino gave me a lot of help with that. We’ve got the apparatus here that I can use, too, so I don’t have to travel to London or Geneva or anything. I’m doing my bit for the grand unification theory; I’ll be studying gravity and quark velocity entanglement. I might even be able to add something about Yang-Mills magnetic monopoles. It’s really exciting; I can’t wait.”

“You’ve been wanting to tell me all day, haven’t you? You should’ve said.”

“What, risk calling you while someone was trying to chop you with a sword?”

“Nah, it’d be OK. It’s just Victor. He doesn’t chop for real.”

“Huh? Anyway, what’ve you been up to today?”

Yuuri slipped Victor a smile. “Playing nine men’s morris and drinking vodka. I don’t know how people like the stuff.”

“I thought you sounded kind of smashed. I hope you’ve been careful – ”

“I’m always careful.”

“_I _like the stuff,” Victor put in. “There’s no accounting for taste in some people.”

Yuuri said, “It’s probably better when it’s mixed with fruit juice or something.”

“What, and _adulterate _it? Philistine.”

“Yuuri, is that _Victor _with you?” Phichit asked. “Is he there next to you, right now? Because I can’t understand what he’s saying, and if you’ve told anyone else about – ”

“Yeah, it’s Victor. Didn’t I say at first? I meant to. You said you’d like to meet him. You said you had a translator, too.”

“Um, I do. OK, just give me a minute. Be right back.”

“He’s getting his translator,” Yuuri said, unstrapping the com from his wrist and handing it to Victor, who held it gingerly.

“I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I guessed as much. What do I do?”

“Just…talk. Wait for him to come back first.”

Victor snorted and slanted him a glance, then turned the com over gently in his hands. Soon Phichit’s voice returned. “Victor? Are you there?”

“I’m here. Hey.” He smiled as if he’d done something clever, and Yuuri snuggled closer, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Hey. Uh, pleased to meet you. I…gosh, I have to admit I don’t know how to start. Because _somebody _there got pickled and didn’t give me any advance notice.”

“What would you have done?” Yuuri asked. “Written a speech in iambic pen…pen…”

“Hail, Phichit,” Victor said pleasantly. “God give you good day. That’s how we’d greet you here. I’m honoured to make your acquaintance. Your position must be an esteemed one; I gather you’ve been of indispensable help to Yuuri. I’m grateful for the opportunity to be able to thank you for attending to his wellbeing so assiduously.”

There was a long pause. Then an awed, “Wow. Thank you, Vic – uh, is it Lord Victor?”

“Just Victor. Yuuri’s been telling me about your time period, but I’m aware there’s a great deal left to learn. It sounds fascinating.”

“What’s really fascinating is quantum physics. Has Yuuri told you what an atom is yet?”

“Uh, no, Phichit, we haven’t had that particular conversation,” Yuuri put in. “I think it might be a little soon to try to explain that stuff. We’re still on…” He thought. “Flying cars and Chinese clothes. And here it’s…hmmm. Swords, citoles, and sambocade.”

“And vodka,” Phichit said. “What are citoles?”

“Oh God, Phichit, you should hear Victor play. And sing.”

“Play?”

“I thought you wanted me to speak to him,” Victor said, his voice lightly chiding.

“Sorry.”

“I play a citole,” he said into the com. “It’s a musical instrument. But Yuuri says you don’t have them in your time.”

“No, I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a bit like a large fiddle. But you hold it horizontally, in front of your body, and it has four strings. Though perhaps you don’t have fiddles either?”

“Oh yeah, we have those. But actually, I might’ve played something similar before. My uncle in Thailand is a musician, and he taught me some things – ”

“You never told me that,” Yuuri said in shock. “The whole time I’ve known you, you never said.”

“Should I have? Do you want the biographical histories of all my relatives? It’d be a pretty long story.”

“But that you can play an instrument?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal? I didn’t bring one with me to England, because well, you can replicate those sounds with tech anyway, and I was more concerned about the studying and research I had to do.”

“What’s it called?” Victor asked. “The instrument you played?”

“Oh, um, it’s a krachappi. Big round body, long slim neck, large frets. Some people like to use a plectrum to play a lot of notes really quickly, but I like strumming or plucking with my fingers – though you have to get some pretty good calluses for that, and I don’t have them anymore.”

“Oh, I know. I want to feel like my fingers are making the music with nothing in between. Then it’s like being with a lover.”

Yuuri felt his face burn, but Phichit just laughed. “I never thought of it like that. What kinds of songs do you play, then?”

“I can play one for you now. Just a moment; I’ll fetch my citole.”

Yuuri listened to Victor do a couple of songs; and if a few notes went astray, it was still an impressive performance, considering how much he’d had to drink. Lying down on the bed and closing his eyes, he drifted between blissful waves of sweet melodies, and catching enough snatches of conversation to be slightly annoyed at how well the two of them seemed to be getting on, to the point where his fogged brain thought once or twice, _Oi, stop trying to steal my boyfriend. _But he knew Phichit would no more do that than hold a laser gun to him and push the button.

“Wake up, my sleeping beauty,” he heard; and blinking, he sat up, smoothing his hair back.

“I wasn’t asleep. Are you still talking to Phichit?”

Victor held up the com. His citole was propped against the wall again, where he usually kept it. “He’s been telling me about atoms. He says everything that isn’t energy is made from them. But I’m not sure I understand what he means by energy, either. And I can’t see how, if you cut something like a piece of wood into smaller and smaller pieces, you eventually get something that doesn’t resemble wood at all. It makes no sense.”

Yuuri shook his head and spoke into the com. “Bloody hell, Phichit. Give the poor jack a break. I’m still trying to explain what electricity is.”

“He’s clever, though, isn’t he? He just grew up in a time and place where they didn’t understand any of this stuff.”

“I know, but – ”

“I appreciate the efforts you both have made,” Victor interrupted. “Truly. I may well be the first person to ever have been blessed with such knowledge from the future as you’ve shared with me, unless you count saints who have had visions.” His voice quietened. “And Phichit, I give you my solemn word that I will protect Yuuri with my life, and do everything in my power to help him succeed with his mission.” He met Yuuri’s gaze. “He’s the very flower of beauty, and compassion, and love. I’m so glad he came here, and to me.”

Yuuri’s throat caught, and Phichit seemed to be lost for words as well. Victor grinned, as if this were the intended effect. Finally, Yuuri made himself say, “We’d better go, Phichit. Thanks for talking with Victor. It, um, it means a lot.”

“Sure, Yuuri. Victor, it’s been great to meet you. And while you’re looking after this jack, don’t let him do anything stupid while he’s shitfaced. Like try to shave. He did that once, and – ”

“Phichit,” Yuuri mumbled.

“Thanks for your courteous words and goodwill,” Victor replied. “And I’ll make sure he doesn’t trip over his own boots.” He chuckled.

Yuuri took the com back from him. “You have such faith in me.” Seeing from the BCI that the call had ended, he put the device on the bedside table. “I’m not drunk, and I’m even _more _not drunk than before.”

“He seems a good man to have at your back.”

“He is,” Yuuri said with a nod. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without him all this time. Though actually, when I first got here, the com wasn’t working. It took me a while to fix it. I had no contact with him or anyone else in the future. With Ian and the laser gun in the workshop when I left, I…I didn’t even know if they were still alive.”

“Christ, Yuuri. I had no idea.”

“But it’s OK now. I fixed it.” He gave Victor a little smile and sidled close again. “You see, being a techie comes in handy sometimes. It’s probably the last time I put that laser pen to its proper intended use.” He ran a hand up Victor’s arm. “What I want to know _now _is when I can have a turn at beating you at nine men’s morris. Tonight was just a warm-up.”

Victor gave a low laugh. “Bollocks, my beauty.”

“It isn’t. But next time, instead of drinking when someone loses a piece, I think we should strip.” He placed a hand at the back of Victor’s neck and stroked the short hairs there.

Victor’s eyes glittered, and he circled his arms around Yuuri’s waist. “Oh, I like that. We couldn’t do it downstairs with everyone watching, though.”

“We _could_. I don’t think they’d mind.” Yuuri leaned in until their lips were close. “They might even want to play, too. But I’d say no.”

“If you didn’t say no, I would. I want you all to myself.”

“Take me then, my angel,” Yuuri whispered, stealing a light, tantalising kiss. Then he gave Victor his most sultry smile and pushed him down onto the bed.

* * *

_“He’s really nice, Yuuri. I can’t believe you found someone like that. I mean, I can. But a lord at a castle in medieval England, too? You’re so lucky.”_

_“Am I? He’s going to die this year. That could be eight months away, or tomorrow…Phichit?”_

_“I’m still here. I was just thinking about that. Shit. Have you told him yet?”_

_“No. We both have enough to worry about as it is.”_

_“Yeah, I guess so. Don’t tell Celestino I told you this, but – ”_

_“But?”_

_“Do something to change it. For him; for both of you…Yuuri? You there?”_

_“Sure, I – I think about it all the time.”_

_“God, I’m sorry. I didn’t make you cry, did I?”_

_“Of course not…Anyway, about this research grant. That’s great news, did I say? What are Yang-Mills magnetic monopoles when they’re at home…?_

* * *

“How can anyone train to kill on a day like this? The sun’s shining, the birds are singing, the wildflowers are blooming.”

“We aren’t,” Victor said, tucking a sprig of blue muscari behind Yuuri’s ear with a grin. “We’re getting exercise. There’s a reason why Boucicaut said knights should do these things, and you said you hadn’t been here in a while.”

“Time to make my arm and leg muscles burn, then.”

“Absolutely.”

“And you reckon you need the exercise yourself?”

“I’m certain I do. We can take turns.”

“I have a better idea. We should have a competition.”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Go on; I’m listening.”

Yuuri walked over to the white marble pavilion, the dappled sunlight through the trees sparkling on his armour. It often made exercise more fun when they turned it into a game; and knowing he had more stamina than Victor, Yuuri liked to try to think of scenarios that would play to his advantage. It evened out in the end, he figured, because the competitions Victor thought up tended to match their abilities more fairly. And then there were the countless rounds of sparring where he’d not only defeated Yuuri but thrown him to the muddy ground. He could do with losing once in a while, Yuuri decided. It was healthy for everyone and kept you on your toes. It was also bloody satisfying.

“We each climb up to the roof between these columns as many consecutive times as we can, until we’re too knackered to do any more. Let’s say, three turns each? And we’ll see how many touches of the roof each of us has.”

Victor’s eyes shone. “I can do that,” he said, rubbing his hands together and staring up at the pediment over the tops of the columns. “Prepare to taste defeat. I’m good at climbing.”

Yuuri smirked and stood aside while Victor took his first turn. Again and again he climbed up, back down, and up again, as able and beautiful as a gymnast. Eventually he slowed, forcing himself to climb one more time and letting out a groan of effort as he reached the top, then shimmied down.

“I hope you’ve got enough left in you for two more goes,” Yuuri said, watching him get his breath back.

“Don’t worry, I do. Let’s see if you can beat that.”

Yuuri couldn’t, not at first. But by the time they were each on their third turn, Victor was flagging a little. Counting each touch of the roof, Yuuri gave a triumphant laugh as he surpassed Victor’s total, then made a few more climbs just to prove it wasn’t a fluke. When he reached the ground, panting but smiling, Victor was giving him a strange look.

“Congratulations,” he said soberly. “You were wonderful to watch. Do you realise how graceful you are?”

“I’ve always thought of you as the graceful one,” Yuuri said quietly. “You’re like a dancer. If you lived in my time, maybe that’s what you’d be doing. There aren’t many kinds of dances here, unless you like holding hands and skipping in a circle.” He chuckled and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I…have you ever been inside?” Victor asked, eyes flicking toward the pavilion.

“No, why? What’s in there?”

“Come see.”

Yuuri walked through the rectangular aperture, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, plate mail clinking in the silence. There appeared to be little to observe, except for a small window high in the far wall which cast a bright square of light onto the plain white floor. The stone would keep it cool in here even in the summer.

He heard the gentle clanks of Victor’s armour and turned to see him quietly joining him inside. Wondering why he wasn’t saying anything, Yuuri looked into his eyes, still sharp in the gloom, and was held by their gaze. He saw desire there, he was sure of it. _That _was why Victor had wanted to come in. But he was also hesitant, as if uncertain what Yuuri would want or be comfortable with.

Yuuri was still getting used to the idea that a man like this could look at him in that way. Not just _look_, but love him too. It was mesmerising…and arousing. He returned the heated stare, parting his lips and feeling his breaths quickening. He wondered if it was enough. But he didn’t have to wait long, as a spark leapt into Victor’s eyes and he approached. “Turn your projector off?” he asked in a soft, husky voice as he moved.

Yuuri did and took several steps forward himself, and they met with a clang of armour, mouths joining hungrily, hands raking through hair. He hadn’t intended to grab Victor like this; hadn’t anticipated the blaze that flared within him. But Victor wanted it too, that was plain; and there was something wonderfully primal about coming together with such intensity. Their tongues tangled, Victor making little muffled sounds that fed the growing flames in Yuuri.

Instinctively trying to grind against him, Yuuri found himself locked behind metal plates. Then he was being slowly walked backward, their embrace unbroken; and with a small bump of metal against marble, he was pressed against the wall. He ached to brace a leg against the stone, or around Victor; to find the friction his body was craving. But the armour was defeating him at every turn. And his hands were met with cold resistance over Victor’s back and arms. He caressed his face instead, and Victor trailed wet kisses to his neck, making him gasp. He briefly felt self-conscious about having been sweating in his armour, but Victor didn’t seem to care; his tongue was laving at the place where his neck disappeared underneath his breastplate, and Yuuri moaned.

“Want you,” Victor said against his skin.

Yuuri swallowed, a wave of heat infusing him at the words. “How?” Take turns with oral sex? He felt too needy already. Was it the outdoor air, the beautiful secluded place, having watched each other exercise, riding on the crest of Victor’s own desire? He didn’t know, and didn’t care, but _wanted. _As if to underline it, he tried to buck against Victor, but the metal around their hips stopped him.

“Easy, my love,” Victor whispered. “I can take care of us both, if…if that’s what you’d like.”

“_Yes.”_ He tilted his head back against the wall, unsure what Victor intended to do, but trusting him.

Yuuri felt Victor’s breaths against his cheek and his fringe tickling his forehead. Then a warm hand drawing his cock out of his braies – and Victor’s own against it. He gasped and shuddered as Victor took them both in hand and began to stroke.

Closing his eyes, he groaned, and heard Victor do the same. “Oh God, Victor…that feels…that feels…” His words were kissed away, and whimpers escaped his throat as Victor gradually stepped up his pace. Deep kisses became quick unfocused ones, and then Victor gave a cracked moan, followed by little gasping breaths.

“Yuuri…” Victor’s free hand gripped his metal-clad shoulder. “I’m close. What you do to me…”

Struggling to put words together, riding on a swelling wave of pleasure, Yuuri whispered, “Don’t stop…so good…faster…” When Victor obliged, he shut his eyes, grasping at the tops of Victor’s arms, making little cries as he felt himself hurtling toward the edge.

“That’s it…come for me, my love.”

Victor’s words were like an aphrodisiac. Yuuri called out his name, head tilting back against the wall, fingers trying uselessly to dig into metal as spasms shook through him. Moments later, Victor made a sound as if he’d been punched in the gut, and hung his head, damp temple pressing against Yuuri’s cheek. His hand stilled as their breaths began to ease.

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered, stroking the back of his head. Victor gave his temple a soft, lingering kiss. Perhaps he truly was spent in this moment, having lost their exercise contest and then worked to bring them both to completion. Yuuri reached his free hand down between them and closed it over Victor’s own, then slid it across the warm wetness there, coating his fingers and letting out a shuddering sigh. They both allowed their hands to fall.

“You’re so sexy, my lovely Yuuri,” Victor said with a grin. “But let’s give you your dignity back before you go outside.” He lifted his hand from Yuuri’s shoulder and undid the drawstring of the purse that hung from his belt, pulled out a cloth and tenderly cleaned them up, kneeling to make sure everything appeared as it should. He folded the cloth and stuffed it back in his purse before placing his hands on Yuuri’s neck and sharing a gentle kiss. “My heart’s root,” he said, pulling back and smiling.

Yuuri touched his cheek. “My shining angel.” He’d already said it many times, but Victor never seemed to tire of it, and it was true. Glancing around, he added more lightly, “You never mentioned this as part of climbing the columns. Makes the workout more demanding, does it?”

“I longed to kiss you last time we were here together.”

“Me too.”

“We seem to have made up for it, then. And didn’t I tell you about the last of Boucicaut’s exercises?” He smirked, giving Yuuri’s chin a stroke with his finger and tucking the sprig of muscari firmly back behind his ear again. “Sex, several times a day, every day. Good for the circulation.”

“Really?”

“No. But he should add it to his recommendations, don’t you think?”

Yuuri laughed. 

* * *

_ “If you could travel back in time and tell your parents not to get into that vehicle, would you do it?”_

_“I…honestly don’t know. Maybe.”_

_“Even though it would change the future? And possibly who you are?”_

_“But if I could save them, why shouldn’t I? Why should I let them die?”_

_“We can’t save the world, Yuuri.”_

_“We can save pieces of it. Sometimes. You’d save Alexander if you could, wouldn’t you?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“But if we could, and did, save the ones we love, we probably wouldn’t have ended up together like this. We’d be different people leading different lives.”_

_“Does that mean our suffering has made us who we are?”_

_“Oh, Vitya...in a way, I suppose so.”_

_“Then God is a harsh taskmaster, and his lessons are dearly learned.”_

_“Maybe the most important ones have to be.”_

* * *

“You said it was a long way away. What does that mean, exactly? Near Japan? Far to the west instead of the east? What…what lies in that direction?”

Yuuri was sitting at his table; his plans for his clock seemed to be coming along apace. There were scattered papers covered with mathematical notations, thin rectangular wooden boards, a two-foot ruler, iron clamps, a pot of what appeared to be glue, and other accoutrements. Victor was intrigued, though Phichit was the current topic of conversation. Yuuri had become more relaxed about where he did his evening check-ins over his com, sometimes during a lull in the conversation while he and Victor shared a drink, or while Victor played his citole, or sitting in a chair in front of the fire. He’d finished one now, Victor having greeted Phichit over the com as he’d entered the room – the adjoining door was frequently open these days, unless Victor had visitors who he didn’t want to disturb Yuuri with – and wondered which mysterious part of the world was his home.

In actuality, ever since he’d learned of Yuuri’s true identity, he’d been curious to find out more from him about the world. According to the measurements and calculations of the ancient Greeks, it was round, and very large, and much of it was yet unknown. The idea of having his ignorance suddenly stripped away in that clear, simple way Yuuri had of explaining things was both heady and a little frightening. Victor had been waiting to ask until they had a good spell of time together, hoping Yuuri wouldn’t see it as too daunting a task, or finally decide people were ignorant simpletons here after all. But he didn’t think these things were likely. In some ways, Yuuri’s manner reminded Victor of his old tutor, Arcadius – a patient man, though not beyond a bit of scoffing when he encountered a piece of stupidity that beggared belief.

“Thailand’s off to the east, but more southeast than Japan,” Yuuri answered as he finished writing an equation. “This is going to be interesting,” he muttered to himself. “I’d better get the gear ratios right. There’s no other way in this time period to measure minutes. Phichit says minute hands on clocks don’t even exist yet.”

“What is there in your time that requires such accuracy? A minute is a sixtieth part of an hour of the clock, isn’t it? If I remember correctly.”

“We have sophisticated clocks with an error rate of one second – that’s a sixtieth part of a minute – in every billion years. Wherever you go, you need to be able to check the time. People expect you to turn up for meetings, there’s transportation you have to catch…it’s very important. _Too _important, if you ask me.”

“Slaves to time,” Victor murmured. “How strange.”

“That seems a good way of describing a lot of situations right now,” Yuuri sighed. “Anyway, I guess I’ve been avoiding mentioning too many countries you’ve never heard of, because I didn’t want to land you with too much information too soon. There’s so many that I couldn’t tell you about them all if I tried. It’d be best if I could just give you access to the Cloud – then you could find out anything you wanted to know.”

“But you don’t have to tell me about every place that exists.” Victor pulled out a chair and sat down next to him, looking at him with sparkling eyes. “Think of it from my point of view. I’m aware of Europe, the Near East, Africa to an extent – the lands discovered and conquered by the ancient Greeks and Romans. A few explorers, such as Marco Polo, have written of their travels on the Silk Road as far east as China. But there must be so much more out there. If you sailed west from this island, would you simply cross a vast expanse of ocean until you reached Japan? Or are there lands of which we know nothing? You possess so many incredible secrets, Yuuri.” Victor smiled. “Please, my love…tell me.”

Yuuri placed a hand on his own and squeezed it. “It’s easy for me to forget how curious you must be. Or sometimes I think that with everything going on here, you might not even be interested at all.” He chuckled. “Obviously I was wrong. OK, I should’ve thought of this when you got the paper and writing stuff for me. Let me see.” He swept aside the papers covered with mathematics and pulled a blank sheet toward him. “This is going to be bad – I’m terrible at sketching things freehand, especially when it ought to be done with technical instruments, but…”

Dipping his quill in the ink, Yuuri proceeded to show Victor marvels.

A flat representation of a round world, with enormous masses of land that no one in this time knew of, unless they were secrets the Vikings had kept to themselves from their travels west. Victor’s eyes opened wide, and he rested his hand against his mouth while Yuuri drew and talked, as if he could contain his emotions that way. _Shocked_ wasn’t the word; he’d already anticipated that Yuuri would be able to teach him amazing things. But to be learning of them now, knowing he was the only person of this time to be party to such knowledge – to have it all there in front of him on paper, the mysteries of the universe unfolding…

“Victor, are you all right?” Yuuri asked, pausing to tilt his head in concern. “Let me know if I’m going too fast, or if I’m being confusing, or if this gets boring.”

“I’m fine,” he said in a small voice, moving his hand away from his mouth only far enough for his words to be clear. “Yuuri, this won’t bore me. Not in a thousand years would it ever…I…you don’t know what this is like,” he said, swallowing and blinking. He reached his hand out to the paper and traced a finger along the west coast of a land mass labelled South America; a long, thin country called Chile; a large splotch to its east named Bolivia. What would it be like to be there? A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek.

When he looked back at Yuuri, he said with a little laugh, “The primitive man flinches at the dawn of enlightenment and thinks of running away as if from a monster.”

“Victor.” Yuuri ghosted a hand down his arm. “You’re not primitive, or stupid, or…or any of those other disparaging things you’ve said. If I met someone from the future, I think I might react the same way. There’s a lot we’ve forgotten about this time, too, as the centuries have passed. Most people in 2121 think everyone here believes the earth is flat, and if you sailed west, you’d tip off the edge and get swallowed by a dragon.”

Victor looked at him for a moment, then laughed. “Really? How insulting.”

“Well, quite. But the interesting thing about these continents – large land masses – is that they _move_. Very slowly, just a few of your inches every year, but it adds up over time. See here, if you can ignore my rough scribbles,” he said, pointing. “The east coast of South America used to be joined to the west coast of Africa. They’d almost fit together like a jigsaw puzzle.”

Victor’s brow wrinkled as he looked. “But how can that be? What makes them move?”

“Well, the earth is covered by a crust of rock that’s comparatively not very thick. Underneath, it gets gradually hotter, until it’s hot enough for the rock to melt. You can see that happening with volcanoes. Not anywhere near here, I know, but anyway. The crust is broken up into plates that float across the molten rock by convection. By that, I mean – ” He cut himself off. “Too much information?”

Both of Victor’s hands were across his mouth now, and he discovered he’d been holding his breath. He let it out, thinking about what he’d just heard. It made perfect sense, and yet was fantastical at the same time. “I’m fine,” he said again in the small voice, his eyes flitting to the map as if it weren’t quite real.

“This is the problem with trying to explain things,” Yuuri said with a gentle smile. “I’m never sure how much is enough, or if it’s just going to blow your mind and totally confuse you.”

“Blow my mind. That’s a good expression. I think that’s how I feel…but it’s also OK.” He took his hands away from his mouth and folded them on the table in front of him. “I _want _to know. How about, for now…” He thought for a moment. “…you tell me something about the people who live in these places – North and South America? I assume they do?”

“A lot of people,” Yuuri said with a nod. “Different cultures and languages; different climates. Though with being so connected across the world in my time, with the Cloud and fast ways of travelling, those aren’t the barriers they used to be.” He scratched his head. “Where to start, though? Well, I’ve been to some of those places myself, so maybe I can tell you about that.”

And so he did, while Victor sat back, crossing his legs and resting one hand across his mouth again as he listened, occasionally glancing at the map to remind himself where these places were. Whole countries full of millions upon millions of people who spoke the English of Yuuri’s time, and many other languages. Cities with buildings that reached to the sky. Communities in the countryside that sounded similar to villages in Victor’s own time, but which had no reliance on lords, and had access to the Cloud and other devices just as Yuuri did. Soaring mountains, deserts, rolling plains, lush farmland, swamps; heat and cold the like of which were rarely felt in England, though the people had some control over the climate and could apparently mitigate extremes most of the time. They could bring rain to end a drought. They could dry it up before floods devastated the land. Victor didn’t believe in magic, not really; and Yuuri was in the habit of reminding him that these were earthly achievements that had nothing to do with mystical processes. But yes, his mind was most certainly blown. And there would be many more conversations to come, as long as Yuuri was willing, because there was so much more to learn.

“You never told me about Thailand,” he laughed when they stood, the hour being late.

Yuuri placed his finger on the map. “There. Though if you want to know more about it, I’ll let you talk to Phichit sometime; he’s the best one to explain. I just wish you could taste Thai food. It’s incredible.”

Before Victor could say anything more, Yuuri picked up the map and crumpled it. “What are you doing?” Victor gasped.

“If Ailis ever got hold of this, it’s as good as painting a target on my face. She’ll know who I am. It’s just a scribble; not worth the risk. I was going to throw it on the fire.”

“Let me.” Victor held his hand out, and Yuuri gave him the crumpled map. He said softly, his throat constricting, “Tonight has been…one of the most memorable of my entire life, Yuuri. I don’t know how to thank you for everything.”

Yuuri gave him a little smile and walked toward the bed, undoing several buttons at the top of his tunic as he went. “I can think of a few ways,” he said in a low voice while he continued unbuttoning, slowly revealing his beautiful bare chest. “Come to bed, Vitya.”

Desire stabbed through Victor, and he turned to the fire with the map, pausing and making an adjustment to the purse on his belt before claiming the heat and love so freely given by this extraordinary, wonderful, impossible man. 

* * *

_“You say there are no knights in your time. When do they disappear?”_

_“Maybe a hundred years from now? There started to be professional armies that were cheaper to raise and maintain, from what I can remember. Plus, guns – manual ones, not the kind that shoots laser beams – and cannons.”_

_“Those slow, clumsy, noisy things?”_

_“The technology will improve. Unfortunately. Then the days of shining armour and chivalry will be relegated to storybooks.”_

_“Listen to you. You make it sound like something sad.”_

_“I do?”_

_“You’re one of us, my love. And you’re good at it. You’re superb.”_

_“I…Jesus, Victor.”_

_“It’s what you’re aiming for, isn’t it? All those hours training in the field? With me; on your own? You should admit it to yourself, as I did a long time ago – there’s a part of you that _loves _it.”_

* * *

“Was that all right? Loud enough? Clear enough?”

“I think so. Let me see.”

Victor watched Yuuri, sitting across from him on the bed with his legs folded, as that brief faraway look descended upon him which meant his mind was interacting with his com.

And then…the impossible. Victor’s own voice and instrument echoing back to him, identical in every way to how they’d been a moment before, though they sounded as if they were issuing from a metal room – slightly muffled, slightly _thin. _But definitely the very song he’d just played.

“How?” he breathed, staring at the device on Yuuri’s wrist.

“The technology to do this in some form has existed for over two hundred years – well, from my point of view,” Yuuri said with a little smile. “It’d be complicated to explain. But I thought it’d be nice to listen to you singing and playing your citole whenever I wanted.”

“Many people in this time would conclude you’d captured my soul with some piece of witchcraft and could make it perform at will.”

“Well, at least you don’t think that. Do you?”

“Oh, Yuuri. Of course not. But it’s…blown my mind.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” Yuuri laughed. “I’m going to add this song to my favourites list. Or I will, when I have access to it again.”

“What music do you like, Yuuri? What’s it like where you’re from? Can anything be captured and played back?”

“Sure. But even though it’s easy just to tell you that the music in my time is generated by tech, and sometimes by various instruments, I can’t get you to hear it – ” His eyes lit up. “Or _can _I? Of course! Stupid of me not to think of this before.”

“What?” Victor said with an eager smile, wondering what marvels might be about to reach his ears.

“Phichit? It’s me.”

_Oh. Oh…_Victor placed his citole carefully on the floor next to the bed, then watched with anticipation singing through him.

“Who else would be calling me on this com?” came Phichit’s voice. “Actually, don’t answer that. But hey, how’s things?”

“Fine. Good,” he added with a glance and a smile at Victor. “I’ve got someone here who’s interested in finding out about modern music.”

“Wow, is _that _all. Where do you start?”

“I thought maybe something that wouldn’t sound too strange, at first. Are you someplace where you’ve got access to your digital music player?”

“I’m home, and yeah, it’s here. Back in two ticks.”

Victor realised he was holding his breath; something that seemed to happen frequently with this man for one reason or another. Yuuri’s eyes were dancing.

“Got it,” Phichit said. “Plus I’ve put my translator in for Victor. What do you want me to play?”

“Try The Yeomen of the Garter – they do a lot of traditional instrumental medleys. There’s one that starts with ‘The Lark in the Morning’.”

“Oh right, yeah. Then it goes on to ‘Rakish Paddy’, ‘Fox-hunter’s Jig’ and ‘Toss the Feathers’, according to this.”

“That sounds right.” Yuuri gave Victor a mischievous smile. “Prepare to be amazed,” he said, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth and giving his eyebrows a waggle.

_There _is _a showman in you, _Victor thought amusedly. _I knew it. _He decided he liked that look very much, and wanted to kiss him for it, but would listen to the music first.

Two quick clangs issued from Yuuri’s com, as if someone were striking an implement against a hollow piece of metal – and then what could only be described as a mad fiddler, playing so fast there must surely have been smoke and flames emerging from his bow. Accompanied by a drum beat that sounded like a soldiers’ march sped up to an insane tempo. It was both familiar, the kind of tune played at country dances, and utterly alien.

Victor’s hand flew to his mouth when he heard it, and he smiled behind it in astonished fascination, aware of Yuuri’s curious eyes upon him. Gradually he moved his hand away a bit, making occasional huffs of disbelief.

“Can you hear it OK?” Yuuri asked. He was clearly enjoying Victor’s reaction.

Victor glanced at him and nodded, then began to tap his foot and his hand on the bed. Soon the pace changed, becoming quicker still, the stately drum beat going wild, and something that sounded like a tambourine joining in. Behind his hand, Victor chuckled in surprise; then finally he let it fall and laughed uproariously, with Yuuri joining in.

“These are reels,” Victor said, finally calming enough to speak. “Meant to dance to. No one could dance to this. It’d be impossible. Is this what your future world is like – everything sped up, even the music?”

“Maybe,” Yuuri answered, his own laughter dying away. “I never thought about it like that.”

“The fiddle sounds odd. And there’s a low-pitched instrument accompanying it.”

“Fiddle and guitar, both electric. The guitar’s like a citole, but it’s got six strings.”

“That drummer must be a monkey, the way he’s banging away. I’ve never heard the like. Can you imagine what they’d make of this if it were played as entertainment at a meal?”

Yuuri guffawed. “I’d love to see it.”

Toward the end of the medley, Victor had laughed so much that his eyes were watering. But the musicianship was excellent. “If I could meet the fiddler, I’d shake his hand. He’d give the Devil a challenge. It tires me just to listen.”

“Phichit, you there?” Yuuri said into his com.

“Absolutely. It sounds like Victor liked it. What else should I play?”

“Speaking of the Devil and fiddles, let’s go for ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’.”

“That old twentieth-century relic? You can’t play that for him.”

“Oh come on. It’s the perfect follow-up to this.”

“If Yuuri recommends it, I’d like to hear it,” Victor said.

“Suit yourself.”

The music practically exploded from the com, and Yuuri smiled to see Victor’s jaw drop. More mad fiddling, with other mysterious loud instruments, all achieving a strong, rhythmic beat like undulating waves – and then a low-voiced man with the strangest drawling accent Victor had ever heard. He picked out a few words, but most were incomprehensible.

“Most music doesn’t even have fiddles, or violins, or what have you,” Yuuri said above the voice. “I guess it’s as good as anything to start with though, since you’re used to hearing it.”

“Not like this,” Victor gushed, shaking his head. “And what on earth is he going on about?”

“It’s supposed to be a dialogue between the fiddler and the Devil. They’re having a contest to see who’s the best player. If the man wins, he gets a fiddle made of gold. If he loses, the Devil gets his soul.”

“Oh, that’s a version of a very old story.”

Yuuri smiled. Then he removed a small black device from his ear and gave it a quick wipe with his tunic. “They’re made to repel bacteria, so you won’t…um, anyway, it’s safe for you to wear, if you’d like to try it.” He held it out in the palm of his hand. “You’ll be able to understand the songs if you’re wearing this.” Then he seemed to realise that as he’d removed it himself, he was no longer speaking so that Victor could understand him. He simply gestured toward his ear.

It was easy to forget that their communication was enabled by this tiny device. Yuuri was telling him to try it…? Victor took it gingerly and placed it against his ear. With Yuuri nodding in encouragement, he pushed it in.

_The Devil opened up his case and he said, “I’ll start this show”_  
And fire blew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow  
And he pulled the bow across the strings and it made an evil hiss  
Then a band of demons joined in,  
And it sounded something like this 

Victor took a deep breath, eyes bright. He might just have been tempted in that moment to believe in magic.

“Is it working?” Yuuri asked.

Victor nodded, then laughed. “Yes, Yuuri, it’s working.”

Yuuri leaned forward and grabbed his hands, squeezing them. Then he jumped off the bed and spoke along with the singer, even imitating the drawl. The Devil had done his fiddling, and now it was his human opponent’s turn. Yuuri joined in with lyrics that made sense and yet didn’t – fire on the mountain? Chicken in the bread pan? – and then leapt into a dance in time with the hottest fiddling Victor would swear anyone could produce. Better than the Devil, indeed.

As, certainly, was Yuuri. Proving, as well, that it _was _possible to dance to such a galloping tune. Victor watched in astonishment, and it took him a moment to remember that Yuuri had done similar things for his Eros performance. They’d obviously been subdued for his audience, however. Victor had never seen anyone move in such a free, sensual way, except perhaps for the belly dancers who had performed after a meal during his trip to Rome. If he’d known his own love would be doing that for him years later, he might have fallen to pieces on the spot. Though this wasn’t a belly dance. It defied classification. But it was incredible.

Yuuri came to a stop in front of him as the fiddling in the song paused. “Join me,” he said with a smile, holding out his hand, the words and gesture familiar from another special night with this man not so long ago. Victor stared a moment before taking it, and was spun laughing into the middle of his own bedroom. Yuuri spoke with the singer once more as the music fell to a quiet lull, face aglow, brown eyes never leaving his:

_The Devil bowed his head because he knew that he’d been beat_  
And he laid that golden fiddle on the ground at Johnny’s feet  
Johnny said, “Devil, just come on back  
If you ever want to try again,  
I done told you once, you son of a bitch,  
I’m the best there’s ever been” 

The music jumped back to life with the nonsense chorus, and Victor felt his heart soar with it as Yuuri swung their arms together. This was no formal dance with predetermined steps; Yuuri was making it up as he went along. Victor fell in with him, bouncing on the balls of his bare feet and turning frenetic circles across the floor. The fiddling got into his very blood; he wondered how anyone could be still when they heard this. Yuuri’s laughter rang high and bright, and Victor’s entwined with it.

The song was over far too soon. Yuuri was beaming at him, and let go of his hands to stroke his cheek. Victor closed his eyes for a moment to stop tears from falling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so purely, simply happy – unless it were the other instance when Yuuri had swept him off his feet like this. Since they’d been together, it had faded into the background, no longer the disturbing conundrum it once had been. And yet Yuuri still never mentioned it.

“That was ting, Phichit,” he was saying into his com.

“Hey, I’m glad I can do this for you both. 1393 totally needs country-rock music.” He laughed. “Seriously, though. I’ll play anything you want.”

“I could watch you dance all night, Yuuri,” Victor said.

“But you’re brilliant yourself,” Yuuri replied. “You’re just limited by what’s available in this time. Let me show you some ballet, and you can try a bit if you want. Phichit, will you put _Swan Lake_ on?”

“Sure. I’ll let it play for you while I go do a few things.”

“Thanks. Now…I suppose these chairs will have to work as makeshift barres.” He looked at Victor. “We don’t really need to dance to the music; it’s probably better if it just plays while I show you some moves.”

Victor listened to the swell of instruments, astounded by the beauty and complexity of what he was hearing, and watched Yuuri pull a chair out and do some stretches. He was purposeful, confident and determined about this in a way Victor had seldom seen off the training field. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Many times. It was obvious from your Eros performance alone, but the way you move, everything you know…You’re a dancer, aren’t you? I don’t know how being a techie fits into it too, but this…I can tell it’s part of who you are. An important part.”

Yuuri stood slowly, surprise on his face. “You’re the first person who’s ever said so.”

“How many people have you performed for?”

“Um, well. Before the contest with Julia here? Zero.” Victor raised his eyebrows, but before he could reply, Yuuri quickly added, “_Real _people, I mean. I…I used to do this in Immersion. I was in musicals, mostly. Singing and dancing.”

“And no one ever watched you?”

“No. It’s safer that way.”

“But you were wonderful in the contest here. The dance you made up, and those clothes – ”

“Mistress Monica helped me with that. I suppose you could say she’s seen me perform, but not like how I showed you just now, with the modern dancing. Actually, I was seeing her in the evenings here for a while after I first arrived, so I could learn all these medieval dances I was supposed to know how to do. The pages up in the tower thought it was pretty funny, a grown knight going up there to do that, but they were good about it.”

Victor simply stared as he took all of this in. “You’re amazing,” he whispered.

Yuuri’s cheeks pinked adorably. “Um, thanks. So, would you like to learn some ballet?”

Victor did. At first, Yuuri attempted to explain something of the history and philosophy of the dance style, and its characteristic moves, but it wasn’t long before he seemed to grow frustrated with this and simply demonstrated, asking Victor to copy. Finding their close-fitting tunics too restrictive, they removed them, though their legs had plenty of freedom with the hose and braies. Which was a shame, Victor thought, as he wouldn’t have minded stripping down further together; though upon second thought, it might become rather distracting.

The fire had burned low by the time they finished, and he tossed some logs on, feeling more relaxed and limbered up than he had in a long while, though his head felt full to bursting of incredible things. They’d hardly done more than stretching and some basic poses and moves, but it was all completely new – and exhilarating. Perhaps it would even contribute to a performance on the wheel. Could these things be done in armour; with a sword? And what would they look like?

“It must be getting late,” Yuuri eventually commented. The symphonic music was still playing from his com.

“I don’t care,” Victor said, sitting down in the chair he’d been leaning on for balance. “Every day with you is a revelation. I’m fairly drunk on it.”

“Then we ought to make sure we take things a little at a time, so it doesn’t get too overwhelming.”

“The dancing,” Victor continued, ignoring this. “I wish I could’ve learned it when I was younger. It feels so natural.”

Yuuri sat down, facing him. “Really?”

“You said yourself that I’m good at it. Perhaps you can teach me more, now and then. I also liked what we did with the song about the devil and the fiddler.” Victor swallowed, realising this was an opportunity to mention something they both had been avoiding for some time. He decided he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life wondering about it, especially when there was no telling how long Yuuri would still be here. “It reminded me of the night of the banquet,” he murmured.

“What banquet?”

Feeling like someone had thrown cold water over him, Victor said, “The banquet. For the Duke of Halbrook, and Tyler.”

Yuuri blinked. “But that was when he challenged me to the duel. How does this remind you of that?”

Wondering why he seemed to be hedging around the subject even now, Victor said, attempting to keep his voice smooth and calm, “Afterward – ?”

Yuuri’s gaze wandered as he considered this. The lilting music from his com provided an odd background to the conversation. “I can’t imagine _that_ particular dance made much of an impression on anybody.”

“You…can’t?”

“I drank a whole jug of strong wine.”

“I know – which made your…performance even more impressive.”

“Performance?” He huffed a laugh. “I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.”

Victor’s heart leapt into his throat. “What?”

“Emil talked me into staying; he said it’d be offensive if I left early.”

This time the words wouldn’t come. Victor gawped like a fish, suddenly feeling in need of a strong drink himself.

Yuuri wrinkled his brow and looked at Victor in concern. “What’s wrong? Oh my God, did I do something horribly embarrassing? I did, didn’t I? And no one’s told me about it. Come to think of it, I don’t even remember the end of the dance.”

“But you remember the beginning?”

“Yeah, and I had a mother of a hangover the next morning. I panicked and then ran away to York, feeling like I’d fucked everything up. I always wondered why you came after me. I…I thought you’d be ashamed of me; glad to have me gone. Is…what exactly happened, Victor?”

“You were…” Victor’s voice trailed off and he put his elbow on the table, then rested his forehead in his hand. It was all right; it had come all right in the end. But had that night really meant nothing to him? “…amazing,” he finished quietly, looking away.

“But how? I don’t understand. It was just a silly dance.”

“It wasn’t to me,” Victor muttered to the table, wondering how this could be any more painful.

“Oh,” Yuuri said quietly. “Victor, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Sometimes it’s still hard to understand what things mean to people here. I guess those after-supper dances where everyone goes round in a circle must be an important tradition.”

Victor blinked and looked at him. “What?”

“That’s why I got lessons from Monica, after all. I wanted to look like I knew what I was doing. Well, it was actually crucial, if everyone was going to believe I was Justin.”

“But I’m not talking about the carol in the great hall,” Victor said, hope growing in his chest.

“What other dance was there?”

Victor stared, realisation finally striking him. “So when you said you’d forgotten how the dance ended, _that’s _the one you were talking about? That silly group dance directly after the meal?”

“Yeah.” There was panic on Yuuri’s face now. “What did you _think _I meant? What did I do?”

Yuuri needed an explanation. Victor would be happy to give it. But just for a moment, he had to let this sink in. Raking a hand through his fringe, he smiled and shook his head in disbelief. “Sweet mother of mercy, he doesn’t remember.” A little laugh escaped him.

“Holy shit, Victor – ”

“It’s all right, my love,” he said softly, placing a hand on Yuuri’s arm until he settled back down, though his eyes were still wide with dread. “There’s nothing to worry about. You see, after the dance in the great hall, I went with you and the squires and the fighting men to the garrison, and we all had a get-together there.”

“We did?”

Victor gave an exaggerated nod, and let another small laugh escape. _Victor Nikiforov, you are the world’s biggest imbecile. Perhaps even North and South America should be included in that. _“Yes, we did,” he said, forcing himself to achieve some better composure. Yuuri deserved it if nothing else. “I brought my citole, and several men fetched their instruments as well. We all drank and sang – you know how we often do after we’re able to leave that dreadful formal atmosphere in the great hall. You seemed to be having a very good time yourself; I’d never seen you so…sociable in a crowd.”

“Fuck,” Yuuri breathed, sitting back in his chair. “I’ve been told that’s how I get when I’m completely smashed. I wouldn’t know, because I never remember. It doesn’t happen that often, but – God, what did I do?”

Victor smiled warmly, the anxiousness that the misunderstanding had stirred within him, both tonight and over the past few months, now draining pleasurably away. “You started a dance competition.”

“I – what?”

“You did. And just in case it’s worrying you, even though you were thoroughly in your cups, you were still the soul of discretion. No one there would have suspected that you were from the future, though you put some unique and rather incredible moves on display. You said you’d learned them on your travels.”

“Jesus.”

“Chris and Julia and a few others were willing to have a go in your contest. To be honest, the seed of the idea I had for the competition between you and her originated there, because you _loved _it and you put everyone else to shame.” He took in Yuuri’s endearingly incredulous expression. “Julia’s a good dancer. But you were so sensual. And then you came to me and persuaded me to put my citole down and have a turn. With you.”

“I did that?”

Yuuri’s words struck a brief chord of sadness, because yes he had, and he would never remember it. The way he’d gently stroked and pushed the citole out of the way while using such softly cajoling speech. A tilt of the head; a knowing smile; hooded eyes that kept flicking up coquettishly to meet his own. If Yuuri had been sitting next to him at a meal, Victor would have taken it unquestioningly as an invitation to bed – and eagerly accepted it. The confused jumble of feelings, the attraction that had been growing inside of him like a flame for weeks, all of it clear in that moment. Victor wanted him – and Yuuri wanted Victor in return.

Though it had been the dance itself that reminded him of how much more they shared than physical need. This was a good friend – warm, understanding, compassionate, interested in what he had to say. And _fun_. When Victor met his gaze – whatever colour his eyes were; even at the time, he hadn’t been sure – he saw all of those things there, and respect; admiration, even. And a longing for connection.

“You danced with me,” he said with a nostalgic air. “And I saw how beautiful you were, in so many ways. We did quick dances and slow. You put your arm around my waist. I was close enough to kiss you. I _wanted _to.” Yuuri let out a loud breath, and Victor took his hand and kissed the back of it now. “Most everyone else was either dancing themselves, or so stewed that they paid us no attention. But I only had eyes for you, my sweet Yuuri. I think my heart knew it loved you then, even if it took my mind a little longer to catch up.”

“Oh, Victor…”

“But there was one more very interesting thing you said that night.”

Yuuri ran a hand back through his hair, obviously fearing the worst.

“When the last dance was done, and I declared you the winner of the contest, you asked me to be your trainer.” _You also threw your arms around my shoulders and started doing shameless things with your hips, but perhaps that’s not something you’d want to hear about just now. _

Yuuri stared. “I…I _asked _you – ”

“You did,” Victor said with a smile. “Cup of wine?” he offered, reaching for the jug in the middle of the table.

“Fuck, yes.”

Victor poured a goodly amount for them both, and they drank.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri said between gulps. “For all of – ”

“Yuuri, don’t ever apologise for giving me the time of my life that night. I certainly have no regrets.”

When Yuuri’s face fell, Victor realised what he had just implied. “Nothing else happened between us, my sweet. Emil volunteered to see that you returned to your room and were looked after. And as I returned to my own, I got to thinking. I hadn’t given an answer to your question, but it was an intriguing prospect. You needed help to prepare for your duel. Abelard is a good trainer, but…”

“You’re one of the best knights in the country.” Yuuri shook his head. “I still can’t believe I did that.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Then the panicked look sprang back into his eyes, and he gripped the end of the table tightly. “What it must’ve looked like to you when I disappeared to York the next day, without saying anything…and then…Christ. When I acted after that like nothing had ever happened – you didn’t know I’d forgotten.” He blew out a breath.

“Yuuri – you’re not having an anxiety attack, are you?” Victor asked with sudden worry.

“No, I’m not anxious. Not like that. Just…” He shook his head again and grabbed his cup of wine. “Horrified.” He took a gulp. “You must’ve been wondering all this time what the hell had happened. But you still came to York to find me. You trained me. You gave me the eros song to dance to.” He looked blank for a moment, as if struggling to take all of this in.

Victor smiled sheepishly and drank his own wine. “I can see now how that might have been construed. Ah, Yuuri,” he sighed, taking another sip, then topping their cups up. “Of course I thought it might tempt the man I danced with back out from where he was hiding, even though I knew he was there all the time anyway. I admit I was confused about why you wouldn’t let him show again. But I couldn’t find the courage to simply ask you.”

“Couldn’t find the courage…” Yuuri echoed in quiet amazement.

“Sometimes it’s easier to find it on the battlefield or in the arena than when it’s needed with someone you love. Strange, is it not?” He took another long draught. “But it’s of no consequence now. Besides, if things hadn’t happened this way, there might not have been a competition, and I think it benefited you and Julia both. It gave her a challenge and extra motivation to improve – ”

“It did that for me, too.”

“And you performed that amazing dance, which I must admit was the best part of it all. Selfish of me.” The corner of Victor’s mouth turned up, and he hooded his eyes.

“I was dancing for you,” Yuuri said softly.

Victor reached out and caressed his hand. “I know.”

“I’m still sorry about what happened.”

“There’s no need to be.”

_Swan Lake _abruptly stopped, and Phichit’s voice said, “Hey, I’m back.” Victor had almost forgotten about the music while they’d been talking. Yuuri gave a start, but then sighed and relaxed.

“Hey, Phichit. How about another song, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure.”

He smiled at Victor. “ ‘In Your Arms’ by Kathy Freeman.”

Victor had taken his tunic from the table where he’d left it earlier and was about to stand and put it on, but Yuuri extended a hand to stop him, then flipped it palm up in another invitation to come dance. He accepted it gladly.

“Here you go, Yuuri,” Phichit said. As Victor got up, allowing himself to be guided to the middle of the room, he heard a deep, sonorous female voice accompanied by a simple, slow drum beat, and rich tones that wove a tapestry of notes and chords.

“That’s a piano,” Yuuri said, slipping a hand around Victor’s bare waist to guide him. “It’s a keyboard instrument. There was a piano in _Swan Lake, _too.” He rested his other hand on Victor’s shoulder.

“How is this dance performed, then?” he asked, suddenly not caring as long as he was standing here like this. The light from the candelabras cast a golden glow over Yuuri’s chest and arms, defining the curves of muscle in soft shadow. Brown eyes held his gaze, and he was aware of the press of Yuuri’s fingers on his skin, warm and firm.

“Well, this doesn’t take any skill. You sort of just turn together in a tight circle, with your arms around each other. Sway your hips a little, like…” He demonstrated. “And look deep into your partner’s eyes.”

Victor mirrored Yuuri’s position and movements. He was right, there was no skill to this; it was more like an embrace that glided along with the music. Delighting in the feel of Yuuri’s smooth skin, he drew little circles on his shoulder with his thumb, and moved his other hand in slow caresses up and down his waist, while the woman sang about how there was nothing else on earth like being in her lover’s arms. The touches were fond, playful flirtations that would have flustered Yuuri not long ago. But now he began to respond with some of his own – a hand gliding across his back, fingers trailing across his jaw…and those long flicking eyelashes that teased and promised in equal measure. Why had he been so wistful about the man who had danced with him the night of the banquet? He was here now, and Victor was in heaven.

Yuuri drew closer, until they were chest to chest. The glances, flashes of grins and tilts of the head were a kind of separate silent dance, lips hovering near but never quite touching. When Yuuri lifted his arms up and draped them over his shoulders, Victor let out a breath and then captured a soft and willing pair of lips. They ended any further attempts to move with the music, though the singing voice continued to flow like honey. Victor slowly pressed his hips into Yuuri’s, allowing him to feel his need, blood racing when he discovered Yuuri’s own. He broke the kiss to softly moan Yuuri’s name against his ear.

With a little smile, Yuuri shifted his hand and said quietly into his com, “Thanks, Phichit.” The music vanished, and silence descended upon the room. Yuuri circled his arm back around Victor.

Presumably he’d turned the com off. Victor had forgotten it was on, taken as he was by the dance and the song, as if somehow the sound had emerged from the ether instead of the device on Yuuri’s wrist. He grinned. “I’ve got you all to myself now. My beautiful dancer.” He placed a finger under Yuuri’s chin and tilted it up. “My sweet love.”

Then Yuuri grasped his shoulders, and there was no pretence of delicacy from either of them as Victor was swept up in the heat of a passionate kiss.

* * *

_“He must be floored by everything you’re telling him.”_

_“He likes it. And so do I. All these little things you and I have been used to all our lives, you know? Sharing them with him…it’s really special.”_

_“I heard him laughing at those fiddle songs.”_

_“Yeah. Thanks for doing that for us.”_

_“Sure, Yuuri. So did you really start teaching him ballet?”_

_“Wait a minute – after you put the music on, you said you were going away to do a few things.”_

_“I did. I came in a couple of times and heard you talking, and went back out.”_

_“What else did you hear?”_

_“Both of you starting to have a really good time while the Kathy Freeman song was on? If you’re gonna do that stuff, can’t you make sure the com’s off first?”_

_“I did turn it off.”_

_“There was something else, though, from earlier. Flipping hell, Yuuri, did you really seduce a medieval knight at a banquet and then forget about it?”_

_“Yeah, I guess I did. But I can explain – ”_

_“OK, but let me get some popcorn first. This is gonna be good.”_

* * *

“What the hell is he doing?” Julia whispered to Yuuri as she turned the wheel. “I’ve never seen him do _that _before.”

As soon as they’d arrived at the top of the hill, Victor had vaulted up with a gleam in his eye. Drawing his sword, he’d gestured for Julia to get to work; Yuuri had offered to help her, but she’d shooed him back, seeming to take delight in performing the task by herself. Yuuri had got the impression Victor was testing out some ideas and didn’t want to get in his way. He was content for now to watch his sparkling swanlike motions under the bright April sky.

But what _was _Victor doing? Yuuri watched him closely as he traced arcs through the air, sword in hand. Lifted a foot, raised it, twirled. _Oh my God, this is the ballet I showed him. He remembers it after one session and is trying it out – in his armour, on the wheel. _

_Fucking hell, Victor. You’re incredible._

“Your jaw’s on the ground, ale-house boy. Is this something the two of you have been conspiring at? And why? If someone pranced about in front of me like that, I’d chop him down faster than you could blink.”

“I’d like to see you try, my girl,” Victor said, trotting to the rim. He signalled for her to stop and she wrapped her arms around a spoke, pulling. This time Yuuri helped while Victor gazed down on them.

“Get up there with you, master? That’s a good jest.”

“That’s not what I was suggesting as such, but I like the idea. It’s about time you did. You were two years younger when…I stopped doing this.”

“But I’ve never been on the wheel before,” she breathed.

“How unadventurous of you. Come on – can you vault up?”

She responded with a grimace of determination, jumping and planting her palms on the wheel, swinging herself nimbly up.

“Justin, do you mind?” Victor asked. Yuuri suddenly remembered that on the rare occasions he’d heard someone else suggest they join Victor on the wheel, he’d politely declined, or hedged around the subject. But why shouldn’t Julia give it a try? As if Victor needed his permission anyway. He smiled and nodded, stepping back to watch.

“I may have to ask you to turn the wheel for us.”

“No!” Julia squeaked. Catching their stares, she added more sombrely, “I mean, I’m sure I won’t have a problem with it after a while. But I ought to try this without the floor spinning under my feet first.”

“A wise decision,” Victor replied. “I suppose that means you don’t want to attempt the somersaults we’ve been working on yet, either.”

“Um…” She looked down at the spoke she was standing on.

“I’m jesting,” Victor said gently. “Come, let’s try a little sparring.”

Yuuri folded his arms and watched. Victor was obviously allowing her time and space to find her feet, though she wasn’t any less ferocious in her attacks than she was when sparring on the ground. Victor ended up giving her a thorough lesson, and Yuuri had been asked to turn the wheel slowly at the end. The glow of confidence on Julia’s face by the time she leapt off was touching to see.

“Your turn,” Victor said to him, holding his hand out just as Yuuri had done when they’d danced in his room. “If you want.”

A thrill shot through him at the challenge, and he vaulted up, Julia taking her customary place at the rim, ready to turn.

“What do you want to do, then?”

“I thought we came here to practise what we were learning on the ground.” Gymnastics, over the past couple of weeks, using mattresses in the stable that were firmly stuffed with straw. Julia, who had seen them working in the corner of the training field, had ended up joining them. Like their sparring on the wheel, Victor said the exercises were meant to develop balance and agility, while providing a bit of fun. Yuuri had silently questioned the “fun” part as he bruised himself and pulled a muscle or two, missing the mattress entirely or tying his armour on and then landing awkwardly, the plates pressing into his skin.

But the wheel was something special, Yuuri knew. The way Victor looked at it, as if greeting an old friend, though mellowed with a hint of sadness that Yuuri suspected was due to his memories of being on it with his brother. He wondered what they’d done and what it had looked like. They must have been spectacular. Yuuri felt sure it would take a great deal of practice to achieve what Victor could do, especially when the wheel was turning. 

“All right. Try your somersault, then.”

Yuuri looked down, his heart sinking. “On a spoke?”

“Go as close to the centre as you need to.”

“Show me again.”

Victor turned, took a moment to concentrate, then raised his arms and flipped forward in the air, each foot landing on a spoke. Yuuri was about to congratulate him, but then he did the same backwards. Julia laughed, and Yuuri did too. “Show-off,” he muttered with a grin.

“You asked. I seem to be getting back into form, but I could still do with some practice.”

“If that’s what you call being out of practice, I’d love to see what you can do when you’re warmed up.”

Victor gave him a little smile but said nothing. Yuuri shuffled toward the centre of the wheel until he was standing in an area where the spokes were closer together, but still far enough apart to add some difficulty. Glancing at Victor, he expected to see the light of challenge in his eyes. It was often there now when they were sparring or exercising together, each understanding how much the other enjoyed the little contests, and how motivating they could be. Instead, however, he was met with an expression of warm support – perfect for when he was starting out like this, needing to find his confidence.

_He meets me where I am. _“Does this look all right?”

Victor nodded. “The most important thing will be to concentrate on where your feet land – remember how you practised with the circles we drew on the mattress? The wheel will be less forgiving if you make a mistake.”

_Don’t I know it. OK, this is me doing the world’s most amazing somersault, and landing precisely where I mean to. _He raised his arms, gathered all the energy he could in a slight crouch as he swung his arms back down, leapt up, spun – and missed his footing on one of the spokes. He flailed as his body tried to wedge itself between the bars, but he managed to halt his fall by bracing a metal-clad shin against the wood.

“For a first try, that was very good,” Victor said. Yuuri was sure he heard Julia give a little snort.

He tried several more times, succeeding when he was close to the centre, though that felt like cheating. He promised himself he would do this nearer to where Victor was standing. The wheel wasn’t even turning. He knew he could. But it would also be easy to twist an ankle, or worse.

“You’ll dent your armour at that rate,” Julia said. She’d been standing off to the side watching, looking bored.

“What did we discuss the other night about according people the respect they’re due?” Victor said with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, sir,” she mumbled. 

Yuuri edged further out to the rim. He shot a determined look toward Julia, then Victor. Gathering his concentration, he sprang – and landed with both feet firmly on the next spoke along. He stared at them as if he couldn’t quite believe they were there, solid and still.

“Justin, that was wonderful!” Victor cried, making a couple of hops to join him, and wrapping him in a hug. “Well done, my love,” he whispered in his ear. 

Yuuri closed his eyes and smiled, resting his head on Victor’s metal shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Now. I could do with more of a workout, if you have the energy left. What about some sparring while Julia turns the wheel?”

“I’ve got plenty of energy,” Yuuri replied, drawing back. “But what do you mean by ‘sparring’ – something showy, like we did when we were practising in the field at the tournament, or the real thing?”

“Oh, the real thing.”

“That’s a workout for you?”

“When I’m fighting you? Nowadays, yes, it is. I even find myself a little out of breath sometimes, though that could be for other reasons.” He smirked.

“Smug bastard,” Yuuri said with a laugh. “Come on, have at you.” He drew his sword.

Once again, he found himself concentrating as much on balance and the position of his feet as he did on tactics with his weapon. Victor never showed him any mercy, not even when they were up here with the trees and fields spinning deliriously past; Yuuri understood it was part of his training, though it made Victor impossible to beat. Julia’s earlier efforts had inspired him, however, and he remained in almost continual motion as she had, flitting about, making himself a difficult target.

Eventually they were both sweating in their armour, faces pink with exertion. “You’re a will-o’-the-wisp,” Victor said. “I must confess you’re confounding me at times. But there’s one thing you’re forgetting.”

“Oh?” Yuuri answered, pausing to stare.

“Never allow yourself to be distracted.” Victor’s sword circled Yuuri’s and sent it flying out of his hand. Then to Yuuri’s surprise, he flung his own away and scooped him up with one smooth effort, holding him in a bridal carry.

“What the hell,” Yuuri said, circling his arms around Victor’s neck. “Is this legal?”

“If you mean is it allowed when sparring, I wouldn’t usually recommend it, no.”

“I’ll keep it in mind as an idea, anyway. You’re not the only one strong enough to lift a bloke in armour.”

“Really?” Victor said in a low voice. “How exciting. I should’ve taught you this a long time ago. It’s called the…” He paused to think. “…lovers’ guard.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh against his neck, then felt himself being placed carefully back on his feet as the wheel slowed. He glimpsed an eye-roll from Julia.

“You won’t catch a man doing that to _me_,” she said under her breath. “I’d break his arms first.”

Victor looked at Yuuri. “Do a somersault off the rim of the wheel with me. On the count of three? One…two…three.”

Yuuri had hardly been given a chance to consider his response, but knew he wouldn’t have said no. A second later, he was hurtling through the air, coming to a good if jarring landing on the ground next to Victor. They must have timed it almost perfectly, he reckoned. A wave of euphoria swooped through him. “Juke,” he whispered.

“Now you’re both showing off,” Julia said, though Yuuri thought he detected a glimmer of admiration in her eyes as well.

“Practise enough and you can join us,” Victor answered breezily. “I daresay all three of us could put on quite a performance, in time.”

_Performance. _Yuuri wondered again what exactly Victor used to do on the wheel. Then it hit him – Roger Morecambe, proprietor of The Eagle. He’d recalled Victor’s name. _Fine fighting skills_, he’d said. Victor had put on some kind of display for the crowd at a May Day festival, but not recently. It wasn’t the first time Yuuri’s curiosity had prompted him to ask about this, and the wheel, and Alexander’s part in it. But as before, he thought it might be wiser to let Victor volunteer to explain when he was ready.

“Justin, are you going to try to break my arms for picking you up?” Victor enquired as the three of them started down the hill toward the stable. “Don’t do it at an awkward moment, will you? Or I may have to break yours in return.”

“Not until after supper at least. I’ll need them so I can eat.”

“That’s ever so kind of you.”

“Not at all.”

Julia was staring straight ahead with a frown. But when she finally glanced at Victor, he smiled at her kindly and winked, and it was all she could do to conceal her own little grin.

* * *

_“I still find it difficult to believe I’m lucky enough to have you here every night, my love. Which room would it please you to stay in tonight?”_

_“We’re standing in mine. Will that do?”_

_“The place is immaterial. The company is…divine.”_

_“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”_

_“Did…did you make that up? It’s incredible. And so romantic.”_

_“I’ve quoted this author for you before – William Shakespeare. We had to memorise passages from his poems and plays in school. He also happens to be the most famous English-speaking writer who ever lived, though you’ll have to wait about two hundred years before he’s on the scene. Good, isn’t it? Those lines were spoken by the most famous lover in history. Romeo.”_

_“I like the sound of this. And I, a holy shrine? An angel? Come worship at my altar, my beloved pilgrim.”_

_“I’ll try not to profane it, then. But actually, that sounds like a fun idea.”_

_“Oh you blasphemer. You know, though, on fast days like today, the Church says you’re not supposed to do this.”_

_“What, have sex?”_

_“Indeed. In fact, even between a man and a woman, sex acts that can’t end in pregnancy are considered sinful.”_

_“Oh. I suppose they’d say we were positively evil.”_

_“I’d say you were right.”_

_“Then take me to hell, baby.” _

* * *

“The hands on the clock keep turning round,” Yuuri sang quietly to himself as he sat at his table with his clock apparatus scattered in front of him. “They point to the time of the day. The time means nothing with you by my side, though some time I’ll be on my way.”

_Actually, that didn’t go to a good place. I think I’ll stop singing now._

Attempting to do exacting, detailed work in the evening by candlelight, even with the candelabra positioned as near as possible, using unsophisticated tools like these was challenging, to say the least. In modern times, the design and calculations would all be done on computer, and the gears would be printed according to the specifications. Or if a natural material such as wood were being used, electronic instructions would be sent to a machine that would cut it to the right size and shape. It was easy to forget how much skill was involved in crafting something by hand.

_It’ll be a miracle if this works out, _Yuuri thought as he wrote an equation on a piece of paper with a stick of sharpened lead around which he’d wrapped a coil of rope to protect his fingers. _At the very least, it’ll take a lot of trial and error. _The lead was good for making light lines and erasing with a small piece of bread, though it still sent a creep of horror through him to be using something toxic. Unfortunately, you couldn’t draw very well on wood with a quill, and the ink tended to be permanent. Someone needed to go and invent the pencil, but that would require an early discovery of graphite.

The quiet of the room drew attention to itself as he sat back to rest his eyes for a moment. He’d hardly seen Victor all day. The Baron of Loxley and his family had arrived to stay for a short spell on their way to York, and Victor had been helping to entertain the son, Robin, who was eighteen, and the daughter, Emma, who was twelve. There had been jousting in the afternoon; Victor and Abelard had beaten Robin, and Yuuri felt he himself had put in a passable performance in that he hadn’t been unhorsed. He’d offered to help Victor in his duties, but had been told it might not be wise if he didn’t know the intricacies of the castle and its customs, and that he wouldn’t inflict either sibling on him anyway, the girl being of a rather imperious nature and the young man desiring to talk about little apart from the hunt. That had made Yuuri glad to be able to escape to his room to work in solitude. Victor, however, had been summoned to spend the evening with the guests in his parents’ chambers.

“A twenty-degree pressure angle should do the job,” Yuuri said to himself, getting back to work. “And a diametral pitch of eight. God knows how I’ll get all the gear teeth right, though.” He took a compass and measured the angle he needed. The instrument had originally included a needle that scratched arcs, so he’d modified it with his modern tools to hold another small stick of lead instead.

Muffled noises in Victor’s room jolted him out of his thoughts; he’d closed the adjoining door in case Victor brought visitors in and the clock project was in view on the table. Then a knock sounded, and Victor called through, asking Yuuri if he wanted to come over. He placed the tools and papers and everything else from his table inside his wardrobe, turned his projector on, and opened the door to discover Julia arranging food and drink items on the table from a silver tray, and Victor standing to the side with a leather tome tucked under an arm.

“Thank you, my girl,” he said, putting the book on the table and pouring two glasses of wine. “Have a custard tart for your trouble.”

“As long as I don’t have to talk to _Lady _Emma any more tonight.” She took a tart from the plate. “Thank you, master.”

“You’re a lady as well. What’s wrong with that?”

“She wants to remind everyone of it, and exercise her authority to the utmost, though she’s naught but a squidling. Her mother ought to rein her in. Insufferable.”

“Perhaps she can be forgiven for seeking some amusement before she’s married off in a year or so. At least you escaped that particular fate.”

“Her husband won’t, though.” She popped the rest of the tart in her mouth. “Evening, Sir Justin,” she said by way of greeting and goodbye. Victor let her out, then locked the door behind her.

“She’s right, you know,” he said with a smile. “The girl _is _insufferable. And her brother is deadly dull company. But I suppose it’s a minor irritation, all told.” He came forward to join Yuuri near the table. Having been with other nobles, he’d dressed the part – blue houppelande, pointy-toed hose, and glimmering livery collar. He peeled off a pair of finely embroidered gloves and placed them on the table, along with his black cloth cap; and then they were in each other’s arms, savouring a long kiss.

“Sounds like you’ve had a hard day,” Yuuri said.

“All the better for seeing you at the end of it. What have you been doing?”

“Working on the clock.” He turned to look at the items on the table.

“They kept us well fed and watered,” Victor told him. “I wasn’t sure about you, though, so I had Julia bring some treats back.” He passed him a cup of wine, and Yuuri drank.

“Thank you,” he said, placing a kiss on Victor’s cheek and then helping himself to a tart. He tasted rosewater and nutmeg. “This is beautiful. What’s the book?”

“A gift from Lord Robin. It’s a handsome trinket, but I haven’t looked at it properly yet.”

“You call something like this a trinket? Can I – ?”

“Please. Read it, if you like.”

Yuuri examined the cover, rich brown leather embossed with knots and swirls gilded in gold leaf. “_The Lover’s Confession _by John Gower,” he said, gingerly turning to the first page. Green, black and blue vines and leaves scrolled elegantly in the margins, and there was a painting of a nobleman confessing to a priest, or so Yuuri guessed. The whole book, he quickly discovered, was full of art like this; it would be enough to command attention on its own, without whatever story the calligraphic text contained. He turned back to the beginning and read aloud: 

_If I but summon to my mind_  
_Those olden days, then I shall find_  
_How all the world was full of wealth._  
_The life of man was passed in health,_  
_Riches and plenty nourished then,_  
_And fortune favoured valiant men,_  
_Knighthood was still an honoured name,_  
_Whereof, worldwide, men wrote the fame –_  
_In chronicles that still endure._  
_Then law and justice were secure,_  
_The privilege of royalty_  
_Was safe, and all the barony_  
_Respected in their high estate;_  
_The cities were not in debate,_  
_The people were subservient…_

“Is this for real?” he laughed. “The royals in their places and the peasants in theirs. But that’s already how it is now, so why is he getting nostalgic about the olden days?”

“I’m told this was written on request for the king, so I expect it’s the sort of thing he’d like to hear,” Victor answered, taking an olive from a bowl and popping it in his mouth. “Especially because he’d know full well that things _aren’t _perfect. If the nobles aren’t in open defiance, there are always plots and schemes waiting to be hatched. There was also Wat Tyler’s rebellion about a decade ago, in which the man led an angry mob on a murderous trail of destruction through London. Richard feared for his life. While I’ll admit that the poor of the land had justified grievances, they gained little from the revolt, and you can understand why the king might have had a few sleepless nights afterward. The troubles were spread across the country for a while – even as far as York. But you’ll see,” he continued as Yuuri leafed through the sumptuously decorated pages, “that this is simply a collection of tales for entertainment. You were reading part of the prologue.”

Yuuri considered pursuing the discussion of the peasants and their troubles; he still wasn’t quite sure where Victor stood in that regard. While he clearly sympathised, the fact that he was a member of a wealthy noble family would surely tempt him to defend his own position. But maybe now wasn’t the best time for a conversation that might send a few sparks flying. Yuuri felt like enjoying Victor’s company tonight, rather than challenging the means of his livelihood.

He took a drink of wine and suddenly wondered what the text would look like if he turned his translator off. To emphasise the point, he pulled it out of his ear and put it down on the table while Victor watched curiously. The shimmering gold words on the front appeared to have changed.

“_Confessio Amantis_,” he said, and then read a piece from the earlier passage aloud.

_Tho was knyghthode in pris be name,_  
_ Wherof the wyde worldes fame – _  
_ Write in cronique – is yit withholde._

He stumbled across the words, guessing at the pronunciation as he went along. Amusement shone in Victor’s eyes, but he listened without comment. When Yuuri finished, he said, “That was a gohd skiffte. Howe selcouth thy speche is. ‘Knyghthode’ begyns with a ‘K– thoh pronownce it noght?”

Yuuri gave him that bemused smile used by everyone the world over who couldn’t understand what someone was saying to them.

“Knyghthode…Knyghtis.” Victor pointed to himself, then to Yuuri. “Wey err knyghtis of Crowood Castel.”

“Something of Crowood Castle? Try writing it down,” Yuuri said, going to the drawer where the paper and writing materials were stored. He placed them on the table. “Write,” he said, handing Victor the quill. Turning off the translator had placed a barrier between them which he felt keenly, their easy communication choked off. But they still spoke the same language, didn’t they? And maybe this could be fun.

Victor nodded and wrote _knyghtis_ on the paper. Yuuri’s eyes went wide in understanding. “Knights!” he said excitedly. “ ‘We are knights of Crowood Castle.’ ”

“Knyghtis,” Victor said with a laugh, as if correcting him. He pronounced the ‘k’; and the ‘gh’ was a sound breathed from the back of the throat. Then he wrote _nites_ on the paper and pointed to Yuuri, then the word. Now Yuuri laughed, because that was how _he _was pronouncing it, and indeed the way Victor has just spelled it made a lot more sense.

Victor wrote, _Þou er a knyght. I am a knyght. We er knyghtis of Crowood Castel. _Then he vocalised it. The strange letter at the beginning made a _th _sound. And the letter _I_ sounded like _ee_. Victor also rolled the _R_s in his words. It was beautifully musical – though seeing it written was certainly an aid to understanding.

_My name is Yuuri,_ he wrote, realising this was the first time he’d ever put his name on paper here. Victor held his gaze for a moment, then ran a finger slowly underneath the letters.

“Thee nahm is Yuuri,” he said, rolling the _R_ again – something the translator never allowed to come through.

“You make it sound beautiful,” Yuuri whispered. “Your name is Victor.”

“Vict-uh?” He laughed. “Nostou ther is an _R_ at the end of my nahm?” Taking a drink of wine, he had a thoughtful expression as he put the cup down. “Ee am drenking wine.”

“You’re drinking wine,” Yuuri said with a smile. “I got that.” He picked up an olive and put it in his mouth. “I’m eating an olive.”

“Thoh err æting an olive.” Victor beamed in delight. He glanced quickly around. “This is a cahn-dell.” He tapped the thick white candle in the middle of the table. “This is a flahm-uh.” Moving his hand back and forth over the flame.

“A candle, and a flame.”

“Flame,” Victor echoed, as if trying a new food and wondering about the taste.

“This isn’t so hard after all.” Yuuri patted the scabbard against his thigh. “This is a sword.”

“Sord?” Victor laughed. “Ah, Yuuri. It is a swerd.”

If Yuuri didn’t know which object Victor was referring to, he would never have known from the way he pronounced the word, including the _W _and the rolled _R_. He huffed a laugh and sat down, then decided to make a narrative of what he was doing. “I’m sitting in a chair.” He opened the cover of _The Lover’s Confession. _“I’m reading a book.”

Victor sat down opposite him. “Thoh err sitting in a chaier. Thoh err reding a bohk.” He sighed and shook his head, seemingly in disbelief, though he was still grinning. “Parchance our langages err alles noght swa divers. Oh, Yuuri…everi word thoh sayes is loveli for to here, whether Ee understand it or noght.”

With sparkling eyes, Yuuri reached out and stroked Victor’s fringe, curling a finger around the end so that it lifted before flopping gently back onto his forehead. Victor watched with a raised eyebrow and a tiny smirk. “You have beautiful blond hair.”

Victor raked his fingers through his fringe himself. “Blond…hair? Fay-ruh hair.” He wrinkled his brow. “Bee-oo-ti-ful?” 

They didn’t have a word for beautiful – ? Like _sexy_, it seemed incredible to be lacking such a term. Yuuri thought, and finally remembered something Victor had said to him half-jokingly. “Full comely creature.”

Victor considered this, obviously working the meaning out around Yuuri’s pronunciation. Then with the light of understanding in his eyes, he burst out laughing. He stroked Yuuri’s hair back and said, “Thoh hast broon hair ahnd eh-yen.” Running a finger down his cheek, he added, “Thoh err bricht ahnd menskful. Me lohv…myne own hertis rote.”

A little shiver went down Yuuri’s spine. “ ‘My own heart’s root,’ ” he whispered, leaning closer and caressing Victor’s cheek in turn. “Victor…”

“Ee lohv how thoh sayes my nahm. Ee lohv theh.” Leaning closer still, he murmured, his eyes half-closed, “Ee lohng to kiss theh.”

_I understand, _Yuuri thought, his heart pattering. _Oh God, Victor…_

A knock sounded at the door. With perfect – or, rather, atrocious – timing, Julia called, “Maister, err ye there? May Ee see yow? Ee have a message.”

Victor paused and looked down for a moment, then sat up straight, glancing at the translator and then questioningly at Yuuri. Yuuri turned his projector on, but smirked and shook his head, grabbing the translator and placing it in a tunic pocket. Victor’s eyes widened; then he gave a little laugh and stood to unlock the door. “Sche is anli levit to use hir keye when Ee am noght here,” he said to Yuuri on the way. “How mikel of this dos thou understandes, parde?”

He opened the door, and Julia strode in with a jug of wine, looking briefly at Yuuri as she set it on the table. “With ye twa here, Ee toght ye myght neden mar.” She returned to stand in front of Victor. “Me rewes to vexe yow, maister. Bot yowr fadir the baroun commaundes eft yowr presence in his chambre.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Forwhi? Ee was bot latli there.”

“Provisioun for the gestis tomorrow.”

“May noght Matt loke to it?”

“The lord sayde he mote nedes reherce it with yow.” She shrugged.

Having been listening carefully, Yuuri got the idea that Victor’s father wanted to speak with him for some reason, and Victor didn’t want to go back. Yuuri gave him a small grin and a nod to signal that he didn’t mind. It was frustrating, but he understood, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t keep himself occupied.

“Ye, certes,” Victor said to Julia with a sigh. “Gohd even, Justin. Ee sal return al-sone as Ee may.”

“Gohd even, Victor.” He purposefully rolled the _R_ at the end, and Victor smiled, then disappeared out the door with Julia.

Yuuri stared after them for a moment as silence descended upon the room, punctuated by the crackling of the flames in the fireplace.

_Myne own hertis rote. Ee lohv theh._

“I love you too, Victor,” he whispered.

He stood, and with a final wistful look at the words they’d written on the paper, tossed it on the fire. Then he put the translator back in his ear, and picked up the book and another custard tart. “Right, then,” he muttered, heading to the comfy chair near the blaze and nudging the footstool a little closer to it. “Let’s see if this _Lover’s Confession _is as riveting a read as it sounds.”

* * *

_Thank God – he’s still here._

_I will think this every morning as I wake and see him lying next to me, I’m certain._

_He doesn’t know that when I opened my eyes to an empty space in bed yesterday, my blood pounded in my temples and I feared the worst. It turned out he’d only been in the garderobe. Perhaps that’s what an anxiety attack is like for him. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy._

_God, if you’re there, please give us this time, and each other, and the comfort of knowing it. I don’t want to lose my Yuuri. Not this morning, or next year, or ten years from now. Not ever._

_Please…lift these clouds before they bring a tempest down upon us._

* * *

In the days and weeks of April, Yuuri continued to train with Victor in the field and on the wheel. They developed a kind of dance with each other, drawing circles with their hands and bodies even as Julia made the world spin around them. Yuuri couldn’t decide if it was more like elegant sparring, or _Camelot _the musical, or ballet. But it made his heart sing as their movements fell into closer harmony, and their armour and swords became strange glittering props instead of instruments involved in death. There was still plenty of time for their intended purpose in the field.

Exercise. Train. Eat. Spar. Make love. A physical existence that Yuuri wouldn’t have imagined was possible – not in his own time, and certainly not for him. But he felt _alive. _And more of a man than he had ever been. As far as they’d come in their attitudes, people in modern times hadn’t quite got round to the notion that a snapdragon could be as representative of their chosen gender as a heterosexual. Since he’d met Victor, however, that whole part of him had surged to prominence with a virility he would never have credited himself with. It was exhilarating.

And yet it was still one piece of his life. The actual love they shared was what really fed and sated him, even in bed; _that _was what turned him on. The simple things they did together, too…Victor played his citole and sang, sometimes as a serenade while Yuuri worked on his clock. Nine men’s morris and chess in the main garrison room. They learned bits of each other’s languages. Yuuri told Victor more about the world and the lands it contained. About future historical figures and events, though for the time being he’d decided to avoid anything between now and the sixteenth century. Phichit played music for them; they danced, and Yuuri taught Victor more ballet. He played audio programs as well; Yuuri loaned Victor his translator. And _Romeo and Juliet_. Victor listened to that without the translator, and despite the fact that it was in the southeastern dialect of English two hundred years in his future, he had an instant comprehension of much of the language that any school-age child studying for exams would envy. He was even able to explain some of the jokes to Yuuri that he suspected might have eluded modern understanding. Certainly his own.

They didn’t have a great deal of time together to do these things, with their daily tasks and Victor’s responsibilities as the baron’s son. But they fit them into the days and evenings as they could. In more relaxed moments, Yuuri was able to coax stories from Victor’s childhood about Irene from him, though he couldn’t remember hearing Alexander mentioned once. It was as if he simply hadn’t existed, which saddened Yuuri’s heart. He wondered if he ought to try mentioning Victor’s brother now and then himself, but always got the feeling that it would be better if he didn’t – not through anything tangible Victor said or did; but there was an atmosphere that made it seem almost taboo. Which, Yuuri realised, was the impression the other fighting men seemed to have as well. It wouldn’t be good to allow it to carry on, he decided; but he needed some time to think of a way to address it.

His own usual fears were never far from the surface, either. In particular, there were now physical reminders all around the castle of the king’s upcoming visit in two months. Repairs were being made both outside and inside the castle, with walls being re-plastered and painted, floorboards replaced, and surrounding paths and roads widened, smoothed, and healed of potholes. The kitchen had begun stocking up on supplies; so many, in fact, that wooden outbuildings had sprung up to contain them all. Wagons and carts laden with goods could be seen travelling up to the castle most hours of the day, and boats arrived on the river. Most noticeable, however, was the virtual town of wooden structures gradually materialising at the foot of the hill. Labourers moved around it like ants, and the noises of hammers and axes and saws reverberated while there was daylight to see. They made Yuuri think of a coffin being built; an image that he continually tried and failed to kick out of his mind. Two months left…and he still hadn’t found out who Ailis was. She was as elusive as ever.

The only times the world and its troubles seemed far away were when he was with Victor. The nights were theirs, hours stretching away lit by candles and lamps. Nude in the shadows, whether they were bathing together, exploring and pleasuring each other, or fucking hard and fast, they had each other; held each other, and loved. In all the places and all the times that had ever existed, Yuuri was sure there was no one else like Victor. He’d come here in pursuit of a rogue time traveller…and found the most wonderful treasure on earth.

Who, late one night, was lying in Yuuri’s bed as Yuuri lay propped up on his side, preparing him, both of them nude and wanting. It was always sublime to see Victor’s sculpted form fully revealed in the candlelight like this, aroused and wanting, blue eyes full of love and lust. Without thinking, however, Yuuri had inserted his finger further than usual this time, and apart from the task of making sure Victor was ready for him, had lingered to gaze fondly at him while stroking him inside.

He hadn’t anticipated Victor’s reaction, which brought his attention to what he was doing and sent stabs of heat to his groin. Fingers clutching at his back, Victor grabbed the sheets with his other hand. “Yuuri,” he breathed, “that…that feels incredible.”

Yuuri made his strokes more precise, and varied the motions. Victor practically lifted off the bed, then tried to master himself while continuing to writhe. Yuuri was mesmerised, and aching with desire. But he was also thrilled to have found something new that Victor so clearly enjoyed.

“I…I’m ready,” Victor whispered.

Surprised, Yuuri slowed but didn’t stop his ministrations. “I’m happy to carry on, Vitya, if you’d like me to,” he said softly with a little smile. “Have you ever come just from being fingered?”

Victor swallowed and shook his head.

_No? _Yuuri processed the shock for a moment. Then the thought struck him: _Something I can actually show him, instead of the other way round. And I can watch him while I bring him off. _With a frisson of excitement, he said aloud, “There’s nothing else like it. Let me take care of you?”

“Please, Yuuri,” Victor said in a small hoarse voice, begging with his eyes as well as his words. Yuuri wondered how he’d survive this; who’d actually enjoy it the most.

He smiled and smeared kisses across Victor’s shoulder and chest, flicking little glances up at him. He was simply breathtaking – cheeks pink, hair mussed as he tossed his head, moans escaping his throat and rising in volume. Yuuri’s name spilled from his lips again and again, the terms of endearment he’d come to know and love mixed in, as well as earthy swears. Yuuri was practically shaking with the urge to mount him and thrust into him, but concentrated on gradually intensifying his finger movements as this amazing man fell apart before his eyes.

Victor reached down to try to touch himself, but Yuuri paused to still his hand. “No, don’t,” he said gently. “It’ll be better that way.”

“How…did you learn this?”

Yuuri gave him a small grin. “How do you think? You’ve never done it to yourself?”

“I didn’t know…how does it feel so good?”

Yuuri sank his finger back in, curling it and stroking again, and Victor arched his back and squeezed his eyes shut with a little cry. Yuuri’s cock throbbed and this throat hitched, but he found his voice. “There’s a part of you – right _here_ – ” Victor cried out again as he pressed. “ – that’s called the prostate. We don’t always have sexy words for these things, but you can make stuff up. What about…pleasure centre?” he said in a sultry tone. “Or…” He licked a kiss across Victor’s collarbone. “…joy spot?” He huffed a little laugh against Victor’s skin. Quickening his motions, with Victor tensing and trembling, he said with a dry throat, “Tell me how you feel, Vitya.”

But Victor was struggling for words. Everything now was a variation of _Ah_, as he dug his fingers into Yuuri’s back with one hand and flung the other onto the pillow next to his head. Sensing he was close, Yuuri kept to a rhythm while trailing kisses over firm muscles, his own breaths becoming ragged. Part of him still couldn’t believe this was happening, or that he had the nerve. Victor’s gorgeous long cock twitched, and his back curved off the mattress like a bow. But finally he managed to put words together.

“Yuuri…God, how…it’s so good,” he gasped out, eyelids fluttering open to look at him in awe. More little noises. Then, “I’m going to…Yuuri, I – I…fuck, _fuck_…”

Trembling himself now, Yuuri circled a nipple with his tongue and then nipped while his finger continued to stroke – backward, forward, adding a bit more pressure.

Another loud _Ah_, and Victor threw his head back, fingers grasping, as ropes of white spattered over his abdomen. Pulse after pulse shook him, and his skin was a wet mess before he slumped back down onto the mattress as if he’d just sprinted a mile. Yuuri couldn’t imagine a more sensual sight. He hummed against Victor’s skin, whispering his name and planting more kisses.

“Yuuri, my sweet,” Victor whispered, hooking a finger under his chin and lifting it. He was still getting his breath back, and his fringe was plastered to a sweaty forehead. With a shaky smile, he continued, “I believe I’m more spent than I’ve ever been. You’re full of surprises. But let’s take care of you now.”

Yuuri wasn’t going to argue. Unsure what to suggest, however, he simply looked into those bright blue eyes.

“Will you bring yourself to completion next to me? I’d like to watch.”

Despite what they’d just done, Yuuri still felt himself blushing.

“I’m already debauched,” Victor said with a small laugh, drawing the tip of a finger through the deposit on his abdomen. “A little more will hardly make a difference.”

Yuuri felt a throb in his groin, his body’s need reasserting itself even as his cheeks continued to burn. He shifted back slightly, propped up on his elbow, and took himself in hand, beginning to stroke. _You can do this. You want it. God, you _need _it after what you just did to Victor. The evidence of your success is there in front of you. _He closed his eyes and let out a groan, quickening his pace.

“That’s it, my love. You’re so beautiful. I’m going to get hard again if you carry on like that.” Victor stroked his fingers down Yuuri’s flushed face and shoulder, and stopped over his heart, pressing his palm there. “Let me see you come, my sweet,” he whispered. “Right over my belly.”

Victor’s soft encouragements, his sinful-looking sex-sated body, and his gaze fixed hungrily on Yuuri’s fervent motions were more than enough to shatter any lingering self-consciousness. He breathed Victor’s name, and again, louder, as the waves built higher, roaring through him.

“Lord, Yuuri, yes.” Victor’s hand pressed hard against his chest.

With a shudder and a shout, jaw stretched open, Yuuri watched himself erupt across Victor’s abdomen. It felt lewd – and utterly blissful. Victor’s hand moved in little circles as tremors of pleasure passed through him, gradually easing. The tension drained out of him soon afterward, and he was tempted to feel ashamed of the mess they’d both made on Victor. But he looked thoroughly lascivious, stretching out languorously and gazing at him with half-lowered lids, and Yuuri quickly changed his mind. Even so, he took the cloth he’d left nearby on the blanket and gently cleaned him off. Then they climbed under the covers, and Yuuri basked in the warmth of Victor’s embrace, wondering how life could possibly get any better than this moment.

He turned his translator off briefly to murmur, “Victor…Ee lohv theh_. Ya lyublyu tebya.”_

“Yuuri, I love you ek,” Victor replied with a little laugh as he stroked his hair. _“Aishiteru._” He kissed his forehead. They lay still and quiet for a while longer, and then he said, “Giving over to you like that – it was wonderful.”

“Hm?” Realising he’d been drifting off, Yuuri opened his eyes and looked up. “Giving over – ”

“Deciding I’d trust you with anything. Which I would. I was angry when I discovered you’d been lying about who you were, but I understand why it happened. It’s long behind us, as far as I’m concerned. If you feel the same, that is. I said and did some awful things.”

“Shhh, Vitya.” Yuuri ran the backs of his fingers down his cheek. “We’ve been over this. Of course I feel the same. And I’m really glad to have made you feel so good. If that’s what you mean by giving over.”

“I…I’m not sure. I’ve never felt like that with anyone before. It was as though you were holding me, and I knew you wouldn’t drop me, and I felt like I could follow wherever you led.” He huffed a laugh. “Silly of me.”

“No, it’s not,” Yuuri said, continuing to stroke his cheek slowly, and wondering about this. He wasn’t completely sure what Victor was trying to say; didn’t think Victor understood it himself. But it was deeply touching to learn he thought of him that way. “I’m going to remember tonight,” he said with a little purr. “And I’m going to repeat it as many times as you can handle.”

Victor blew a breath across his hair. “Minx. I’ll do the same to you, now that I know how. We’ll shake the castle walls asunder with our cries of passion.”

Yuuri laughed and snuggled closer. He loved falling asleep in Victor’s arms.

Waking in the night, not so much.

His worries usually stayed beneath the surface in the daytime. At night, however, with the darkness only dispelled in small glowing pools by the flame of the oil lamp, or dying candles in their iron frameworks, and the room slowly chilling as the embers in the fireplace withdrew into their grey coats of ash, the wraiths could creep from the corners to haunt him. The thought of Tyler would enter his mind, and a bolt of terror would race through him when he remembered that the duel was only weeks away. Or Ailis – was she making good her threats to Phichit, and stalking up the stairs to shoot him and Victor even now?

Sometimes he would close his eyes and tell himself he was safe; that Victor was here. Even if Victor himself was vulnerable. Sometimes he would lie awake until the faint fingers of early dawn reached under the shutters. Tonight, as the silver rays of the moon shone around a shutter that Victor had left ajar so that the light would help illuminate the room, Yuuri was staring at the fine bright hairs on his ethereal head and thinking about his death date. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. What, _what_ could be the cause? Ailis? An illness? God, _why _had Ian turned up at the lab – Yuuri could’ve arrived here with two laser guns and the nanobot kit if it hadn’t been for him. Their loss, when they’d been so close to hand, continued to bite.

Or would it be something else entirely? An unforeseeable accident? Another duel, or call out to police the estate? A castle siege, or some battle? Yuuri wasn’t concerned about his own involvement; he was a knight, and knew how to look after himself. Victor was too, of course, but existence could be precarious here for peasant and noble alike.

As Yuuri watched Victor’s pale face, peaceful in sleep, a tear ran down his cheek. _I’m glad you don’t know about this. There’s no need for us both to worry, especially when there might not be anything we can do to prepare for it. _

But the weight on his shoulders seemed to grow by the day. The closer he felt to Victor, the more the fear of losing him pierced his heart. Even in the daytime, when he was better able to direct his thoughts elsewhere, those feelings were always there, adding a tinge of blue to everything.

_Be the water, Yuuri. _

He tried to accept the fact that these situations existed, and for the moment he had little power over them. That was the problem, of course. But in the meantime, he couldn’t allow them to paralyse him. Easier in the day. But lying in bed in the middle of the night… 

Closing his eyes, he thought of their lovemaking earlier, and how responsive Victor had been to his touch; how he hadn’t even been aware that he had a prostate, or that wonderful things could be done to it. It made Yuuri smile, but didn’t bring sleep any nearer. And then as he glowed inside with his love for this man, the dread of his life being snuffed out engulfed him once more.

This couldn’t be allowed to keep haunting him; not tonight. If sleep was going to be so elusive, he’d do something else with his time.

_A slight disorder of the stomach, _he thought as he slipped quietly out of bed, making sure the blanket was still tucked up to Victor’s chin, and grabbed some clothes. That was what Scrooge had told himself in the depths of the cold winter’s night when he’d seen the doorknocker turn into Jacob Marley’s face, wasn’t it? Even though he himself didn’t have a stomach ache as such. _You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you._

He smirked as he pulled on hose, a shirt, and his boots. _So there, phantoms of the night. Begone._

It was a bit of help in dismissing the shadows, as was feeding the fire and lighting the candles they’d blown out before going to sleep. Yuuri lit the one in the middle of the table last, deciding to occupy himself with working quietly on his clock.

In some predawn hour, he heard Victor call his name from the bed behind him. When Yuuri turned, he saw he was half-sitting up, eyes wide and glinting as they swept the room. But when they settled on him, Victor sighed and sank back down to the pillows.

“I wondered where you’d gone. It’s early. Come back to bed?”

Yuuri smiled at him and stood, kicking his boots off and going to lie down on top of the blanket. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, brushing Victor’s fringe back.

“Mm, good morning. Why are you up so early? That’s not like you. Are you feeling all right?”

“Sure. Just some trouble sleeping. Probably something I had for supper last night.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Now, let me give you a proper good morning.” Yuuri smiled and caught Victor’s lips in a kiss; and nothing more was said until the rays of dawn were spilling in bright beams across the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [How to use an astrolabe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yioZhHe1i5M&t=339s)
> 
> Listen to what a krachappi sounds like [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ILKysbH6UQ).
> 
> [Lark in the Morning Medley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_N-neipG-7w) by Fairport Convention (“The Lark in the Morning”, “Rakish Paddy”, “Fox-hunter’s Jig”, “Toss the Feathers”)
> 
> [“The Devil Went Down to Georgia”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6RUg-NkjY4) by the Charlie Daniels Band
> 
> The song Yuuri sings while he works on his clock is [“Sail Away to the Sea”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=shlRX7zFP64) by Sandy Denny and the Strawbs.
> 
> Middle English translations:
> 
> “That was a gohd skiffte. Howe selcouth thy speche is. ‘Knyghthode’ begyns with a ‘K’ – thoh pronownce it noght?”  
_“That was a good try. What a strange accent you have. ‘Knyghthode’ starts with a ‘K’ – you don’t pronounce it?”_
> 
> “Nostou ther is an R at the end of my nahm?”  
_“There’s an R at the end of my name, you know.”_
> 
> “Parchance our langages err alles noght swa divers. Oh, Yuuri…everi word thoh sayes is loveli for to here, whether Ee understand it or noght.”  
_“Maybe our languages aren’t so different after all. Oh, Yuuri…every word you say is beautiful to my ears, whether I understand it or not.”_
> 
> Victor and Julia:
> 
> A knock sounded at the door. With perfect – or, rather, atrocious – timing, Julia called, “Master, are you there? May I see you? I have a message.”
> 
> Victor paused and looked down for a moment, then sat up straight, glancing at the translator and then questioningly at Yuuri. Yuuri turned his projector on, but smirked and shook his head, grabbing the translator and placing it in a tunic pocket. Victor’s eyes widened; then he gave a little laugh and stood to unlock the door. “She’s only supposed to use her key when I’m not here,” he said to Yuuri on the way. “How much of this do you understand, I wonder?”
> 
> He opened the door, and Julia strode in with a jug of wine, looking briefly at Yuuri as she set it on the table. “With two of you here, I thought you might need more.” She returned to stand in front of Victor. “I’m sorry to disturb you, master. But your father the baron requests your presence back in his room.”
> 
> Victor wrinkled his brow. “Why? I was just there.”
> 
> “Arrangements for the guests tomorrow.”
> 
> “Can’t Matt sort it?”
> 
> “The lord said he needed to discuss it with you.” She shrugged.
> 
> Having been listening carefully, Yuuri got the idea that Victor’s father wanted to speak with him for some reason, and Victor didn’t want to go back. Yuuri gave him a small grin and a nod to signal that he didn’t mind. It was frustrating, but he understood, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t keep himself occupied.
> 
> “Fine,” Victor said to Julia with a sigh. “Goodbye, Justin. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
> 
> “Goodbye, Victor.” He purposefully rolled the R at the end, and Victor smiled, then disappeared out the door with Julia.
> 
> Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html) \- visit for more info on the kind of Middle English that appears in this story, wonderfully detailed and impeccably researched :) And more yet to come!


	75. Double, Double Toil and Trouble (Part 10)

_By all the saints in heaven, it hurts._

Victor pulled the lid off the small earthenware jar. Mistress Ramsay had given him two physics: one a supposed cure, one a painkiller. The first was a wooden bowl full of a foul mixture he’d been told to drink, though he could only manage to force about half of it down before feeling like he was going to retch. Now this. At the moment, it was more welcome. Dipping his finger in the salve, he coated the tip and then opened his mouth – _ouch – _to smear it across the area of his gum that ached. Having done this, he replaced the lid and fetched a thin oilskin sack, filled it with cool water from the tap, then sat down on his bed and held it to his jaw.

He’d had toothache before. Everyone got it from time to time. When he was sixteen, one of his back teeth had been pulled out; and despite the fact that he’d been given dwale to ease the experience, it had been worse than a stab from a sword. Not that it would be any easier to deal with now. But hopefully with a little rest and treatment, he would heal. The worst possible consequences of these things weren’t worth dwelling upon.

Yuuri didn’t need to know; he would worry, and Victor was aware of how his troubles could plague him, especially at night. He wished his love would wake him more often when it happened, and had intimated this to him a few times, though not in so many words. But Yuuri was stubborn and independent; he would be, to have been chosen for his mission. To have grown up without his parents. Victor just wished he would trust more in the love he was offering him and wanted to give so freely.

_Here I am, thinking these things – yet aren’t I the same?_

His tooth throbbed and he winced, pressing the oilskin closer.

He’d spent a few days with the niggling discomfort in his mouth, ignoring it, hoping it would go away, even though he knew such tactics were usually counterproductive. Yuuri looked up to him; he was his shining angel, his lover, his trainer. Perhaps, Victor decided, he therefore didn’t want to have to admit he was also a mortal man with a toothache. And yet if they were essentially going to live together in the way of husband and wife, there could be no placing each other on a pedestal.

_Has he ever done that to any great extent with me, though? He’ll praise me to the stars, and in the same breath tell me I have no authority over him, regardless of my rank or social position. Then add something about how silly the shoe styles are here. _Despite the pain in his mouth, he huffed a little laugh. But the throbs were beginning to ease in their intensity; the ointment was having some effect. He also felt as if he’d drunk a glass or two of strong wine.

_I ought to have told him today. _He’d gone from ignoring the problem to pretending to everyone else, even Yuuri, that nothing was wrong. After he cut their sparring session short today, he suggested Yuuri carry on exercising, or train with someone else, while he himself attended to other things. Those other things being a visit to the herbalist, who he’d recently only spoken to for the first time. He didn’t like placing his health in the hands of a stranger, but she’d quickly built an admirable reputation for herself around the castle, and there were times when one simply had to go cap in hand and ask for help.

Victor wondered briefly if he should have tried Yuuri first. But whatever wondrous cures existed in his time, he hadn’t been able to bring them. And was he likely to know better than anyone else how to make use of locally available herbs and potions and salves? He was a techie, as he called himself, and couldn’t put a name to a single wildflower in a field.

Perhaps if he sat like this a while and allowed the physics to work, Victor thought, he might be in a presentable state to eat supper. Then again, that could require a minor miracle, because it hurt too much to eat anything on that side of his mouth.

He was trying to remember some of the future-English Yuuri had taught him, to distract himself from the pain, when he heard the door in Yuuri’s room open and close. A moment later, Yuuri himself appeared in the doorway between their rooms, glanced around, spotted him, then trotted to his side in concern. He was still in his armour when he turned his projector off.

“Victor, what’s wrong?”

“Just a bit of pain. It’s nothing.”

“A _bit_? You never come in here just to lie down like this in the middle of the day. What’s that you’ve got against your jaw?”

Victor sighed. “An oilskin full of cold water. It’s soothing.”

Yuuri pressed his lips together, suddenly reminding Victor of a disapproving Irene from many years back. “I _knew _something was up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have done any good?” But as soon as he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t.

“Maybe I could’ve helped, for a start. What is it – how did you get hurt?”

_Pain brings out all the petty meanness that lurks inside of me, didn’t you know? Actually, yes, you do. Because I told you to leave the castle and go live with the Courtenays. Oh, Yuuri, how could you honestly want someone like me? _

“Toothache,” he mumbled.

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “Oh God, Victor. I had no idea. When did it start?”

“A few days ago.”

“Why didn’t you say?” he asked once more.

“Because I didn’t want you to fuss like you’re doing now.” Petty again. It was difficult to stop himself.

“How else do you expect me to react? I love you. This isn’t something you can just leave and hope it goes away.”

Victor blinked and stared.

“Especially when there are no dentists in this time period.” Yuuri paused. “There aren’t, are there?”

“What’s a dentist?”

“Fuck,” Yuuri muttered. His eyes flashed with growing agitation, and seemingly unsure what to do, he placed a hand on Victor’s shoulder, then lifted it to feel his forehead. “I can’t tell if you have a fever. No one’s invented a fucking thermometer yet either, would be my guess. Have you done anything to try to treat it?”

“Just the usual things. Chewing ivy bark and beeswax; a poultice of rosewater and butter.”

“That’s why you smelled like roses last night. I thought it was just some extra-strong soap. Were you trying to hide all that from me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I _want _to know. If I worry, that’s my business.” He stroked his hand down Victor’s cheek – the opposite one from where he was holding the oilskin. “I want to help if I can,” he said gently. Then he glanced toward the table and noticed the items there. “What are those?” he said, going over to look.

“I got them from Mistress Ramsay, the herbalist, on my way back from the training field.”

Picking up the small pot, Yuuri examined its contents. He held it up to his nose, which he wrinkled.

“It’s a salve to relieve pain,” Victor explained. “Lard mixed with opium.”

“Opium? Are you supposed to eat this?”

“No. You rub it into the area that hurts. Clouds the brain a trifle, but it’s proving to be of some use.”

Yuuri put it down and examined the wide wooden bowl that contained the remaining physic Victor had been unable to drink. He tilted it around in his hands, swirling the liquid. “What the hell.”

“It’s a foul brew, but she said it ought to cure me.”

“Musty-smelling bluish-green water. Mouldy bread, is that what this is?” His voice quickly climbed in alarm.

“Something like that, I think. I couldn’t finish all of it, but – ”

“You _drank_ it?” Yuuri practically shouted, his mouth dropping open.

“What else should I have done with it? I…” But Victor’s voice trailed off as he watched Yuuri march purposefully toward the window, looking as if he would willingly murder anyone who got in his way. Such ferocity had never even been on display when they’d sparred in the training field.

He put the bowl down on the cushion of the window seat, where the liquid sloshed slightly over the edges. “_This _is what you should’ve done with it, Victor.” Then he leaned forward to unlatch the window hasp, pushed it open, picked the bowl up demonstratively, and – as Victor let out a gasp – threw the whole thing out, bowl and all. Victor stared in astonishment as Yuuri closed the window, then returned his gaze with fire leaping in his eyes.

“The idiotic quack potions they give people here are worse than what they’re meant to cure,” Yuuri told him firmly, waving a hand to emphasise the point. “That stuff could be fucking _poisonous. _Don’t ever listen to them, Victor. Don’t let them drain blood out of you when you’re ill, don’t let them prescribe leeches when something’s seriously wrong – and don’t put this shit they give you in your body. They haven’t got a fucking clue what they’re doing.”

Victor continued to stare, and Yuuri took a few steps forward as he spoke, eyes flashing. “Did they also tell you to only take their medicine when the moon was full, or Aquarius was in the tenth house, or whatever the fuck stupid astrological nonsense they use to work out when to breathe or take a crap?” Now both of his hands were animated. “I’ve heard them talk about all that shit here, and I’ve ignored it, or not said anything. But when it comes to _you_, they can bloody well lay off, because I’m not going to stand by and watch them cast magic spells and fuck knows what else and claim they’re going to cure you. I’ll tell them to go to hell before they lay a fucking _finger _on you.” As he finished this sentence, he took several breaths, returning Victor’s stare. “What?” he said in a quieter voice, though the word was still snapped out.

As stunned as Victor was, he couldn’t prevent a small crooked smile from emerging. “Yuuri Katsuki, my defender,” he said softly. But Yuuri just looked distractedly at the floor; his next breath was shaky, and Victor spied a tear slipping down a cheek. “Come sit here with me, my love. Please?” His tooth throbbed again, the keen edge blunted but still making its presence felt. He ignored it as Yuuri shuffled over to the bed and sat on the edge, his eyes still cast downward. “I’m touched by your concern,” he said, brushing Yuuri’s tear away with a finger.

“I wish you hadn’t drunk any of that, whatever it was,” Yuuri muttered, punctuating it with a sniff. “Fuck knows what was in it, or what it could do to you.”

“I didn’t think about it from that point of view.”

“I just wish you’d asked me first. If I’d known you were going to see the herbalist when you left the training field…”

“What do people in your time do when they get toothache?”

Finally Yuuri looked up, his face blotchy. Another tear had followed the trail of the previous one. “They don’t get toothache anymore,” he said quietly. “If I’d been able to bring everything here with me that I’d packed, I could’ve given you an injection that’d protect you from most pathogens – you’d probably never get ill again. Things could’ve been so different if…” He sighed. “Well, it’s no use thinking about it.” Then a sudden spark lit his eyes. “Wait – maybe Phichit could find something out. It’s worth a try. I’ll see if I can get him on the com.”

“Come sit here next to me,” Victor invited him.

“But I’ve got all my armour on.”

“Is that a problem?”

After a brief pause, Yuuri scrambled over as Victor shifted to make space. Then he was leaning gently against a warm, strong body and firm metal plates. Somehow it felt even more comforting than the water in the oilskin, which he removed from his face and placed on the mattress beside him. Yuuri took the translator out of his ear, gave it a quick clean, and handed it to Victor, who put it in his own.

“Hi, Yuuri,” came Phichit’s voice from the device on Yuuri’s wrist. “I was just in the canteen getting a cup of masala chai, but I’m taking it to the office. You OK? Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

“Yes and no,” Yuuri answered with a glance at Victor. “I mean, no one’s in any danger. Not directly. Victor’s got a toothache.”

“Shit, sorry to hear that.”

“He’s next to me right now.”

“Sorry to hear that, Victor,” Phichit said loudly.

“You don’t have to shout, he can hear you.”

“Thank you, Phichit,” Victor answered.

“I need you to look on the Cloud for natural cures for toothache that’d be accessible to us here,” Yuuri told him. “Stuff that could be taken as is, or quickly and easily prepared with manual tech. There must be something. Victor went to the castle herbalist and she gave him a bowl full of mouldy bread and water.”

A guffaw sounded from the com. Then, “Sorry, but that’s pretty dire. The weird things they did back then, you know? Um, sorry, Victor…”

“Fucking hell, Phichit,” Yuuri said, the earlier passion returning to his voice. “It really isn’t funny. Think about it. God knows what’s been growing all over that bread. If I saw it at the back of the cupboard in my flat, I’d chuck it out straight away. Victor’s been given that as medicine – only, it’s the kind that’s likely to make the original problem worse. He drank some of it, too. I need to know what I can do to help him, OK?” 

Feeling a bit like a naïve child as the two of them discussed what was obviously to them the primitive, even superstitious, medicine of his own time, Victor settled into as comfortable a position as he could achieve under the circumstances and simply listened, his jaw sending a pulsing ache through him every so often.

“Just at the office now,” Phichit said amid clicking sounds. “Actually, Yuuri – get this. Wow, you learn something new every day.”

“What?”

“It looks like your herbalist there might kind of know what she’s doing, after all. The mould on the bread – you said it was bluish-green?”

“That’s right,” Yuuri answered, wrinkling his brow.

“It’s probably _penicillium._”

“Wait…I’m sure we studied that in history at some point. Wasn’t that the first antibiotic?”

“According to the Cloud, that’s what it was developed from, yeah.”

“But that was in the 1920s, wasn’t it?”

“It was synthesised in the lab then, but from what I’m reading, some ancient cultures used natural substances with antibiotic properties even though they weren’t aware of what the active component was. Moulds, plants, even warm soil.”

“Shit, Phichit, I never knew any of this.”

“Me either, until now. As far as _penicillium _is concerned, there’s no record of it in Europe until the fifteenth century, but that doesn’t mean the knowledge of it didn’t exist.”

Yuuri glanced at Victor. The conversation had passed beyond his comprehension, despite the presence of the translator, but he could tell that there was a germ of hope in it. The gleam in Yuuri’s eyes seemed to be confirmation of this.

“So might that potion Victor was given with the mouldy bread have actually helped?”

“It’s not as simple as that; there’s a whole process it goes through in the lab to refine it. Other things can grow on the bread, too; you’re probably not getting pure _penicillium_ there. Having said all that, you might have to put up with stomach ache and indigestion, but yeah, there’s a possibility it could cure you. I wouldn’t have thought of it myself, but then I’m not a biologist; I don’t know any more about this stuff than your average person.”

“Jesus. OK. I’d better decide what to do about this, then. Thanks, Phichit.”

“Any time, Yuuri. Hey, Victor, I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

“I hope so too, Phichit,” he said. “Thank you. Godspeed.”

“Juke. Anyway, Yuuri, cheers.”

The ensuing silence seemed to indicate that the communication had ended. Their words had been bewildering at times, and Victor was not in the best position to try to make sense of them with the pain in his jaw muddying his mind.

“Phichit has all this knowledge at his disposal?” 

Yuuri was running a hand through his hair, a darkly pensive expression on his face. “Yeah, it’s all on the Cloud.”

“Anything you want to know, snatched out of the air?”

“Well, not quite. But it’s certainly a good repository of information.”

“He said that Mistress Ramsay’s medicine might perhaps be efficacious after all.”

Yuuri turned to face him, looking grave. “Victor, if eating mouldy bread – or soaking it in water, whatever the reason for that – was all people had to do to get well, I imagine they’d do it. You could make yourself a lot sicker, too. Maybe you already did when you drank that stuff.”

Victor considered. “I don’t feel any different.”

“You haven’t had much time to find out.” Yuuri shook his head. “Christ, this is a tough call. Because if you get worse, and it was the infection causing that, it might turn out to be the only thing that could help you.”

“Infection?”

“Maybe the best thing to do is for me to go back to Mistress Ramsay and ask her for more of that mouldy bread mixture, just in case. So we’ve got it to hand.” He leaned forward and added emphatically, “But to use _only _in case of an emergency.”

“I’ll do whatever you advise, Yuuri,” Victor said.

Yuuri gazed at him for a moment, then deflated a little. “I, um…I’m sorry about…throwing the bowl out the window. There was no call for that.”

“I daresay anyone passing below might be glad of an apology,” Victor replied with a little grin. “Anyway…” He rested a hand on Yuuri’s metal-clad thigh. “…it’s all right, my love. It’s quite an experience seeing you so impassioned.” Before he could think of anything romantic to add, however, his jaw sent another jolt of pain through him, and he winced.

“I think you ought to stay here while I get more of that concoction,” Yuuri said firmly. “Use the oilskin if it helps, and I guess the salve might be OK too. I’ll try not to be too long.”

“Thank you.” Victor tried to squeeze Yuuri’s thigh, only to be thwarted by the plate mail. Instead, he leaned forward for a delicate kiss.

“That didn’t hurt?” Yuuri asked.

“No,” Victor lied. He took the translator out of his ear and gave it a clean on his tunic as Yuuri had shown him, then handed it over.

Yuuri placed another gentle kiss on his forehead. “I love you.” Then he got up, put the translator in his ear, switched his projector on, and let himself out the door.

Victor stared after him for a moment, feeling warm inside, but suddenly tired as well. Lying down with the oilskin against his jaw once more, he drifted into fitful dreams.

* * *

Yuuri knew the way to Mistress Ramsay’s workshop behind the castle because he’d passed it many times, though he’d never gone inside. She’d been one of the women who according to Mistress Monica had begun working at the castle at about the time Ailis had arrived, and who he had therefore made a point of speaking with; in the courtyard, as it happened. He remembered noting that there hadn’t seemed to be anything unusual about her, though he’d been aware of the irony of a modern man trying to make judgements about what was or wasn’t unusual in this place.

At the moment, he was more concerned about Victor. With toothache; probably an infection. Victor getting sicker and sicker, and dying. From the infection, or from the mouldy bread and water. Because it seemed just as likely to kill as to cure.

_I’m not going to allow this death-date shit to come about because of any of these things. So help me God._

He trotted down the stairs and the hall to the main garrison room, passing a couple of soldiers sharing a drink at a table. When he emerged in the courtyard, he spotted the upended wooden bowl he’d tossed out the window and picked it up, then continued to the gatehouse and outside to the workshops at the back of the castle. These had been bustling with activity too, in preparation for the king’s visit, and quite a few new wooden buildings had been appended to the miniature village as extra craftspeople were brought in to assist. Yuuri wove his way around, passing carpenters carrying long planks on their shoulders, people pulling carts laden with dressed stone, a woman herding a flock of geese, a man carrying a saddle, a girl hurrying along with a pair of scales held high. Finally he came to the circular hut of woven sticks and rushes where Mistress Ramsay plied her trade. It had a conical thatched roof and two open windows. The wooden door was ajar as well, and he walked up to it and knocked, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim interior.

“Yes?”

Mistress Ramsay was standing by the fire in the middle of the hut, securing a cauldron on a chain. She looked to be in her early thirties and wore a short-sleeved light blue dress over a white shirt; a few wisps of straw-coloured hair poked from the back of her white cap, and attached to her leather belt were bags of different sizes and shapes dangling from thin leather thongs or lengths of twine. Her clear grey eyes regarded him with what appeared to be slightly annoyed curiosity.

“Ah, Sir Justin,” she said, finishing her task and turning to him. “God give you good day. I apologise, but I’m a little put out at the moment; several of the men here have come over with an excess of phlegm, and I’ve spent much of today gathering and boiling up horehound for a remedy. Castle officials make the worst patients, as they won’t keep to their beds, and demand instant relief.” She sighed and shook her head. “So what ails you?”

He lifted the empty wooden bowl to show her. “The, um, potion you gave Sir Victor – it…spilled. I was hoping I might get some more.”

She raised a disapproving eyebrow. “Was he able to ingest any of it first?”

“Yes.”

“I see. I suppose it’s early for him to know whether or not he needs another draught of it. It’s just that my stock is dwindling; it’s difficult at times to keep up with demand.” She took the bowl and placed it in a bucket with dirty crockery. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Mistress Ramsay.” Yuuri followed her to a long table covered with bunches of herbs, bowls, earthenware bottles with stoppers, cups, mortars and pestles of varying sizes, candles, trivets, knives, spoons, scales, and a stack of books. More herbs lined the walls, as well as long plaits of garlic. Yuuri struggled to make sense of the complex heady scent pervading the hut, with as many contributors as it surely had, though woodsmoke and garlic were dominant, along with something like rosemary and pine mixed with flowers.

She slanted him a glance as she took a wooden box from a shelf and placed it on the table. “To someone of your status, sir, I’m simply Alice, though ‘madam’ is quite acceptable too.” She opened the lid and looked at several hunks of bread covered in fuzzy patches of mould, then pulled on a pair of thin leather gloves and took a fresh wooden bowl. “You’re a man of few words,” she commented, dropping a blue-green piece of bread inside, then closing the box and putting it back. “Unlike the last time we spoke, when I seem to recall you were – what was it? Feeling unsettled after coming here to live, and hoping to find someone to pass the time of day with.”

She went to a smaller table covered with jugs and iron pots and took a ceramic pitcher, which she brought over. “From what I hear, you succeeded,” she continued with some amusement in her voice. “Rumour had it you were making love to the ladyfolk.” She poured water into an empty terracotta bowl. “No one thinks that now.” Her gaze held him for a second before she returned the pitcher and came back to work at the table.

“What are you putting into the water?” Yuuri asked, deciding it best to ignore the insinuation.

“An infusion made from calendula, dried clove bud and marshmallow. Most people don’t ask; they trust my knowledge. Which I don’t share lightly, sir. It dates back to my childhood; my mother was the village wise woman.” Her hands moved with quick confidence as she prepared the mixture. “But it was not my fate to succeed her in that position. In a roundabout way, I ended up living in York with my husband, Hugh. I assume you’ve met him.”

“The stablemaster?”

“He took the position here at the castle when it became vacant; it was a step up in circumstances for him. For us both. He managed to persuade the lord that my services were needed here also. Which they were. Desperately so.” She gave him a meaningful look. “I daren’t think how many people suffered and died in this fortification without the aid of a proper healer. I’m told there’d been a barber surgeon here, but he died of plague, and they’d never got round to replacing him. They’d send for someone in the village if necessary, or a physician from York.” She poured the herbal liquid over the mouldy bread and allowed it to steep. “They say the lord is superstitious about healers – that not having any of them resident at the castle means he’s completely well and doesn’t need them. Fortunately, dear Hugh got him to see that even if _he _didn’t need them, others might. Your Victor, for example.” She looked away. “_Lord _Victor, I mean.”

Yuuri was quickly reminded of their initial conversation, from which he’d drawn the conclusion that she had a somewhat haughty manner, probably due to her social status, which he’d gathered was higher than that of most of the other tradespeople who worked at the castle. Though it was also possible she was proud of her perceived accomplishments, and protective of her secrets.

What if one of those secrets was something else entirely…?

Yuuri’s heart gave a lurch and his breath caught.

His worries about Victor had been crowding everything else out of his mind, but he made himself think now, while Mistress Ramsay – Alice – squeezed the bread in the water like a dirty sponge and went on to bemoan the ignorance of the herbalist in Crowood village, from whom she sometimes bought supplies.

What _had _he learned about this woman? During their first meeting, not long after he’d arrived, he’d followed the conversational pattern he’d used with most of the other women, playing on the fact that he was new at the castle and asking them how they liked life here and what they did. It hadn’t been a roaring success, because he’d quickly discovered they were unlikely to relax enough to be very forthcoming with a noble and a knight, even if he’d been in disgrace. Mistress Ramsay had been less deferential than most, but she’d mainly told him about the castle and its routines, and little about herself.

But he’d learned more since then. She’d treated a wound of Sir Charles’s with garlic paste, and his squire’s with honey; “strange edible balms”, Roland had called them. Phichit had said they had antiseptic properties. Ethelfrith, the laundress with whom Dr. Croft had swapped, had been given infused water to clear a nose irritated by the chemicals she used every day. And now, prescribing a primitive version of an antibiotic for a toothache…

She might be gifted and skilled in the healing arts, as far as they could go in 1393 – or she could be acting upon the much more advanced knowledge of someone from a future time who had ended up in that role here, and prided herself on showing off her skills and receiving praise. Paradoxically changing history by _healing _people, while in the next breath she’d turn and shoot them dead if they got in her way.

Did that make sense? Was it possible?

Yuuri’s mouth went dry as he froze a polite little smile on his face, watching while she finished with the bread and removed her gloves to sluice clean water over them and hang them near the fire to dry.

Her name, she’d said, was Alice. Its Gaelic form was Ailis.

She’d come to the castle at about the same time as Ailis had arrived.

And fucking _penicillin_ – how many people of this time were likely to know about that?

_Was this Ailis? _Did she have a laser gun on her right now?

What should he do? If he tackled her, and she wasn’t Ailis after all…

_Shit_…whatever his actions, he mustn’t give his own identity away.

“Victor didn’t like the taste of this,” he said, trying to force a conversational tone. “I must admit, it doesn’t look very appetising. However did you discover its medicinal properties?”

“Physics aren’t sweets, my dear sir,” she answered, folding her arms across her chest and looking at him. “Though some of them have a sweet taste, depending upon their constituents. But as long as the patient is able to swallow them, it matters not. Their efficaciousness lies in what they contain. The knowledge has been passed down through generations, though I have certain books that aid me as well.” She paused. “If you question my methods, why have you come back for more of the same?”

“I – I don’t question them. I’m just interested. Curious.”

“I’m curious as well, sir. I heard there was a skirmish some few months back in which some of the injured soldiers had their wounds dressed by men who poured vodka over them to clean them. You were present, I believe – were you aware of it?”

Yuuri’s mind raced for an answer, but then she spoke again.

“I’ve always recommended wine for such a procedure. I have a copy of a text by Theodoric of Lucca, you see, who instructed that bandages be pre-soaked in it. But why vodka, when it’s rare and expensive? There would be no lack of wine in a group of fighting men, however small.”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri replied, calling upon all the acting skills he possessed. “I wasn’t injured, and I wasn’t aware of it. As you say, it’s curious.”

“I’m always amenable to new knowledge.” She dropped her gaze and picked up the bowl. “But I’m detaining you – here’s your physic. Take it to the lord, and much good may it do him. Please be careful with it, though; it’s a time-consuming process to cultivate the mould, and my stores are really quite low, as you saw.”

“Thank you, madam.” Yuuri was about to bow, then realised she was the one who would be expected to bow to him, though what he received was a nod of the head. He would have to be careful of everything he did and said around her, he realised.

“Godspeed, Sir Justin. Give me word of how my patient fares with his treatments.”


	76. Chapter 76

“Honestly, I feel much…” Victor paused, making the characteristic silly grimace of a man shaving his face. “…much better. There’s no pain at all this morning.” He wiped the little blade on a cloth, then looked again in the mirror and pulled it slowly along his jaw.

Yuuri watched Victor’s reflection in the glass while buttoning his tunic, the familiar surge of love and desire humming through his veins. Relief was a welcome addition to the mix this morning, because he’d spent a broken night in bed next to him, almost too afraid to look away; though if Victor’s condition had deteriorated, Yuuri knew there was little he could have done apart from pray that the mouldy-bread potion would be of some help. The jury was still out on whether that was a bane or a balm, or neither. But when Victor had awakened a little later than usual that morning, and given him a radiant smile, Yuuri’s heart had practically melted through his toes.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear it,” he said. “Just mind how you go. If the pain comes back, don’t leave it this time.”

“Yes, Mum,” Victor said with a mischievous grin.

Yuuri shook his head and huffed a laugh, attending to the ridiculously dense row of tiny buttons, now up to his chest. But soon Victor was at his side, slipping an arm around his waist, and Yuuri trembled at the touch.

“You know I don’t mean it,” Victor said in a low voice. Tilting Yuuri’s head up with a finger under his chin, he added, “Despite anything I may have said, I’m very grateful for your attentions. No one’s ever looked after me in quite that way before.” His eyes were grave, but a little grin played across his face before he bent his head down for a long kiss. Yuuri moaned softly; it was like a reunion, or rain in the desert. He could spend all day wrapped up in Victor’s arms…but not while Alice Ramsay was a possible lead that needed to be investigated. With a pulse of regret, he gently pulled back.

“I missed this so much,” Victor breathed. “Tonight will be ours, I promise.”

Yuuri swallowed. “I’m looking forward to it already.” He began wrestling with the buttons of his tunic again. Victor stilled his hand and took over for him.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever buttoned a man’s tunic _up _for him before,” he said with a slight smirk. “But here. This style is fashionable, you know. Most noblemen have a servant who dresses them in the morning, and perversely unreasonable buttons are the least of their worries. I like to think I’m capable of doing such things myself.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri murmured with a smile, deciding that if he didn’t want a servant dressing him either, having Victor do it was very welcome. But then he looked at him sombrely. “Victor, I’ve got to find out if Alice Ramsay is Ailis. That’s why I’m here. I’ve spent months waiting for a clue, and I might have one now.”

Victor nodded, then walked to the table and buckled on his belt. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me about her yesterday. I ought to speak to Hugh at the stable. If I asked – ”

“No,” Yuuri said, going to his boots near the bed and shoving his feet inside.

“No?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“But if his wife was replaced by a stranger not long ago, might he not have something to say about it?”

“How would you ask him? Do you even know him?”

Victor considered. “I…know him to speak to. But does it matter? If I’m the one asking the questions, he wouldn’t dare refuse to answer.”

Yuuri came to join him at the table. “But those are the kinds of questions only very close friends would ask. He’d clam up with you. I should know. When I interviewed all those women before Christmas, they did the same thing with me, and I was only trying to make small talk…though I’m terrible at that as it is,” he added in a mumble. “Anyway, with a baron’s son, they’re not going to be forthcoming about anything personal, are they? Not unless they’ve got a complaint about something they think you might be able to fix.”

Victor looked at him, then down. “Perhaps I spoke before I thought. I’m not used to such a situation.” Meeting his gaze again, he said, “I’m used to having…strategic conversations, I suppose you could call them. In which both parties are testing each other and negotiating. I don’t know how much natural talent I have in that respect, but I’m very practised at it. It’s part of this life I was born into.”

“I’m sure it’d be amazing to watch,” Yuuri said, imagining him in some sumptuous salon, drinking wine and discussing politics, though he knew Victor well enough by now to guess he’d only do it out of necessity. “The thing is, Hugh’s a stablemaster, not a nobleman. You wouldn’t be trying to broker a deal with him; you’re fishing for information about his wife. Even if you were lucky enough to hear something interesting, he’s bound to at least mention to her that Lord Victor was asking after her.”

Victor frowned. “Indeed, you have a point.”

“Ailis is a genius,” Yuuri explained, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “That means she’s incredibly intelligent. We have to be _extremely _careful that she doesn’t suspect anything about me – or that you’re working with me. Because she won’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in her way. It’s better to take our time and avoid risks as much as we can. One slip is all it’d take.”

Victor leaned back against the table, his brow wrinkled in thought. “Loyal servants can often be sent on tasks which their masters wouldn’t be able to accomplish themselves simply because of who they are. But when you put it that way…well. I thought perhaps it would be possible to charge a stable hand with getting information out of Master Ramsay, but I don’t know any of them well. It seems to me it’s too great a risk.”

“It’s a good idea, but I’d have to agree.”

Victor sighed. “I want to help.”

“You are. You don’t know what a relief it is for me not to be alone with this anymore.” When Victor blinked at him in surprise, Yuuri gave him a little smile. “I know I’ve got Phichit on the com, but it isn’t the same. You understand now; you…you care. You’re on my side. And you can talk to me and help me with ideas.”

Victor shook his head, his features clouding. “But I don’t understand your world. And I _haven’t _helped you. I believe all I’ve actually done so far is rob you of the one good chance you’ve had to catch the woman.”

Yuuri leaned forward and pressed a firm but gentle kiss to his cheek. “You’ve given me your love, and that’s the most precious thing in the world.” He smiled to see the light that leapt into Victor’s eyes. “I feel stronger just knowing I’ve got your support.”

Victor took this in, then said, “I feel the same, and I’m not even on a mission.” He kissed into the hair over Yuuri’s ear. “What do you propose to do, then?”

“Be a proper detective. First of all – ”

“Detective?”

“A person who, um, investigates. Usually someone on the side of the law. Anyway, first of all, I need to have a look at where Mistress Ramsay’s been living and working.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “She mustn’t discover you’ve been doing that; you said – ”

“I know. I’ll be careful.”

“Here.” Victor reached into his purse and brought out the laser pen. “You should take this with you.”

“No, Victor – you keep it,” Yuuri said, shaking his head. “Remember, she expects me to have it anyway, and would try to take it off me. But you could use it to protect yourself.”

Victor looked for a moment as if he wanted to protest further, then returned the pen to his purse. “Please, Yuuri, I want to help somehow. Don’t ask me to stand by helplessly while you risk your life.” He paused, then added, “That’s not how fellow knights behave with each other. It’s never how I would treat someone I love, either. I want to be a part of this, even if it’s only in a small way. Will you let me do that?”

Yuuri considered. Then finally nodded.

* * *

The conversation drifted into the hut through the open window.

“…such a marvellous job of curing my toothache that I wanted to come see you in person to thank you.”

“I’m honoured, my lord.”

“How is it that we’ve only been graced by your remedies for scarce half a year? I hope you and your husband feel settled here, and your circumstances are to your liking?”

“Well, sir, it does for a position. We have no complaints.”

“Despite the upheaval around your hut? I understand it’s been quite tumultuous while the castle’s being prepared for the king’s visit.”

“There’s nought that can be done about it, sir, so I’ve minded my own business as best I can.”

“I’m not certain that’s correct, my good lady. You’ve done me a most excellent turn, and you deserve one in return. Come this way with me, if you please, and I’ll explain…”

Inside the hut, crouched low so as not to be seen through the windows, Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t wanted to admit to Victor just how frightened he’d been that he might be leading him to harm. As convincing as Victor’s reasons were for wanting to help, Yuuri was struggling to balance them with his knowledge of his death date, and what Ailis would be able to accomplish in a fraction of a second with a laser gun. But he’d also told Victor he valued his support – so was he going to allow him to give it, or not? Besides, someone of Victor’s position and accomplishments would never let himself to be sidelined, Yuuri knew; which meant that his participation would either be aboveboard, or surreptitious. They needed to be working together, not going behind each other’s backs.

As the voices trailed away, Yuuri quickly bolted the door shut, then closed the shutters, careful not to show his face to passers-by in the craftspeople’s village outside; although his projector was on, even Justin had no business in here. The room was dim, the fire in the central hearth having burned low, but there were a couple of lit candles on tables. Victor had spirited Mistress Ramsay away so quickly that she hadn’t had time to think about blowing them out or locking the door, which was what they’d hoped.

Victor had done wonderfully, Yuuri thought as he glanced around. Calling for her outside, as if he wasn’t sure which workshop was hers, and then waiting for her to come to him once she heard. He wasn’t just making conversation, either; he also had a proposition for her, which Yuuri thought was a frankly brilliant idea on Victor’s part. With all the noise and disruption around her hut, he was going to suggest she move her workshop to a vacant room on the ground floor of the castle, which opened onto the courtyard. It was larger than her hut, and would also be accessible to her at any time; whereas due to the gate being closed at sunset every day, the hours she could go outside the castle walls were limited unless Alfric the porter were roused from his slumbers. She might just be amenable to that.

It also meant that he and Victor would be able to keep a much closer eye on her.

Yuuri knew he only had a limited amount of time to try to find something incriminating before Victor and Mistress Ramsay returned. And he had to be careful to make sure he left no signs that he’d been here. He stood in the middle of the room and quickly considered what to do, then began to systematically check each box and chest; fortunately, the ones with locks had keys protruding from them. But their contents were predictable: copious bundles of dried herbs, meticulously labelled. Jars of infusions. Aromatic spices. More books, including a series of four called _Surgery _by the person she’d mentioned, Theodoric of Lucca, which were well-worn and used.

He checked for any secret hiding places, but what was likely in a hut with an earthen floor? There were some dusty woven reed mats; he looked under those. The walls were a basic construction of rushes and twigs with some kind of rough plaster applied to fill the cracks, and the roof consisted of nothing more than rafters radiating from the centre like the spokes of a wheel, with neatly laid straw between them. No room for any secret caches; no protrusions from the walls.

He carried on searching. One box he came across contained stacks of smaller ones with labels such as chicken’s feet, calf’s hoof, powdered ram’s horn, spleen of toad, bezoars, and other exotic substances.

_Double, double toil and trouble, _Yuuri thought to himself, going to one of the tables and uncorking a few bottles to sniff their contents. One of them had a menthol aroma, and another smelled of something rotten that made him cough. He came across another that was disturbingly labelled “dwale, for sleep as of death”, and decided not to touch it.

_But I don’t think what I’m after is here. No laser guns or anything else futuristic, at least. _

“Lawrence, how goes it with you?” Yuuri heard Victor shout outside.

_Shit, that’s my cue to get out of here; they’re coming back. _He quickly scanned the room to reassure himself nothing was out of place, then flung the shutters open and unbolted the door.

“Me, my lord?”

“You were tasked with having that roof complete by the end of last week.”

“Three days more, sir, I beg of you. My delivery of timbers was delayed due to a broken wagon wheel.”

Sweat sprang out on Yuuri’s forehead. He trusted Victor to keep Mistress Ramsay occupied while he made good his escape, but even the best-laid plans could go wrong, and there was no telling what would be on the other side of the door when he opened it. The castle wall ran the length of the hut as well, barring the way in most directions. It would be a challenge not to be seen.

“The reeve is aware of the situation, sir. I had no idea you’d taken an interest.”

“I take an interest in everything to do with this castle, my good man. Be sure to see to your task.”

Yuuri pushed the door open – and heard a small cry that sent a bolt of alarm through him. But he’d only shoved a black and brown striped cat aside, who had made his displeasure known. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, Yuuri peered cautiously around the door.

Victor was standing several buildings away, looking up at the man he’d addressed as Lawrence, who stood at the top of a ladder against a newly constructed building that was open to the air, with rafters projecting upward in triangular constructions. Mistress Ramsay stood on the far side of him, her gaze also drawn toward Lawrence, though she was fidgeting.

_If I can see her, she can see me, if she turns her head this way._

And to his dismay, that was what she’d begun to do, though Victor took a step forward at the same time, saying something to her that was no doubt meant to keep her distracted.

There was nothing else for it. With a sincere silent apology, Yuuri picked the cat up and gave it a toss so that it landed on its feet with a second, louder cry a little distance away from the hut. Everyone in the vicinity turned to look; and while they did, Yuuri dashed behind the hut.

_I’ll pay you back with plenty of fish if I ever see you again, mogs, _he thought, taking several deep breaths. _You might possibly have just saved my life, and Victor’s. _

Voices approached; Victor was seeing Mistress Ramsay back to her hut, thanking her again for her efficacious potions. Yuuri heard her polite reply – she was inside.

He broke into a sprint alongside the castle wall like the very Devil was at his heels. 

* * *

“So after all that, I ended up with one angry cat. Nothing. Zip. Unless you count the discovery of a place that actually looks pretty close to its namesake in _Swords and Sorcery_. Proper witch’s brews, only it turns out that some of them might actually work. Well, if she’s Ailis, of course they would; she knows what she’s doing.”

Yuuri was leaning on the perimeter fence of the training field, the other fighting men having long since disappeared to eat supper. As he’d had no appetite himself, he’d decided to go for a run instead. It was a warm evening for May, the trees now offering better concealment with their vibrant young leaves; he was standing under one now, cooling off and hoping for some relief via a chat with Phichit after what had felt like a long and frustrating day. His elbow was braced on the top of the fence, his chin in his hand, while he spoke into the com on his wrist.

“No dead giveaways like, say, nanobots or laser guns?” Phichit asked.

“What do you think? Like she’d leave that stuff lying around anyway.”

“Good on you for getting in there to have a look, at least. So did she have – how does it go? – eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog…”

“There was some of that, though maybe not as much as you might think. By the way, what’s dwale? It looked like evil stuff.”

Yuuri spelled the word, and Phichit looked it up on the Cloud. “A medieval anaesthetic that typically contained alcohol, bile, hemlock, bryony, lettuce, opium, henbane, and vinegar. Jeez, I wouldn’t recommend taking that, no matter how much pain you were in. I think a couple of those things are poisonous.”

_For sleep as of death. _Maybe the “sleep as of” didn’t always apply, Yuuri thought with a shudder. “Good advice.”

“You said Victor gave you some help? How did that go?”

“He was amazing. I wish he wasn’t involved at all; you know how worried I am about keeping him safe, but I don’t think I could’ve done it without him.”

“Toothache’s completely gone, huh?”

“Thank God, yeah. Jesus, Phichit, with all the things that can hurt you in this place, I’m amazed anyone lives past forty. Henry Jago, the shoemaker I met at The Black Dog, is one of a kind, I think.” His voice quietened as he looked out at the western sky, scraps of cloud pinking over the horizon. “I wonder how he’s doing at the hospital.”

“So…do you have any other ideas about this Mistress Ramsay?” Phichit said after a moment; then he giggled. “Sorry, it’s going to take some getting used to, calling her that. It’s a very different kind of person you call a mistress here.”

Yuuri huffed a small laugh. “I know. Same with ‘master’. I’m still not sure how I feel about Emil calling me that, but he can’t really call me anything else.”

“What, Master Justin?”

“No, just ‘master’ or ‘sir’.”

“Wow, that’s juke, Yuuri.”

“I don’t think it is, really. I don’t want to be anybody’s master. There shouldn’t be any masters at all, if you ask me.”

“You mean you and Victor haven’t tried any of that stuff yet?”

“Phichit,” Yuuri said, rolling his eyes.

“OK, well, what are you going to do next? Do you know yet?”

“I’m not done telling you what I did today. So after I’d been to the hut, I figured, why wait? Victor was kind of exhilarated after helping me. I think he was proud of how he’d done, first time around.” He looked down and smiled. “It was cute. Or that’s how it seems now. At the time, I was sitting there in his room afterward, trying to calm down and being thankful I was still alive, and he was all, ‘Yuuri, did you see what I did when she tried to look over at the hut? I even asked her what she thought about the king’s visit, though she only said she was worried about the extra work it would make for her.’ I never expected him to be quite so enthusiastic – but he’s clever and tactful, too. I don’t think we need to worry about him saying anything that’ll give us away.”

“God, Yuuri, where did you find him? And does he have a brother or sister?”

Yuuri fell silent as he stared out at the deepening colours to the west. “Anyway,” he said after a moment, “that wasn’t all I got up to today. Though I don’t suppose the rest is much worth mentioning. I told Victor I didn’t see any reason why I shouldn’t carry on investigating straight away, with this being my first real lead. I said I was going to go see if I could get into Mistress Ramsay’s room while she was working over at her hut, and Victor agreed to be a lookout. He took some wood into the courtyard to chop while I went into the turret behind him. Most people leave their doors unlocked so the servants can get in to clean; it’s a lot like a medieval hotel here – ”

“And?”

Yuuri shrugged. “And nothing. I got inside and had a good look around, but it really seems like she doesn’t have anything to hide from anyone, or wants it to look that way. No loose floorboards, no secret compartments in the furniture that I could find, no locked chests, nothing concealed within or underneath stacks of clothing and linen and whatnot.” He paused. “Today was the first time I’ve ever sneaked into someone else’s private rooms and gone through their stuff like this. It feels…seedy. If she’s completely innocent – ”

“Then you’re doing it for a good cause, Yuuri.”

“I guess so. Anyway, I’ve been wondering for a while if she might’ve set up a separate workshop somewhere here, like the lab she was using in modern times. I’ve kept an eye out while I’ve been riding Lady; I’ve taken her all around the countryside over the past few months. Looked into a few caves and ruined cottages. But again, it’s hardly worth mentioning, because I haven’t bloody found anything.” He bit his lip. “Seriously, I’m doing my best.”

“I know, but don’t be too hard on yourself. Really. I’ve listened to enough crime stories to know it can take months or years to track down a criminal, if it ever happens.”

“That makes me feel loads better.”

“Keep at it. She’s bound to slip up at some point, and you’ll be waiting to nab her.”

“I hope so.” Yuuri noticed a figure approaching out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head to see Victor in his olive hose and grey tunic, cloak billowing out behind him as he strode down the hill from the castle. The golden rays of sun glowed in his hair. “I’d better go,” he said, watching him. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Sure, Yuuri. Bye for now.”

Yuuri vaulted over the fence as Victor approached. “I thought you might be here,” Victor said, coming close. “Disobeying trainer’s orders? You missed supper and have been out here exercising after everyone’s gone.”

“Sometimes that’s the best time to be here. I wasn’t hungry. I was just telling Phichit what happened today. He didn’t sound too disappointed.”

Victor rested a hand on the fence and regarded him thoughtfully. “And you are?”

“Well, yeah. We didn’t discover anything after all that work today. Not counting the time I found Ailis in the woods, which I wasn’t prepared for, I’ve had nothing to go on the whole time I’ve been here until now. But Mistress Ramsay’s either good at hiding things, or she’s not Ailis.” 

“Don’t lose heart, my love. It’s only one day. The time hasn’t been wasted. Alice has agreed to move to the new workshop. She wants her working hours to be safeguarded so that she’s not in demand at all times of the day and night, which is fair enough. She needs additional help as it is, for when the king arrives with his retinue, and they can cover the time between them. And you and I did two detecting things together today without being caught.” He smiled down at Yuuri. “I’d say we make a good team, wouldn’t you?”

Yuuri couldn’t help but grin in return. “Yeah, I wouldn’t argue with that. And we’re going to have to teach you some forensic terminology, because you can’t go around saying ‘detecting things’,” he laughed. “Investigation, stakeout, reconnaissance mission – or reccy for short. I’ll have to get Phichit to play us some audio crime stories. Modern ones; though come to think of it, you might like Sherlock Holmes, too.”

“All of it. Anything,” Victor said. “But remember, my sweet – if Alice isn’t Ailis, we’ll discover who is.”

Yuuri was tempted to say _That’s what I’m afraid of_, but thought better of it.


	77. Chapter 77

If he got close enough to the window in Victor’s room and looked at just the right angle, Yuuri could make out the entrance to Alice Ramsay’s new workshop; she’d lost no time moving in. A steady stream of visitors came and went; it seemed her services were popular with servants and nobles alike. Occasionally she crossed the courtyard to the great hall or the opposite wing of the castle where the baron and his wife had their rooms. She didn’t seem to leave the actual building very often, but it was difficult to tell, because Yuuri wasn’t around to watch much of the time. He was exercising and training as often as his body allowed it, and didn’t feel he could cut down just to stare out a window, though he made a point of nipping up to the room more often in the day to do so.

One afternoon, while Victor was occupied elsewhere, Julia asked Yuuri if he fancied an archery lesson. He’d had a few of these from her now, and while she could be a rather smug and impatient teacher, she was full of helpful information and tips for improvement. What hope he stood of becoming competent with it, he wasn’t sure, but it was useful at a distance, and a ubiquitous weapon as well: the king had passed a law that all labourers were to possess a bow and practise with it on Sundays and holidays. He was looking forward to it today, having exercised hard in the morning and feeling like he needed a change of pace.

He’d gone up to his room, removed his armour, and decided, as was his recent habit, to spend a few minutes watching Mistress Ramsay’s workshop from Victor’s window before going back outside. She emerged after a few minutes wearing a long blue woollen cloak with a hood that she pulled over her white-capped head; Yuuri’s eyes followed her as she strode purposefully to the gatehouse.

He grabbed his own mustard-coloured cloak and pinned the brooch as he dashed out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the garrison, passing through the gatehouse himself just in time to spy her making her way to the stable. Fortunately, though her progress was brisk, she didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He lingered a distance away until he saw her emerge from the stable riding side-saddle on a grey horse.

Sprinting into the building, he saddled Lady in record time. As he hustled her out of the gate, he came across Julia looking at him in confusion.

“I wasn’t planning on shooting from the back of a horse just yet – you’d be bloody dangerous if you tried that,” she said. “And what’s the fuss about?”

“Sorry,” he breathed, vaulting up. “Last-minute change of plan. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel this afternoon. And can you tell Victor I’ve gone out, just in case he wonders? Thanks,” he said distractedly before she could reply, kneeing Lady to a trot out of the stable.

Alice Ramsay had disappeared out of sight, but he rode around the area, and shortly spotted her on the main road heading south. Breathing a sigh of relief, he hung back as far as he dared, not wanting to be seen or to lose her either. Nothing about her posture or body language suggested she was wary of being followed, or planning anything secretive; her horse walked at a steady pace to the side of the wide dirt road. If she carried on in this direction, she would arrive in Crowood village, though there was no telling when she might take a diversion.

Yuuri watched her carefully. If she _was _Ailis, it was possible she’d veer off along a side path or into the woods and then turn her projector off, as she’d done the last time he’d encountered her. But she remained on the main road without stopping while sporadic traffic passed from the opposite direction. Perhaps she made a point of being extra-cautious these days, or perhaps she simply had an errand to run in the village. Regardless, Yuuri continued to follow; and once on the outskirts of the settlement, she dismounted at the stable and took her horse inside. Minutes later, she emerged and turned onto the high street, heading for a covered market. Yuuri rode Lady to the stable and quickly paid to leave her there for a few hours, then jogged out to the street toward the market himself. His heart leapt into his throat as he initially failed to find his quarry; but as he passed several stalls, he spotted her in conversation at a large one that had bunches of herbs pinned to its frontage.

He’d ridden through this village before, but had never looked around properly. The high street was lined with wooden and brick shops and houses of the wealthy, most with thatched roofs and large chimneys. Nearby was a little round patch of green with a tall market cross, obviously a popular gathering place for people who wanted to stop and chat. There was a butcher’s shop with joints of meat hanging from an awning, a bakery, a candle-maker, a blacksmith, a tannery, a pub – all the usual amenities, plus the white canvas-covered market stalls lining the road on both sides. Pedestrians, horse riders and carts jostled for space in between, along with dogs and the odd stray goat or goose. Woodsmoke added pungency to the air, with the underlying aromas of roasting meat and baking bread; though there was also an unsavoury note hinting of concealed drains or latrines, and perhaps piles of rotting offal behind the shops.

The odd fat drop of rain plopped onto Yuuri’s nose from the steel-grey sky. He gathered his cloak about his shoulders and pretended to browse the wares of a stall selling leather goods while keeping an eye on Alice Ramsay a few stalls further on.

Annoyingly, she was taking her time, which meant he had to take his, and he eventually felt obliged to buy something. At first only feigning an interest in leather tankards and purses, he was eventually sold on a tight sleeveless lace-up leather jerkin, if only because it might be the sort of thing that would appeal to Victor. Folding it and placing it in a large inner pocket of his cloak, he did his best to make small talk until Mistress Ramsay finally shifted from the herbalist’s stall and disappeared inside a nearby haberdashery. He left the leather merchant just as a tall man in a brown hooded cloak arrived to browse the goods, and went to speak to the herbalist.

After exchanging greetings with the blue-turbaned woman, he introduced himself as a visitor from the castle, and said their own herbalist had recommended her services.

“Why bless you, sir, she’s only just been here as well,” the middle-aged rosy-cheeked woman answered. “A good customer she is, if a bit particular.”

“How do you mean?”

“Insists on the best of everything. Which, don’t get me wrong, is what I sell. But she _will_ have a thorough going-over of whatever she buys. Knows what she wants and what she’s about, she does. But my word, she ain’t half choosy. Would you say my hyssop here – ” She pointed to a basket containing dried green and purple plant matter. “ – looks ‘off’?”

“I…wouldn’t have thought so, no.”

“And she asks for the impossible sometimes. Have I got any Roman chamomile? Have I got any frankincense? Laws, as if the Mediterranean trader comes by here every day. If she wants frankincense, she should go ask a priest, they’ve got it coming out their ears.”

The woman was keen to talk, and Yuuri mostly listened, though he couldn’t garner any more information from her about Mistress Ramsay apart from the fact that she’d become a customer the previous November and was discerning, to put it politely. Yuuri bought some sachets of herbs and spices from her for infusing into thin beer or wine, then browsed a fruit-seller’s stall near the haberdashery, where he caught sight of the brown-cloaked man again, lingering nearby; probably a monk. He bought a packet of dried sultanas, eating some and stuffing the rest in a pocket.

It turned out that Mistress Ramsay had several places to go in the village; Yuuri followed her to each one, speaking to the merchants about her when he got the chance. At first he dismissed the brown-cloaked man as another shopper who coincidentally was interested in similar stalls and shops as himself; but as he continually caught glimpses of him, never in plain sight but hovering around or just turning a corner, he gradually became convinced he was being deliberately followed. The man’s face was entirely in shadow under the long hood, and the cloak concealed his body from wrist to ankle, with leather boots underneath, giving nothing away about his identity. When Yuuri went on to a wine-seller and noticed the man once again in the periphery of his vision, he felt a shiver creep down his back.

“Don’t look directly – but do you recognise that man in the brown cloak a couple of stalls down?” he whispered to the fat grey-haired merchant.

“Eh? Can’t say as I do. Could be anybody under there. Monk, maybe.”

“I think he’s following me.”

The man’s eyes widened. “You don’t say? Whatever would he be doing that for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here, you ain’t a criminal or nothin’, are you? You wanted by the law?”

“No,” Yuuri said quickly. “But when I leave, would you mind distracting him? Call him over? Offer him a free sample, maybe.” Yuuri took a coin out of his purse and slipped it across the wood-topped counter.

“Certainly, my good man,” the merchant said, pocketing it. “I’ll do my best, and good luck to you.”

Mistress Ramsay had gone into the bakery, but Yuuri was becoming more concerned about the man shadowing him. Might Ailis have an assistant here, and might she have asked him to come along and keep a lookout? Perhaps he’d seen Yuuri following her, so he’d followed in turn.

If that were the case, his life could be in danger.

_Shit,_ he thought, gripping the counter in front of him to stop his hand from shaking. Ailis could have given him her laser gun, and Yuuri hadn’t even got his laser _pen_; the thought hadn’t so much as crossed his mind before he’d set out.

_Think, Yuuri, think. How likely is any of this? _From what he knew about Ailis, he would have said she was the type to work alone, trusting no one. True, there had been Ian, but they’d separated acrimoniously. How strong was the compulsion to find an assistant and confidante here, versus the desire for safety and secrecy? It would make sense to have an accomplice helping her with whatever she was planning, or even to explain things to her like Emil had for him, and continued to do on occasion, as well as Victor. Or perhaps she just got lonely and wanted someone to be with.

If this mysterious man _was _working with her, he wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself in public – but once in a private place…? Yuuri decided he’d have to stop following Mistress Ramsay for now, and make sure he and the man didn’t end up alone.

_I’m rubbish at this. Maybe they’re just waiting for their chance to fry me._

“Are you all right, sir?” the merchant asked.

“I – I’m fine. I’m going to leave now. Be sure to call him over, all right? In fact – ” He slipped the man another coin. “ – do you think you could leave your stall and get in his way; try to pull him over here or something?”

He eyed the coin and then pocketed it with the first. “For a generous fellow such as yourself? You can count on me.”

“Thank you.” And with that, Yuuri broke into a sprint down the high street. Almost immediately, he heard the merchant calling to someone behind him.

“Hail, my good sir! Just the person I’m looking for. I’m told monks know their ale. Come to my stall and have a free sample; perhaps you’ll discover something that’s to your liking. Here now, my stall’s just this way. Oi, you can’t do that! Fie! Of all the nerve. A pox on you!”

The cries were trailing away behind Yuuri, but not far enough for comfort. He ducked suddenly behind the corner of a building and dashed down an alleyway, emerging onto a quieter road that had a view of the Ouse. The river – if he could get down there, he’d be in the open, and the man might give up following him. He broke into another run, weaving past houses and workshops. Whipping around another corner, he found himself running through a cramped alleyway with a tall stone wall on one side and gardens behind houses on the other, containing hen coops and pig sties and goats and a cow or two. Eventually Yuuri found the courage to turn his head – and saw the flash of a brown cloak just as he rounded another corner.

Heart hammering, he was met with more glimpses of the river as he ran, nearer now. The street had become little more than a track of black mud that emitted a faint stink, with tall buildings looming up and almost blocking the sun as the roofs practically touched above. Someone tipped a bucket of brown water out of an upstairs room nearby; Yuuri avoided going down that street. Shouts and clanks echoed along the narrow walls – arguments, people plying their trades. Yuuri dashed past two surprised-looking boys in dirty ragged clothes playing with a wagon wheel. Surely the river was nearby. He had to be almost there. 

He turned another corner – and was met with a dead end, the alleyway choked off several paces ahead by another high stone wall. Deep shadows spilled across piles of filth outside of bolted wooden doors. Yuuri took a second to register this before instinct took over; he drew his sword and whirled around –

– to find it instantly trapped in a bind with a loud clang that echoed off the walls.

“You’re getting better, but you’re still too slow,” came a familiar voice. The man pulled his hood back and gave him a smile.

“V-Victor,” Yuuri gasped, knees buckling. “Oh God…” Catching his breath, he relaxed his sword. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me it was you?”

“I never got the chance,” Victor replied, sheathing his own weapon. “You were either in public hearing, or near Alice, or flitting about like a wren from branch to branch. Julia told me about your sudden change of plan, and how you rode out of the stable in such a hurry; I just caught sight of you myself, in fact, as I was heading toward the training field. It occurred to me that the likeliest reason for your behaviour was that you were in pursuit of Ailis, or Mistress Ramsay at any rate. I was concerned for your safety, and of course I still had your laser pen. Despite everything you’ve said, it’s still a weapon of a kind, is it not?”

“But why the disguise?” Yuuri asked, taking several more deep breaths. “I had no idea it was you running after me.”

“I keep this cloak in my saddlebags; it can be of a certain benefit when I want to pass unnoticed away from the castle. You should’ve been wearing something like this yourself if you wished not to be recognised.” His eyes sparked. “And you came unarmed again, apart from your sword, which you said is useless against a laser gun. Why are you so cavalier with your own safety?”

“I…” Yuuri swallowed and looked down. “…didn’t think. I saw Mistress Ramsay going to the stable, and I followed, and when I saw her leaving on her horse…”

“You followed to see where she was going.” Yuuri nodded. “Did you learn anything?”

“Nothing, other than if she _is _Ailis, she’s not making any more mistakes like turning her projector off and firing her laser gun in the woods. I tailed her to several shops, and I talked to the shopkeepers. She’s doing a good job of behaving like a herbalist.”

“Perhaps that’s all she is.”

“Perhaps.” Yuuri sighed, and his knees buckled again. Victor came close and put a hand on his arm.

“Are you all right?”

“If I’m honest, you gave me a fright. I thought you might be Ailis’s accomplice wanting to kill me.”

“Does she have an accomplice here?”

“I don’t know. There’s no evidence for one, but…” He paused. “Shit, Victor, did you really have to come after me like that?”

“I’m sorry,” Victor said with sincerity. “For what it’s worth, you gave me quite a chase. You’re very fleet of foot. But the last thing I wanted was to distress you.”

“You might have thought twice about chasing me, then.”

“I wanted to find out where you were going.”

“Nice place, isn’t it?”

Victor gave a small laugh. “That’s the correct use of the word in the circumstances.” He touched Yuuri’s arm. “I’m truly sorry.”

“I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

“I’m glad. Why don’t we get out of this dingy back street, hm?”

“Good idea.”

They wended their way around the alleys until they were back on the high street, then returned to the stable. The stable hand, a tall thin man with a white coif and loosely belted brown tunic, stared at Victor in surprise as they entered, then quickly bowed.

“My lord – what service can I render for you today?” 

“I’ve, ah, just come to collect my horse.”

“But I never saw you enter.” He took a long look. “Wait – you must be the monk-like fellow.”

“That’s right.”

“If I’d known…I hope the accommodation here has been suitable – ?”

Victor turned quickly to Yuuri and whispered in his ear, “Is her horse still here?”

Yuuri glanced around and spotted the grey in a corner stall. “Yes.”

“Go check through her saddlebags while I keep this fellow busy.” Then he turned back to the stable hand. “Forgive me. Now, you were saying – about the accommodation. Might I have a look around? It’s a while since I’ve been here, and I was in a bit of a hurry when I arrived.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

“What are you feeding the horses nowadays? Is that where you keep the fodder?” He pointed to the opposite end of the stable.

“Well, yes, sir. I’ll show you, if you like.”

“Please.” Victor gestured forward, and followed the man, turning to look back at Yuuri with a quick wink.

He nodded; he’d been standing near the gate, and now let himself inside. Victor seemed to have a good instinct for this work, and a knack for chatting to people. “Better than me,” he muttered to himself as he unbuckled the first saddlebag on the horse.

The bag was full of herbs and a few bottles of innocuous-smelling liquids. He rebuckled it and investigated the second one on the other side of the saddle. A sack of thin wine. Packets of food. An oilskin cloak for rainy weather. A spare pair of shoes. Nothing more. He buckled the bag back up and noticed Victor had led the stable hand outside, where he wouldn’t notice Yuuri going through a customer’s valuables. He exited the gate and went to join them.

“Well, my good man, it looks as though my trusty mount has been left in safe hands,” Victor said heartily.

“Indeed, my lord, we do our best.”

“I’ll recommend your services to anyone I know of who comes this way.”

“You’re too kind.”

“My companion and I will just go fetch our horses.”

“Oh, there’s no need, I can – ”

“It’s all right,” Victor said in a soothing voice with a wave, “there are some things we can do for ourselves. Thank you for your time.”

The man stood and watched, open-mouthed, as Victor re-entered the stable, followed by Yuuri. “Did you find anything?” he asked quietly as they walked to Alyona’s gate.

Yuuri sighed and shook his head. “That was a brilliant idea, but no, nothing.”

Victor stopped and looked at him. “You sound discouraged.”

“Of course I am. Though I don’t suppose I ever thought this would be easy.”

“I’ve been watching Alice these past several days, too. When I can; when you haven’t been doing it yourself. I’ve also made some discreet enquiries about her and her husband as passing topics of conversations.”

Yuuri brightened. “You have?”

“I said I wanted to help, didn’t I?” Victor replied with a little grin. “I hope that’s all right?”

“Yeah, that’s all right. What did you hear back?”

“Praise, mostly. They’re both good at their jobs, upstanding Christians, etcetera. The little criticism I’ve heard is that they’re perceived as being a bit standoffish, though that’s neither uncommon nor a crime. No one seems suspicious of their motives, and there’s been no mention of any odd behaviour from either of them. Though as they’ve only been in their positions for six months, it may be a bit early to be sure.”

Yuuri folded his arms and sighed. “I suppose all we can do from here is keep an eye on her. If she’s not Ailis, we mustn’t get too distracted and end up missing something important.”

“I agree.” Victor gave him a gentle smile. “But while we’re here in the village, before we go, how about we visit the pub and I buy you a drink? Then I can tell you a bit about the Easter festivities this weekend.”

“Really? I don’t suppose there’ll be another kissing bush,” Yuuri said with a smirk.

Victor chuckled. “No; but then, I don’t need any such excuse to kiss you now. I’ll be expected to take an active part in things, but it won’t be so bad. There won’t be any Lord of Misrule to be wary of,” he said with a laugh. “You might even like to join me…” 


	78. Chapter 78

And so, after several more days of exercise, training, and fruitlessly watching Mistress Ramsay’s activities from the window, Yuuri did. Before he and Victor left the castle, however, they received their new clothes, fitted by Percy and a delighted Monica. Yuuri’s outfit included sheer tight-fitting royal-blue hose that ended in fashionable pointy toes, and he felt like an extra in some silly exotic ballet until he caught the dark stares Victor gave him while he had his own purple camlet cotehardie and fir-green hose fitted. It didn’t help that Yuuri’s new shirt, made of a sky-blue shimmering material called samite, was so short that he couldn’t bend over without exposing his braies to the world. The billowing sleeves, in contrast, were longer than the actual hemline. He also accepted a royal-blue chaperon to wear, which looked presentable if a little strange to his eyes, especially when he saw Justin’s head swathed in all that material in the mirror.

They rode in their finery with their squires and a clutch of soldiers and servants to the Crowood stable, where the same man instantly recognised and welcomed them. As they walked, Victor seemed amused by the way Yuuri gingerly picked out his footing at first, trying not to get the sheer blue material on his feet dirty, especially with the points at the ends; but the ground was dry, and he eventually forgot about it. Their destination was the Norman church in the village; Victor had explained that it was customary for him and his father to attend Easter mass in different places on the estate, where they could give and receive blessings.

Yuuri had been curious about what this would entail. Would the peasants be full of supplication; appeals to his mercy? Would they come up to him and beg? Or perhaps just quietly endure the presence of their aristocratic overlord?

None of these speculations turned out to be the case, however. The local families, all dressed in colourful clothes, had come out in numbers that had the church almost full to bursting, even though it was standing-room only apart from a few empty wooden compartments sealed off by tall gates, which Victor explained had been built for nobles who wanted to remain apart from the common folk. Neither they nor anyone in the travelling party from the castle used them, standing instead at the front of the gathering in the nave. Children laughed and played while the priest said mass, and goats and lambs bleated; Yuuri thought it was more like a farmyard than a church, though he preferred the easy atmosphere to the religious solemnity he’d been expecting. Victor stood next to him throughout the service, occasionally taking his hand and lacing their fingers together.

After the service, once outside, Victor was in great demand. Yuuri stepped aside while people came to their lord with grievances, which he heard while a scribe stood next to him making notes in a book; his response was usually to nod and either tell them to bring the matter to the next manorial court, or to offer a brief bit of advice. They were also keen to shower him with gifts. Eventually he gestured for Yuuri and Julia and the others of their party to approach and help with carrying them. There were baskets of eggs, honeycombs, a straw hat, pies large and small, and even a carved figurine of the Virgin Mary. Their horses were brought to be laden with the items, though they also had gifts of food, clothing and coins to distribute in turn.

Yuuri was given a bag of money to hand out, and he pressed a silver coin into the palm of anyone with an outstretched hand, young or old. He watched Victor and the others do the same, though most of the people seemed to want their gift from the lord himself, as if he had some kind of magical or saintly aura that he could confer to them. Victor had told Yuuri that day at the pub about attending mass, and to expect a gift exchange, but he hadn’t explained the specifics, and Yuuri was amazed by it all. Julia, on the other hand, looked as if she were just managing to maintain an expression of polite interest while desiring to be elsewhere, and Emil wore a permanent smile, looking pleasantly bewildered. 

Victor had just distributed his last coin when a boy cried out as lamb darted away from the crowd, loudly bleating while a rope secured around its neck trailed behind. Amid laughter, Victor dashed after it, Yuuri following; it gave them both a good chase before tiring and allowing Victor to sweep it up in his arms. With a smile, he handed it over to Yuuri, all warm skin and tight wool and hammering heart as it kicked its limbs.

“I think the little master over there will appreciate getting his charge back,” Victor said; and Yuuri returned to the crowd with the flailing creature, which was glad to be put back on the ground once the boy came forward, reaching out for the rope. He bowed to Yuuri and muttered a thank-you.

On the journey back to the castle, Yuuri’s thoughts were full of what he’d seen and experienced. The people seemed to love Victor. Didn’t they view him as an oppressor? Many of them lived in virtual slavery. Perhaps they were thankful he was nicer about it than most. But there was no denying that some of them also seemed to think he was godlike. Maybe by granting him that status, it legitimised his position over them, or at least made it more bearable.

_It’s not surprising people look at him that way, though, _Yuuri thought, watching the beautiful dignified man astride his white horse on the way back to the castle. _Haven’t I seen him as an angel from the start? Now that I know him…yes, there’ll still always be something special like that about him, no matter how human he proves himself to be. _

When they arrived outside the stable, Victor dismounted, opened one of his saddlebags, reached a hand in, and then smiled. Yuuri jumped down from Lady to join him. “I’m surprised they wanted to give presents to us like that,” he said. “Don’t they give enough to the estate as it is?”

“Some of them insist upon it. Should I reject a kindness that’s graciously bestowed?”

“What have you got there?”

Victor gingerly pulled out a small wicker basket covered with a red cloth square, and held it out to Yuuri, who removed the cloth to reveal a small pile of painted eggs. When he took the basket, he realised it was astoundingly light.

“We were given ordinary eggs, of course,” Victor said in a quiet voice with a little smile, “but these are the best kind. I was checking to make sure they survived the journey intact, though I packed them carefully so they would. They’ve been blown so that they’ll keep, and as you can see, the shells have been painted.”

Yuuri lifted one carefully to examine in the sunlight. The entire egg, lighter than a cork, had been painted red and then crisscrossed with white lines inside of which were intricate snowflake patterns. He replaced it and looked at the others; most were painted a solid colour for a background, with detailed flowers or geometric designs on top. “These are incredible,” he said.

“Made by a woman with failing hands and joints who’s raised eleven children,” Victor told him, and Yuuri returned his gaze in surprise. “Her husband died shortly after the last child was born. The family never had much money, and she didn’t want to remarry and possibly have more children. I didn’t force her into any arrangements, and saw to it that her family was in no danger of starving while her children grew old enough to be able to work the land. Most have married by now, but a few still live with her.”

“You know these people’s life stories?”

“Some of them. What do you think they come to the manorial court with? We also visit different areas of the estate from time to time, my father and myself. The villeins give us money and food. The least we can do in return is try to look after them.”

Yuuri nodded, picking up a blue egg with his forefinger and thumb and admiring the bright yellow flowers on it, each petal painstakingly depicted. “Failing hands and joints?” he echoed in amazement.

Victor nodded. “I’m told there’s nothing that can be done, apart from taking draughts for the pain. She has some talent, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve asked her to paint some baubles that she can present to the king when he visits. To him it’ll just be one gift among many, but to her it’ll be the honour of a lifetime.” He grinned at Yuuri as if he’d done something slightly clever.

“I love you,” he said simply in response.

* * *

Yuuri knew they’d be obliged to attend an all-day session in the great hall, as they’d done at Christmas. Before going, he exchanged his chaperon for his usual cylindrical cap, which felt liberating. Victor continued to wear his own black chaperon; and along with the rich purple cotehardie and his gold livery collar, he looked lordly, Yuuri thought. Once through the archway in the courtyard, they separated as usual, Victor going to the high table and Yuuri sitting on the bench at his own, next to Chris. He noticed that on the sideboard, where the Nikiforovs’ best silver and gold plates and bowls were usually stored, the painted eggs had been arranged on a nest of freshly cut grass; there were a dozen in all. A nearby candelabra gave each one a sheen.

Many people would envy him the privilege of an endless stream of food, drink, and entertainment, Yuuri knew, and he wondered how many of the residents of Crowood had enough to eat today. Despite his gratitude for the abundance available to him, however, he found the feast wearing after a while, if not initially, as he sated his appetite with the first filling meal he’d had since they’d all been obliged to fast again.

Troupes of performers were present to entertain the usual castle personnel who attended meals here, though there were some visitors at other tables as well; minor nobles, Victor had explained to him, who weren’t considered important enough to have seats at the high table. In fact, when the baron and his wife got up to depart with their officials in the middle of the festivities, Victor was left by himself, attended by Julia and looking rather bored. Unlike ordinary meals, because this one had been continuing all afternoon, people had been coming and going without the usual concern about which person of which rank exited the room first. Yuuri had considered finding an excuse to leave himself; but even though he wasn’t near Victor, he felt as if he were with him in spirit, and so he remained, exchanging frequent glances and exasperated smiles.

Not all of it was painful, fortunately. The octet of musicians wove playful and haunting tunes that Yuuri ended up recording on his com. Afterward, a troupe of acrobats reminded him of some of the things he and Victor had done together on the wheel, and gave him ideas for other possibilities to try. The morris dancers were a bit more esoteric, he thought. And by the evening, they were sitting through a seemingly endless mystery play detailing Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection. The props and costumes were sumptuous, but the pantomime-style acting wasn’t to Yuuri’s taste. When Pontius Pilate asked the audience whether or not Jesus ought to be crucified, Yuuri half-expected an “oh no he shouldn’t/oh yes he should” exchange, which fortunately didn’t materialise. Chris seemed riveted by it all and had a bottomless stomach as well. Yuuri picked at a silver bowl of aniseed and candied gingers.

“I think the one in the red dress fancies you,” Chris said, and Yuuri turned to look at him.

“What?”

“That lady yonder.”

Chris spoke over the voices of the actors in the middle of the room, but Yuuri kept his voice down. “What, the one with the elaborate headdress?”

“No, she’s paid no attention to no one apart from Victor all evening. I mean the one next to her – the blonde with those plaits tied back. She’s been giving you distinct glances, have you not noticed?”

“No,” Yuuri replied, hoping that if Chris was right, she’d give up soon. That was a complication he could do without.

Chris gave him a knowing grin and sipped his wine while Yuuri looked more closely at the woman who seemed to be interested in Victor. Gold mesh cylinders on either side of her head, reminiscent of a set of speakers, held her red hair in place, and the bodice of her green dress was fashionably tight and scooped low, revealing creamy skin over smooth collarbones. Forgetting about the food and drink in front of him, and the play, he observed an interesting exchange. The woman called a servant over to her and whispered a word in the boy’s ear, then watched keenly as he approached Victor, apparently relaying a message while the woman and her companion watched behind hands raised in front of their faces, half-stifling smiles. Victor looked momentarily surprised, then said something to the boy and turned to drink from his goblet. The boy returned to the woman, who looked displeased at what she was told, and stood to go around to the front of her table, despite the play still taking place. From there, she glided along the next table until she stood in front of Victor.

“’ey up, there’s a persistent one,” Chris said, watching now as well. “You’ll want to be careful with these, or they’ll muscle in on your territory.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Come now, Justin. Everyone knows the two of you are together. But I’m teasing you. Firstly, everyone also knows that Victor’s never been interested in anything that typically wears a dress. Secondly, he’s loyal to the people he cares about. You see?”

The woman bowed low, giving Victor a flash of her wares. Then she extended a hand, palm up, with a coy smile. Victor wore a polite expression but looked distinctly uncomfortable. Eventually he shook his head and lifted his own palms in a gesture that seemed to say, “But what can I do?” She made a face like she’d just eaten a lemon and returned to her seat, bumping into an actor along the way and glowering at him.

Yuuri looked down, unable to hide a smile, and Chris clapped him on the back. “There, I told you,” he said. “Philip, more wine, please. One can’t have too much of such a good thing.”

The play eventually, mercifully, ended, and the actors cleared out to make way for the castle musicians. Another course of sweets was taken around along with more festive drink, which seemed to indicate that the meal would carry on a while yet. Yuuri had watched a seemingly endless procession of people succeed the noblewoman to the high table, wanting a word with Victor, who frowned as he sipped his wine. But then his eyes met Yuuri’s across the room, and his face lit up. He grabbed the handle of a silver jug and poured a heady red liquid from it into a jewelled silver goblet, which he gave to Julia next to him with a quick word. She glanced at Yuuri, then rolled her eyes briefly before making her way over to him along the walls, behind the diners.

“A favour from the lord,” she said somewhat stiltedly as she approached, with the same expression she’d worn when Victor had picked him up on the wheel in the bridal carry. “He, um, says you can come sit next to him.”

“He does?” Yuuri looked over at Victor, but he was speaking with two men in front of him who Yuuri recognised as castle clerks.

“Yes. He does. So are you coming, sir?”

“Go on, my lad; you’ve been favoured by fortune,” Chris said. “Though unfortunately, it’s after all the main courses.”

“Cheers, Chris.” Yuuri took the goblet from Julia and followed her to the back of the high table, where he sat down on the bench next to Victor, who was still in deep discussion with his two visitors. Sipping the wine, he noticed it was strong, with additions of cinnamon, ginger and aniseed. Eventually Victor dismissed the men, who clearly wanted to continue the conversation, telling them to go relax and enjoy the remainder of the holiday. It was practically an order.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said quietly.

“For what?” Victor’s mouth quirked. “Getting rid of those two, or bringing you over here?”

“Both. I thought you had to do something special to get to sit at the high table, though.”

Victor took a swig from his goblet. “Indeed; usually it’s meant to be an honour. But there’s no one else here – they’ve gone to Knavesmire for a second mass and gift-giving. And no one will censure me for having you by my side; your reputation and rank are high enough. I only wish it could happen on a permanent basis, but with my parents on one side and the officials on the other, I – ”

“It’s all right,” Yuuri said, smiling into his goblet. “Thank you anyway.”

“Caroline de Bascombe thought she’d snare me into having the first dance with her after the meal ends. She wasn’t pleased when I told her that I’ll be leaving before then.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “The lady with the gold cages on her head?”

Victor snickered. “I believe that’s the latest fashion for women.”

“She’s pretty. For a lady.”

“You’re sexy,” Victor whispered, “for a man. I can’t believe Percy’s genius in suggesting you have a shirt made of samite in that type of cut. I’ve barely been able to take my eyes off you all day.”

A wave of heat passed through Yuuri. But before he could say anything else, a priest with a tonsured head approached the front of the high table. He had an air of someone who was used to addressing nobles such as Victor on personal terms, and gave him a slight nod, his hands folded into the brown sleeves of his gown across his front.

“Father Maynard,” Victor said, failing to hide a touch of strain in his voice.

“My Lord Victor. Felicitations of the day, and God bless you. And yours,” he added with a slanted glance at Yuuri. “Begging your pardon for disturbing you. But I’d been hoping to be able to make use in the Easter mass today of the wondrous golden chalice gifted to your father at Christmas by the Baron of Rochester. Do you know if he still intends to put it in its, er, rightful place in the chapel?”

Victor thought for a moment. “Gifted at Christmas, you say?”

“Yes, my lord. I remember it distinctly. It was about so high – ” He removed his hands from his sleeves and showed him. “ – and encrusted with rubies and emeralds that – ”

“Julius,” Victor said flatly, and she hurried forward from her place against the wall. “Please go with Father Maynard to find Percy, and have Percy look through the treasures in the wardrobe until he finds this piece of which he speaks. I’m sure my father won’t mind him taking it to the chapel if it can be unearthed.”

Julia and Father Maynard both stared for a moment; then she nodded and went to the front of the table to escort him away. Victor looked down with a relieved smile, and Yuuri laughed. Draining the rest of the beautiful wine Victor had given him, he turned to Emil, who had also been standing at the ready, and said, “Do you think you could find some very thin wine or beer? I just need some liquid inside me, I think.”

“I believe it’s in short supply, sir,” Emil answered when he came to his side. “We’ve been given holiday drinks to serve today.”

“They can’t be out of it all over the castle, can they?”

“Well, no.” He thought for a moment. “Very well; I’ll investigate the buttery and return with what I can find.”

“Thanks, Emil.” He sat back in his chair and watched Victor sipping his wine, all ideas for meaningless small talk draining from his mind. Victor was beautiful, and kind, and bored from a long day full of obligations. He’d also been very much in demand. Maybe it was time Yuuri took his turn, and helped him relax somehow.

If they’d been sitting like this at the table in Victor’s room, his inclination would be to playfully try to seduce him, rousing his interest until he was gasping with desire. Well, he _did _say he liked the new shirt. Even though it made Yuuri feel exposed, he had to admit the tight blue hose were sensual in their own way too, if you ignored the pointy toes. They followed the contours of his legs so perfectly. Just like Victor’s own hose did. Yuuri’s eyes roved in a line down the form-fitting purple cotehardie to the muscles sheathed in dark green, disappearing underneath the long white tablecloth. And then he had an idea.

But _what _an idea. He could never do it. Never.

Could he? The squires would be gone for a little while. No one else was nearby. It was the perfect opportunity. It might be the _only _opportunity he ever had. Could he really…?

_I’m right here, Victor. In a moment, you won’t be paying attention to anyone else but me. _

Face flushing, hardly believing his own audacity, he made a pretence of dropping something on the floor, and shifted under the tablecloth to retrieve it.

* * *

Victor listened to Yuuri asking Emil for thin wine or beer while he sipped from his own goblet, more content than he had been since the morning. His love was by his side. If only he always could be. But Victor knew what a battle he would have on his hands with Andrei if he suggested it. The baron wasn’t here now, however, and there was no one else in the castle whose authority was greater than his own, and therefore Yuuri was going to sit here with him for the rest of the meal. Which hopefully shouldn’t be much longer anyway. He’d been looking forward to getting Yuuri alone for the rest of the evening, and properly admiring that sinful shimmering shirt – both on and off him. Not to mention the tight hose underneath. He blew a little breath into his goblet, willing himself to calm down and be patient.

Yuuri’s look of astonishment while they’d visited the village…Victor smiled to recall it. This was obviously all new to him. Did he really believe there was no care or gratitude shown to their tenants? He ought to take Yuuri to meet Deborah and her family one day; perhaps even watch her paint. And how did people celebrate Easter in the future? Did they still _have _Easter? Well, they had Christmas. Did they decorate eggs? Exchange gifts? Enjoy it as a holiday? He ought to ask –

Suddenly he caught a flash of blue as Yuuri ducked under the table. Dropped something, presumably. Victor watched the musicians, then cast his eyes around the room. Most people were enjoying an extra serving of strawberry fool with sweet biscuits. He had turned the course down earlier, but decided he might have room for it now, and perhaps Yuuri did too. He looked down, ready to call to him, wondering what was taking him so long under there.

Then Victor’s eyes flew open wide and he gasped, covering his mouth with his hand. A pink glow spread across his cheeks, he could feel it, and a shiver rippled through him.

The _rascal_. The _imp_. No one had ever been so bold, especially not in public.

Yuuri’s hands were sliding up the insides of his thighs, caressing as they went. He was taking his time, as if silently testing the waters, asking if this was all right.

Was it? Victor looked around the room again. Dear God. A thrill shot down his spine. If…if he relaxed into it, it shouldn’t take long. He was already growing hard.

_I can’t believe I’m letting him do this. What would they all think?_

_They won’t know._

He swallowed and moved slightly forward on the bench, biting his lip and clutching at the stem of his goblet. It was empty now, but it didn’t matter. His eyes fluttered briefly shut as he concentrated on the gentle sensation of Yuuri’s fingers playing at the tops of his hose. The hem of his cotehardie was nudged upward. Lips ghosted against his half-hard cock inside his braies. Victor fixed his eyes to the pattern on his goblet and stifled a moan.

Yuuri freed him from the confines of the thin material and took a moment to lap and tease before engulfing him in his hot, wet mouth. A tremor shook through Victor as he forced himself to sit still and stare at the goblet. Soon beads of sweat were springing out along his hairline; he was fully erect and pulsing, Yuuri laving at the tight sensitive skin underneath, just how he liked it.

_Christ, I can’t believe we’re doing this. _He bit back another moan.

His thoughts swam as Yuuri quickened his pace, squeezing and kneading, licking and sucking, and Victor wanted to say something, anything, to him. To tell him how good this felt. To revel in the pleasure, crying out his name. Everything he _couldn’t _do while he was sitting in front of just about everyone in the castle. Certain his cheeks were flushed like a rose, he pretended to drink deep from his goblet.

“My lord.”

Victor opened his eyes. Matthew Everard was standing in front of him, wearing a crimson houppelande that complemented his dark brown skin, looking every inch the nobleman, rather than the mess Victor was right at this moment. Matt blinked questioningly at him.

“Yes?” Victor asked, summoning a shred of composure from some unknown reserve. Fortunately, Yuuri could also hear the man speaking to him, and had paused in his ministrations.

“Fernand is wondering if you’d like one final course to the meal, another aperitif, since it’s Easter. Or if you’d rather move on to the dancing. He’s prepared a selection of quince jelly sweets and minted pastilles – ”

“That…sounds good.”

Matthew wrinkled his brow. “Are you well, my lord? You look a trifle distempered.”

“A little too much wine,” Victor said with a quick smile. “It’s not a problem. Please, let him know I’ll appreciate whatever he’s made.”

“Very well, sir.” Matthew nodded at him and then moved off. Victor slumped against the table. “Fuck,” he whispered.

He could swear he heard a giggle from under the table; and then Yuuri resumed where he’d left off after more teasing with his tongue. Victor could feel him _humming _around him – the vibrations – even if it was too soft to hear.

_I am going to get my revenge on you for this, you just wait, _his thoughts came in swelling red waves. And then, _Oh Jesus, oh yes, God, Yuuri…_

He crumpled the cloth at the edge of the table with one hand, forcing himself again to stare into the vacant depths of the empty goblet. This wasn’t an imp pleasuring him. This was Eros himself, come to tantalise and torment him in equal measures. The urge to bury his fingers in Yuuri’s hair was overwhelming, but he must do nothing to hint at what was happening to him; the ecstasy that was building, threatening to rip through him. He’d taught Yuuri too well; he knew his secrets, what would push him to the edge quickly, and was doing it right this minute. Victor’s legs began to quiver.

_Good lord, please don’t let anyone interrupt me now, because I’ll give myself away, I’m so close…_

He was vaguely aware of a dish and a platter being placed on the table before him by a servant who appeared and then departed in a flash. The tension in his groin, the tingles of pleasure grew, pulled at him, became exquisitely unbearable –

– and exploded in pulses that forced him to squeeze his eyes shut. He stifled a cry against his hand as he slammed his elbow onto the table. Yuuri sucked him dry through it all, every spasm. Victor wanted to groan in blissful relief. To take Yuuri in his arms; to cuddle and stroke…to do wicked things to him in turn. His mind spun even as he felt Yuuri rearranging his braies and cotehardie; then he quickly emerged and sat on the bench, clothes and hat neatly intact, as if nothing had happened. Apart from when he turned to Victor and gave him a knowing smile, licking the corner of his mouth lasciviously. Victor’s jaw dropped open. He blinked and straightened his chaperon.

“Why, Victor – is it hot in here? You’re so flushed,” Yuuri said silkily, then smiled to himself as he took a quince jelly from the platter and slid it into his mouth.

“How…”

“These are good. You should try one.”

Victor continued to stare at Yuuri as he plucked one from the plate and put it in his mouth, barely tasting it, wondering what heavenly cloud or hellish cavern this man had come from to drive him to such sweet distraction.

* * *

They barely said anything to each other while they ate the jellies and minted sweets, their squires eventually reappearing to serve them again. Victor told Julia he would see her the following day, and Yuuri told Emil the same. They left the great hall together quietly, walking side by side. Yuuri’s face was inscrutable in the honeyed rays of the westering sun. Victor remained tight-lipped himself.

“You’re not…angry, are you?” Yuuri said in quiet concern as they approached the door to Victor’s room. He looked at Yuuri pointedly and opened it. Once they were both inside, Victor pulled off his chaperon and flung it to the floor, then in one swift move bolted the door and pinned Yuuri against it, pressing against him, their faces close. Yuuri’s eyes went wide in the dim light of the low fire and the few candles still burning, though he had the presence of mind to switch his projector off.

“You brazen villain,” Victor breathed with a little smirk, running his arms up those blue sleeves like waterfalls. “No one’s ever dared to _suggest _such a thing to me before. And you didn’t suggest. You just did it.”

A worried look crossed Yuuri’s face. “I would’ve stopped any time you wanted me to.”

“Never mind that. Revenge is sweet, they say. I didn’t believe so before now, but perhaps it’s time I was proved wrong.” He planted his palms against the door and kissed Yuuri hard, grinding into him. Yuuri was startled for a moment before relaxing, kissing back with equal fervour; the back of his head brushed against the door, causing his hat to topple off. He placed a hand on either side of Victor’s neck, sucking in little gasps and breathing his name, then running his fingers through his hair. Victor kneaded the tops of Yuuri’s thighs, just where his shirt ended and his hose began. Yuuri tilted his head back, moaning, and Victor swooped in to trail kisses down his neck.

As distracted as he was, Victor only realised what was happening too late; Yuuri had grabbed his shoulders and turned them around so that their positions were reversed. “_You’re _the one who’s too slow today,” Yuuri said, pinning him as effectively as he’d been pinned himself moments before. Eyes dark with desire, lips hovering close, he added, “You got some relief. I watched you come, and watched you afterward, and have been wanting you ever since.”

Victor felt a pulse in his groin and clasped his arms around Yuuri’s back, dipping down for a hungry kiss. Yuuri plundered his mouth and pressed firmly against him, beginning to rock his hips. And something in Victor _melted. _He hooked a leg around Yuuri, urging him closer still. Opened himself up to his driving cock, straining to meet Yuuri’s thrusts. Closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Yuuri’s hot breaths fanned his jaw, his neck. Firm kisses with teeth dragging. “Yuuri, yes,” he heard himself whisper, pleading.

“Want you,” Yuuri breathed against him, beginning to unbutton his cotehardie. “Vitya, please, let me…let me take you…be inside you.”

“God, yes,” Victor moaned. “Here. Like this.”

Yuuri pulled away, staring at him like he wanted to devour him. “Get yourself ready. I’ll get the oil.”

Victor nodded breathlessly, watching him go to the bed and quickly unbuckle his belt and let it fall to the floor, then fling off his shirt and peel his hose away. Victor forced himself to concentrate on what “get yourself ready” might mean; what he _wanted _it to mean. He took his own belt off, then wondered about his livery collar and cotehardie, deciding to leave them in place with just the top buttons undone. Instead, he untied the tops of his hose, leaving those in place while he slid off his braies. Then he leaned wantonly back against the door, imagining what he must look like, cock jutting out from underneath his top, legs clad in green, completely bare around his hips. He tilted them slightly and raised his arms, pulling his hands through his hair as he did so, aiming for a touch of feminine sensuality. A sultry smile crossed his face – until he watched Yuuri approach with the small earthenware bottle of oil in hand, nude, candlelight falling in smooth golden shadows over his skin. Victor’s throat hitched. He suddenly felt like Odysseus responding to the siren song, desiring nothing but to be gloriously, deliriously dashed against the rocks.

“Yuuri…take me…love me, my sweet,” he whispered, swaying against the door.

Then Yuuri was in front of him, pressing against him again, their erections folding together. “You’re so beautiful,” Yuuri murmured wonderingly before taking him in a deep kiss that soon had them both moaning. He poured some oil into his palm, and Victor hooked his leg around his waist to open himself up, eyes resting on the thick cock protruding from its thatch of dark curls. His own throbbed as Yuuri worked a finger into him. “Faster…I don’t need much…that’s good.”

With quick breaths, Yuuri slicked himself, then stoppered the bottle and placed it on the floor. Victor had lowered his arms, and Yuuri stared for a moment, then took a wrist in each hand and pinned them firmly above his head against the door, pressing in for more kisses. But Victor couldn’t sustain them; couldn’t concentrate. He writhed against Yuuri, gasping. “Please,” he managed to say, and “Yuuri,” and “Yes,” over and over.

“God, Vitya,” Yuuri groaned against his cheek, maintaining a hold on his wrists. “Are you that desperate for me?”

Victor’s cock twitched between them in response to his husky words; he knew they both felt it. This wasn’t like him – so shamelessly wanton, so responsive, losing control so quickly. But it felt good, and _alive. _“Fuck me, Yuuri,” he breathed. “Hold my hands like that and take me.”

Yuuri exhaled, then paused as if assessing the logistics of Victor’s request. Victor pulled his hands away from the door for a moment to rest them on Yuuri’s shoulders while he jumped, wrapping his legs around Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri caught him under his thighs, then leaned forward and pressed his weight against Victor’s chest, using that point of contact to keep him wedged against the wall. They hadn’t done this before, not in this position, but Yuuri was careful with everything he did, and Victor bent to it; it felt like being led in a dance. Yuuri lined himself up with Victor’s entrance, then looked into his eyes and pushed all the way in with one stroke, at the same time grabbing his wrists again and pinning them above his head.

Victor tried to arch his back, though it was impossible, and tilted his head back, his hair catching against the wood behind him; not caring. Yuuri seemed to sense his need and quickly drove into him. He was everywhere – pushing at him, holding him still, fucking into him, pressing open-mouthed moaning kisses against his neck. Victor couldn’t find words; he felt transported to some wonderful place where there was only _Yuuri_, and a goblet over-full of pleasure, spilling at the sides.

Dimly, he was aware of Yuuri breathing endearments against him. “Vitya, oh God you feel so good…I love you…” But he was fragmenting. _Do me, take me, do it all, do everything, _he thought dizzily, the pleasure building in him inexorably, like a storm. He heard himself making little cries in time to Yuuri’s thrusts; gripped tighter with his legs; felt the strain of his immobile arms in Yuuri’s solid grip. Usually Victor tried to hold back, to allow the flames to fan and grow, to savour. But it was impossible now. Yuuri’s rhythm was relentless, and Victor soon felt the shocks of his orgasm though his body, shouting out as they grabbed him and rocked through. Yuuri held him, never stopping, moans growing louder, mixed with the hoarse edges of his words.

“…so beautiful…the way you come like that…oh, Vitya…I’m going to…”

“Yes,” Victor begged, needing this as much as his own release. “Finish me, my love. Fill me up.”

Yuuri cried out against his throat and drove home a final firm thrust; then he stilled his motions, his shuddering breaths slowly easing. Victor became conscious of his own calming breaths, the warmth of Yuuri’s body and his seed trickling out of him, and the hands that were now releasing his wrists. He lowered his arms, and Yuuri gently assisted him to stand, slipping out of him and looking at him with wide brown eyes full of love but also questions.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, laying a palm against Victor’s purple-clad chest, the cotehardie now rather in need of a wash.

“I…” Victor ran a hand back through his dishevelled hair, wondering what to say. _Yes, very much so _and _I’m really not sure, to be honest _jostled about in his head.

“Take the rest of your clothes off and join me on the bed?” Yuuri suggested, lightly caressing his arm. “I’ll get a cloth.”

Victor removed his livery collar and cotehardie, then his hose. He poured himself a quick drink from the jug on the table and threw a couple of logs on the fire before padding across the room to the bed, where Yuuri was waiting. As soon as he lay down, Yuuri cleaned him tenderly with the cloth, then pressed soft kisses to his temple, his cheek. Victor sighed and closed his eyes, suffused with contentment. “Yuuri, my sweet…you’re so lovely,” he murmured.

“Are you warm enough? Why don’t we get under the covers.” Yuuri pulled them down, and they climbed under, Victor wrapping him in his arms.

“I could die happy like this,” Victor whispered into the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

“Don’t say things like that.”

They lay quietly for some time, hands stroking. Victor murmured little nicknames for Yuuri – sentimental, silly, heartfelt. A syrupy drowsiness began to steal over him in the warmth of his love’s embrace.

“Victor.”

A finger ran slowly over his cheek. He opened an eye. “Hmm?”

“When I asked if you were all right, you seemed…a little confused.”

Victor huffed a quiet laugh. “Not surprising,” he said groggily. “That was incredible. You’re so sexy. The things you do to me…”

“About that.”

Now both eyes were open. “About what…?”

“The things I do to you. Sometimes.”

Victor blinked. Yuuri shifted so that his back was half-propped up by the pillows; his expression as he looked down was sombre. Raising himself on an elbow, Victor mentally shook himself awake.

“I’ve never had a conversation like this before,” Yuuri said. “Well, I’ve never had a lover before. I know I’m probably being awkward, but I don’t mean to.”

“What is it?” Victor asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I…um, no. It’s just…I was starting to wonder about it before, but now, well…” His dropped his voice. “It seems to me that you like it when I take control. But it’s not just that – I mean, we switch, and I love it. There seems to be more to it for you, though. Like…when you have your agency taken away from you, or – no, that’s not the right way to put it, because ultimately you still have it. When you trusted me to take charge, like when I was holding your wrists…it did something for you, didn’t it? I could tell you liked it. A lot.”

Victor wrinkled his brow slightly, a sense of unease pooling in the pit of his stomach. But there was nothing critical in the way Yuuri was looking at him. Nothing accusing, or shocked, or hurt, or repelled. This was still his Yuuri, with deep brown eyes full of love and acceptance, even if there was hesitancy in his voice.

_But what does this say about me?_ Victor wondered. He was beginning to see it all now. Not just the wrist-holding. His dream of having Yuuri pin his body to the wall like that and take him, which _Jesus Christ _he’d just had gloriously fulfilled. His other dream of Yuuri winning soundly at sparring someday; so soundly that he pinned Victor to the ground and then took what he desired. But why did he _want _to be pinned? Surely that wasn’t normal.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” he whispered, his eyes widening.

“Victor – ”

“I don’t want to be anyone’s prisoner. I don’t want to lose a duel. I don’t want to be tied up.” He swallowed. “I don’t want anyone doing those things to me. So why is the idea of being your helpless plaything so goddamn arousing?” He let out a breath, thinking about what he’d just said; fearing that Yuuri really would feel shocked now and decide there was a problem between them. A tear sprang to his eye. “I’m sorry…I don’t understand it, and I…I’m embarrassed, Yuuri.”

Yuuri simply gave him a grin. “There’s no need to be.” He caressed a hand across his chest. “I think you’re saying you like being a sub. It’s OK.”

“It is?” Victor frowned. “What’s a sub?”

“A submissive. The opposite of someone who’s dominant – a dom. It’s…” Yuuri thought for a moment. “I can’t say I’m an expert on any of this, but from what I understand, a sub puts trust in a dom who guides things, makes the decisions, acts like they’re in charge. But all the sub has to do is say the word if they want the dom to stop whatever they’re doing, if they don’t like it or they aren’t comfortable, and they will. So the sub gets to enjoy the feeling of handing their power over to the other person and being under their control, and the dom can enjoy that, too – but it all happens because the sub lets it happen. It’s…” He considered again. “…like a game of trust and power, I guess you could say.”

Victor had been staring while Yuuri explained. He shook his head. “How do you know all this? Is the future full of people having all kinds of wild sex?”

Yuuri burst out laughing. “No. We’re just better educated about it, I suppose. And we can look things up on the Cloud, and there’s Immersion. You’re stuck with the Church telling you it has to be a man and a woman in the missionary position or it’s a sin.”

“So in your opinion,” Victor said, watching Yuuri’s expression carefully, “there’s nothing wrong with…wanting to be a sub? Sometimes?”

“That’s right,” Yuuri replied with a little reassuring grin.

“I never knew these things before.”

“Have you ever trusted anyone enough to get to that point with them?”

“You mean, where I’m willing to let them do _that _to me under the table during a meal, or hold my wrists down? No.” He paused. “But what would people think? It’s…ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m the baron’s son, and a knight.” A spark of panic shot up inside of him. “This isn’t…it’s not how I should feel.”

But Yuuri didn’t flinch. Was this honestly something ordinary for him? “Well they won’t know,” he said, “because it’ll be our secret. And maybe the idea of being able to relax and let someone you trust take things over for once is…appealing?” He smiled again. All of them soft and understanding. Even without doing this in a sexual situation, opening to Yuuri and being held emotionally as well as physically…Victor’s eyes welled up, and he blinked back tears.

Yuuri snuggled back down against him; Victor draped an arm around him and threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I only ever want to take good care of you, Vitya. This is just a new way…if it’s something you’d like to pursue.”

Victor gave a nervous laugh. “Pursue? How?” Before Yuuri could answer, he continued, “I know what some people get up to. I slept with a man once who wanted me to…to smack him. Hard. On the arse.” Yuuri tried and failed to hide a smirk. “I refused. Despite the sparring and the jousting and everything else I do as a knight, I don’t _like _hurting people. I don’t want to, if it can be avoided. And I don’t want them to hurt me, either.” When Yuuri just lay there grinning at him, he grinned back and said, “What?”

“I love you. You’re wonderful.” He stroked Victor’s cheek. “Some people find a mix of pleasure and pain arousing. I have to say I’m glad you don’t; I don’t, either. But sub/dom stuff doesn’t have to involve any of that. I…didn’t hurt you when I held your wrists, did I?”

Victor shook his head. “It was…” He swallowed. “…good. Really good.” He said in a whisper, “You’d be willing to do this for me? I’m not even certain what I’m asking for.”

“Sure. I just did, didn’t I? I might be able to come up with some fun possibilities. Give me some time to think?”

“Take all the time you need.” After a pause, Victor added, “I wouldn’t want to be a…a sub all the time, though.” Then he smiled. “I quite fancy the idea of ravishing you from time to time, my lovely Yuuri.”

Yuuri let out a breath, then made a hum. “I have to agree. You’re going to have to take me and fuck me hard sometimes, I insist. Or…gently sometimes, and then hard.”

“Believe me, I won’t need any persuading,” Victor murmured, angling his lips a hair’s breadth away from Yuuri’s. “It was in my mind when we walked in here.”

“That’s such a turn-on,” Yuuri sighed.

“Turn-on?”

“Sexy. Arousing. As in, I don’t know…the modern equivalent of lighting a candle or a fire.”

“I’ll light your fire anytime, my sweet.”

Yuuri laughed against his lips. “We might have to put a schedule together for whose turn it is to do what to who.”

"It would be the most interesting one I’ve ever drawn up in my life. But…no,” Victor chuckled back.

“I wasn’t being serious.”

“Well I am, when I say…” Victor punctuated it with a light kiss. “…I…” He caught Yuuri’s bottom lip. “…love…” Then the top one. “…you.”

“Ee lohv theh.” Yuuri’s eyes sparkled.

Ah, he’d turned his translator off. “Carpe to me, me lohv. Say anithing.”

Yuuri thought for a moment, then answered, “Thoh err the light of me life. The…sonne after the rein. Me Victor.”

“Ee understand theh,” Victor said with a smile. He was learning quickly, his darling, even making the sound at the back of his throat for _light_. “And thoh er meen. An unhopid blisfulnes. Me tresour. Me Yuuri.” Then he found Yuuri’s lips again, and spoke no more.

* * *

The half-remembered nightmare was slipping quickly from Yuuri’s consciousness as he sat up and raked a hand through his hair. He’d swear it had something to do with being chased through the dark, dank streets of a town, this time by Ian with a laser gun. He took a few minutes to remind himself of where he was and who he was with; that he was safe. Relatively. Apart from the fact that there _was _someone right here in the castle with a laser gun, who wouldn’t hesitate to use it on him. Not to mention the duel, inexorably approaching – and Victor saying things like _I could die happy like this._

_Easy, Yuuri. Don’t let some stupid dream drive you into an anxiety attack._

Sometimes getting out of bed helped, even if it was just for a few minutes. He stood and shuffled to the garderobe in his braies and nightshirt, then stirred the fire and put some more logs on, and got a drink. Returning to bed, he felt mercifully calmer, but rather wide awake. Victor lay facing him on his side, nude as he usually was when he slept, the covers pulled to the tops of his arms. Yuuri’s eyes followed the graceful spill of his long pale fringe over his pillow, glinting gold in the dim light of the oil lamp. He’d never get tired of wondering how he could have been so lucky as to have met him, and thanking whatever powers resided in the heavens for it.

Now Victor had given him a task. A very important, very personal one that had obviously taken some courage to share. Not one Yuuri had anticipated, either, but it was true that he’d begun to suspect that tendency in Victor a while back. The way he came to pieces when Yuuri mustered enough confidence to guide things smoothly for them during sex, or at least give the appearance of it; when he’d brought Victor to orgasm from fingering him – _that _was a memory he’d locked away to treasure forever; even when Yuuri was simply the one who did the taking. Victor liked being taken. Well, they both did. But there was some special kind of blissful surrender that Yuuri had seen in his eyes in certain moments, which appeared to be for him both a relief and a stimulus.

He wished he could’ve seen what Victor had looked like when he climaxed in the great hall. What had possessed him to do what he’d done, Yuuri wasn’t sure even now, and he’d been expecting Victor to signal in some way that it wasn’t welcome, which of course he hadn’t. His stomach swooped when he thought of the nefarious excitement of it.

_Does that mean I have a thing for risqué sex in public places? _he suddenly thought with a rush of nerves that flushed his cheeks. Forcing himself to consider this as objectively as he could, he eventually gave a sigh and sank further down into the pillows. _No. No more than exploring Victor’s sub fantasies with him means I’m a dom._

He wasn’t sure how deep his own desire to be in charge ran, considering his lack of experience, and the confidence in his sexuality he’d only just begun to find, still as new and vulnerable as the spring buds on the trees. What appealed to him the most, he decided, was bringing pleasure to Victor that he’d never experienced before. Not entirely for selfless reasons either, perhaps. There was a thrill in the thought of out-performing Victor’s past lovers; though he also knew it wasn’t a performance anyway, and the love they shared was not dependent on what Victor’s exes had been like in bed. Still…

_Still, nothing. He’s trusting me with something precious, a part of himself he didn’t know was there, that maybe even frightens him a little. _Yuuri watched him take gentle breaths as he slept, and his heart went out to him.

_Am I ready to try something like this? Can I be intuitive about what he needs – what we both need?_

He shuddered, initially thinking _no,_ that Victor was the experienced one, not him. But not where this kind of power-play was concerned. It seemed they were both new to that. Yuuri had sensed on some unconscious level what Victor had needed earlier. Maybe if he came up with ideas for innocuous things they could try and mentally rehearsed them, he could make it work. There was also the Cloud…

Which Phichit would have to use for him, in order to look things up. No, they were definitely not going there. He’d manage without.

Lying in the quiet shadows, his eyelids beginning to droop, he considered the muscular man in front of him. Best knight in England. Feared and revered. Son of the lord of the manor, with a proud noble bearing. And yet the possessor of such ethereal beauty, and a soft heart. Wounded, certainly, from years of this feudal life he led, and the battles he’d fought; but whole, and willing to reach out, hoping to be loved in turn.

_I do, _Yuuri thought as his eyes dropped closed. _I’ll take care of you, Vitya. I promise._

* * *

Mistress Ramsay might not be giving anything away by choice, but Yuuri was determined to force any secrets she had out of her. Victor had spoken discreetly about her to castle officials and his parents, it turned out; so Yuuri decided to do the same with the men in the garrison and the servants who came to clean their rooms and fetch their laundry, always disguised as a small, incidental part of the conversation. He told them he’d seen her recently to get a wound treated, which wasn’t true of course; he’d initially considered mentioning Victor’s toothache, but didn’t want to inadvertently encourage anyone to ingest mouldy bread and water. It turned out that most everyone in the castle had either been to see her for a treatment or knew someone who had. She clearly had bona fide knowledge of healing, but nothing that convincingly surpassed what a skilled and knowledgeable medieval woman might possess.

Victor’s enthusiasm for helping hadn’t diminished, and Yuuri was beginning to think, despite having been adamant for so long about his own poor detective skills, that they might actually make a good crime-fighting duo. Not that this was his desire as such, but while they were trying to track Ailis down, it felt like it aided the process. One day, Victor arranged for Mistress Ramsay to be called out on a wild goose chase to a hut in the woods whose residents were away for the week. During her absence, Yuuri combed through her new workshop, Victor once again acting as lookout, chopping wood nearby in the courtyard. He’d expressed a wish to take a turn with the searching, but Yuuri had thought it best to do it himself, worried that Victor might not recognise a clue if he saw it; something that might look innocuous, possibly an item that was used in the future or had been made with knowledge from that time. 

Unfortunately, however, if there were any clues to be found, he didn’t recognise them himself. There was nothing suspicious among the herbs and potions that had been transferred from the hut to the workshop; just more of both, with extra space and furniture. Without the threat of Mistress Ramsay’s immediate return, Yuuri was able to be more thorough, but there appeared to be no secret hiding places here either. He’d thanked Victor for everything he’d done, but had obviously been unable to hide the disappointment on his face. _We’ll find her, _Victor had said. _Whoever she is. There’s time yet._ But time always seemed to be in short supply in one way or another.

He was obliged to explain what he’d been doing one evening to Celestino, who had arranged through Phichit to speak with him ostensibly because they hadn’t made contact in a while, though Yuuri suspected he was getting anxious about a lack of progress in both time periods. Victor had gone to meet with the chamberlain, and Yuuri sat at the table in his own room, half-mesmerised by the collection of cut, partially cut, and drawn-on but not-yet-cut clock gears in front of him. The laser pen was ideally suited to the task, so with a good supply of wood and patience, he was able to experiment with different sizes and shapes. Celestino couldn’t seem to understand why he’d want to build such a thing, but Yuuri wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

Before the professor could go too deep into polite recriminations, Yuuri asked him if he’d heard anything else about Ian, or if the experts studying Ailis’s tech had made any headway. The answer was no, as he’d expected, because Phichit was keeping him informed.

“Yuuri, you _must _find Ailis,” Celestino said. “She’s the only one who understands the tech she developed. She’d be able to tell us what’s in her encrypted files, or decrypt them.”

“She only answers to herself,” Yuuri said into his com, wondering just how much pressure Celestino was under from various sources by now if he thought that restating the obvious, while adding distinct improbabilities to it, was likely to help. “She wouldn’t be interested in working with us, or anyone else I can think of. Why should she give us all that information? Besides, I _am _trying to find her.”

“How about going on the offensive, seeing if you can lure her out?”

Yuuri sighed and shook his head. “That’s one possibility out of a lot that I’ve considered while I’ve been here. I think it’s highly unlikely I’d be able to fool her, though; she’d second-guess anything I tried along those lines, because I’d be able to myself, and I’m no genius. Anyway, there’s one obstacle to everything I can think of: she has a laser gun and I don’t. That aside, I’m sure she wouldn’t turn up in person, even with her projector off. She’d know I had some plan up my sleeve, and she wouldn’t do anything to risk giving her identity here away. I think the only time she’d voluntarily come out of hiding would be if she felt certain she had me where she wanted me, and was in total control, and could kill me then and there.”

After a pause, Celestino said, “You sound very sure.”

Yuuri was surprised at himself, too; yet something inside of him told him that he was right. He didn’t know her as such, but he knew _about _her, and had confronted her once already. They also shared an unlikely bond of sorts, in the sense that they were both visitors here from the same future time. It wouldn’t be so hard, he guessed, to put himself in her shoes and see if they fit. And these were the prints they seemed likely to make.

He wondered how to respond to Celestino’s comment, and eventually said, “If she and I were playing a chess game, then I’d be up against a grand master – and one mistake could get me killed. Maybe Victor along with me, since he’s involved, too. I have to be as cautious as possible, because apart from the fact that I’m not keen on dying, there’s no one else you can send after me. I’m your last chance.”

The quiet reply came: “Yes, Yuuri, I know. I’d never advise you to do anything reckless. At the same time, we can’t let Ailis win.”

“Then let me do this my way. I’ve been waiting, and I’ll carry on waiting, and I’ll investigate however I can in the meantime. The second she gives me an opportunity, I’m taking it.”

_And when have I ever been this confident? _he wondered. Apart from with Victor. Yes, maybe that was it. Victor, who had been the first person to truly help him find his feet as a knight. Who had accepted his love and returned it. Who had encouraged him to discover his eros, and unleash it, and begin to come to terms with it as a natural part of himself. His heart suddenly filled with gratitude for this amazing man.

There had been a silence while Celestino considered a response; then he said, “So Victor not only knows about you and your mission, but he’s assisting you?”

The tone of censure was subtle, but Yuuri didn’t miss it. “Only in the sense that he’s been acting as a lookout and asking a few questions.”

“Phichit says you’re living together there at the castle.”

“We are, yes.”

Another pause. “I’m sorry, Yuuri, but I really must ask – while you’re trying to prevent Ailis from changing history, do you think you ought to be doing it yourself?”

“We fell in love,” Yuuri answered quickly. “It wasn’t exactly something I’d planned on. Besides, I’m not sure I _am _changing history.”

“What if he’s meant to get married and have children?”

Yuuri bit back a quick surge of frustration. “I had this exact same conversation with Phichit. You two communicate, don’t you? Victor’s gay. There’s no one he’s betrothed to.”

“He’s…well, I may as well be plain. He’s recorded as having died in 1393. You’re actively trying to prevent that.”

“Yes, I fucking well am,” Yuuri huffed. “Don’t tell me you expect me to do otherwise.”

“I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in your situation,” Celestino said more quietly. “But you understand the necessity, I hope, to be extremely careful in all your actions. Have you informed Victor of his, er, upcoming demise?”

Yuuri shuddered. “What do you think? How – ”

The shadows in front of him darkened, and he choked back his words, turning around. Victor, in the doorway, blocking the light from a candelabra. He blinked, looking somewhat abashed. _Shit, did he hear…? _“I need to go,” he said into his com, and then cut the call.

“The door was open,” Victor said apologetically. “I’m sorry if I was intruding. Was that Phichit?”

“No, it was Celestino. Just, um, checking up on me.”

“It didn’t go well, did it? I only just came in, and I assumed you were having your usual evening chat when I heard your voice.”

Yuuri rested his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers, and then leaned his head against them. At least the death-date information still appeared to be a secret. But the conversation with Celestino wasn’t something he’d needed, and he was looking forward to Phichit being his contact again tomorrow. “I think he’s frustrated that I’m not making much progress,” he explained. “Well, I am, too.”

Victor came to stand behind him, then gripped his arms loosely and kissed the top of his head. “It seems Ailis is a worthy foe. But no one is invincible.” When Yuuri didn’t reply, he added softly, “Julia is on her way to my room. She’s having her harp brought over for a little while, and we were going to play together. Chris said he’d like to come with his ocarina, too. But we can do it another night.”

_No, don’t cancel your plans just because of this. _Yuuri pretended to think. “Will there be hypocras?”

“There…could be,” Victor said in a coaxing voice, lightly massaging his arms.

“Music, and singing silly songs, and drinking?”

“Mmm.”

“As opposed to sitting here feeling sorry for myself?” Yuuri huffed a little laugh, reaching up to clasp Victor’s hands in his own. “Count me in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Middle English translations:
> 
> Ah, he’d turned his translator off. “Carpe to me, me lohv. Say anithing."
> 
> Yuuri thought for a moment, then answered, “Thoh err the light of me life. The…sonne after the rein. Me Victor.”
> 
> “Ee understand theh,” Victor said with a smile. He was learning quickly, his darling, even making the sound at the back of his throat for _light_. “And thoh er meen. An unhopid blisfulnes. Me tresour. Me Yuuri.”
> 
> * * *
> 
> Ah, he’d turned his translator off. “Talk to me, my love. Say anything.” 
> 
> Yuuri thought for a moment, then answered, “You’re the light of my life. You’re…the sun after the rain. My Victor.”
> 
> “I understand you,” Victor said with a smile. He was learning quickly, his darling, even making the sound at the back of his throat for _light_. “And you’re mine. A blessing unlooked for. My treasure. My Yuuri.”
> 
> Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html)


	79. Chapter 79

It was a good day for travelling, Victor thought. Early showers in the morning had given way to warm sunny weather that had soon dried things out. He rode Alyona down the road at a pleasant steady gait. To his right was Yuuri in the guise of Justin. Both of them were wearing their armour, with no need of cloaks for extra warmth.

When Victor had asked Yuuri if he’d like to join him in York for two nights and a day, he said he’d understand if he thought his time was better spent training at the castle and keeping an eye on Alice Ramsay. This was no holiday, either, though if all went well, they could hopefully find some enjoyment in it, just the two of them. He hadn’t said anything about how much Yuuri’s support would mean to him under the circumstances; it seemed selfish. But he’d been quick to accept the invitation. Victor suspected there might be more to it, as well, than wanting to be by his side. Yuuri had had a difficult experience in the city three months ago; perhaps he wanted to find some happiness there that had originally eluded him, as well as briefly reuniting with some of his acquaintances from the time.

It had been quite mercenary of the Duke of York to make this move, Victor thought grimly. When the messenger had arrived at the castle, he said he’d been sent by the archbishop, who in his message claimed that it was his own idea – but he was fooling no one. He and Edmund of Langley’s family were hand in glove, and this territorial dispute had been going on for over a year with the Nikiforovs. Andrei had been asked to attend a “friendly discussion” of the matter at the minster, a “neutral” place in the city, with Edmund present, while Archbishop Arundel acted as a mediator. Just the three of them. But what had been veiled as an informal get-together among noblemen was obviously meant to be a coup for Edmund. The timing of the sudden announcement had not been random; they knew Andrei would be tied up with preparations for the king’s visit, which he dared not allow to be bungled. He would therefore send his son as his representative – who they clearly believed would be more easily beaten by their stratagems. And he’d effectively been banned from bringing along his chancellor, or any legal experts from the castle.

Victor had spent hours over the past few days meeting with them and reading up on the relevant property laws until it felt like his eyes would fairly fall out. But he’d made sure he allotted time to spend with Yuuri and Julia as well, who were dear to him and both depending on him for different reasons. Though it occasionally felt as if there simply wasn’t enough of Victor Nikiforov to go around. At least Julia had not sought to argue about why Yuuri was going to be accompanying him and she was not, as she had no desire to return to the city just yet.

“Victor?” Yuuri queried gently.

He turned his head to look at him, managing a small smile. “Sorry, my love. I’ve been away with the fairies.”

“You seem worried. Are you sure I won’t be allowed into the meeting with you tomorrow? I’d go if they let me. If you trusted me.” He grinned. “I’m pretty sure I could manage not to insult anyone there.”

Victor sighed. “Ah, Yuuri – of course I’d trust you, and I’d gladly have you there with me. But it’s all part of their scheme, you see. Draw me out from my castle with barely a moment’s notice, and then take advantage of my supposed lack of legal knowledge to wrest some of my father’s lands away. It’s a knotty problem that ought properly to be resolved by someone with judicial powers who doesn’t favour either side. But even the king’s lawmen would be on the side of the Duke of York, since he’s Richard’s uncle. I fear I may have a difficult and delicate task ahead of me. I’m better prepared than they think, thanks to my father’s advisers and law tomes. But I’ll need to ensure I don’t step too hard on anyone’s toes. These are two of the most powerful men in the country, and the duke could attack my family’s estate and take everything for himself if he so desired.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “Jesus. I had no idea.”

“Well. There’s yet some justice in the land, or we’d be in a state of anarchy, and no one wants that. And my father’s certainly not blameless when it comes to appropriating land from others. But there has to be a limit. In essence, the entire country already belongs to the king, and we’re simply his vassals.”

“I still wish I could help.”

“You’re helping by being here with me, my sweet Yuuri,” Victor said quietly.

“It’s not fair that they’d do this to you. And it’s a hell of a lot of responsibility to have on your shoulders.”

Victor stared ahead, touched by his words, which also revealed the man from the future who didn’t have a thorough understanding of the past. “I don’t expect things to be fair, though I do what’s in my power to make them so. As for responsibility…I’m my father’s heir, Yuuri. I’ll be the baron myself one day; I’ve been raised for it. Unless some other possibility presents itself, which I doubt. This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered a problem like this, and it won’t be the last.” Though he couldn’t recall ever having felt such a degree of sadness in his heart before at these thoughts.

“I…sure,” Yuuri replied, subdued. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m so used to seeing you on the training field, or out riding, or together in our rooms, that it’s easy to…well, not forget about your position, but – ”

“Put it aside?” Now Victor’s smile was one of genuine pleasure. “You’re one of the few people who have ever seen me for myself, the person I am, and not just the baron’s son or a knight. I love you for that.”

Yuuri’s lovely shining brown eyes were all the answer he could want.

“Anyway,” he continued, reaching for the bag of wine hanging from his saddle and taking a swig, “we’ll be at the gate soon. So – you live here, 728 years in the future. I expect it’s changed a little by your time.”

“I don’t live within the walls. The city’s expanded across this whole area and beyond; streets and businesses and houses and so on. Though actually, modern York’s known for being one of the few cities left that still have some of their walls and gates intact.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “Really? Were they destroyed, or allowed to crumble down, or…?”

Yuuri shrugged. “Things became less violent, I suppose, and people didn’t feel a need to hide behind walls anymore. The same thing happened with castles, and the stones were often robbed out for new buildings. Now we do our best to preserve those places because of their history. York gets a lot of tourists – um, visitors who come just to enjoy it. For its medieval past, and the Viking and Roman foundations, too.” He looked at the crenellated wall they were approaching. “I’m talking about it in the past tense,” he laughed, “when I’m actually _here. _That’s pretty fucking juke when you think about it.” Then his smile dropped away. “And when I don’t think about what happened the last time I was here. It wasn’t all bad, though.” The smile crept across his face again as he looked at Victor. “First time I slept with you.”

Victor was beginning to feel bewildered by all the different directions Yuuri’s words had been flying in, but he liked that one best. “I thought I’d die of longing, with you next to me like that,” he said softly. All right, he was exaggerating. But only a little.

Yuuri let out a breath. “I remember. Where are we staying this time?”

“The White Swan was good before, wasn’t it? I sent word ahead that I’d like to stay there again. At this time of year, they ought to have rooms available.”

They’d fallen in with a stream of traffic: the pedestrians and horse riders and carts and wagons that were to be found on any main road, gathering here to be allowed through the gate. Victor saw a shadow cross Yuuri’s face before he jerked his head away; and turning, he attempted to spot the source of his discontent. It didn’t take long, because they were approaching it step by step: blackened severed heads skewered on poles above the gate, and severed limbs with clothing still adhering to them hanging from the archway. Victor knew such things could be expected here, and Yuuri must know, too, from his previous visit, but it looked like he might have forgotten until now.

_You’d find the same upon entry at most castles, _Victor thought as he watched Yuuri swallow and compose himself, though his eyes remained averted from the carnage on display before them. _My father used to do such things after he had criminals executed. I don’t suppose you need to know that. We got him to stop, Alex and I. Not the executions, but the spikes and ropes and gibbets. Would you believe people complained? Many of them missed it._

He nudged Alyona forward. The gatekeeper was deferential; he doffed his cap and offered to waive all taxes for two such noble visitors as themselves. Victor asked why he should, when he was perfectly capable of paying, which he did – murage for the city’s defences, and pavage for the roads; and then they were passing under the hanging limbs and through the rectangular barbican, out the archway on the far side and into the city proper.

Before Victor could say anything to Yuuri, however, they and other visitors emerging from the gate were accosted by a virtual gang of street urchins – boys and girls in threadbare clothes, some with scraps of shoes and some without, offering to find them rooms for the night or a good tavern. Most people on horseback simply forced their way through, ignoring the disruption. Victor decided he wasn’t going to be one of them. It was always a conundrum he faced in places like this – he couldn’t save everyone, and a penny wouldn’t be enough to lift someone up in life – but alms had their place. And something told him that Yuuri wouldn’t be pleased to see him do as the others were doing, and pretend these people were invisible.

“’ere, you lot, clear off,” shouted a man with a leather breastplate and round metal helmet that covered the top of his head. He brandished a shortsword at them. One of the new sheriff’s soldiers, no doubt. “Go, be off with you.” He was joined by another man similarly dressed.

Victor jumped off his horse and approached them; the children were scattering, but lingering to the side, curious. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?” he said to the first man by way of greeting. His jaw dropped and he stared; a bit of good polished plate mail often had this effect on people, Victor had discovered. “Pulling a sword on defenceless children? For shame, sir.”

“I…” Then he recovered a bit of bravado. “They’re a flaming nuisance, my lord. It’s my job to keep the road clear and safe for passers-by.”

“So ensure that the offal and shit are shovelled up, but keep children off your list. I suggest you go find someone who’s committed a proper crime that warrants the use of your blade. And if you’d rather not, I’ll let you taste mine.”

The man paled and swallowed, then gave a little bow, and his colleague did the same. They were about to depart when Victor told them to stop.

“Perhaps you can be of some use here after all,” he said. Then he instructed them to organise the children in an orderly way so that he could give each of them a coin. Looking as if they’d rather be anywhere but here, the men nevertheless obliged; and as the children pressed forward, they were allowed past, one by one. Victor noted Yuuri’s presence out of the corner of his eye; he’d dismounted as well, and was watching. Before Victor could give him a bag of coins to distribute, he began handing out his own. Eventually it looked as if they’d managed to give a coin to each child who had been at the gate; Victor knew some were trying to return for more, hoping they wouldn’t be recognised, and that there was likely to be a larger crowd here soon, once word of this spread. He pulled and tied the drawstring on his purse.

“Thank you, my good fellows,” he said to the two soldiers. “My colleague and I will be on our way.”

“My lord,” they said, bowing. Victor led Alyona away by the reins and was joined by Yuuri.

“Before you sing praises of my generosity,” Victor said as they walked, the clop of their horses’ hoofs on the cobblestones adding to the general din of conversation, street hawkers, passing carts, animals both in pens and wandering freely, and tradespeople at work, “that’s the first time I’ve done such a thing.”

“It is?”

“I didn’t want you to think we’re utter barbarians here.”

“I don’t.”

“I can’t hand out coins everywhere I go – ”

“I know.”

Victor fell silent as they walked.

“Where are we heading?” Yuuri asked. “The White Swan?”

“I need to stop by the minster first and let the archbishop’s men – ” Victor laughed. “Well by that, I mean the clergy, know that I’m here and still intend to return for the meeting tomorrow. I’ve been wondering if they were secretly hoping I’d be intimidated enough to make an excuse not to come and simply cede to the duke everything he wants.”

Yuuri’s eyes glinted. “They don’t know you very well, then.”

Victor felt warmth spreading through his chest. “No, they don’t.”

“That building’s still standing in my time.” Yuuri pointed to a long timber-framed edifice with two gables overlooking the street, and many lead-framed windows. “But it sags a lot more in the middle. It’s a museum. I’m trying to remember what else it’s been over the years. A shop, offices, the house of a merchant, I think…”

Victor looked at him in wonder. “That’s incredible. Can you see anything else here that looks familiar to you from your time?”

“The river,” Yuuri replied with a laugh. “The streets are more or less the same. Same layout. Um, most of the churches are still there too, though they’ve been converted into other types of buildings. Flats, schools, and so on. That building’s around, too.” He pointed again. “But it’s a cannabis bar.”

“A what?”

“I don’t think you have that here yet. Although actually, I think cannabis hemp was known about, but not as a drug.”

“Hemp – as in the plant fibres used for making clothes and ropes? How do you mean, it’s a drug?”

“Like alcohol’s a drug, in wine and beer. You can eat things with cannabis in them, smoke it…”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Smoke it? You mean burn it over a fire? Light it like incense?”

Yuuri shook his head and laughed. “We have to get you travelling. There’s a big wide world out there, even in this time.”

“I’ve been to Rome,” Victor said indignantly.

Yuuri just looked at him and grinned. 

They carried on in this way for a while. Yuuri insisted they go up The Shambles, to Victor’s surprise – a dark, dank street full of butchers, and an odour that was less than fragrant. Yuuri said the street was well preserved in his time, but Victor had difficulty picturing it as he described it: full of eateries, taverns, bakeries, and shops that sold sweetmeats and other exotic goods. He was still trying, and failing, to imagine what this substance called chocolate tasted like, which Yuuri had mentioned several times now and seemed to think was better than ambrosia. If only he’d brought some here with him.

Once on Low Petergate, Yuuri stopped outside a tavern called The Eagle. “Have you ever been in there?” he asked.

“If I have, I wasn’t sober enough to remember it.”

“Phichit and I had a drink together inside, and listened to a band, just before I left my time. It’s still a tavern; we call it a pub.”

Victor stared at the whitewashed stone building. “All those years?”

“Yeah. Though right now it’s run by a man with curly brown hair and a beard named Roger Morecambe. I hired Seamus, his odd-jobs man, to guide me to the duke’s hunting lodge.”

“We should go there later, and I’ll buy your guide a drink, if he’s there.”

Yuuri brightened. “Sure, I’d like to see him again.”

They stabled their horses, and it wasn’t far to the minster, its intricately carved honey-coloured towers looming ever higher as they walked. On the green outside, they passed the usual charlatans hawking “holy” relics to gullible pilgrims. A woman in a coif and a loose green dress gave Yuuri a surprised look from where she stood behind her wares.

“Why, sir, it’s delightful to see you again! It appears you’ve gone up in the world, if I may make so bold. And who is your fair comely companion?”

“Um.” Yuuri’s glance at Victor was almost guilty.

Victor was about to tell her he didn’t care to buy anything, but Yuuri started browsing the non-relics on her table while she rattled on and continued to flatter them both. Victor had heard it all many times before from the same types of people in different places, but something seemed to hold Yuuri’s interest, so he stood by patiently while he bought a couple of sachets of lavender at ridiculously inflated prices.

Afterward, as they headed toward the main door of the minster, Yuuri said, “That was Mistress Audrey.”

“Seller of dubious curiosities. Why didn’t you haggle with her? She virtually robbed you.” 

“Yeah, she was the one who tried to sell me sarcophagus-water. I think most of them out here sell that, though. The lavender still didn’t cost much, so I thought why not.”

“You could pick your fill of lavender in the gardens at the castle. I’ll have to show you around them sometime. Why do you pass the time of day with such hucksters?”

Yuuri stopped and looked at him. “It’s harmless, isn’t it? She’s trying to make a living – but I won’t buy the fake stuff she’s selling.” He handed Victor a sachet with a grin. “There. It’ll make your pocket smell nice. Pleasant, I mean.”

Victor held it to his nose and inhaled. “Hm, you’re right. Or our pillow.”

The sunlight set the Great West Window aglow, flecks of luminous colours spilling from the Gothic arches onto the tiled floor of the mammoth nave as they entered. “There are offices here that are usually occupied, and we’re virtually guaranteed to find someone in the treasury,” Victor said. Then he paused, as Yuuri was obviously taking it all in.

“It’s the same in so many ways,” he breathed. “Only, it’s new. Ish. And things are painted. Statues, the walls, the ceiling. It’s all so bright.”

Victor looked at him curiously. “It isn’t, in your time?” He glanced around. “I suppose it’s asking a bit much for these colours to last all those years, but don’t people touch up the paint?”

“No, it’s just bare stone. Some of the ceilings are painted, but in later styles. All the decorations in here – they’re sumptuous. I guess a lot of things were damaged in places like this during the Civil War.”

Victor quickly turned to gaze at him again. “There’s a civil war? When?”

“Shh.” Yuuri said in a whisper, “Not for another two hundred and fifty years or so. Some churches were used by the military; but in the cathedrals, the damage was usually done by people who wanted to deliberately destroy images and symbols they believed were representative of the wrong kind of Christianity.” He added, “People can be really stupid, no matter what time period,” and then spotted the sarcophagus of St. William and its altar in the centre of the nave, and began to make his way there. Pilgrims were milling around it; they always were, as it was the premier attraction of the minster.

The grey rectangular structure was like a small building with a roof, the sides decorated with vertical spear-like projections similar in style to the lacy carvings adorning the tops of the towers outside. Yuuri stood back and examined it. “Strange,” he said quietly as they watched visitors cross themselves, kneel, and pray. “There’s a saint’s sarcophagus in the minster in my time, and this one is about the right size and shape, but the one I’ve seen doesn’t have all these carvings on it. I suppose there might have been some swaps over the centuries. It certainly doesn’t have all those spigots.” A frieze encircled the middle of the sarcophagus, featuring smiling monkey-like faces, each of which had a small pipe protruding from its mouth like a gargoyle. “I don’t see any way of turning on the taps,” Yuuri added with a little laugh.

“Oh come now,” Victor replied, grinning. “You think heavenly elixir flows on demand? Surely it’s only when the priests and hucksters come in to fill their phials. Then it miraculously gushes out in full force.”

Yuuri gave a little snort. Victor waited for him to satisfy himself with what he saw here; he was also keen to look around other areas of the minster. They were in no hurry, and Yuuri gave a commentary as they went along on what was different here from his own time. The minster of 2121 sounded like a strangely cold, imposing edifice that was popular with the general public as something of a historical wonder. Apparently the Roman foundations were on display in one of their ubiquitous museums, while here they remained solidly buried under the floor, the hidden remains of a past that stretched further behind than Yuuri’s did ahead.

Victor glanced around as they walked, hoping to spot an ecclesiastical official of sufficient rank with whom to leave his message. There were offices and communal rooms further down this wing, where priests and monks performed daily tasks such as record-keeping, writing correspondence, and illustrating books, and he was certain he’d find someone there. Then he stopped, realising Yuuri was no longer beside him. Turning, Victor found him staring in what seemed like morbid fascination at a tall carved stone propped against the wall.

“Jesus,” Yuuri muttered.

“I suppose you’d have to assume that’s who they’re appealing to for aid, though they’d be rather past it by that point,” Victor observed, aiming for a light tone, which was nevertheless difficult to achieve in the presence of such a scene. The rectangular stone, about the height of a man, was covered in deep and detailed relief carvings depicting screaming, writhing sinners in a pot being licked by flames underneath, while demons with sunken eyes, horns and skull-like grins added fuel to the fire. It had always made Victor uncomfortable; he didn’t care for the types of priest-talks that threatened eternal damnation for unrepentant sinners, having enough to do in the running of the estate without worrying about the Church’s long list of offences and punishments.

“This is still at the minster in my time,” Yuuri said.

“Really? It’s not the best legacy to pass on, I’m sorry to say. Though it’s already about two hundred years old; a relic from the old Norman cathedral that stood here before this one was built.”

“It looks almost new. A lot of the detail’s worn away from the version I know. Whoever carved this was talented, and not a very happy person, would be my guess.”

“Someone will have commissioned it. A reminder to the less privileged folk that they should know their place, perhaps, and not cause trouble, or they’ll suffer the consequences.”

“We call it the Doomstone.”

“I’d say that’s a very apt name.” Victor took his hand briefly and smiled. “Leave it to religious types to take the fun out of things. Let’s see if we can find an official, and then get some sunshine outside.”

It wasn’t long before they came across a priest lighting candles whose ivory robes and gold-embroidered scarlet cape signalled his high rank. Victor got his name and position, ascertained that he was aware of the meeting involving himself, the duke and the archbishop the following day, and left him with the message to relay that he was present in the city and awaiting the honour of their presence. The man seemed inclined to carry on lighting candles, but when Victor expressed his displeasure with a quizzical look, he pressed his lips together, bowed, and walked away with his rich robes billowing around him.

“That was easy,” Victor said, knowing that the actual meeting would be far from it. He was about to suggest they find the nearest exit when a man in a brown robe tied at the waist by a rope practically flew out of a nearby room, eyes wide with panic and clutching a rosary.

“I’m late, I’m late, I’m late,” he breathed, ignoring the two mail-clad knights in the corridor as he raced chaotically past.

“I’m tempted to say that was rude,” Victor laughed once he’d gone.

“I wonder what he was doing in there,” Yuuri mused, his face full of curiosity as he peered into the room the man – a monk, from the look of him – had vacated. Then he stepped inside, Victor following.

It was a small office with a high arched window, one of several in this area of the cathedral. Four wooden desks with chairs filled the space, each with a sloped writing board. Only one had been recently occupied, however. The monk, who had been illustrating a book, had left a candle burning, his paint pots uncapped, and his brushes unwashed; he must indeed have been in a desperate hurry.

“I doubt he’d be happy we’ve intruded on his sanctum,” Victor said. “But then again, maybe we can give the fellow a little help. These materials look expensive.” He picked up a cork, preparing to use it to stopper a pot.

“No, wait,” Yuuri said, a spark leaping into his eyes. Victor watched him carefully examine the book.

“What?”

“Just wait,” Yuuri said with a smile. He examined the cover, made of tooled and gilt leather. “There’s no title.”

Victor leaned over to look as Yuuri leafed through the pages. “That’s a psalter. A collection of Biblical psalms. He appears to be about halfway through illustrating it.”

“It’s beautiful, Victor. All these people and scenes he’s painted – it must have taken an incredible amount of time. He seems fond of doodling strange creatures, too – what’s with this man’s head on top of two chicken legs? A dragon, a mermaid, a…what the fuck is that?” he said, laughing at a long orange creature with tiger stripes, a blue tail that turned into vines and flowers, the pink head of a dog, and an eagle’s beak.

“It’s imaginative,” Victor replied with a smile.

Yuuri slanted him a mischievous look. “One more doodle won’t make any difference, will it?”

“What? No. You can’t be serious.”

“Absolutely. Come on, you can help me.”

Sabotaging a monk’s illuminated manuscript had never been something Victor expected he’d do, but over the next little while, they worked on it side by side. Yuuri said they should only paint something small that might not even be noticed amid the other florid illustrations, especially since they couldn’t be sure when the artist himself would return; though considering his haste to get away, they decided they probably had time to take the risk.

Victor rarely saw this side of Yuuri – giggling, lighthearted, devil-may-care. Occasionally when he was drunk, which wasn’t often. Sometimes when they listened to strange music from his time with a fast tempo and they danced. Once or twice when, possibly not even to his own knowledge, his talent with a sword shone bright, and every movement he made was like the dance of a naiad in the sea.

And now, painting in the book: something they definitely should _not _have been doing. It was a wonder they accomplished it at all, as distracted as they became, laughing and dabbing bits of paint on each other’s faces, then nudging each other and stealing kisses. In the end, they’d come up with a blue “Y” in the margin of a page further back from where the monk had been working, with a red “V” to its right, each letter decorated with curls, dots, vines and flowers. Yuuri said he wasn’t an artist, and Victor knew he wasn’t one himself, but he thought their creation had a certain charm. He huffed another laugh as Yuuri washed his brush.

“What’s that, my good knight?” Yuuri said in a mock-formal tone. “Fie, you should be ashamed of yourself for defacing religious property. It’ll be a dozen lashes and a month in the stocks for such devilry.”

Victor guffawed. “You sound like one of us after we’ve had a skinful. I love you. And you have purple on your cheek. Let’s see if I can kiss it off.” He leaned over, and with a bit of tongue managed to remove the speck of pigment. Yuuri sucked in a breath and shuddered, and Victor smiled. “I’d give you more of that, my sweet, and in other places, if we weren’t here.”

“You’re distracting me,” Yuuri said, though a little grin crossed his face and his cheeks were pink.

“What are you doing, anyway? Aren’t we finished?”

“Not quite. This is the best bit.” He mixed a rosy colour on the monk’s palette, then painted a plus symbol between the two letters, and a heart shape as a border.

“Oh. Yes, it definitely needed that,” Victor said, draping his arm around his shoulders.

“Give it a moment; the paint’s pretty quick to dry.” Yuuri blew across the page to help it, then added a delicate black outline to the heart.

“Perfect. Our love, immortalised in this manuscript.”

“I hope someone doesn’t decide to rip it out once they see it,” Yuuri muttered, biting his lip.

“Rip a vellum page out of a tome like this, full of text and illustrations, because of a harmless doodle in the margin? I think I can safely say the answer is no. Anyway, let’s tidy up before our itinerant monk returns. Then what do you say to a drink at The Eagle?”

“I’d say you’re on,” Yuuri replied, giving the tip of his nose a kiss.

* * *

It was a good tavern, Victor decided. He would have liked to try their hypocras. His inclination, in fact, considering what he had to do the following day, was to get drunk. Which would not serve him well in the morning. Their thin beer was commendable, at any rate, and he bought a tankard of hypocras for Seamus, who’d been surprised and pleased to see Yuuri again. They ate a well-cooked meal while the publican and the brown-haired Irishman came and went, waiting upon the other clientele, though the place was not especially busy. Eventually the four of them sat together at the table, with the fire burning cheerfully in the hearth nearby.

“Now there’s something I can’t understand,” Roger Morecambe said to Yuuri between mouthfuls of beer. “Last time you were here, you told me you were looking for a job. An uncommonly good memory I’ve got, me,” he said, tapping his temple. “ ‘Have you got a trade?’ says I. And you said no.” He laughed heartily. “You didn’t think to mention you were a knight, eh? Seamus here told me all about it when he left you with the duke’s men.”

“He didn’t tell me at first, either,” Seamus said with a smile which slowly faded as his gaze became sombre. “Seems you had a secret, sir, though not anymore, seein’ as how you’re walkin’ the streets with this fella in all your armour plain as day.”

“I didn’t want to be recognised when I got here,” Yuuri said, drinking his beer. “I guess you know why, after hearing what I told the duke. But yes, it’s all right now; I don’t mind if people know who I am.”

“Are you ready for the duel, do you think?” Roger asked him.

“I told him, sir,” Seamus explained. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I think a lot of people know,” Yuuri replied. “I’ve been training with Victor. He’s taught me a lot.”

Roger nodded and said to Victor, “If he’s in your charge, sir, then I’m sure he’s in good hands. I imagine there’d be no better person to help him prepare. I can’t say as I have firsthand experience, but I’ve heard about the displays you used to give. Feats of gallantry and skill; that’s the kind of thing my customers used to tell me about. A while back, now. Are you still doing that these days, or – ”

“No,” Victor replied quickly. Then he flashed a smile. “My father keeps me busy.”

“Didn’t you have a partner…?”

“I…yes.” He looked down at the table. “But not anymore.”

A wimpled woman in a long yellow dress came to stand near the table and bowed, then raised her blue eyes to Victor in awe. “Good evening, sir. I saw you here and I felt I had to say something, if I may.”

Roger looked up at her. “Mistress Chalmford – you’re acquainted with Sir Victor?”

She shook her head. “Not personally, no.” Then she turned back to Victor. “I _thought _I’d seen you before, sir. Must be about five years ago, during the Easter celebrations here in the city. I’d never seen the like, and my two boys couldn’t stop talking about it long after. ‘I want to be a knight too,’ they said to me. ‘Please can I, Mum?’ ” She chuckled. “I didn’t have the heart to tell them we didn’t have the funds, but they’re both apprenticed to good tradesmen now. If anyone asked them, though, they could still recount every action you and your companion performed on that wheel you set up on the green, I don’t doubt. I’ve always wanted to thank you for giving them such lovely memories that day. And now I can.”

Victor swallowed. He felt Yuuri’s eyes on him. And the eyes of the other men. Why did he feel so discomfited? He wasn’t ashamed of those days, of doing those things, even if Andrei had admonished them for making spectacles of themselves. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“Your distinguished companion here – he wasn’t your partner, was he? I seem to remember he had darker hair. Perhaps a bit taller, too.”

“No, madam. Sir Justin is a fellow knight from my castle who is accompanying me on my visit to the city.” Fighting down the unwelcome swirls of emotion in his belly from this conversation, he grinned at Yuuri. “And he’s a talented swordsman in his own right.”

“Has he been on the wheel with you yet?” she asked. “Forgive my curiosity, sir, but it’s such a marvel. My family would dearly love to see it again. We’d pay good money – ”

“We didn’t do it for the money,” Victor interrupted, wrapping his hands around his tankard and staring into its depths. “We were never in need of it.”

She nodded. “Of course, sir. But if you were ever inclined to perform again, by yourself or with someone else, I’m sure many people would be delighted to see it.”

Victor felt pink spill into his cheeks. He closed his eyes, took a deep draught from his tankard, and didn’t reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Doomstone is real, and can be viewed in the crypt at the minster.
> 
> The illustrations Yuuri sees in the psalter look something like this: [Luttrell Psalter](https://www.bl.uk/collection-items/the-luttrell-psalter)


	80. Chapter 80

The sun was hanging low and orange over the slate roofs of the huddled buildings when Yuuri and Victor left for The White Swan, stopping at the stable on the way to collect their travelling bags, which they’d slung over their shoulders. “I should’ve suggested before that we stay here at The Eagle,” Yuuri said. “I hadn’t expected to be seeing Roger and Seamus again.”

“Was The White Swan not to your liking?” Victor asked as they walked down the street, the eaves spilling deepening shadows onto the cobbles.

“Of course it was. It was very…posh,” he laughed. “But nice. Well, you know what I mean. I’m just not used to being surrounded by luxury like that.”

“You are now, in my room at the castle.”

“True.”

“If you’d rather stay elsewhere – ” Victor began with concern, but Yuuri quickly interrupted.

“No, it’s fine. I’m looking forward to being there with you again. As Yuuri this time.”

Ideas about what they could get up to flashed through Victor’s mind. “Me too,” he said with a soft smile.

“I hope I’ll have the same luck finding the others while we’re here.”

“It hasn’t been long since you were here last, my love. It’s unlikely they’ve gone elsewhere in that time.”

“It feels a lot longer than three months somehow. Now I’m walking down the street with you in my armour, just like Seamus said.”

Victor’s reply was to rest a hand on the plated small of his back for a while as they went along. Eventually Yuuri said, “That lady was really impressed by you.” When Victor remained quiet, he continued, “Chris told me you were spectacular. You and Alexander.”

It was tiring, Victor thought, how he still felt a hitch in his throat at the name. Two years now; when would it finally get easier? “We performed, as she said. It seemed a good way to…channel our abilities into something we could enjoy, and…bring enjoyment to others, too.”

“I wish I could’ve seen it,” Yuuri said fervently. When Victor glanced at him, his eyes were burning like coals. The ghost of a grin touched Victor’s lips.

“I wish you could’ve, too.” _I wish you could’ve met him, and he you. What times we might have had together. _But the hitch in his throat had returned. He coughed and fell silent.

“Would you perform again?”

Victor stopped in the street, surprised at the question, and turned to Yuuri. “Why should I want to do that on my own?”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be the same. And it wouldn’t be as interesting to watch.”

Yuuri gazed at him with those earnest brown eyes, and Victor felt held by them. “I could do it with you,” Yuuri said quietly. “Maybe. With some practice.”

There was a firm set to his features that put his sincerity in no doubt. “Yuuri, I…I’ve asked you up on the wheel with me because it’s fun, and a different and useful way to train. It feels good doing those things with you, and I enjoy it, but I can’t say I’ve considered anything more formal than that.”

“But why else have we been working on the gymnastics? I’m not exactly going to somersault into the air when someone’s trying to stick me with a sword; somehow I think a guard position might be more sensible in those circumstances. But if you were planning a performance on the wheel, I bet they’d be an amazing part of it.”

His enthusiasm felt infectious – and it was, for a moment. But going from playing games to giving official performances for an audience…? Victor was in no doubt that Yuuri would be beautiful. They might even achieve a great deal together. But then, he wasn’t sure he was ready for anyone, even Yuuri, to step into his brother’s shoes in that way; wasn’t sure he ever would be. Because what else of Alex did he have left? A wave of nausea passed through him.

“I’ve had some ideas myself,” Yuuri continued, “from watching acrobats, and teaching you ballet. We could put together a whole choreographed show, if you wanted. Or we – well, I, because you already are – could get really good at sparring on the wheel as it spins fast. Or anything in between.”

“Yuuri,” Victor murmured, taking his hand in his own, “train for your duel. Put everything you have into it now. Then…perhaps we could discuss it.”

His heart sank at the deflated look that flitted across Yuuri’s face, though it was quickly gone. He’d clearly been hoping Victor would be more receptive to this creative fire inside of him. Though the sobering fact was that the duel wasn’t so many weeks away, and they both needed to be able to face that without flinching.

He’d been happy when they were painting their initials in the psalter. If only that woman in the tavern, well-meaning as she’d been, hadn’t dug all of these feelings up again. If only he didn’t have to negotiate with the archbishop and duke tomorrow on behalf of his father and the entire estate.

_It’s not the castle and all of the lands at stake, _he reminded himself. _Just one property. _Though if things went badly enough, who knew what might occur.

_Silly. I tell Yuuri not to catastrophise like this._

“Victor? I think we’d better get to the inn; these places all bar their doors at sundown.”

Victor glanced up at the sky. “Of course. Forgive me, my sweet; I have a lot on my mind.”

As they walked, he pictured some possibilities for what they might do on the wheel. If – _when – _Yuuri emerged from his duel alive. If he remained in this time long enough. But eventually the daydreams blurred and changed; and then he was standing stationary on the wheel with a very different dark-haired opponent poised on a spoke, sword at the ready. One with blue eyes like his own. He might have been smiling, waiting for Victor to strike, but it was difficult to be sure. The harder Victor looked, the more the image faded…until nothing remained in view apart from the trees swaying in the wind. 

At the inn, the proprietor greeted them effusively and escorted them to their room himself, similar to the one they’d had before. Once he’d gone, Yuuri turned his projector off, dropped his bag on the floor, and made a start with untying his armour, placing it in a pile at the foot of the bed. Victor stoked the fire, then wondered if it had been wise to send the proprietor away so quickly, though Yuuri had insisted he didn’t need anything else. But maybe a bath would have been relaxing. Victor could feel the tension pulling at his muscles, and began stretching his arms one at a time behind his head, his elbows pointing at the ceiling.

“I hope it’s been a more enjoyable visit here than your last one, so far,” he said as he watched Yuuri. How could the simple removal of plate mail be so alluring? He was fully dressed underneath, in a form-fitting blue cotehardie and dark brown hose, and wasn’t attempting to give a deliberate tease. 

Yuuri looked at him pointedly. “Considering that I’d just been challenged to a duel by one of the best knights in the land, then got smashed and danced with you in the garrison without remembering it, ran away in the morning, and came here without any idea of what I’d do or how long my money would last?” He continued untying while he talked. “That wasn’t even the worst of it. I was torn up inside because I knew I was letting you down. I wasn’t even sure you’d ever want to see me again.”

Victor’s chest swelled with emotion. “Yuuri – ”

“It’s OK,” he said with a smile, removing the last of his armour from his shins. “The way you turned up like that while I was being attacked, then took me here…” He huffed a laugh. “I thought I hardly deserved it. Well, I still don’t.”

“But I love you,” Victor blurted.

Yuuri’s eyes sparkled. “I know. That’s the most wonderful thing of all. So between those highs and lows, I can’t say this trip’s been as emotional for me; but calmer, certainly. I can’t believe we drew graffiti in an illuminated manuscript, can you?”

Victor continued with gentle stretches to his back. “Your idea,” he chuckled. “A dozen lashes and a month in the stocks if you get caught, remember.”

“You still have a fleck of blue above your ear; I meant to tell you,” Yuuri said, walking to the table and filling a silver cup from the jug there. “It’s not obvious, though.”

Victor instinctively began feeling through his hair, then remembered that he was unlikely to find or remove paint that way, and went back to stretching. “I liked all the things you told me about what changes and stays the same over time.” He added quietly, “But I must admit I’m ashamed of the body parts on display at the gate, even if it isn’t my fault. I take it they don’t do such things in your time?”

Yuuri darted him a look of alarm between sips from his cup. “I should say not.”

“Well, good.”

“You wouldn’t find crowds of children dressed in rags running up to you like that either.”

“What do you do with the poor in your time, then?”

“We don’t have them.”

Victor’s jaw dropped; he couldn’t help it. “What, no one?”

“No, of course not; not in this country. People who need help get it from the government, charities, their communities; no one’s left to live on the street, or in some hovel, and get sick and starve.”

_What sort of paradise is this place where you live?_ “How was such a thing ever achieved?”

Yuuri leaned back against the table, arms folded while he cradled his cup, from which he continued to sip. “It took a long time. Most people had to _want _to end poverty. To stop believing that being rich or poor was due to whatever you’d done, or not done, to deserve it. Or that you’d achieve success if you worked hard enough, which meant that the poor were seen as feckless and lazy, and left to deal with the consequences.”

There was a fire in Yuuri’s eyes now; he clearly felt strongly about the topic, and Victor wasn’t surprised. “People don’t tend to think that way in this time,” he explained, pausing his stretches to consider his words carefully. “I know I’ve done nothing to deserve my wealth. The villeins on the estate wouldn’t tell you they believed that if they worked hard enough, they’d become rich and successful. How could that possibly come about? I think you’d discover there’s an idea that we were all born to our rightful stations. In fact, what upsets people, particularly those with an abundance of money and possessions, is a threat to what they see as the natural order of things.”

Yuuri laughed, and there was an edge to it. “I suppose they _would _think that. If the less well-off agreed, though, there wouldn’t be any peasant revolts. Wat Tyler got people to follow him because they were fed up with the lives they were being forced to lead.”

Victor felt some disquieting prickles at the back of his neck. Being a nobleman himself, he wasn’t sure how directly these comments were meant to apply to him. But he soon received an answer of sorts.

“Does it ever bother you?” Yuuri asked simply, holding his gaze.

Victor wrinkled his brow. “That so many people lead such hard lives? Yes, of course.”

“But you’re in a position to _do _something about it.” Yuuri’s tone wasn’t accusatory, but Victor wondered how long he’d been harbouring these thoughts, this man from the future, without expressing them quite so plainly.

“I try,” he said a little tartly. “You’ve seen it. In the manorial court. When we visited the village at Easter. Just this morning, when we handed out coins. You…even told me you thought I was compassionate – ”

“I do,” Yuuri said. “It’s just…” He bit his lip and looked down, as if thinking. After a moment, he continued, “It’s hard seeing all these people suffering. Sometimes I wonder how everyone seems to be so blind to it when it’s right in front of them. They must have to make some pretty tangled arguments to justify it to themselves. What you’ve said about it makes sense.” He blinked and took a breath. “I know you care, Victor. Maybe you’re one of the few in power who do. You’ve done some good things. But there’s a lot more that _could _be done. Even if it meant you were the first, or one of the first, or if you had to wait until you were in charge of the estate yourself.”

Victor’s heart sank. These were hard words to hear, and he wasn’t in the best position to do so tonight, but there was no going back now; he would endure it, because it was Yuuri, and because he spoke the truth. Even so, he also wasn’t beyond putting a word in for himself.

“I have an influence on taxes for the estate,” he said. “I try to ensure they’re fair. I make the best judgements I can when I preside over the manorial court. I’m sure I’ve made mistakes, but it’s a grim task. I don’t take it lightly.”

“I can understand that.”

_Can you? _Victor thought in a voice he was sure sounded petty, but even so. _Do you know what it’s like to order someone’s execution because that’s what the law decrees for their crime, and it’s what everyone expects? _

“You need to, I don’t know, expand your thinking beyond the confines of what you’ve been told is permissible or even possible.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. Perhaps Yuuri would ask him to fetch the moon down from the sky for him next. But fool in love that he was, he’d try.

“Have you thought of paying them for their labour?”

“What?”

“They work for you. Pay them for the work they do.”

Victor shook his head. “That’s not how the system operates. They sell some of the food they grow, the animals they raise – ”

“But that’s not the same as being paid for the work they’re doing for _you._”

“They give us some of their produce in return for being allowed to live on the estate. The land doesn’t belong to them.”

“And who decided that? William the Conqueror, who parcelled it up around the kingdom and gave it to his wealthy mates, who could turn around and say everything, including the people, suddenly was owned by them? If you were one of those people, and you’d just been told the land you lived on and farmed – as your family might have done for generations – had been given to someone else, who’d be expecting you to pay them for the privilege, would that seem like an OK thing to you?”

“I…” Victor thought about this. He wasn’t a fool, yet he felt like one for struggling with these concepts. They made sense, the way Yuuri was explaining them, but this wasn’t how things worked – how could it ever be so?

“It’s a system that’s brought peace to the land,” he said. Then, realising he was trying to defend something that he knew was patently unfair, he swallowed, his thoughts in a whirl.

“I guess that’s what they’ll say during the Wars of the Roses, which incidentally will have their roots in the Duke of York’s family. I guess that’s what they say in France, too, when English aristos take their armies over there – funded by tax money – and slash and burn as they go. I suppose Abelard and Charles can also tell you how peaceful the Borders are. Met any friendly Scots lately?”

Victor stared. He felt chastened, though Yuuri’s voice hadn’t contained a directly antagonistic note the whole time, even as it expressed anger and disgust at what he’d seen around him. Part of him wanted to cry, part wanted to continue to defend the indefensible, and part was in awe of the doors onto new perspectives that were being opened to him.

“No one pays villeins,” he muttered. “They pay us. I…I’m not saying that’s how it should be – ”

“Then change it,” Yuuri said softly, with an encouraging smile.

“I’m not even sure how it would work. How could the estate afford it?”

“Victor, they don’t own the land they live on and farm, and they have to work for you for free and give you things they need for themselves. How is that any different from slavery? That’s been outlawed for several hundred years, in my time. If an employer can’t afford to pay someone for the work they put in, something’s wrong with their business model.”

Victor was going to expire if he didn’t have a drink, he decided. He approached the table and poured a cup for himself while Yuuri watched with a gaze that was somehow warm and sharp at the same time, which could say both _I love you _and _You’re a slave driver_. The wine was a welcome tang in his mouth.

“Pay the villeins,” he said. “I’ve never heard it proposed before, and I don’t know how things could be adapted for such a fundamental change, not on my own individual estate, but well…I’ll keep it in mind.” Those eyes were still on him, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt the divide of the years between the two of them more keenly. “So,” he continued, taking another mouthful of wine, “what else would you have me do to improve people’s lives, that I don’t seem to have thought of?”

Yuuri considered. “Give them some schools? Let them have an education.”

Victor’s brow wrinkled again. “There’d have to be a way for them to pay – ”

“No, they don’t pay. The schools would be free of charge.”

Studying his face, Victor said, “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. Do I look like I’m joking?”

“But why? What would they learn about, how to plant better crops? Animal husbandry?”

Now Yuuri stared. Then he huffed a little laugh. “Are _you _being serious?”

“Yes,” Victor said, raising his voice slightly as he felt his insides twist. “Why give them a nobleman’s education – open their minds to a much bigger world, hold that in front of them, tantalise them with what they never knew they didn’t have, and _can’t _have? Would that be doing them a kindness?”

“In other words, they ought to be kept ignorant and in their place.”

Victor opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s the fear of people in power throughout the ages. Educate the masses, and they’ll discover what they’re missing out on, and maybe decide they ought to try to do something to put it right. And you know, history’s pretty well proved it to be true. You were wondering how things got to be so much more equal in my time – that’s one way.”

“But weren’t there violent uprisings? Wars? What…what happened over time?”

“There have been wars, and periods when things got more equal, then went backward, and so on. Mostly, though, the wars were for different reasons. Wealthy people setting their armies against each other. The government deciding to attack another country, or defending itself from invasion. Other countries have seen revolutions. Russia, for example; they got rid of the royal family by executing them. That also happened in France.”

Victor gasped and blenched, almost dropping his cup of wine. _I told him I wanted to hear about the future. Because I thought it would be interesting, possibly even fun. _

_Shit._

“That didn’t happen here, though, or in most other places,” Yuuri continued. “The old ways of doing things were gradually replaced with the new. I think, if you’re open to change and are willing to give people more of what they need and want, it can be a positive process rather than a frightening one. Ideas about property ownership are still changing, even in my time. Did you know that the native people of North America didn’t initially understand how European colonists could simply arrive and claim land for themselves? They had no concept of it as something that could be divided up, sold, and owned. It was sacred.”

Victor’s brain felt full to bursting. North America. European colonists. Natives who had no concept of land ownership. Revolutions, free schools, pay the villeins…He gulped the remainder of his drink and stared into his empty cup.

“Maybe it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Yuuri said gently. “But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start off with free schools. Give people the knowledge and tools for independent thought that they have a right to as human beings.”

“I…I’ll have to give some consideration to what you’ve told me, Yuuri,” Victor said quietly. “I must admit I feel shaken by it. Rightly so, perhaps.” He gave a sad little laugh. “Maybe I’m not the best one to tell it to, though. The barons, wealthy and powerful as they may be, are the lowest rank of the nobility. The dukes are the highest, while the archbishops are at the top of the Church hierarchy. You could try giving this speech to the two men I’ll be meeting tomorrow, and I can guarantee they wouldn’t be interested in a word.” He frowned.

Yuuri was silent for a moment. Then he put his cup on the table and looked at Victor with widened eyes. “God, Victor. I’m going on about all this when you’ve got that to think about. I’m sorry.”

Victor placed his cup next to Yuuri’s and strode to the middle of the room, looking distractedly around. “Luxurious castles and inns…life as a nobleman…I have to say I’d wish it all away at the moment if I could.” He turned to gaze at Yuuri. “I’m worried about tomorrow. I know I tried to make light of it earlier; I said I was used to this kind of thing. But that doesn’t make it any easier. I could end up committing a costly error, no matter how careful I am. I…” He took a breath. “I’m not as confident as I was pretending to be.”

The concern on Yuuri’s face deepened, and he came to stand in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Here I am, lecturing you about how you ought to be trying to make these massive changes to the way your estate’s run, and – ”

“I thought you had a point, strange and unsettling as it was to hear. And, well, I suppose I wanted to be sure that you didn’t despise me for my wealth.”

“What? I don’t. I love you for who you are, rich or poor. I’d want to be with you if all we owned was the clothes on our backs.”

If someone else had said those words to him, he’d laugh them out of the room. But this was Yuuri, his eyes full of absolute sincerity, and Victor believed him. Though he wouldn’t wish a life of hardship on them both. Such a situation was trying for the strongest of families, as he’d seen firsthand too many times himself. He hoped he didn’t inadvertently bring it about tomorrow.

“I really am sorry,” Yuuri repeated quietly, resting his hand on Victor’s plated arm. “Let me take care of you.”

_I don’t _need _to be taken care of, _Victor thought somewhat petulantly. _I just need to get out of my armour and sleep, if I can. Have a drink first. No, I’ve already had one. I need a clear mind for tomorrow. _

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered, running a finger along his jaw. Slowly, as if to test if it was all right, he leaned forward, tilted his head up, and ghosted a kiss in front of his ear. The closeness and light touches sent a shiver through Victor; and when Yuuri planted more delicate kisses along his cheek, he closed his eyes and sighed, then cupped Yuuri’s elbow.

“Told you, you think we’re barbarians,” he muttered, the hurt still raw, though this was certainly helping.

“And I said I don’t,” Yuuri murmured. “But regardless of that, you do care, and you try, and I’m sorry I got so intense just now. I love you.” A kiss against his jaw, more firm this time. “I wouldn’t, if I thought you were a barbarian. They’re not my type.”

Victor snickered despite himself. “Big and muscular? Are you sure?”

Yuuri pulled back and gave him a disapproving smirk. Then he smoothed a hand across Victor’s breastplate. “_You’re _my type. And you’ve still got paint in your hair, and there’s…” He grinned and touched Victor’s forehead near the hairline. “Bit of green there. You’ve still got your armour on, too. Let me take it off for you? We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to, but maybe I can help you relax.”

Victor nodded. He played up the appearance of feeling tense at first, though the truth was that he was already warm, comfortable, and aroused by Yuuri’s kisses. By not giving it away at first, however, he experienced more of those light brushes of fingertips while Yuuri began removing his plate. But soon Yuuri noticed his responses – a hitched breath, a tremble – and began a tease of caresses, with kisses to delicate places, and the hot breath of amused laughter when Victor couldn’t suppress a moan. Somehow it was like being pleasured surreptitiously in the great hall all over again. Only this time, Victor was free to give as good as he got.

The last piece of plate was barely off before they were pulling each other urgently into bed.


	81. Chapter 81

“It says here that there are several different types of free land tenure,” Yuuri said, poring over a book at the table. The window in their room was open, letting an invigorating breeze through, and Victor had taken the castle’s law books out to study before the meeting. He paused over his own and looked at Yuuri.

“Military tenure, also called tenure in chivalry,” Yuuri read aloud, “or socage – including burgage and petit serjeanty, or frankalmoin.” He scratched his forehead. “The translator isn’t doing anything with those, but they might as well be another language.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Victor said with a small smile. “Free land tenure isn’t what the dispute’s about. If it mentions alienation of land within a fiefdom, let me know. John Mitchell was our wealthiest tenant before he died, and alienation has to do with the disposal of his property – which ought to belong to us, naturally, but it’s on a boundary with the dukedom. To complicate matters, he was discovered to be sub-letting the lands to other tenants, which is illegal, and which substantially added to his wealth. Some of them _were _on the duke’s land, but Mitchell had some fences moved and claimed they were his.” He sighed. “We should have got a better reeve overseeing the property. The present one is most probably going to be facing charges of bribery and corruption. I _told _Andrei we should look into it, but this was an old friend of the family who was supposed to be beyond suspicion. I said no one’s ever beyond suspicion, and it’s dangerous for a baron to think so, but he’s at an age where he’s set in his ways.”

“It sounds like a mess,” Yuuri said. “I’ll see if I can find anything in this book to help, but the language is difficult. For a long time, access to the law was expensive, and legal terminology was so obscure that ordinary people had a hard time understanding it, so I suppose this shouldn’t be any surprise.”

“You’re going to tell me now that it’s different in your time.”

“It is. Access to justice is a human right.” Yuuri looked down as if that explained everything, and began reading again.

Victor rested his chin in a hand and watched him for a moment, the morning sunlight shining in his hair and glowing on his skin; they were both in simple hose and nightshirts, though before they left they would be donning the finery they’d worn at Easter. He thought back to the previous night; how he’d felt tired, inside as well as out. He didn’t begrudge Yuuri his words spoken in honesty and frustration; didn’t want him to think he wasn’t able to look at the naked truth when it was put to him. But it had been uncomfortable, to say the least.

And then Yuuri, with his gentle touch and maddening kisses, had steered their attention to other matters. They’d made love, and then Victor had decided they really ought to have food and a bath, and had put enough clothes on to look presentable while he went downstairs to place the orders. After the bath they’d made love again, this time with mouths and tongues over warm, clean skin smelling of roses. And when they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, Victor had decided that despite the troubles hanging over him, he’d found the enjoyment he’d been hoping for with Yuuri on this trip, though they’d only been here less than half a day. He loved this man so much it hurt.

That was what he was thinking this morning, while Yuuri now did what he could to assist him with last-minute preparations for the meeting. Victor’s stomach dropped as he imagined being here on his own instead, and how it would have felt – but there was no point in dwelling on it. Yuuri’s presence, even if he found nothing in the book to help, was a balm. Victor wondered how much he actually understood of property law of this time; he suspected it wasn’t much. He appeared to be doing his best, but Victor was sure he caught his eyes glazing over, and smiled again as he reluctantly returned to his own tome.

Uncertain whether he himself had found anything of much use in the books that morning, he knew it was time to put them away when the servants arrived with a small dinner. Yuuri appeared to be relieved, and Victor encouraged him to eat to his heart’s content, though he had little stomach for it this morning.

“Can I go with you to the minster?” Yuuri asked as he dipped a sop of manchet bread in his pottage.

“They won’t allow you into the meeting – ”

“I know.”

“Well, yes, of course you can come.”

“That’s why I brought those blue hose with the pointy toes and the matching chaperon, in case they saw me.”

“The fact that I fancy the hell out of you in those hose has nothing to do with it?”

Yuuri just laughed and ate his bread.

They dressed shortly afterward and left the inn, arriving at the minster as the sext bells rang, as Victor had purposed. He stopped on the green outside the entrance.

“We must part ways here, I think. There’ll be a servant or a cleric inside to escort me to the meeting. I’m not sure where I’ll be taken, and I don’t know how long we’ll be. I could perhaps meet you at the inn.”

“I’d rather stay around here and meet you when you come out. There are a lot of shops around, and there’s the market; I’ll be OK.” He took both of Victor’s hands in his own. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll be with you in spirit.”

“I love you too, my sweet Yuuri,” Victor said, squeezing his hands. “Thank you.”

But instead of departing, Yuuri stared over his shoulder. Victor turned to see Edmund of Langley, the Duke of York, approaching on horseback with several servants on foot. He dismounted, a servant taking his horse’s bridle. He wore a long, richly embroidered gold tunic, silver samite hose, fine leather pointy shoes, and a billowing chestnut-coloured cloak. A black chaperon trimmed in gold and purple swathed his head, and the pearls threaded into his gold livery collar gleamed.

Victor bowed low as he approached. “God give you good day, your grace,” he said. Yuuri did the same.

“Ah, Crowood,” the duke said with a nod. “I trust you and your kin are well?”

“We’re in excellent health, thank you. Quite occupied with preparations for his royal majesty’s visit. My father sends his apologies for being unable to attend in person.”

“Which were received from your messenger, with thanks. It’s been too long since our last meeting, my good man. We must catch up while we attend to this dashed nuisance of a misunderstanding today. I’m positive it won’t take long to clear up.” 

“Indeed, I hope not. I’m sure we’ll find an arrangement that will suit.”

“Pleased to hear it, pleased to hear it,” the duke said, clapping Victor heartily on the arm. Then he looked at Yuuri, and his eyes shone with a flash of recognition. “Well bless my soul, if it isn’t Justin of Stanebeck. You’re aware, no doubt,” he said to Victor, “that this doughty chap is responsible for bringing to my attention the villainous activities of the erstwhile sheriff of this city?”

“I am, your grace. His reputation is a fine one at my castle; we call him Sir Justin la Rose.”

“Is that so?” He turned again to Yuuri. “It seems they’ve forgiven you for running away after the challenge from Tyler of Halbrook, eh?”

Yuuri looked down briefly, and his cheeks pinked. “They’ve been very kind to me, your grace,” he said. “I returned to the castle soon after meeting you, and have been training ever since.”

“Good man. You’ll give my nephew the king something worth watching then, perhaps.”

“I intend to win,” Yuuri said with flat conviction, and Victor filled with pride.

The duke studied him, then smiled. “You interest me. Come inside with us, if you please.”

Victor stared, and so did Yuuri. “I was given to understand that I wasn’t to bring anyone else with me.”

“But you have, have you not? Don’t send your man away. He can sit with you.”

What was his game? There would be a reason for this, Victor thought quickly. The duke had met Yuuri previously and perhaps formed the opinion that he was no threat to him, and certainly no legal expert. But he was of sufficient rank to serve as a useful witness, if one were needed, who could attest that the discussion they were about to have was aboveboard and fair. Yes, that made sense. It was an attempt to use his colleague for his own ends, but all Victor could feel was gladness that Yuuri would be by his side.

“Justin?” he queried, raising an eyebrow. _You can’t turn the duke’s invitation down; I’m certain you’re aware of that…_

Yuuri nodded. “It would be an honour,” he said.

* * *

It couldn’t have been much more than an hour they sat together, because Victor never heard the none bells ring. But it was one of the longest hours he’d ever spent.

Visitors to the chapter house were dwarfed by the circular room surrounded with stained glass, whose brightly painted curved ceiling arched high upward to the heavens. The archbishop was already present in a throne-like chair when they arrived, looking more like a proud nobleman than a member of the clergy in his sumptuous colourful layers and chaperon, a long dark drooping moustache framing his mouth and a small goatee perched on his chin. A look of surprise crossed his face when he saw Yuuri, but the duke quickly explained, and they all exchanged courtesies before taking chairs themselves. Servants were on hand to replenish goblets and offer platters of bread, cheese and candied fruits, of which Victor partook a little in order to appear at his ease, though it felt like he was swallowing rocks. Yuuri ate and drank politely next to him, eyes following each speaker keenly.

The courtesies were more than merely cursory, however, for they served to reinforce the alliance between the duke and the archbishop as they spoke of the hunt, matters in the city, and the king’s recent doings, all of which Victor had little to add to. Yuuri joined in with comments and questions where he could, attempting to assert his presence in the quartet as more than a silent witness, which filled Victor with warmth as he faced these two powerful men. His love was nearby, doing his best to help, despite the fact that the situation must be very alien to him. But then again, he’d already negotiated once with the duke, and come out none the worse for it. Anyone who underestimated Yuuri Katsuki did so at their peril.

When the subject of the deceased rogue tenant arose, it became clear that the duke was the legal expert, while the archbishop was mainly present to support him, adding an occasional hollow word in Victor’s favour so as to maintain a feeble pretence of being neutral. Victor laid open the situation to them as he saw it, and as he’d been advised by John de Lacey and the clerks of the castle. The duke had an air of being slightly offended and bored by the whole thing.

“How could these circumstances ever have come about in the first place, Crowood?” he asked in his drawl as he waved away a servant with a plate of jellies. “This is what I fail to understand. How is it that no one realised what this tenant was getting up to under their very noses? He must have given some indication of his activities. Did no one see him rearranging boundaries? Did he not, say, break any sumptuary laws by wearing illegally fine clothing for his station? Surely someone would have noticed, if your estate is as well-tended as you’d like me to believe.” Before Victor could reply, he turned to Yuuri. “What say you, Stanebeck, eh? Did you ever notice anything amiss on a knightly patrol? Or does the Nikiforov family sup and hunt at their leisure, with everyone there enjoying the fruits of their wealth, and leave the estate to look after itself?”

Victor willed his cheeks not to burn. So they were finished with politenesses, or at least the duke was. But attempting to draw Yuuri in to attest against him was a low blow.

Yuuri considered before replying. There were no glances of alarm darted in Victor’s direction, which would have been marked by the other men. Instead, he said calmly, “I’ve never noticed anything wrong, but I don’t often go on knightly patrols, either; I spend most of my time training. But from what I’ve seen, there are several well-qualified reeves on the estate who work hard and are in regular contact with the tenants. It’s always possible that an official will go bad – as we were discussing the last time I saw you, your grace.”

It took a great effort of will for Victor not to smile. What he really wanted to do was wrap his arms around Yuuri, of course. But he was schooled in keeping a neutral expression, and merely blinked back at the duke, who looked momentarily nonplussed.

“I understand you were indentured by the Nikiforovs against your will, and had grave concerns about returning to them when you were here. I take it that you and your father were not best pleased to have your lands confiscated by them – and all for the sake of losing a duel.”

Victor felt the blood drain from his face. Of course; he should have realised. _This _was why the duke had seen an opportunity in bringing Yuuri here. He’d hoped to draw out his feelings about the injustice perpetrated on his family, and on others, by Andrei’s avarice and ambition. Once on the topic, it could easily be enlarged to the point where Victor was forced to defend his father’s actions – actions which he himself detested, as they’d turned him into an instrument of death on several occasions, as well as robbing people of what was rightfully theirs. The practical flaw in Andrei’s strategy had always been that their powerful neighbour the duke would eventually become so uncomfortable that he’d find a way to crush them. Perhaps this meeting had been designed to be the start – and perhaps the duke saw Justin as a possible way in. After the sudden sweep of pleasure in Yuuri’s reply, Victor felt himself plummeting back down to earth.

But Yuuri didn’t flinch as he again took a moment to think before responding. “It’s true that I didn’t want to leave my father’s estate, and that I was forced to risk my life in a duel and serve the Nikiforovs,” he said. “But as I explained outside the minster, they’ve been very kind, even when I’ve displeased them, and they’ve given me the name of ‘la Rose’. I’m content there, and am free to come and go. In fact, I was told I could return to my father’s castle if I wanted to, but I chose to stay.” He looked at Victor and smiled before turning back to the duke. “I’ve talked with Sir Victor about how the Nikiforovs have taken lands from other people. He doesn’t have any desire for it to continue. We only want peace.”

Now the duke and the archbishop stared at them both in surprise. Victor wished again, more than ever, that he could embrace Yuuri. But he stilled his features and took a sip from his goblet.

The archbishop leaned forward, addressing Yuuri. “Are you quite sure you’re not speaking under duress, my son? If you’ve been ordered to say these things, and have been threatened if you tell the truth, no one here will harm you. In fact, the duke and I are in a position to help you, if you’ll be frank with us.”

“No, your grace, I’m not speaking under duress. Sir Victor is noble and chivalrous, and even though we started our acquaintance in an unfortunate way, I’m glad I’ve had the privilege of getting to know him since. He’s good and just, and will make an excellent baron who has no intention of posing a threat to you.”

_I love you,_ Victor thought.

The two men exchanged glances, and the duke took a moment to have his goblet and plate refilled. “Did you ever have such a troublesome tenant,” he said slowly as he arranged his food with deliberating fingers, “before your father lost his lands?”

“A few times,” Yuuri said as convincingly as if he were living the life of the real Justin. He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, and it was only now that Victor fully appreciated what a good actor he was – as if those performances he’d done in Immersion, and his continuing one as Justin, weren’t proof enough. “Subinfeudation,” he carried on, “as you know, was a problem for the king’s vassals until _Quia Emptores _was passed a hundred and three years ago, though the substitution of the penalty of forfeiture with a fine has made it difficult to impose at times. But with the excellent staff of officials at the Crowood estate, I expect it only occurred because of the reeve involved – who, I understand, will soon be facing charges of bribery and corruption. Isn’t that so, Victor?” he said, turning to him.

Victor missed a beat as he took in what Yuuri had just said, feeling for the hundredth time since he’d met him like the luckiest man on earth. He sipped his wine and nodded sombrely. “Indeed, my good man, that’s correct,” he said, then looked placidly at the duke, who frowned.

Seeming to decide that they weren’t going to get anything out of Yuuri they could use to their advantage, the duke and archbishop ignored him from that point onward as the discussion continued, and focused on Victor, putting his inexpert legal knowledge to the test. But he’d planned well for this meeting, and while he found himself on the defensive much of the time, he was able to ensure that the incident under consideration wasn’t expanded into a wider problem that required a correspondingly more extreme solution. As it was, the outcome wasn’t one that anyone would feel proud of; it was agreed that the original borders of the tenant’s lands would be restored, and they would remain in the barony’s possession, though the taxes from those lands would go to the duke, ostensibly to pay for defences between the two estates. In other words, the Nikiforovs would be allowed to save face, holding the lands in name; but it was clear who the real power in the region was, and this was meant as a reminder. Considering the threat the duke posed to his neighbours if they stepped too far out of line, Victor knew it had to been seen as a victory of sorts, even if it didn’t feel that way. However, his relief when the meeting concluded was immense, though he was careful not to let it show.

The duke and the bishop walked with him and Yuuri to the nave afterward, said their farewells and left together, along with their servants. Victor instinctively began to walk toward the nearest exit, feeling as if he’d had his head on the block, waiting for the axe, only to be told at the last minute that the execution was cancelled. As they passed a small chapel, Yuuri glanced inside, then took him by the hand and pulled him in. They were the only ones there, on the tiled floor in front of the ornate altar painted in gold leaf and a single candelabra with dancing flames.

“Victor,” Yuuri said, looking at him in concern, “are you all right? I thought – ”

“Yes,” he sighed, feeling more of the tension drain from him. It was a wonder he was still standing. “Yes, I…I’m all right now.” He swallowed, then clasped Yuuri, who quickly wrapped his arms around him, both of them exhaling. Victor wished he could kiss him somewhere on his head, but that blasted hat was in the way. They stood for a time, holding each other, Victor taking in Yuuri’s warmth and scent like an elixir. Everything was fine with the world, as long as they could be like this.

When Yuuri pulled back slightly to cup Victor’s cheek, he detected moisture there and brushed it away. “That must’ve been really hard for you,” he said. “They didn’t let up for a minute. But anyone would’ve thought you were thoroughly composed the whole time. I started to think so, too, until they left us a few minutes ago. Vitya,” he finished with a whisper, stroking his cheek.

At that moment, the king himself could have walked in on them in the chapel, and Victor wouldn’t have cared. He tilted his head down and captured Yuuri’s lips in a long, loving kiss. Life pulsed through his veins again, right to the tips of his toes, and he broke away to smile. “You were wonderful, my sweet. I wanted to be able to tell you. And I’m so grateful. Where in heaven’s name did you get that information about _Quia Emptores_?

Yuuri tapped his wrist and laughed. “Phichit and the Cloud. I didn’t learn much from your books, but there’s still some basic information in my time; it just took a while to find it. To be honest, though, that’s _all _we were able to find that seemed to have any relevance. I was waiting for a chance to be able to use it. If they’d asked me anything else, they would’ve found out the sum total of the rest of my knowledge on the subject was pretty much zero.”

“A well-timed bluff, then. You’re gorgeous.” Pink stole across Yuuri’s cheeks as he smiled. “And you’re right, it was a difficult situation, to say the least. Especially considering what I was trying to defend. I believe in my responsibility to the estate and the tenants, Yuuri. If my path in life _is _to become the next baron, I want to do what’s best for them, and I’m willing to listen to your thoughts on the subject. But…” He took a deep breath, then huffed a little laugh. “Can’t we both forget about all our problems and run away? I wish sometimes it could be so easy. We could go be shepherds. Or…sailors. Though I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been at sea.”

Now Yuuri laughed. “Or we could just take a big bag of coins and travel east on the Silk Road until we reached the very end. I bet we’d have a few adventures on the way.”

“We seem to have enough of them here. And not the fun kind.” Victor tapped the front of Yuuri’s chaperon playfully. “But come, let’s get out of this gloomy place. We’re in York, and we don’t have to leave til tomorrow.”

The sun was shining between puffy white clouds when they emerged. A beautiful May day. Victor’s task was done, and the duke was no longer a worry for now. “It’s convenient that I was asked to come here to the minster,” he said. “The archbishop lives in a palace in a village down the river; we might have had to go there instead. If you think Crowood Castle is luxurious, you should see that; it’s truly opulent.”

Yuuri shook his head. “That’s a big problem with the Church at this time. All the wealth and corruption in an organisation that’s supposed to be dedicated to charity and saving people’s souls.”

Victor nodded. “It’s well known. The higher up in the hierarchy you go, the less religious they tend to be.”

“It’ll come back to bite them in a hundred and fifty years or so. People will get fed up with it all and insist on new types of Christianity that are less materialistic. But it’ll start new holy wars, too. Would you believe it takes hold here when the king gets in a flap about the pope not allowing him to annul his marriage to his first wife, so he just says to hell with it and starts the Church of England?”

“What?” Victor breathed, looking at him as they walked slowly along the green. “Tell me you’re joking this time. And which king is this, do I get to know?”

“I’m not joking. And it’s Henry the Eighth.”

“You’ve mentioned him before. But we haven’t even had a fourth yet. If we get through that many Henrys, I wonder – does one of them succeed King Richard? His cousin Henry Bolingbroke, perhaps? Or maybe not. He seems to be more interested in supporting crusades these days…Am I close, though? Will you tell me?”

Yuuri gave him a mock-serious glare. “No.”

“No as in I’m not close, or no as in you won’t tell me?”

“What do you think?”

“That you’re a tease.” Victor smirked. “Anyway, we have the rest of the afternoon before we stop by The Black Dog for supper. What do you fancy doing?”

“If we were in modern York, I’d suggest going to a café for some coffee, which doesn’t exist here yet. Or walking along the river, but that’s as pleasant as hanging about near an open sewer. The walls are fun; you can get some good views from there. At the moment, though, I think we’d be marched off at the tip of a guard’s spear.”

“Hm, I fear you’re right. Well, I’m hungry; I haven’t eaten much all day. Why don’t we head to the middle of the city, buy some pies and beer, and you can tell me what this coffee is and why you think I’d like it?”

* * *

They said all roads led to Rome, but in York, all of them seemed to lead back to the minster. It presided over the city like a king over his subjects, and was the biggest and most beautiful landmark for those who were unsure of their way. So it was that after Victor and Yuuri had had a stroll and bought their food and drink, they found themselves passing by the green outside the west front, where there were stone benches for weary pilgrims. Victor still felt rather drained from the meeting; that was justification enough for using one, he decided.

Two large canvas-covered wagons had been unhitched from horses across the green, and men in garishly colourful dress were milling about, arranging boxes, chairs, and large screens. Yuuri, eating the remainder of his pie, watched. “What do you reckon they’re doing?”

“Ah, those are actors,” Victor replied. “They usually travel and perform privately at manor houses and castles – like you’ve seen various troupes do in the great hall during meals. Sometimes there are free performances in the city on feast days, but I wasn’t aware today was one. The archbishop would hardly have asked us to meet with him in the minster at a time like that.”

“I wonder what they’re up to.”

“They don’t appear to be dressed for a mystery play, so maybe we’ll be in luck and it will be something a little more adventurous.”

“In luck? You want to stay and watch?”

“If they’re any good, it could be a fun way to pass the time. What do you say?”

“Sure.”

A crowd was beginning to gather near the makeshift stage; the actors knew the best place to draw their audience from, where pilgrims might have time to spare between visiting the shrine inside the minster and retiring to their inns for the night. A man dressed all in orange, with a liripipe hood, began calling for people to come and see their performance, _The Play of the Green Dales_. Yuuri finished his pie, and they stood and found places in the audience. Victor was content so long as he could see, but the others around them quietly made way for the two nobles to go to the front. Yuuri looked disconcerted by this, but the space was there, so Victor moved forward and he followed.

The orange man in the liripipe bowed low with a flourish when he saw them. “My lords, your presence honours us.”

“God give you good day,” Victor said pleasantly. “What’s the occasion?”

“None as such, sir. This is a new play penned by yours truly. We’re giving it a trial run before performing at the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall in a fortnight. We’ve also been invited to his grace the duke’s castle.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. They must have a sterling reputation to have landed such prestigious bookings. “Indeed? I’m looking forward to it, then.”

“It’s, er, not as polished yet as we’d like. The audience reaction today will help with that, I hope. But I must get ready. Enjoy our play, sirs, I pray you.” He gave another embellished bow, and Victor nodded, then the man trotted off behind the screen. It was painted with a woodland scene of trees and deer. Green fabric had been draped over the stacks of boxes.

When the play started, Victor felt Yuuri surreptitiously take his hand, and they laced their fingers together for a while. This was definitely a secular play, even pagan in its inspiration, as was obvious from the fairies and the actors in headdresses resembling a deer, a rabbit, and a horse. A trio of musicians stood to the side, providing background tunes and incidental effects, though people behind the screen were doing so as well, making animal noises or banging on drums as the situation required. There were two central romances; and when the couples journeyed across the Dales, they inadvertently entered the realm of Faerie, with ensuing confusion and hilarity before everything was put right. One of the actors, playing the part of a woman, went in disguise as a man for most of the play, which had the potential to be extremely unconvincing, but he managed the role well, Victor thought. It was a refreshing, painstaking and professional production, and Yuuri seemed quite taken with it, which gave Victor some amusement, as he’d never displayed any great pleasure in the plays he’d seen at the castle. It made Victor wonder what the entertainment was like in his future time; he’d listened to some over the com, courtesy of Phichit, but it wasn’t the same as seeing it.

“I’d like to find that fellow we spoke with earlier,” Victor said to Yuuri when the play had concluded and the audience began to drift away. They went over to the screen, and it wasn’t difficult to spot him in his orange clothing amid the other actors. Victor had a quiet word with one of them, and he brought the man over.

“What think you, sir? Did you like it?” he asked with a smile that mixed eagerness with uncertainty. 

“I admit I was quite impressed.” Victor looked around. “You do well with so few people and props.”

“It’s the nature of a travelling troupe, sir. We can’t take a great deal with us, but we plan our performances accordingly, and pride ourselves on doing much with little. I can’t say it’s an easy life, but it’s the only one I could want. If you asked me what I dreamed of, however, I’d say I’d wish for us to be resident actors and playwrights at a permanent theatre. But as it is, we do well enough for ourselves.”

“A permanent theatre? I’ve never heard of such a thing. It would have to make a steady profit even though it was always in the same place.”

“Indeed, sir. I imagine London would be the only locale where such a business could stand a chance of success.”

Victor smiled. “I wish you luck.” He paused. “I was hoping for a word with you, sir, because if there’s room in your schedule, I’d be grateful for your services. I’m Sir Victor Nikiforov, son of the Baron of Crowood. The king will be visiting my castle in a little over a month, and I daresay he’d enjoy watching your performance.”

The man’s face was suddenly lit like candles on Christmas Eve. “Perform for the king?” he gasped, and the actors surrounding him who overheard turned to stare in surprise. “Why, absolutely, my lord; there’s nothing in our schedule that couldn’t be rearranged.”

Victor nodded, gladdened to see the obvious delight at his words. “Come to Crowood Castle, then, and ask for Master Everard the steward; tell him I sent you.”

“I will, my lord. And I’m John Burbage of the Fulford Players.”

“Well, Master Burbage, I hope to see you soon.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He bowed. “God bless you and keep you.”

Victor and Yuuri were soon back on the street, heading for The Black Dog. “They were talented,” Yuuri said as they walked. “You made them really happy.”

“I like to think I can do some good with the powers granted to me. It makes a change from more unsavoury things.” He slanted a glance at Yuuri. “Though I know there’s scope for more ambitious projects.”

Yuuri just smiled and rested a hand lightly on his arm as they made their way down the side of the street. When they arrived at the ale-house, he suggested they go round to the back door, where they would be likely to meet Jan or one of the servants instead of Jacob and Posy Maltby. The kitchen door in the alleyway was propped open to let heat and woodsmoke out, and soon they were greeted by the Swede, who bustled into the main room to fetch a surprised Daisy. Yuuri and Victor were shown to a table, and ate supper while Jan and Daisy found people to cover for them so that they could join them in a drink and a chat.

Jacob Maltby came by briefly, looking rather subdued and uncertain; but before he could say anything, Victor placed a silver groat in his hand and apologised for the temporary inconvenience. Jacob’s eyes went wide, and he thanked Victor and was no further nuisance. When Yuuri asked after Posy, he was informed that she’d been laid up with a bad ankle for the past month, and had been ordering the staff from her bed, seeking commiseration from any source that was willing to offer it.

“The barber surgeon says she’ll be fine before long,” Daisy told them. “Though actually, it’s been a much pleasanter atmosphere here without her looking over our shoulders.”

“But it’ll be better once she’s healed and can take on more of the work again,” Jan said. “Besides,” he added with a laugh, “when she’s not happy, she ensures no one else in the building within earshot is, either.” He looked at Yuuri. “My inclination is still to call you John of Whitby. It’s difficult to picture you as a knight – not because I don’t think you’d look the part, but because of how it was when you were here. You up in that attic room, and replacing all the rushes on the floor, and helping me with the pastries. Mind you don’t leave without some of my pies to sustain you both on your journey home.”

“Where’s your armour, then?” Daisy asked him. “You look togged up to visit the king, not wave a sword about.”

Yuuri smiled and explained the purpose of their visit without going into detail. Then he asked each of his friends how they’d been faring since he’d gone, though the news they had to tell was little more than local gossip. While they all shared a jug of the Maltbys’ finest beer, paid for by Yuuri, the three erstwhile companions reminisced. Victor listened quietly and studied Yuuri from time to time. He was glad to see him laugh about things now – many of which Victor was hearing of for the first time – that must have been hard to bear, and he wondered how he himself might have fared in such a situation. It was difficult to imagine, used as he was to giving orders and doing as he pleased within the confines that were set out for him by his family and position. He was also unsure how well he’d relate to people like these, whose lives were so very different from his own, though some glimmer of intuition told him that he would have learned.

When they’d finished a second jug of beer, Jan and Daisy saw them to the main entrance. Victor thanked them for their hospitality, and Yuuri promised to visit again.

“After all these escapades of yours, our John, I wouldn’t be surprised if you came back saying you’d been hobnobbing with the King of England,” Daisy laughed.

“Maybe you’re not far off there. He’s coming to our castle next month.”

“You never.”

“It’s true,” Victor said with a smile, taking in the surprise on their faces.

“Hey, my girl, we’re moving in fine circles,” Jan said to her. “Friends of the duke and the king.”

Yuuri bit his lip. “Actually, ‘friends’ wouldn’t be the best word to use. But anyway, that doesn’t matter.” He opened his purse and pulled out two gold coins. “I’d like to leave you with these, in friendship,” he said to them both. “I…I’ve got more than enough now.” He handed them over.

“A quarter florin,” Daisy breathed, staring at her coin. “I couldn’t. That’s a week’s wages for me.”

“I have to agree,” Jan said. “This is far too generous.”

“Please,” Yuuri said, “I don’t need them. You’ll make better use of them than me. Maybe they’ll help.” He added to Daisy, “You could get that lace collar you wanted, at least.”

She reluctantly closed her fingers around the shining coin. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

As before, they both ended up accepting the coins, as Victor expected; in fact, Yuuri had chosen well, because it had been quarter florins that Victor had given them on the previous visit, in thanks for looking after his love. Once they’d said their goodbyes, he and Yuuri set out with the honeyed sun dipping low over the horizon, no link boy necessary at this time of year.

“You should’ve let me give them the coins,” he commented as they walked.

“Why? I get paid more money than I need by a father who thinks he’s funding his son.”

“Even so. Did you see how they were looking at you when we left?”

After a pause, Yuuri said more quietly, “I thought it felt a little awkward, but well, we hadn’t seen each other for several months.”

“You’re moving in fine circles now, as the fellow said. They didn’t realise you were part of that world when you worked here.”

Yuuri glanced at him, eyes flashing. “Should it matter?”

“Ideally? No. I didn’t care that they weren’t aware of all the courtesies due to people of our rank. But who we are sets us apart from the ordinary population, Yuuri, whether we like it or not. It drives a wedge between us. How would you feel in your future time if a friend insisted on giving you a week’s wages that they happened to have loose in their pocket, out of the goodness of their heart? Would you not feel a trifle awkward about that?”

“I…didn’t think about it that way.”

“You meant well, my sweet, of course you did. And I’m sure the money will help them, as you intended it to. But it also emphasises the vast difference in your positions.”

Yuuri was quiet for a moment. Then he simply said, “Shit.”

“They’re good, kind people,” Victor said gently. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you again. You didn’t exactly insult them.”

“Didn’t I? It was condescending, you said it yourself. Like giving handouts to a beggar.”

“That’s rather an extreme – ”

“It’s true!” Yuuri said heatedly. “It’s another consequence of this unequal society where a rich person can step over a poor person in the street like they’re a piece of rubbish.”

“I don’t do that.”

“People from all walks of life mix where I’m from, so this kind of thing doesn’t happen. So you can achieve an understanding of each other. How the hell can that ever happen here? You build walls around yourselves, you keep everyone else away, and then you tax the hell out of them because they can’t stop you.”

“Yuuri,” Victor said more forcefully; and Yuuri halted and gazed at him, his face flushed. Then, there on the pavement amid the late evening travellers, tears sprang to his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a shaky voice. “Victor, I am. You don’t deserve any of that. I…” He sniffed.

Victor took his arm and gently steered him into the shadowed opening of an alleyway, where he stood facing him. “It’s been a long day for us both,” he said softly as Yuuri wiped his face with his sleeve.

“It’s not that. I just…they’re the only people who were nice to me here. It was fucking horrible working for the Maltbys, and we all kind of banded together. Now I’ve just gone and fucked it up.” He sniffed again.

“I doubt it’s as drastic as that. You won’t be relating to them in that context anymore as it is, regardless of what you do. It’s wonderful that you consider them friends. I don’t know of any other noblemen who have socialised with commoners in that way. I haven’t, either.”

“You still make it sound condescending,” Yuuri mumbled.

“I don’t mean to.” Victor gave him a sad smile. “I like the sound of this place where people can relate to each other on equal terms. Sometimes, however well-meaning you are, it’s simply impossible here. But you know,” he added more quietly, as Yuuri tried to compose himself, “if I’d met you, and had the chance to get to know you, even if you were…” He thought. “…a merchant, a tradesman, a soldier, a cook – even a servant – I swear I’d love you, Yuuri. I wouldn’t care what you were; I’d find a way for us to be together. Do you know what it means for me to say that? My heart is yours, completely – because you’re Yuuri Katsuki, and that’s all that matters.”

Now tears had sprung to his own eyes, though he blinked them back; and he trembled at the unexpected emotion in his words. Yuuri stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted. Then his arms were around Victor, impossibly fast, and before he knew it he was in the midst of the most wonderful, firm, passionate kiss. He threaded his own arms around Yuuri and returned it, feeling as he so often did that the world had slipped away until only the two of them remained, timeless, enduring.

“I told them to draw a bath at the inn tonight,” Victor said near his cheek. “It should be ready when we return. I can hardly wait.”

Yuuri clutched at his back. “Me either.”

“Your chaperon’s crooked,” Victor said with a smile that was only a little wicked, he thought, and he straightened it for him. Then they stepped out of the alleyway and resumed their walk, both taking calming breaths; because of the crying, or the kissing, or both, Victor wasn’t entirely sure. He only realised when the brick-and-timber façade of The White Swan came into view that he’d been kissing Yuuri in the guise of Justin without giving it a second thought. He’d got the impression that it hadn’t bothered Yuuri, either.


	82. Chapter 82

They were silent as they entered the inn, though Victor felt the sweet tension between them. The proprietor greeted them and said the service requests for the room had been carried out, then asked if there was anything else they wanted; Victor quickly reassured him they were fine. Up the stairs and into the room, and he vaguely noted that there was a jug of wine and a plate of cold food on the table, with a steaming bath near the fire. Then Yuuri was pulling him into his arms; _his _Yuuri, looking like himself this time, his beautiful eyes dark with desire. They shared a deep kiss. Victor broke away to untie the annoying chaperon on Yuuri’s head, and slipped it off, tossing it onto the table. His thick brown hair was endearingly mussed, and Victor ran a hand through it.

“Thank God for the privacy of our own room,” he said. “No more chapels or alleyways.” He slid the backs of his fingers down Yuuri’s cheek. “I’ve got you all to myself.”

Yuuri caught his hand and kissed it, gazing upward at him. “And I’ve got you. I think we both need to relax. You’ve had the worst of things today, though.”

“I wonder what we could do,” Victor said in a low voice.

A spark leapt into Yuuri’s eyes. “I have an idea…if you want to try it here. But if you think you’d be more comfortable with it at the castle…”

“Go on, my love. What are you thinking?”

Yuuri draped his arms over his shoulders, eyelashes flicking. “We could do a bit of power play. You know, the dom/sub stuff we talked about. If you want. If not, it can wait – ”

“I was hoping you might get around to that sometime soon,” Victor said with a smile, resting his hands on Yuuri’s waist. “You said you needed to think.”

“I _have _been thinking. Is this a yes, then?”

Victor nodded and tilted his head down for a kiss, but Yuuri laid a finger against his lips. “There are some rules.”

“Oh?”

“The most important one is that you tell me if you want me to stop. And I will. While I’m asking you to trust me, I also need to trust that you’ll do that. Otherwise I won’t, um, be able to get into what I’m doing, because I’ll be worried.”

Victor wondered what he had in mind. “Of course. I promise.”

“I thought an element of surprise could be fun. I wouldn’t ever do anything I thought was extreme – but like I said, if you ever want me to stop, or you don’t like something, just say so.”

Victor felt equal parts nervous and excited about this, he discovered. “All right.”

“The second most important rule, then. I’m the one calling the shots. I make the decisions and tell you what to do. Are you still up for that?”

“Oh yes,” Victor said with a grin.

“Fine. I’ll guide what we do tonight, then.” He dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “Kiss me. Thoroughly.” Victor dipped his head down again, beginning to untie his own chaperon as he did so. “Leave the hat on,” Yuuri told him.

Yuuri giving him orders. There was a frisson of something new and unpredictable, mixed with apprehension for that very reason. Victor loved the command to kiss him. The desire for the chaperon to remain was more mystifying; but as Victor placed his hands on either side of Yuuri’s neck and licked into his mouth, fanning the flame between them again, he forgot it was even there. Yuuri clasped him and held him tight, moaning as their tongues danced. Then he stepped back.

“I want to watch you take your clothes off,” he said a little breathlessly. “As well as the hat. Take your time, but don’t make it a big tease.”

The corners of Victor’s mouth curved up at the novelty of this, and he nodded. _Be natural about it, _he told himself as Yuuri pulled up a chair a little distance away and sat down. He started with the chaperon, undoing it the rest of the way, the long ties whispering over his shoulders as he pulled it off and placed it on the table. Then he slid his fingers under his livery collar and lifted it over his head. The buttons of the cotehardie were next. But while Yuuri had said not to make this a big tease, he hadn’t said to be demure either. Victor turned to him as his fingers worked, intending to give him a flash of chest, only to discover that Yuuri had put his belt on the floor and already had his own tunic halfway unbuttoned. His eyes said, _What are you waiting for?_

Victor unfastened the buckle of his belt, then added the thick leather band with its scabbard to the collection on the table. It felt like Yuuri’s gaze was burning into him. Looking down, he undid the remaining buttons – Yuuri was right, there _were _a lot of them. When the front of his cotehardie was free, he pulled it off smoothly, pale skin shining in the candlelight. Deciding the least he could do was give Yuuri a smile or a wink, he looked over at him – and gasped.

Yuuri was leaning back in the chair; the loose edges of his tunic had fallen to the side, and he’d released his cock from his braies, stroking it lazily. He gave Victor a small grin, eyes glinting. Victor stared; he couldn’t help it.

“I told you to do something,” Yuuri said quietly, and a smirk flashed across his face.

Victor untied the tops of his hose, distracted by what he knew Yuuri was doing, and darting glimpses at him. He propped a foot on the arm of a chair and slid the hose-piece off one leg, the way he knew Yuuri liked to see it and have done to him; and then the other. Was this too much of a tease? What would happen if Yuuri thought so? He looked to him questioningly.

“You’re beautiful, Vitya,” Yuuri sighed with a smile.

With renewed confidence, Victor removed his braies, fully erect due to Yuuri’s display, and felt himself twitch as the brown-eyed gaze was drawn downward. Resting a hand on the table, he waited to be told what to do next.

Yuuri stood and began removing the rest of his own clothes. “Get in the bath,” he said, this instruction like the others – simple, soft, in comfortable control. Victor wondered if that was really the case, or if he felt a little uncertain too, deep down. “When I get in,” Yuuri continued, “I want you to wash me with the soap – but no sexual touching.”

_Not fair, _Victor’s inner voice said as it sprang up in protest. Sexual touching was just what he wanted right now. Yuuri raised an eyebrow, and he was reminded of his earlier words. _I told you to do something. _They were easy requests to follow, so why was he kicking back like this? Perhaps being a sub was going to prove more challenging than he thought – but he was determined to try to make it work and see where it led. 

He got into the tub; the water was just a shade cooler than he would’ve liked, but being near the fire made up for it. There was a wooden stand nearby with a bar of soap and a dish of herbs and dried flower petals. “Yuuri,” he called over, “would you like me to scent the water?”

Yuuri finished removing his clothes and got into the bucket, sitting down on the cloth-covered bench. “That sounds nice.”

Victor laughed as he sprinkled the contents of the dish into the bath. “I’m used to hearing you say that now. You’ll have me saying it next.”

“I figured you could handle it,” Yuuri said with a smile.

Victor scooted closer on the bench, until their thighs were pressing together. “Will you let me kiss you?” he whispered next to Yuuri’s ear.

“No.”

“No?”

“No sexual touching.”

“It isn’t – is it?”

Yuuri angled himself so that he could face him. His serious expression made Victor realise he was getting this wrong again. “You know it is.” He paused. “Victor, you’re not under any obligation to carry on with this if you think it doesn’t suit you.”

“But I want to. I’m sorry; it’s just taking some getting used to.” He huffed a small laugh. “Remember who I am. I’m not used to taking orders. But I like trying to, from you. I’ll do better, I promise.”

“Some doms punish their subs for disobedience,” Yuuri said. Victor’s jaw dropped. “I’m not saying that’s what I want to do, not like that. Your punishment would be knowing you’ve broken the rules we both agreed on, and we’d have to talk about why. So are you honestly saying yes to this, or not? Can you trust me enough to give me control?”

Victor placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. He wanted desperately to kiss him, too. But Yuuri was right – if he didn’t follow the rules, then this wouldn’t work. With a renewed sense of respect for what Yuuri was doing for him, Victor nodded and reached for the soap.

Over the next little while, the frustration of thwarted desire melted away into the scented warm waters of the bath, and Victor discovered the simple pleasure of tending to the needs of his love. So very often, their physical impulses took precedence over other things. It wasn’t surprising, he supposed. They were in love, and deeply attracted to each other, and they both enjoyed sex. Of course it was pleasurable; but particularly with Yuuri, Victor had discovered what a wonderful way it could be to communicate, and to take turns giving and receiving. However, it also meant that if they shared a bath, they were usually either lusting after each other or sated from what they’d just done. Whereas Victor’s actions now felt like what a parent might do for a child, because he’d been told not to touch him in any other way.

_No matter how much time we spend together, you never stop surprising me, _Victor thought with a wave of warmth as he cupped some water and poured it over Yuuri’s shoulder. It seemed that running a hand fondly over Yuuri’s skin, as long as it wasn’t slow and sensual, was allowed, too. He wrung the cloth out as tightly as he could before he gently dabbed it at Yuuri’s face and neck. Soaped him down to his fingers and toes. Longed to kiss those toes, but stopped himself.

“Is that all right?” he asked, checking Yuuri over to see if there were any filmy patches of soap he’d accidentally missed.

“Beautiful. But you’re not finished yet,” Yuuri said with a little smile. When Victor looked at him in confusion, he added, “I could do with my hair washing, after wearing that hat all day. And there are other more intimate parts of me you missed.”

Victor looked at him in surprise. “You said not to touch you in a sexual way.”

“How does washing me equate to sexual touch?”

After a moment of consideration, Victor answered, “Because it’s arousing. I can’t help it, Yuuri. That’s just how you are to me.”

“I…I’m flattered. But I really do need you to do a proper job of this. Do you think you’re up to it?”

Reflecting back on their earlier conversation, and how he’d promised himself he would make this work, Victor nodded. “Of course. I’ll be happy to look after you, Yuuri.”

He meant it, and he did it. Yuuri shifted from the bench, and Victor supported him with an arm around his shoulders while he washed his hair with the soap, taking care not to get any in his eyes. Yuuri kept them closed anyway, looking like a perfectly content sleeping prince. Then Victor washed him lower down. He realised he’d never actually done this for anyone before, unless as a quick prelude to sex, and it was…tender. Intimate, but in a new way. Why hadn’t he thought of it himself, with Yuuri, at the castle?

When he was done, Yuuri sat up as if from a dream, slicked his hair back, and gave Victor a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” he said softly. “That was wonderful.” He held his hand out for the bar of soap. “Your turn.”

Surprised and pleased that he was getting the same treatment, Victor was pliant in Yuuri’s hands. They smiled and laughed as Yuuri soaped and rinsed; and Victor decided that having his hair washed like this was divine. He relaxed into it when Yuuri cleaned more private places. And then, just as Victor was half-floating on his back in the water with his eyes closed, he felt Yuuri’s touch change. Soaping places that were already clean, fingers trailing, caressing. Circling a nipple. Gliding up his neck…

Victor hummed and opened his eyes, to find large brown ones gazing placidly down. He reached a hand around to the back of Yuuri’s neck and began to lift himself to meet his lips.

“No,” Yuuri said. “Remember what I told you. No sexual touching.”

“But that’s what you were doing to me.” Victor heard a whine creep into his voice.

“That rule doesn’t apply to me. And I get to decide what the rules are. Are you going to tell me to stop?”

Victor opened his mouth. “No” came out.

“Good.” Yuuri gave him a warm grin. “Relax, Vitya.”

Whether it was an order or not, Victor sighed and leaned back again, allowing Yuuri to do what he wanted. Which was to move those devilish fingers all over his body, apart from where he was soon aching to be touched. Then there were kisses in his damp hair, on his temple, near his ear. Along his jaw, on his neck – oh God…

_This man has a deeply mischievous streak, _Victor thought as he forced his hands to remain limp in the water. He hadn’t fully understood what being a sub entailed at first. Yuuri wasn’t just taking control, but challenging him; pushing him to be certain that this was what he wanted and was able to do. To prove that he could commit to it as something more than a passing whim.

He intended to. But Yuuri wasn’t making it easy. Victor was partially in his lap, his erection bobbing along with the gentle waves in the tub. When those wandering fingers of Yuuri’s finally found his cock and began stroking, Victor groaned. Lay there and felt the building coil of tension in his abdomen. But he was never a selfish lover, and his partner’s enjoyment was as important to him as his own, and fuelled his desire. “Let me touch you, my sweet,” he said, the empty water in his own hands a continuing frustration.

Yuuri paused in an open-mouthed kiss against his neck, then pulled back a bit. “That’s not how I said this works. I touch you, but you don’t touch me.”

“But that’s not _fair._” A definite whine now.

“Life isn’t fair. Maybe you need some help to restrain yourself.” Yuuri got out from under him, left the bath and wrapped a towel around himself. Victor watched curiously, with that apprehensive tingle again, as Yuuri found the items he sought and returned with a bottle of oil and one of his brown hose leg-pieces. He put the oil on the table and returned to the bath with the leg-piece, twisting it as if he were wringing a cloth, so that it became a kind of thick rope. Meeting Victor’s eyes, he guided him in crossing his wrists in front of him, then tied the hose-piece around to secure them in place. Victor felt a shiver pass through him. This was real, they were really doing this. And God help him, he loved it.

“I meant to get some actual rope,” Yuuri said, securing the knot so that it was firm but not tight. “I didn’t expect to be doing this here, but…” He looked at Victor as if he were an interesting puzzle. “Lie with your back against the bench. Stretch your legs out in front of you. And raise your arms so that your hands are behind your head.”

Victor complied. He was nude, aroused, at Yuuri’s mercy; and Yuuri was staring at him hungrily, though there was a touch of awe in his eyes too, it seemed. Just the feeling of being secured and exposed under his gaze was doing things to Victor he’d never imagined. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and sighed. _Tease me. Fuck me. Do whatever you want with me,_ he thought, tilting his hips.

“Victor, you’re incredible,” Yuuri breathed. Then Victor felt his presence next to him, skin against skin, and there were hands on his neck, and Yuuri was kissing him. Licking into him; plundering his mouth. Victor moaned and returned the kiss, putting everything he could into it to make up for the fact that he couldn’t use his hands. And in that moment he was suddenly _glad _of the restraint, because it reinforced Yuuri’s rules, removing the temptation to break them. Victor couldn’t touch Yuuri now, and Yuuri was taking full advantage of the fact, hands roaming freely, caressing, kneading. He broke the kiss and breathed Victor’s name, trailing lips and tongue and teeth down his neck, across his chest, laving and gently biting each nipple into stiffness.

Instinct made Victor want to caress Yuuri; run his fingers through his hair. He even tried to move his hands a couple of times before remembering that he couldn’t. Little sparks of pleasure jolted through him as Yuuri worked his way downward, and he found himself wondering what to ask him to do; then reminded himself that he’d put Yuuri in charge, that was the point of this, and it was up to him to decide. Was he planning anything? Was –

His thoughts shattered and he cried out as Yuuri wrapped a hand around the base of his cock while taking it into his mouth, sucking and licking. Yuuri hummed a laugh and paused, looking up at him. “That’s got your attention.” His eyes darted back to Victor’s cock, and he ran a light, playful finger from root to tip. Victor gasped a breath. “This is amazing, Vitya. I can do whatever I want. Should I be quick? Or tease until you’re begging for me?”

“I – ”

“That was me thinking aloud. You don’t get to decide.” He took Victor deep into his mouth while reaching his hands around to cup his buttocks, pulling and squeezing. Victor cried out again, chest heaving. Yuuri was good at this. And he was showing no mercy. He was going to make it quick, then. Victor breathed his name, and little endearments, wishing again that he could run his hands through his hair; finding it oddly thrilling that he’d been prevented from doing anything other than letting Yuuri have his way with him.

All too soon, however, Yuuri drew suddenly back. “No,” he said thoughtfully, somewhat out of breath. “I think we’ll do something else.” A hint of what looked like uncertainty crossed his face. 

“If I may make a suggestion, what you were doing now was…very good.” But when Yuuri stared disapprovingly, Victor swallowed. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I know what I’d like to do; I’ve just never done it before.”

Victor wondered at this; they’d been fairly adventurous with their sex so far, he thought. Training and living together as they were offered plenty of opportunities. But before he could think of anything to say in reply, Yuuri sat back on his heels, the water lapping gently around him.

“Turn over and get on your knees,” he said. “Lean forward over the bench, and rest your arms on the edge of the tub.”

Victor did so, bracing his wrists on the rim. He couldn’t help but feel a little stab of apprehension every time Yuuri told him to do something new like this, even though he liked not knowing what to expect. _This is Yuuri. He’d never hurt me. I promised to trust him. _But what could he be up to? He’d already taken Victor from behind, more than once, and it had been wonderful. What now? He couldn’t see what Yuuri was doing, and he wasn’t making any noise. There was no touch on his skin. He stopped himself from saying anything; waiting.

Then a quick caress on the inside of his thigh. “Spread your legs a bit wider,” Yuuri told him. When he did, he felt his cheeks being gently prised apart; and before he could wonder or react, the tip of Yuuri’s tongue licked a stripe from his balls to his entrance. Victor’s mouth fell open, and he gasped and shuddered. Yuuri did it again, more slowly, then swiped circles around the ring of muscle.

“Yuuri…” Victor moaned, “…how do you know to do these things? What they must have taught you…in your future – ” But Yuuri darted his tongue into his entrance, and he wasn’t sure he could remember how to speak.

Yuuri tried different things with his lips and tongue; fast and slow, stiff and soft. When Yuuri began a series of quick little stabs into his entrance, Victor’s breaths hitched, and his head hung down between his arms. He moaned and called Yuuri’s name; louder, faster. Yuuri continued to hold him open while he reached around and squeezed Victor’s balls, eliciting another loud cry.

“I…I need…” Victor struggled to articulate exactly what. “You’re driving me crazy,” he said in a cracked voice. “God, Yuuri, I want you.”

Yuuri paused. “Who’s deciding what happens here?” he said a little hoarsely.

Victor bit his lip. “You are.”

Another pause. “You’re going to have to convince me how much you want it first.”

Victor considered this. “How much more convincing can I be?” But then Yuuri continued where he’d left off, and Victor felt a pulse straight to his groin. He wasn’t sure if he could come like this, but all his senses were heightened, with no respite. “Please,” he said. Once, twice, three times. Yuuri tugged at his balls but wouldn’t touch his cock, his clever tongue sweeping and darting. “God, Yuuri, please,” Victor moaned. “I can’t bear it. Please, fuck me, I’m begging you. I need it.” But Yuuri carried on, and Victor struggled to articulate anything else, his thighs beginning to quiver with the need for release. Then all sensation ceased, apart from the water flowing against his skin, as Yuuri moved. Quiet. A stopper being pulled. Wavelets and more movement. Two warm oiled fingers entering him. He let out a sigh.

“If I told you I wanted you to fuck me instead, would you do it?” Yuuri asked as he worked his fingers in and out.

Victor wondered what to say.

“You’re not sure?”

“Yes, I’d do it,” he answered quickly.

“No matter how much you wanted this instead?” At the same time as he spoke, Yuuri moved his fingers deeper, hitting the pleasure spot there, and Victor heard himself whimper.

“Yes,” he repeated. “Anything, Yuuri…I’ll – I’ll do whatever you want.”

The fingers slid out. “Good. I think your trust in me ought to be rewarded.”

Then he felt Yuuri’s hands on his hips, while he positioned himself at Victor’s entrance. As he slid in, Victor surprised himself with the deep moan that came from his throat. Yuuri made a softer, breathier sound, gripping with his fingers. Then he began to move slowly. Too, _too _slow, to alleviate the ache in Victor’s groin. He was a mess; back and arms sore from being tensed in unusual positions, wrists pinned to the rim of the tub, hands dangling uselessly, cock throbbing to be touched. And yet his awareness was centred on the wonderful fullness of Yuuri inside him; Yuuri giving him what he wanted, letting him have release of a kind. It felt somehow like he’d worked for this, and waves of pleasure rocked through him with every thrust. But they were too _slow_.

“I’m close,” he managed to say.

“You are?” was the surprised reply. “Tell me what you want, then. Faster?”

“Yes,” Victor sighed, gratified to have a say in this. “Please…do me hard. Touch me, make me come.”

Yuuri did as he asked, slamming quickly into him, again and again. The sounds of damp skin slapping, and the moans and grunts and gasps escaping them both, filled the room. Victor was struggling to hold himself back against the swelling tide in him, wanting to give Yuuri time; it sounded like he was getting close too, his breathy cries growing louder and higher.

“Vitya…fuck…”

“Yuuri…God, yes…give it to me.” Victor slipped his wrists down so that he could grab the rim of the tub.

Without slowing his pace, Yuuri reached around and found Victor’s cock, gripping it firmly and pumping it.

White heat erupted through Victor and he shouted, clutching the rim, squeezing his eyes shut as his mouth dropped open. For a moment he didn’t even know where he was; there were only pulses of pleasure, and his love deep inside him, calling out his name as he shot his seed. Time hung suspended while they existed as one on some heavenly plane.

His calming breaths, Yuuri’s fingers on his hips relaxing their hold; those were the things Victor was aware of first. Then his protesting muscles. Knees against the hard, cloth-covered wooden floor of the bucket. Yuuri slipping out of him; the sense of loss Victor always felt when they uncoupled. He rested his elbows on the bench, staring at his imprisoned wrists. The lukewarm water was wrinkling his toes.

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered. He was on his knees next to him, draping an arm over his back, his expression one of concern. “Are you OK?”

Victor nodded with a little smile. “I feel like…like something very pleasurable rammed into me.” Then he gave a laugh. _It was you._

“Here.” Yuuri quickly untied his wrists and tossed the hose-piece to the floor. “It wasn’t too tight?”

“No.” Victor moved his hands in circles. “Are we done with the power play now?”

“Sure,” Yuuri replied softly. “I suppose we’d better get out of the tub, but…come here just for a minute? That’s not an order,” he added with a grin, kicking back into the water and holding his arms out. Victor joined him, allowing Yuuri to cradle him as he’d done earlier when they’d been bathing. The hands on his chest caressed gently, and Yuuri kissed his hair. “I love you,” he whispered. “You’re still my shining angel.”

Victor took one of his hands and kissed his fingers.

“What did you think? Is that something you’d want to try again, in different ways, or…be honest, if you never want to do it again – ”

“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I’d want to do it again.” Victor sensed Yuuri relax underneath him, as if he’d been uncertain of his response. “There was more to it than I expected at first, but that was…interesting, and new.” He huffed a laugh. “I fear this may not be as easy as I thought, but I want to keep trying. I’ll get better at it.”

“It wasn’t always easy for me, either.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have known.” He grinned. “You were very masterful. It helped me get my mind to that peaceful place where you’re in charge and I can…let go. I must say, though…” He sighed languorously. “…I’m quite done in. Moreso than if we’d just sparred several rounds.”

“Maybe that’s good. You can rest now.”

“I can, but I won’t go to sleep yet. There’s food and drink to be had. And you must allow me to spoil you with hugs and kisses – neither of which were possible most of the time while I was doing what you told me.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Are you giving me an order?”

“Yes,” Victor said, smiling back. “Kiss me.”

Yuuri tilted his head down, clearly happy to oblige. 


	83. Black Death (Part 11)

“Do you need to stop at the market before we go?” Victor asked.

Yuuri shook his head. It felt good to be able to do it without the material from the chaperon getting in the way; they were in their armour again, with their travelling bags over their shoulders, having exited The White Swan onto the street. “I’m keen to get moving, unless there’s anything you need to buy.”

“Not on this trip, I don’t think.” Victor looked around. “Sunny day. And it’s already almost as warm as you’d expect by the afternoon.”

“Should be nice travelling back. I’ve only just got used to not wearing a coat or a cloak all the time.”

Victor chuckled as they began to walk. “You don’t know what it’s like wearing clothes and a gambeson under your armour on warm days. The real Justin would probably be complaining that he expected to be roasting alive by the none bells.”

“Ah. That doesn’t sound so good.”

“We could always remove our armour once we collected our horses.” He considered. “But it would be better to keep it on, I think, until we’re on Crowood land. Just in case. Though the roads around here ought to be safe enough.” After a pause, he asked, “Would your climate control prevent hot days?”

“They’d try. Usually they’d be successful, unless they were battling a really strong weather system.”

Victor looked at him for a moment as they walked. “I can hardly imagine what it’s like to live like that. Your time must be truly extraordinary.”

Yuuri didn’t reply. He was beginning to worry that he was inadvertently painting a rosier picture of 2121 than it deserved, and he’d got Victor thinking it was some kind of paradise. He could see how it might seem so in his eyes, compared to the worst 1393 had to offer, but it still had its own problems.

None of which he felt like going into right now, as they passed grand timber-framed slate-roofed buildings and a stream of merchants and carts heading toward the market. The usual aromas of roasting meat and baking bread mingled with the less savoury ones of rotting food and excrement; he remembered the pungent mix well from his days at The Black Dog. But soon it all faded into the background; the past few days had been busy, and he was still trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

They walked past The Eagle, and he recalled their first evening in the city. It had been good to catch up with Roger and Seamus. But Victor had been worried about his meeting the following day, and he’d been subdued when the lady in the tavern joined them and spoke about seeing him and Alexander on the wheel. _And what did I do? I pressured him about it myself when we left. _It had been a bad time to let his enthusiasm carry him away. Maybe Victor didn’t _want _to perform on the wheel anymore – not with him, or on his own. The memories of doing it with his brother might still be too painful.

_So when are we going to stop walking on eggshells where Alexander’s concerned? _he thought, glancing at Victor. There never seemed to be an ideal time to risk picking at that particular wound; it was bad enough he’d done it that night, and then followed it up in their room with a lecture he’d never intended to give about the treatment of poor people and serfs here. Though it had admittedly felt good to share his feelings about it, and he suspected he’d given Victor something to think about.

When they arrived at the top of the hill, the minster loomed to their right a short distance away, the western front in shadow while the green to either side of it glowed in the sun. They turned left, heading in the opposite direction.

_The duke and the archbishop would’ve had my head on a spike if I’d suggested those kinds of things to them – paying serfs and so on. _Another glance at Victor, who smiled at him.

“Are you still certain you want to do this?” Victor asked.

“Absolutely,” Yuuri said with a nod, and they carried on. _You’re the noblest of them all, in so many ways._

The glimpse of the minster reminded him of the play they’d watched – like a predecessor to _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_, with the woodland frolics and fairies. For once, he was looking forward to a dramatic production at the castle when they came to entertain the king. And then afterward, seeing Daisy and Jan again…Victor had made a valid, if painful, point about the social divide between them now, though that wasn’t something any of them had control over. Yuuri decided he was glad he’d given them the money. He wouldn’t miss it, and they didn’t have much. He wondered if he’d ever see them again.

_Of course I will. Because I’ll come back to York, with Victor. And I’m not going to let these stupid feudal hierarchies stand in my way._

A grey edifice, like a cross between a Norman church and a small castle, rose imposingly against the clear blue sky further down the street. Not far to go now.

The sun glinted in Victor’s hair and was mirrored in his armour. _My shining angel._

What he’d _done _to his shining angel the night before…Yuuri felt a pulse of heat as he remembered.

He’d been trying for a while to find the courage to officially start the power play they’d both agreed to. Letting that dynamic emerge naturally had been one thing, but prearranging it seemed formal; staged. He also had no experience or special knowledge to rely on. Still, he’d been determined to do his best to make it work, because it was what Victor wanted – and if it meant turning him into a beautiful compliant mess like he’d been the night Yuuri had held his wrists against the door, then well, that was all the more reason to persevere.

Often in the mornings while he was exercising, he’d been wondering what kind of dom to be for Victor, reflecting on their conversation that night. It seemed important for the focus to be on helping Victor to give over his trust. No kind of violence or punishment required; just a reminder, hopefully, that he had willingly agreed to what they were doing, coupled with his dom’s disappointment when he made a mistake. It would involve a psychological game where Victor had to be allowed to test the boundaries and find them firm, because that was the only way he’d feel safe enough to let go. Yuuri was glad he understood these things to a degree; the summer he’d spent several years back working as a techie at a unit for challenging youngsters while doing his undergraduate course had been a big help. He hadn’t been directly involved with the children, but he’d seen how the instructors and pastoral assistants supported them, and had been curious enough to research the psychology behind it. Being a dom was an entirely different situation, of course, but at its core was still the idea of giving and receiving trust, setting out rules, and lovingly enforcing them. While being a bit of a tease, too, since it seemed appropriate given the circumstances.

And now that they’d tried it, Yuuri decided he’d liked it. It didn’t feel completely natural to him, like a part of his personality that had been waiting for the chance to emerge; more like a role he could ease into and play with, the goal being to pleasure Victor – and himself. He seemed to have succeeded, though he’d felt slightly tense and nervous at first. Victor had also pushed and tested more than Yuuri had expected, but he was pleased with how well he’d coped with that. 

Come to think of it, maybe there _was _some satisfaction involved in feeling like he had such a powerful man at his mercy; the man he loved, his willing submissive. But it was also a responsibility – to come up with ideas that would work for them both, and to rely on his knowledge and creativity where his lack of sexual experience might be a hindrance. If he got it wrong…but then, that was where Victor was meant to tell him to stop. They were partners; they could talk about it. He was glad Victor had expressed a wish for the power play to only be every once in a while, though, because while it was an interesting aspect of their relationship to explore, Yuuri didn’t want it to be the main one.

“I’d love to know what you’re thinking,” Victor said.

“I’m remembering what we did last night,” Yuuri replied while briefly hooding his eyes.

Victor let out a breath, and then a corner of his mouth turned up in a small smirk. “I’ve been doing that a lot myself this morning. I’m not likely to forget it any time soon.” He looked at Yuuri as they walked. “You’re amazing,” he said quietly.

Yuuri just smiled back. They were nearing the entrance to St. Leonard’s hospital, a large open arched door on thick iron hinges. “I suppose he should be well settled in by now.” With a laugh, he added, “Maybe he actually made me that pair of shoes, who knows. Can you believe he still does that? He even remembers all his customers’ shoe sizes. It’ll be good to see him again. Maybe he’s happier here.”

“You didn’t know him long, did you?” Victor asked as a quartet of men and women in travelling hoods opened the door in front of them to exit, and he and Yuuri passed inside.

“No; he and his relatives only stayed one night. But sometimes people make an impression on you, you know? He seemed so ordinary, despite what he’d been through. Well, I say ‘ordinary’. ‘Extraordinary’ is a better word.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

They were in a large vestibule with narrow rectangular leaded glass windows. A corridor extended beyond, down which a woman in a loose tan dress and white wimple was walking. As she approached them with an expression of pleasant curiosity, Yuuri could see she was old by medieval standards, perhaps in her sixties.

“My lords,” she said with a bow. “Welcome to St. Leonard’s. How may I be of service?”

Yuuri realised that Victor was waiting for him to speak. “I’m Sir Justin la Rose, and this is Sir Victor Nikiforov. We’ve come to visit a resident of yours, if, um, if we may be permitted.”

“I shall see what I can do. Is he a relative?”

“No. He’s a cordwainer by the name of Henry Jago who came to stay here about three months ago. An older man, blind and missing a leg.”

She thought for a moment. “I wish I could say I knew every resident here, but we have over two hundred, and those infirmities are not uncommon among them. If you’ll wait here, I’ll see what I can discover for you.” She bobbed a quick curtsey and disappeared back down the hall.

Yuuri looked around the dim room, with its shadowed grey vaulted ceiling and terracotta tiles decorated with cream-coloured flower patterns. Voices in conversation drifted down the hall along with clanks and clatters, all hinting at a busy establishment. More women dressed like the first came and went. Two of them supported an elderly man on crutches who was moving very slowly, in obvious pain.

“He’d be a lot better off in a wheelchair,” Yuuri murmured.

Victor looked at him quizzically. “A what?”

But then they were joined by another woman who was perhaps thirty years younger than the first, with wide grey eyes. She bowed. “God give you good morning, my lords. Am I to understand you’re the ones who have been asking after Henry Jago?”

“Good morning,” Yuuri replied. “Yes, that’s right. Do you mind if we see him?”

“I’m afraid I must be the bearer of bad news,” she said gently. “God took him about a fortnight ago.”

_God took…?_ Yuuri stared. “He died?”

“He’d been ill for some while. It seems the Lord finally had mercy on his soul, with the injuries he’d lived with for so long. Though he had a spark about him still.”

Yuuri looked at Victor and saw sympathy in his eyes. Why, in the midst of all of his assumptions, hadn’t he been prepared for this?

“Sister Rohesia told me you’re not family? How did you know him?”

“He, um, was a friend,” Yuuri replied quietly.

She paused in thought. “We’ve sent word more than once of his passing to his daughter and her husband in Huddersfield, but have had no reply. When I was told you’d arrived, I confess I’d hoped they’d sent you to pay the outstanding fees and remove his effects.”

Edith and Herbert, Yuuri remembered. There had been no love lost among them, and it didn’t seem surprising that Henry’s kin were being awkward now. Anger stewed in the pit of his stomach at the plight of such people here. At least they had hospitals like this, if they could pay. But he knew many couldn’t. 

He hadn’t realised his feelings must be showing, but Victor placed a hand lightly on his arm, and he took a breath to calm himself. “How much money do they owe?” he asked the woman.

“One and a half shillings, my lord.”

He reached into his purse, removed the coins, and handed them over. She stared in surprise as she accepted them.

“Forgive me, my lord, but you said you hadn’t come on behalf of the family?”

“I’ve met them, and I think you might have a hard time getting what you want from them. This should save you the trouble.”

She smiled. “Bless you, sir. You have a generous heart.” She paused. “My name is Cecily; I was acquainted with Henry during his short stay. He plied his trade here until he was too ill to do so, and made some lovely shoes. Might there be a pair among them for you? He’s labelled them with names, if you’d care to look. I wasn’t sure how we’d ever track any of the customers down. Two have come to us, asking for what they’d ordered, but a number of pairs are still left.”

“I’d like that,” Yuuri replied. “Thank you.”

They followed Cecily down the hall. The corridor itself was dark, but doors opened onto dormitories illuminated by large Gothic windows. They reminded Yuuri of the servants’ quarters in the castle, segregated by gender, containing rows of beds and small cupboards. Through the warped clear window glass he could make out a sea of green, perhaps a courtyard or garden.

“It was necessary to remove his belongings from the dormitory,” Cecily explained as they walked. “I’ve stored them in here.” She stopped before a door, unlocked it with a key hanging from her belt, and led them inside a room with a rectangular window and a large cupboard. Upon opening it, Yuuri saw rows of shelves stacked with folded clothes, battered hats and shoes, belts, small boxes, and other personal accoutrements.

“When our residents are called home by God,” Cecily said, “and no one collects their effects, we keep them for a short time before giving them to the almoner to distribute to the poor, if they’re not too threadbare. The shoes Henry made are on this shelf.” She pointed. “He could spend hours at a time working on them. Sometimes he explained to me what he was doing, and I daresay it was very clever. I often thought that if the Lord had seen fit to allow him to keep some of his sight, he might still have been quick enough at it to turn a penny in his trade without having to come here; though we did our best to look after him, as we do with everyone.”

“Cecily,” a harried woman’s voice called from the hall, “I need your help, dove.”

She glanced out the door, then turned to Yuuri and Victor. “I’ll leave you to examine the shoes, my lords. I won’t be a moment.” She curtseyed and then bustled out of the room.

“I’m truly sorry,” Victor said as Yuuri touched one of the new shoes on the shelf – soft pale leather.

He shook his head. “I’m being silly. I hardly knew him, after all.”

“But he made an impression on you.”

Yuuri’s throat hitched. “Yeah, he did. It’s shitty that this was how it ended for him. No one even to mourn.”

“There’s you.”

Yuuri glanced at him, wondering if he was joking, knowing he never would about something like this. “I’m not exactly his daughter.”

“It can be difficult to understand how things are in a family.”

_I wonder how they are in yours_. If anything happened to Victor, then beyond feeling the loss of their heir and deadly weapon, how much would his parents miss him? But Victor’s demise, and his looming death date, were the last things Yuuri wanted to think about right now. Bad enough that they were here, looking through the possessions of a man he’d expected to be able to visit and talk with, introduce to Victor, and say some kind of proper goodbye to, if nothing else.

He pulled out the pale leather shoe and examined it. Tiny, even stitches holding each piece together. A smooth, curving boat shape with a firm sole. Yuuri knew he was no expert, but it seemed to him a good piece of craftsmanship for someone who was sighted, let alone someone who wasn’t. How had he _done _this?

A flash of white inside caught his eye, and he reached inside and pulled out a slip of paper. The looping handwriting was difficult to read, but he thought it said “Robert the Red”. A little smile played over his lips. He wondered where Henry had learned to read and write.

“Yuuri, look,” Victor said.

He was holding a different type of shoe, this one ankle height, of dark stained leather, the toes tapering fashionably to a point, but not ostentatious. Yuuri suddenly recalled laughing with Henry about what he said were called Crakows and poulaines, with toes that could extend to double the length of the actual foot. 

“Look inside,” Victor told him quietly.

Yuuri took it with a flutter in his chest. Reaching in, he removed a slip of paper with “Yury” written on it. He sucked in a breath.

Victor held his gaze inquisitively, then turned back to the cupboard. “It’s a comely pair of shoes. Here’s the mate.” He took it off the shelf.

Yuuri stared at the shoe in his hand, then felt a tear trickle down his face and wiped it away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It just cheered me up sometimes to think of him being here, where he might be happy. Happier than he was, anyway. But…” He bit his lip. “Maybe it _was_ a relief in the end. He told me it wasn’t an easy life, but he was managing. He was looking forward to coming here, but he didn’t like the idea of having to attend mass three times a day.” He chuckled, and Victor joined him.

“Who would? I imagine even monks must tire of it eventually.”

Yuuri’s laughter faded to a grin, and he sniffed, running a finger over the shoe; _his _shoe. “I told him I was from Japan, and I told him my real name. I felt awful about what I’d done, running away from the castle, and he was the first person I felt I could tell about it.”

“I’m glad you found someone, my sweet. I wish I could’ve met him.”

“You were so good about it, Victor. About what I’d done. Even talking to your father. But at the time, as I told Henry, I was afraid everyone at the castle would think I was a coward, and I’d be punished. I knew I was letting a lot of people down. That included Celestino and Phichit, and everyone else who’s depending on me, though I didn’t go into all that with him. But seeing what he had to cope with from one day to the next helped me find the courage to decide to return to the castle.” He shrugged. “Then I saw Julia put into the pillory, and well, you know the rest.”

“That was the first time I was afraid I was going to lose you,” Victor murmured. “I was so worried. I tried so hard to find you.”

“I know.” Yuuri stroked his cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You were the main person I knew I was letting down. And I wanted so much to be with you.”

“Don’t ever go again,” Victor said quickly, and so quietly Yuuri almost didn’t hear him. But then Victor’s cheeks pinked, and he swallowed and looked down. Yuuri wondered how to answer; didn’t know if he even could.

Victor held the second shoe out to him. “Try them on, Yuuri. Did he know your shoe size?”

“Yeah, he measured me. I even picked the leather myself. But, um, I think I’d better keep them somewhere safe.”

“Why?”

“Well, so they’ll last.”

“But they were made for wearing, weren’t they? Don’t you think Henry would want you to, and enjoy them?”

Yuuri took the shoe and gave him a sad smile.

Cecily returned as he was tying on the second shoe, having removed his sabatons. Unlike modern work shoes or his own medieval boots, which were thick and stiff, these comfortably fitted around the shape of his feet like gloves.

“Did he make those for you?” Cecily said. “Oh, they are smart, sir. Take them, and godspeed.”

She showed them out of the building, thanking Yuuri again for his kindness. He’d paused to take the shoes off and stow them carefully in his travelling bag for now, though on occasions when he wasn’t wearing his armour, he intended to take Victor’s advice and put them to the use they were designed for. Once outside the hospital, Yuuri turned to look at the building.

“There isn’t much left of this place in my time,” he mused. “Just a preserved shell.” He turned and began to walk back the way they’d come. “It’s hard to think of a hospital as any place other than where ill people are helped to get well.”

“Why would ill people go to a hospital?” Victor asked.

“Why _wouldn’t _they? That was their purpose for centuries. Physicians were there to treat the patients.”

“Many here are run by monks and nuns. I believe some might care for the genuinely ill, but most take in those who are old or infirm. Some may even take in the poor, but the majority insist on payment that would be beyond the means of many.” Before Yuuri could reply, he added, “I think I know what you’d say about that, my love, and you’d be right.”

“I thought caring for the sick was supposed to be a Christian thing to do.”

Victor shook his head, more in consternation than in disagreement, it seemed. “Yes and no, according to who you listen to. Many people believe – ”

“Oh God, not again,” Yuuri sighed. “That you shouldn’t try to cure someone while Jupiter’s in retrograde? That if you misbehave, God will send a plague down upon you?”

Victor was silent. Yuuri looked at him while they continued walking, though they’d slowed a bit. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You know it makes me angry, but none of it’s your fault.”

“It’s not that. It’s…well, you’re more correct than you perhaps know. Many people believe that illness is sent from God as a punishment for sins. It therefore follows that if you try to cure an ill person, you’re acting against God’s will.”

Yuuri’s mouth dropped open. “Jesus fucking Christ, Victor.”

“I know. Though it’s rather more complicated than that. For example, I’ve heard it said that since God is the source of everything, then the possible physical causes of illness are in line with Christian doctrine. And if you repent of your sins, God may heal you; it can also be done by physical methods, though you’d have to pray as well. Which means that you can disparage someone for bringing illness down upon themselves, but you can also justify attempting to heal them. I think there’s quite a mixture of opinions on the subject.”

“It’s a fucking cockup of epic proportions. I can’t believe people are in power who come out with this bullshit. These are the same people who say a beaver’s a bloody fish so they can eat meat on bloody fast days.”

Victor snorted a little laugh. “I love you. And I love the way you talk. It’s so refreshing, Yuuri. And yes, I agree it’s a ridiculous muddle. I’ll never believe that illness is a scourge from God, and I daresay I feel as strongly about it as you do.”

Yuuri nodded, guessing the reason. “Do you reckon the archbishop’s at home today?” he asked as they walked past the minster, deciding to try to lighten the mood. “We could go in and tell him.” Victor raised an eyebrow. “Or…not.” A bead of sweat sprang out on his brow. “You’re right, it’s going to be hot today.”

“I was going to suggest taking a different route back to the castle, a road that isn’t so frequently used. It might be more peaceful, without so many horses and wagons.” He looked at Yuuri and gave him a little smile. “There’s also a lake. We could swim, if it pleased you.”

“After we took our armour off, right?” Victor huffed a laugh and gave his arm a playful punch. “I haven’t been swimming at all since I got here. You think the water would be warm enough? Wait – I’m asking the man who exercises without a shirt when there’s snow on the ground.”

“You do it too,” Victor said with a smirk.

“Only to teach you not to be so smug.” That got another laugh.

“You can try it and see. I daresay it’ll feel refreshing by the time we get there.”

“OK, I will.”

They were nearing the stable. Yuuri told himself he would have to think more carefully about these impassioned complaints he was making. It was a relief in a way, but at the same time, despite his feelings, it could be tempting to view Victor as an embodiment of this society against which he could direct every bit of frustration and disgust he’d felt since arriving here. That was wrong, and had to stop now, he realised, before he damaged their relationship. The fact that Victor was willing to listen, try to understand, and even act on his words if he could, was a precious thing – as was his love. The idea of ruining it all made Yuuri feel sick.

As they turned the corner and the stable came into view, he found that he was looking forward to returning to their rooms at the castle, and to training and sparring; even keeping an eye on Mistress Ramsay, which he’d been nervous about neglecting while they were away.

_I may not have got to see Henry Jago, but he reached out to me anyway. I wonder how much time it took to make those shoes, and what his thoughts were while he did it. If he was curious about Japan and my strange name, and whether I made it back to the castle._

_I just wish I could say thank you._


	84. Chapter 84

Riding across Crowood land, where Victor said they should be safe from attack, they removed their armour and stowed it in their saddlebags. Yuuri was wearing a tunic that was still warm for the weather, as well as Henry’s shoes, which were soft and comfortable. He’d dispensed with the hat. Had a more pointless fashion statement ever existed? But Victor was wearing his black cloth one, always at that jaunty angle, and looked as elegant as usual, now that his hair had dried and his fringe had flopped over his eye again. Maybe a hat wasn’t so pointless when it was perched on _his_ head.

They’d had an invigorating swim in the sparkling lake Victor had guided them to, followed by a languorous drying-off session side by side on a flat rock under the hot sun. Yuuri had never swum nude before – didn’t think he’d even been _outdoors _nude before – but Victor had reassured him that it was ordinary for people to do it on a day like this. They hadn’t been interrupted, however, and Yuuri had even been tempted to imagine for a while that without clothes or buildings or anything else as reminders of the centuries that stood between them, they could have been just two contemporary men enjoying each other’s company with hardly a care. It had been difficult to leave, though the beauty of their surroundings on the meandering route Victor had chosen to travel went some way to making up for it.

The country seemed wilder here. The road was only wide enough for a cart, and would be dangerous in places for such a vehicle, though on foot or by horse it served the purpose. They passed only a pair of travelling monks over the course of what must have been a couple of hours. Fields could occasionally be viewed in the distance, dotted with sheep and cows, but the terrain here was mostly heather-crowned moorland, lacking the dry stone walls Yuuri was used to seeing in his time.

“I’m glad you chose this way,” he said to Victor. “The first time I went to York, I just followed the river.”

“This takes a bit longer, but I agree. I haven’t been out here in years, actually. It’s a sparsely populated part of the estate. But…ah, _yes_ – there it is.” He was gazing into the distance, at an outcrop of dark rocks on a hillside. “How could I have forgotten about it? I grew up, did my training as a knight, started tending to the affairs of the castle, all those things…and somehow it felt like I didn’t have the time anymore for frivolous jaunts into the countryside.”

“Is that a place you used to visit?”

“Oh, yes.” He thought for a moment. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Sure,” Yuuri replied, wondering what the significance of it was. A pleasant place for a young boy to climb and play? The view from the top of the hill must be amazing. They rode across a stretch of gorse; Yuuri could hear a stream trickling somewhere nearby. Once at the tall outcrop, they dismounted and staked out their horses.

“This place is called the Giant’s Teeth. We’re standing by them now, do you see? You start climbing here.” Victor placed a foot on a narrow dirt strip between the massive flat-faced rocks. He looked up with a smile, deciding to remove his hat and placing it in a pocket. “This way.”

They did look rather like teeth, Yuuri decided. Cavity-ridden ones. “Are we going to the top?” he asked as he climbed behind Victor. It was easy, as long as he was careful about where he put his feet, and braced a hand against the rocks for balance.

“If nothing obstructs the way. It really has been a while.”

When they were several storeys in height, their horses grazing below and the green hills stretching out to the horizon, Victor paused. “I wonder…” he said, seemingly to himself.

Yuuri turned his face to the breeze; the climb wasn’t much of an exertion, as used to running up the castle hill with heavy sacks on his shoulder as he was, but it was still a hot day even without his armour, and his forehead was covered with a sheen of sweat. He wiped it away with his sleeve.

“Oh,” Victor said softly. Yuuri watched him turn the corner around a high pillow-shaped rock, and when he followed he discovered an opening there, not large enough to properly be called a cave, but offering a sheltered space with a flat earthen floor. Victor had entered and was standing in the middle, a hand loosely resting against the wall, with a pensive look in his eyes. Yuuri was glad to step into the coolness inside, though the angle of the sun meant that its rays shone almost to the back.

“Irene was fond of taking us to this hill when we were children,” Victor said. “We used to pretend we could hide from everyone in here. I guess you could say I liked doing that.” He dropped his hand and walked slowly around the alcove. “Appalling behaviour,” he added with a glance Yuuri’s way. “We must have given her headaches. She didn’t deserve it, but well, we were young boys, and she still managed a smile for us in the end, bless her. I wish sometimes that I could apologise, though.”

“From what you’ve told me about her, I think she’d understand,” Yuuri replied. “It’s nice here. I would’ve liked it myself when I was young. I never got the chance to visit the countryside often; it was always a big official trip. To be surrounded by it like we are at the castle…it’s been one of the pleasanter things about being here.”

“I’m glad.” Then Victor’s face fell as he looked down at the opposite wall. Moving forward like a man in a dream, he knelt and raised a hand as if to touch the stone, but held it suspended. “How could I have forgotten?” he said in almost a whisper.

Yuuri approached and knelt beside him. He saw two rectangles, each containing a neatly carved name in all-capitals: “Viktor” and “Alexander”. “I didn’t know you spelled your name with a ‘K’.”

There was a pause before Victor replied distantly, “That was how I was taught. Then when I was older, I decided I was English, not Russian, and it became a ‘C’, much to my father’s dislike.”

“At least they taught you the Latin alphabet,” Yuuri said with a small grin. “Not many people here would be able to read Cyrillic.”

Victor seemed not to have heard. His fingers came to rest on Alexander’s name and began lightly tracing the grooves of the letters. “I can’t believe I forgot we did this. It must have taken hours. I suppose Irene knew where we were all along, and let us play, waiting for us when we returned. I…I can’t remember.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure what to say; had never quite been sure how to address the subject of Victor’s brother.

Victor stopped tracing the letters once he got to the “X” and pressed his palm against the stone, covering the middle of the name. Yuuri saw him swallow and take a breath, followed by several sighs. Then he realised the sighs were quiet sobs. Victor’s shoulders began to shake, and he pressed his hand harder against the stone, as if wishing he could contact some spirit or spark remaining inside of the boy who’d carved it. Tears ran down his cheeks, bleeding into dark circles on the dusty floor. 

“Oh, Vitya,” Yuuri said, turning his projector off as he moved closer and reaching an arm around his shoulders.

Whatever he’d said or done seemed to open the floodgates to a tide of grief, which began pouring from Victor in waves as he sank to a sitting position, his body wracked with sobs whose power precluded speech. Yuuri joined him on the floor, gently pulling him in, as Victor leaned his head on his shoulder. He would hardly have dreamed that the Victor he knew could be capable of displaying such agony. Though he’d got a glimpse of it just before their first kiss, he realised. The first time Victor had even mentioned his brother to him at all.

_He’s kept it bottled up. Like other things too, maybe. This life that he doesn’t feel cut out for. The ways his father has used him. Because who would listen and understand?_

_I can try, Vitya._

But it was hard. Hard to see the man he loved consumed with such pain; hard knowing there was little he could do to take it away. Yuuri felt penetrated by its power as tears began to prick at his own eyes.

_No. Is this how I would have wanted Sam to react when I talked to him about Okasan and Otousan? I have to be here for him without being pulled under myself; that’s what Victor needs. _He took a deep breath and reached into a pocket for the cloth he usually carried with him, then gave it to Victor, who just clutched at it for a while as the tears continued to pour.

Yuuri whispered his name, kissing into his hair and giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. And finally the sobs began to fade and the shaking to still. Victor wiped the cloth across his face, dabbed at his eyes, blew his nose. He sat up straighter, glancing at Yuuri while making an obvious effort to regain some composure. “Thank you,” he said in a small voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“This is…” He gave a shuddering sigh. “…indecorous.”

Yuuri huffed a little laugh. “Since when did you have to worry about being ‘decorous’ with me? God, Victor.” He took his hand, and Victor’s grip was firm. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at him.

“This is the first time I’ve properly cried since Alex died,” he said quietly.

_Two years ago…Jesus, _Yuuri thought. He nodded.

More tears rolled down Victor’s cheeks, and he turned to the name carved in the wall, touching the “A” lovingly. “Would you believe I was admired for ‘taking it like a man’ when I set my face in an emotionless mask as they laid him to rest?” He looked down. “I thought it was for the best, because if I gave in to my feelings, I feared…they’d tear me apart.” He sniffed.

“I couldn’t cry at first, either, when my parents died.”

Victor looked up sharply, as if he’d perhaps momentarily forgotten that Yuuri had endured such a thing. After a moment, he said, “You were thirteen.”

“It doesn’t matter. Anyone can react like that.” Yuuri released Victor’s hand, leaned back with his palms on the floor, and took a breath. Though it had happened years ago, it was never easy to talk about; yet Victor needed his help to do just that. “I couldn’t cry at the funeral, either. I hated the whole thing. I was encouraged to go and view their bodies because that was supposed to help me come to terms with the fact that they were really gone.” He shook his head. “I understood the reasoning, but I don’t think it helped. It was horrible seeing them that way. I still get nightmares about it.”

Victor’s gaze softened. He wiped his nose with the cloth. “Yes, that’s it exactly. That’s not how you want to remember someone.”

“I try not to think about it. To visualise instead how they were when they were alive.” Yuuri made himself think back. “Just after it happened, it was like I lost my feelings. Like I’d been frozen inside. I guess it was the shock.”

“But that feeling went away…didn’t it?”

“Yeah, eventually. Mainly due to my sister, Mari. I still struggled, we both did, but at least we had each other.” He lowered his voice. “Was there anyone you could talk to?”

“No,” Victor said, looking down again. “Once Alex was gone, I wasn’t sure there’d be anyone to mourn for me, either, if I followed him.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t…” _Don’t remind me of your death date, or make me imagine you like that. _“I love you. I hate to think of losing you.”

“I feel the same, Yuuri. With all my heart.”

Yuuri swallowed. They both knew all the awful possibilities. The duel. Ailis. What would happen once Yuuri found her; if she’d been able to repair the time-travel sphere, or had the knowledge and components to do so. If something happened to Justin in the future. They were always there in the background, darkening everything.

“You and Alex must have been very close,” he said.

“Yes, we were.” Victor fell silent for a while, and Yuuri waited. “He was my little brother, and my best friend.” Another tear slipped down a splotchy pink cheek. “But the worst thing is…it was my fault. I sent him to his death.” His voice wavered on the last sentence and he looked around distractedly, face glistening with more tears.

Yuuri moved so that they were sitting side by side, as close as possible, then slipped an arm around Victor’s waist. “Tell me what happened,” he said softly. “He died of plague, didn’t he? How could that have been your fault?”

Victor gave a shaky sigh, watching his hands knead the cloth in his lap. “He caught it in York. But _I _was the one who was supposed to travel there. Just routine business; there were merchants we needed to sort goods and accounts with, and they’d been causing our clerks difficulties. But I also had a manorial court to hold while my father was away, and I needed the officials in attendance, so I couldn’t send them in my stead. Afterward, I was expected to greet and help host a visiting noble family.” He paused to dab at his eyes and nose. “I was childishly frustrated by it all, but I shouldn’t have been. The business in York wasn’t pressing. But Alex volunteered to go. He wanted to help.” His voice went up in pitch. “How could I have known there’d be an outbreak of plague just then?” 

Yuuri wished he could hug and kiss it all away. “But that’s just it,” he said. “You didn’t know. People do favours for each other; it’s normal. It was an accident, Victor. Just one of those shitty things that happen.” When there was no response but a sniff, he added, “You’ve got so much on your shoulders already, but this doesn’t belong there. Your power and responsibilities don’t go that far. It wasn’t your fault.”

“If I hadn’t – ”

“You couldn’t have known. You said so yourself.”

Victor stared at him, face pale with patchy red staining his cheeks, then looked back down at his lap as if digesting this idea.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Yuuri repeated against his shoulder, kissing it. “You have to believe that, because it’s the truth.”

Victor bit his lip. Then he took a deep breath. “Oh, Yuuri,” he said hoarsely. “I never believed it when I said it to myself, because it just felt like wishing it away.” More tears fell. 

“Remember what I said, then. Let it ease your heart, if you can. Remind yourself of it whenever this bothers you again.”

“I’m always going to regret my decision that day, I know it. But maybe…maybe I can start to believe, now, that I’m not so guilty after all. I hope so.” He sniffed and fingered the signet ring on his left pinky, then held it up for view. “This was his. It’s all I have left of him in this world now.”

As Yuuri looked at the Nikiforov coat of arms crowning the thick band, a sliver of light caught the glimmering gold. Victor was never without it. Thinking about all the times he’d seen him touching it, consciously or not, Yuuri blinked and nodded.

Victor dropped his hand and snuggled closer. “I never intended to talk about this,” he said quietly. “Certainly not here. And then we passed this way, and I remembered climbing these rocks, and I thought it would be…” His voice trailed off.

“Fun to come here again, after all that time,” Yuuri finished for him, and Victor nodded. “I’m glad you showed me. I’m glad you told me about this, too. Maybe it’ll help.” Another nod. Victor’s tears were leaving a damp patch on Yuuri’s tunic. But there hadn’t been any more of those deep wracking sobs since the beginning of their conversation; this was more like a grey day of gentle rain. Yuuri simply held him as he’d done at the top of the hill on St. Bosa’s Day, the anniversary of Alexander’s death, unknown to him at the time.

“What was he like?” he eventually asked.

Victor was still and silent for a moment. Then the ghost of a grin crossed his face. “Three years younger than me. Dark hair like my father, trimmed beard – he was quite vain about that,” he said with a little laugh. “I was told we had the same blue eyes.” Victor seemed to fall into his stride once he realised he was able to talk about this. His voice was that of someone recalling warm memories, though still quiet and somewhat shaky. “He was a keen sparring partner, always trying to best me. Succeeding more times than I’d care to admit. The wheel we’ve been using on the hill was originally his idea. They were correct at The Eagle when they told you he and I had performed on it. We’d spar with both feet on the ground, then get on the wheel and…dance. In a manner of speaking.” He closed his eyes, and there was that hint of a grin again.

“And you stopped using it when he died?” Yuuri said. “Until – ”

“That’s right. Until you guessed its purpose and hopped on. It made me remember how much I used to enjoy it. There was one time…” But seeming to think better of it, he fell silent.

“Go on, what?”

Eventually Victor said, “We were performing one day in York, and an elderly woman with a basket of apples over her arm was making her displeasure known. She kept waving her hand and telling us to stop prancing about. Alex hopped off the wheel and asked her how much money she wanted for her basket of apples. In the end, I suppose for the sake of brevity, he agreed to pay her an exorbitant price. Then he gave them to me – there was quite a crowd watching us – and got back on the wheel. Told me to toss the apples up high, one at a time, and he’d cut every one in half while the wheel was turning; it was Cuthbert, his squire, doing it for him in those days. And if he missed a single apple, he said, he’d pay the woman double for the loss.”

“Wow. And did he get all of them?”

“He did. He was a show-off,” Victor chuckled softly. “But mainly, I think, because he didn’t want to be in my shadow. I always had three years on him, you see, and I never let my standards slip.”

“Oh my God,” Yuuri breathed. “That day in December, when you were up in the tree, and I sliced the apple in the air…”

Victor closed his eyes again. “It brought that memory to mind, yes. I was only beginning to realise then how much talent you have, Yuuri. What you’re capable of. You didn’t seem to be aware of it yourself at the time. Added to your performance in our duel, I confess I was rather confused. But pleased, too.”

Yuuri touched the backs of his fingers to Victor’s warm cheek, then stroked his hair. “You’re flattering me.”

Blue eyes opened and gazed at him. “I’m not. I’m stating the truth. No matter how much I loved you, I wouldn’t have asked you to go on the wheel with me if you hadn’t shown an exceptional ability. I’m…discerning that way.”

Yuuri stilled his hand and stared, taking this in. He got beaten all the time when he sparred against Victor, which made it easy to believe he wasn’t making a great deal of progress. But when he went up against the other knights, he was winning often now. In fact, Charles had recently said he no longer wanted to fight him, muttering something about “underhanded tricks”, though Yuuri wasn’t aware he’d been doing anything which could fit that description.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt so tired,” Victor said with a sigh, sinking further against him and mopping his face with the cloth. “Between yesterday and today…well. But talking to you about Alex was different just now. I didn’t feel like I was choking; that pain I get in my stomach sometimes wasn’t there…It’s such a relief just to be able to tell you simple things like this, and enjoy remembering them. All I’ve done over the past two years is try to banish those thoughts, because…because they hurt too much.” Another sigh, and a sad grin, as a tear trailed down his face. “I fear I’ll create a lake in here if I carry on like this.” He swallowed. “Yuuri, I miss him so much.”

Yuuri stroked his hair again. “I know. But you can admit it now, and grieve for him, and think about the good times you had together. Even though he’s gone, he’ll always live in your heart. And I suspect maybe he’d want you to laugh and smile when you remember him, what do you think?”

Victor sat up, wiping at his eyes again, which were still shedding slow tears. “That…that’s beautiful. Did you learn it yourself, when…your parents…?”

“When they died? I did, yeah; eventually. I think that’s part of what _carpe diem _means. I’m not saying it makes everything better, because it still hurts even now, but I find it helps.”

Victor thought for a moment, then nodded. “It’s good advice. You’re right; I’ve been living under a cloud of gloom, and he – Alex – wouldn’t have wanted that.” He huffed. “In fact, if he were here, he’d tell me…” He considered. “To get the hell off my arse and go have some fun. I think.”

Yuuri laughed and stood. “Do it, then.” He held a hand out; Victor took it and got to his feet too. “But the first thing we ought to do is go back to the horses and get the beer out. You need to get some liquid back in you.”

“The first thing we ought to do is this,” Victor said, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispered against his neck. “I love you so much, Yuuri.”

More tears joined the wet patch on Yuuri’s tunic. But there was a grin on Victor’s face; and he couldn’t say he minded in the least. 


	85. Chapter 85

It had been like coming home, returning to the castle and their rooms, Yuuri was surprised to discover – a strange dysfunctional incarnation of it, like a miniature medieval York, with its rigid hierarchy of rank and wealth. This was where he’d met Victor and fallen in love. Emil was here, and Julia; Monica, and Bridget the sauce chef. Wonderful food, beautiful countryside. And he wasn’t obliged to work for a living. He supposed that being a knight was meant to be his work, but he was continually grateful that he didn’t have to go out to battle or fight off marauders, and could spend much of his time training. At least for now.

The mission he’d been entrusted with had brought him to this time and place, however, and he didn’t seem to have advanced any further with it. If Ailis was Mistress Ramsay, she was hiding it well, though he still kept an eye on her workshop from Victor’s window or when he passed through the courtyard. And there were the ongoing preparations for the duel. Victor was spending more time training him, but Yuuri didn’t want to pull him away from his other obligations to the point where it caused him problems, and there was plenty he could do on his own and with the other fighting men. But it all weighed on him, and he could feel the anxiety knocking louder and louder behind its locked door. What if eventually it ended up pounding on it until it broke its way out? What if it happened on the day of the duel?

_I can’t let that happen. I’ve got to keep it at bay._

The evenings that he’d mostly passed in his room downstairs on his own by the fire, fighting off his worries, felt long gone; in their place were Victor’s love and support. But training took priority, sometimes resuming after supper with or without Victor, now that the sun was setting at a late hour.

A few days after they’d returned from York, Victor suggested they revisit the pool where they’d gone with Julia to train for the competition at the castle. The outcrop here was smaller than the Giant’s Teeth, and more sheltered and lush, with thick moss clinging to rocks the colour of a winter’s day, patches of feathery bracken, and sprinklings of bluebells, buttercups and daisies. A stream trickled over the top of the cliff and fell in a steady line, like a pitcher pouring into a basin. In the dappled seclusion, he turned his projector off.

When Victor said they’d be concentrating on footwork again, it reminded Yuuri of what he considered his less than stellar performance here last time. They’d sparred along the narrow paths and crevices, and Victor had ended several rounds by pinning him against a rock. He was determined to avoid that now, if he could.

Victor demonstrated how to use make use of different guard positions depending on where his feet were, explaining the advantages and disadvantages of each stance, and how best to move among the rocks. Yuuri went slowly through several drills with him; it felt like they were two stunt men practising for a play or hologram.

“How does this work with Liechtenauer’s four guards?” Yuuri asked when they’d finished the last drill.

Victor raised an eyebrow and smiled. “We agreed to work with the Fiore school so as not to confuse you. Even though I _know _Phichit’s been feeding you information from your Cloud.”

“But doesn’t it help to have a wide range of options to choose from?”

“It can also muddy the picture. In the middle of a duel, do you want to be trying to decide which school of moves to choose from while your opponent is attacking you? Liechtenauer doesn’t have anything that differs significantly from Fiore. You’ve used Fiore’s moves to defeat Chris and Charles, even though they use Liechtenauer’s.”

Yuuri shrugged. “If you say so. I just think I can handle it.”

Victor looked at him thoughtfully. “I want to give you the best chance of winning, Yuuri. I believed it might be better to concentrate on a few things and do well with them. But I don’t want to limit you, either. Watch, then, and I’ll show you.”

Yuuri felt tension he hadn’t even been aware of easing from his chest and shoulders as Victor did. A few months ago, Victor would have insisted, gently but firmly, that he do this his way. Perhaps Victor’s confidence in him had grown since then; perhaps he was more sensitive to his pupil’s needs now as well. Yuuri could see the ever-present concern in his eyes about Tyler, but Victor was restraining himself nowadays from the emotion-fuelled sparring attacks in which _Fight me, damn it _had usually featured. Yuuri was doing his best, while making sure he caused no injury; but Victor never eased up either, challenging him constantly.

Today was no different. They sparred for two rounds, both of which Yuuri lost. Victor was clearly attempting to pin him to a rock either standing up or bent over backwards; Yuuri anticipated it and managed to keep his back always facing a direction that was clear of the rocks. He couldn’t pin Victor either, who got the touches in through his defences. Still, Yuuri knew he was achieving something. He was making Victor work, and felt his moves coming to him more naturally now, which freed his mind to concentrate on strategy while he fought. 

Victor often made lighthearted comments while they were sparring, presumably to smooth over Yuuri’s frustrations from being continually beaten. He was quieter today, however, and that concerned look in his eyes was more intense.

_I haven’t done anything wrong, though. No more so than usual. Are you thinking about the duel, Victor? I know it’s only a month away. You don’t want to say anything to make me more anxious about it, but you’re worried._

_You’d feel better if I won a round, wouldn’t you? We both would. I wonder what I can do to make that happen._

“Round three, then?” Victor said, taking up the woman’s guard. “Let me see a smooth passing step from you this time; they haven’t been your best move today.”

Yuuri felt a dart of frustration and let it fade away, then took up Liechtenauer’s plough guard, right leg forward, sword poised at his waist. Victor gave a huff, realising what he was doing, then came at him, forcing him to skirt backwards on the narrow path. The attack was merciless, and despite Yuuri’s best efforts, he was forced to pay too much attention to Victor at the expense of his footing, and was knocked off balance. They weren’t high up, and the pool beckoned. He dropped his sword and threw his arms out, but toppled over the rocks nonetheless – and hooked a leg around Victor’s, whose own sword fell to the ground as he teetered after Yuuri, both of them splashing into the water.

Yuuri stood, smoothing his hair back; the water was about waist height. Victor stood and did the same.

“You little tinker,” he said, though there was the touch of a grin on his face. “This is how you repay your trainer, is it?”

“You say to always be on my guard. But_ you_ weren’t.”

“We’d finished the round.”

“Anyway, you always beat me. I was just getting my own back.”

“A fairer way to take your revenge would be to win.”

“You’re right,” Yuuri said, beginning to regret what he’d done, though Victor didn’t look like he minded much. “You know, standing there like that, you might have just waded out to take Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake.”

Victor stared at him in surprise. “Those tales still exist in your time?”

“Yeah, they do.” Yuuri made his way over to Victor, his armour heavy in the water. “They’re part of the mythology of this country. Stories about King Arthur have been retold for centuries, in different versions.”

“From what you’ve told me about your future time, I’m amazed they’re interested. Don’t they think battles with swords are – ”

“Barbaric?” Victor nodded. “They don’t think of the stories that way, not realistically. They tend to be romanticised, with magic added in.” He smiled. “The Immersion game I played was like that. It was called _Swords and Sorcery_.”

“Are you serious?” Victor laughed.

“_I _thought it was kind of romantic. Battling monsters and saving people, what’s not to like?” _Apart from the fact that I had a life to lead, which I was neglecting._

“The hero in your own story.”

“Yeah. The villeins were usually left out, though. Or…” He thought back to the last fantasy village he’d visited. “…they’re all jolly people who have no complaints. But anyway, come to think of it, I wouldn’t have you down as King Arthur. You’d have to be Sir Lancelot, the best knight in the land, loyal and true.”

“Not where Guinevere was concerned,” Victor said with a smirk.

“Good point.”

“Anyway, she wouldn’t be to my liking. I’d be seducing Arthur.”

Yuuri laughed. “That’s a twist on the tale I haven’t seen. I’m sure someone somewhere’s written it, though.”

“I believe that must mean you’re Arthur.” Victor stepped closer, placing a finger under Yuuri’s chin, and added softly, “After you knighted me, I’d look up at you from where I was kneeling and say, ‘How can I serve you, my king? I’ll do anything…anything at all to please you.’ ” He hooded his eyes and smiled, and a shudder passed through Yuuri.

“Jesus,” he whispered as Victor tilted his head down, lips parted and inviting. “I can think of a lot of ways to answer that, none of them appropriate for a public throne room.”

Victor’s smile widened as he captured Yuuri’s lips. It was rare that they were able to share moments like this while they were training, unless they left the field, and Yuuri savoured it; Victor’s mouth was soft and warm and inviting. He wished they could press their bodies together without the barrier of the armour.

“You’re too distracting, my love,” Victor murmured, pulling away. “Come, sir knight. Back to work.”

Yuuri followed him out of the water and up to the rocks, where their swords lay gleaming on the ground. On the way, he continued to wonder what he could do to beat Victor at sparring. Switching to Liechtenauer clearly wasn’t enough.

Victor brushed the dirt off his sword and looked at him soberly. “Now. Another round. Put everything you’ve got into it this time.”

“I have been.” _Why do you never seem to believe it?_

“Pretend I’m Tyler.”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open. He knew what he had to do to Tyler; what his mindset would have to be in order to make it happen. “No fucking way,” he said. “I’m sorry, Victor, but no. Don’t tell me to do that.”

“I’m serious. As I’ve said before, you won’t – ”

“Hurt you? I don’t even want to imagine it.”

Victor paused and took a breath. “I don’t want to hurt you, either. You can be aggressive without injuring the other person.”

“I don’t know if I can trust myself to be able to.”

“Trust me, then. You can do it, Yuuri.”

Despite Victor’s encouragement, however, Yuuri couldn’t be sure. How did Victor attack him like he did, and never harm him? Maybe it was down to talent and experience. Yuuri did well enough when he sparred with the other knights, and Abelard, without having to summon some kind of bloodthirsty instinct. Though they were different, he knew.

Then it hit him – a technique he didn’t often think to make use of, and neither did Victor. It might be enough of a surprise to give him the advantage. He took the long guard position, with his sword over his shoulder, reminiscent of a baseball bat. “Have at you,” he said.

Victor attacked instantly this time, obviously trying to catch him off guard. Yuuri blocked him in a bind. In one swift movement, Victor angled his sword steeply, trying for a touch underneath his arms. Yuuri skipped back. Almost before he could blink, Victor came at him with a vicious ascending cut.

_Fuck_. This would be difficult enough if their feet weren’t skirting between rocks and the drop back into the pool. He employed the technique he’d been planning to use, removing one hand from the pommel of his sword and grabbing the blade two thirds of the way to the point. He blocked Victor’s cut firmly just in time, putting his weight behind it so that Victor’s sword hand was shoved to his side. Sweeping his blade upward before Victor had time to react, holding it horizontally, Yuuri connected the flat of it across Victor’s chest and arms, and heaved. Victor clattered to the ground and Yuuri followed, landing on his knees and continuing to pin him. It wasn’t necessary, but it felt like justice. It felt _wonderful_, after everything Victor had done to him in their sparring. He’d won, soundly.

“Got you,” he said, looking down at Victor with a satisfied smile.

If he’d harboured any suspicions about Victor going easy on him, they were dispelled by the surprise and delight in the depths of those blue eyes. Yuuri saw something else there, too – something he’d only just started to become familiar with, but not here, like this: that spark of excitement which danced when Victor’s wrists were restrained. Yuuri wanted to respond to its guidance as he did in the bedroom; take on his new dom persona and use the situation to fan that spark into a blaze. But this wasn’t the right place for that, and there were a number of factors to consider – what they both would be comfortable with and enjoy, what would test Victor’s limits without crossing them, and what exactly to do with the sword. Actually, that had possibilities…

“Yuuri Katsuki, you’re bloody amazing,” Victor breathed.

“You told me I could do it,” Yuuri said with a smile and a laugh. “I was just following trainer’s orders.”

Victor stared at him like he wasn’t quite sure he was real.

“Before I let you up, though, I’m going to take my reward.”

The spark in Victor’s eyes leapt. “Anything. Take anything.”

“One very good, very hot kiss.”

Victor smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, believe me,” Yuuri said in a low voice, lying down on top of him so that they were chest to chest with the sword extending between them, “I will, too.”

* * *

“What the hell are you doing?”

Yuuri finished his somersault and stood, buckling his sword belt back on. Then he looked at Julia. “Haven’t you ever seen Victor and me do that?”

“A few times. The same thought crossed my mind then. What does it achieve?”

“Imitating a woodlouse,” he laughed, glancing up at the sky. The sun had been shining when he’d arrived at the training field, but a flat grey blanket had since been pulled across, and the breeze was picking up. Noting her “we are not amused” expression, he added, “It’s one of Boucicaut’s exercises. Harder than you might think in armour, especially if you do it several times while you’re running.”

“I’d do it just to show you I could, but it’d look daft. Where’s the master?”

“At the castle, meeting with some officials.” Trying to be conversational, he asked her, “What are you doing, then?”

“Standing here talking to you. _Not _the best use of my time, come to think of it.” She turned to leave. Yuuri stared after her in concern; he’d thought for a while that they’d reached an understanding of sorts, but lately she’d spoken to him less, and had been less friendly when she’d done so, even in Victor’s room.

“Julius,” he called in case anyone was in earshot as he trotted after her, though it appeared that most of the fighting men had entered the stable. She halted when he caught up, but didn’t turn around. “I, um…I’ve noticed you haven’t seemed very happy lately,” he said, moving to stand in front of her. “Is something bothering you?”

She glared at him. “As if I’d tell _you _if it was.”

_You wouldn’t talk to me like this with Victor here, _Yuuri thought with a dart of frustration. But he had a feeling he could guess what was wrong.

“I’ve probably done enough exercise for today,” he said. “Do you want to shoot some arrows with me?”

She snorted. “Are you offering to entertain me? I’d hardly be able to stop laughing.”

“Well, that’s better than being angry, isn’t it?”

“You can be angry and laugh at the same time.”

“You can?”

She stared at him silently for a moment, then shrugged and looked downward.

“Here’s my idea, then, and tell me if I’m wrong.” He softened his voice. “You’re upset that you’re not seeing as much of Victor as you used to.”

Her eyes shot up at him, glinting. They held each other’s gazes. Eventually she said, “Too bloody right,” the emotion in her voice clear. “He promised me I’d still be his squire, and we’d do things together. But it’s not the same.” She huffed. “I know he’s helping you prepare for the duel. I sympathise, believe it or not. It doesn’t stop me missing him, though. And, like you said, feeling angry. It’s not fair. I knew him first.”

Yuuri would offer no apologies for his relationship with Victor. However, he didn’t like the idea that he’d driven a wedge between the two of them, either. Julia’s family wasn’t here, and maybe Victor had taken on that role in a sense. “I didn’t realise you felt that way,” he said. “You were used to getting a lot of time with him on your own.”

“And now _you _get it,” she said, crossing her arms and staring at him accusingly. “You get him to yourself most evenings.”

Yuuri shook his head. “Not always. He meets with other people, just like he did before. And you still come; you even bring your harp sometimes.”

“But that’s with all of us together. I’m all right with that, but it’s not the same as just me and him.”

At least she was honest. Yuuri tilted his head toward the fence, under a copse of trees, in an invitation for her to follow him as he walked. When he got there, he leaned with his back to the wood, watching her trudge toward him. The wind was strengthening, reaching its fingers underneath the edges of his plate mail, but it wasn’t cold.

“I’ll talk to him,” Yuuri said as she mirrored his position against the fence. “We’ll make sure you get more time with him.”

“_Worthwhile_ time,” she said with a sharp glance. “Not just a moment here or there when he’s between tasks.”

“Sure,” Yuuri said solemnly.

She looked down and played with her fingers. “You don’t know what it’s like. The master is the only one here who really understands me. He respects my abilities and gives good advice. Mostly.”

“Maybe it also has something to do with the fact that he knows you’re a girl.”

“But you know, too.” She looked at him dubiously, as if measuring him up. “I suppose you’re all right. You can’t shoot an arrow to save your life, but you’re…passable with a sword.” She smirked at that. “You’re good for him, too.”

Yuuri smiled now. This was certainly a step up from _you make him crazy_.

“Are you two really…together?”

_I thought it was rather obvious. _He nodded.

“How will it even work?” Yuuri felt a blush stain his cheeks as he wondered how to answer _that_, but then she added, “You can’t get married.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said with some relief. Then he asked her, “Do you have anyone yourself? Someone you fancy? Now, or in the past?”

She paused as if deciding whether and how to respond. “No chance of it here.” She stared ahead, the wind lifting her fringe. “I wanted to avoid an arranged marriage. Now, with the life I lead, I won’t have any marriage. But that doesn’t matter, either.”

Yuuri wondered how far she believed her last statement, catching the faraway look in her eyes. “You could still meet someone.”

“I doubt it.”

“A girl maybe, if not a boy?”

She turned to him. “Just because _you’re_ into that kind of thing doesn’t mean _I _am.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. What’s important is how you feel about the person.”

Julia sighed. “I like a comely bloke, but I like being a knight more. Or will do, when I’m no longer a squire. As if you really needed to know that.”

“Do the two have to be mutually exclusive?” Yuuri asked, wondering how qualified he actually was to be giving relationship advice to a teenage girl, and just how he’d found himself in this situation in the first place. “I mean, what if you met someone who was willing to go along with your secret?”

She huffed a laugh. “Can you imagine any men here doing that? Besides, everyone would think that he and I were…you know, like you. It’s not as easy, or safe, to live like that when you’re not at your own castle.” She gazed at him levelly. “Fortune favours you, Sir Justin. Let’s hope it still does in a month’s time.”

Yuuri felt a shudder pass through him. The duel wasn’t something he wanted to think about right now, let alone discuss with Julia.

“While we’re here,” she said more loudly, “how about sparring with me? You’re not the only one who’s been training.”

Yuuri looked at her in surprise. “You?”

“Who else is here? Of course. I’ll whip your arse, ale-house boy.”

While Yuuri doubted that, and wondered what Victor would have to say about it, he could see the defiance in her posture; the determination in her eyes. Maybe it would make her feel better to attack him in this safe way, he thought. As long as he tempered his own aggression, as he knew Victor did with her.

“Are you afraid of harming this delicate flower of a girl in front of you, or are you just afraid?”

“Neither. If you want to spar,” he said, drawing his sword, “then have at you.”

As they fought, Yuuri discovered he didn’t have to give her much leeway at all. He recalled training with her for the competition here at the castle; how quick and precise her movements were, just like with the bow and arrow. They made up for her lack of strength to a large degree. He had no desire to overpower her, and the way she darted around him as only a person of her slight stature could gave him a new kind of challenge. She got a few touches in, and he did too, the last one because he tried half-swording as he had with Victor at the pool, holding the weapon horizontally between his hands and shoving her to the ground.

“You’re too bloody good at doing that,” she grumbled as she stood, picking her sword up. 

Yuuri looked around. He’d been so focused on Julia that he hadn’t realised all of the men had departed from the field and the stable. “I think we might have missed supper. The sky’s dark, too; maybe we should get back to the castle before the rain hits.” 

“Shit,” Julia breathed. “The master will wonder where I was when I was supposed to be serving him in the great hall. Will you explain to him? If there’s anyone he’ll listen to, it’s you.”

“Victor and I have skipped meals out here ourselves; the extra daylight at this time of year is too good to miss sometimes. I can’t imagine he’ll be too bothered that you weren’t there to pour wine for him. Maybe Emil filled in for you.”

“You’re not a squire who’ll get a telling-off for not attending to his master at a meal.”

“I’ll do my best to convince him not to. Or I might be able to distract his attention from the subject if it comes up.” He smiled, knowing he was teasing her. A word with Victor about how it was his own fault that Julia was distracted would probably be enough, he reckoned.

“Don’t tell me any more,” she said, turning toward the castle hill and beginning to walk. “You’re disgusting.”

Yuuri laughed and joined her as the first few fat drops of rain began to fall. 

* * *

Somehow the pattering against Victor’s window worked its way into Yuuri’s dreams, and the running water caused him to be the first one awake as he got up to answer a call of nature. Tossing a couple of logs on the fire, he had a drink, then opened the shutters, the loose sleeves of his shirt falling back as he did so. He was sure that there had been a deluge in the night, but the fledgling day was like a cloud, the castle stones and courtyard limned in soft grey. England had a whole vocabulary for unfrozen precipitation to choose from, and Yuuri thought “mizzle” suited what he saw outside; the kind you barely felt until you noticed that somehow your clothes and hair had been surreptitiously soaked.

_Won’t make any difference if we’re in our armour, _he decided as he climbed back under the warm sheets. Victor was still wrapped in them, facing the opposite direction. Yuuri smiled and laid a hand on the white coverlet across his shoulder, playing with the idea of seducing him awake. But Victor was _warm _under there, he realised. Very warm. And – was he shivering too?

_Fuck. _Yuuri rubbed his hand back and forth over the soft material. “Vitya,” he said gently. “Wake up, it’s morning.” Then he noticed that the sheet was damp on Victor’s side. He’d been sweating; there was a sheen on his skin, and the nape of his neck was wet.

A wave of panic rocked through Yuuri; the same panic he’d felt at The Black Dog when he’d got ill, only worse, because this was _Victor. _Stuck in fucking 1393 with no nanobots to give him, thanks to Ian and his fucking laser gun.

_Calm down, Yuuri. It might just be a bout of flu, and he’ll be ill for a day or two and then it will have passed._

“Victor,” he said more loudly, shaking his shoulder now, still gentle but less so. “Please, wake up.”

He was answered by a groan. “Yuuri…” came Victor’s cracked voice. “…I don’t feel so well.”

Yuuri had begun to shiver himself, the fear churning in the pit of his stomach paying no heed to the empty comforting thoughts he tried to allay it with. “Roll over,” he said softly, searching his mind in desperation for the stupidest thing, feeling its need like never before – a pet name. He’d never used them, and no one had ever used them with him, until Victor; but they didn’t seem to feel right coming out of his own mouth. Yet the moment demanded he have one now. “Baby,” he added. “Come on, let’s have a look at you.”

_He’ll laugh at me for calling him that, and for fussing over him like a mother hen._

Victor shifted wordlessly onto his back, blue eyes staring back at him; Yuuri could see the fear in their depths, too. “Hey,” he said, struggling to sound calm. “I guess you’ve got a touch of illness.”

“It feels like more than a touch.” Victor reached an unsteady arm out from under the sheets and raked his hand through his damp fringe. When it dropped back down, the covers pulled away a little, revealing his shoulder and part of his chest – and Yuuri truly felt like he’d walked into a nightmare.

“What’s this?” he whispered to himself as his fingers hovered over Victor’s shoulder, just down from his collarbone. A peppering of pink swellings, like blisters, but strangely globular; protuberant. _This isn’t flu. I’ve never seen anything like it before. _

Victor looked at him curiously, then down at his shoulder – and his reaction was terrible to see. He gasped loudly, eyes flying wide, while he shot up with sudden strength and pressed back against the headboard, hands scrabbling at the sheets. “Get away, Yuuri, get away!” he shouted in a voice laced with terror.

“Victor, what – ”

“Get _away_!” he screamed; and in that moment, Yuuri was staring into the face of a madman. He backed away to pacify him, jaw hanging open, tears pricking at his eyes.

“Victor, I want to _help_ you.”

“You can’t! Yuuri, I’ve got plague!”

Yuuri stopped breathing, taking in Victor’s pale face, staring fevered eyes, mouth slack with horror, clutching fingers buried in the sheets. Now that he was sitting up, a large purplish blister was visible on the other side of his neck. And Yuuri’s blood was suddenly racing so quickly that a wave of dizziness swept through him.

He forced his brain to work. _I have to be strong for Victor._

_But how? He’s right, I can’t help him – I can’t cure the plague._

A large part of him still refused to believe this was happening. He knew he had to ignore it and act. Somehow. He had to do _something_.

_The nanobots in my system might not be programmed for this particular strain of bacteria. I could die, just like Dr. Croft. _

_I can’t let that stop me. And I’m pretty sure _Yersinia pestis _is the same no matter what time or place._

The thoughts tumbled through his head almost instantaneously. Then he scrambled back to the side of the bed, kneeling. Victor was trying to move as far as he could to the other side, but his burst of energy was rapidly fading. “I told you – ” he began, clearly aiming for loud and stern, not managing either.

“Victor, I can’t catch it,” Yuuri said, his heart in his throat, blood pounding. “It’d take too long to explain; you have to trust me when I say that.”

The purple blister was the worst, standing out angrily from Victor’s neck, his beautiful neck, like some unspeakable parasite. It stabbed the reality of the situation through the numb shock that had initially seized Yuuri, and more shudders shook his frame. _No, no, no, this can’t be happening. Not Victor, not like this. How could he have caught plague? He’s going to die horribly while I watch, helpless to do anything. Jesus fucking Christ. _He gripped a sheet to stop his hand shaking. _Come on, Yuuri, come on. You can’t think these things. Have to…have to do something._

They stared at each other, the terrible nature of the illness hanging between them, reflected in their eyes. But Victor was no longer panicking about Yuuri’s proximity, at least. He struggled through quick shuddering breaths to speak. “Maybe the barber surgeon – ”

“Christ, Victor, didn’t you listen to me when your tooth was bothering you?” Yuuri said, louder than he’d intended, and Victor’s eyes opened wider. “They can’t cure plague. The best physicians in the country can’t do that. You don’t need someone sticking leeches on you or draining your _blood, _which is full of white blood cells that are _fighting _this thing, because someone says your bodily humours are out of balance.” He put his head in his hands and murmured, “Fucking backwards idiots, bloody lot of good they are when someone actually needs them.”

“Alice Ramsay,” came Victor’s thin voice, and Yuuri dropped his hands, which he realised were wet with tears. Victor was trying to be practical, even if his suggestions weren’t viable options. Yuuri swallowed down his own panic, choked back his frustration, and told himself again to be strong. He was from the future. He’d find a way to deal with this.

“Victor, Alice Ramsay could be Ailis. And even if she isn’t, she’s not going to have a cure, either.”

_Mouldy bread, _he suddenly thought. But could ingesting raw penicillin from the mould itself, which would already be mixed with other potentially hazardous substances, be capable of having any effect? And in Victor’s already weakened state? Not everyone who caught the plague died from it, and Victor was young and strong and otherwise healthy.

_I’m not playing roulette with his life by leaving him as he is and hoping for the best. There’s a reason why the black death wiped out half of Europe’s population._

_The black death…I don’t want to find out why they called it that._

“Maybe it’s not even plague,” he said, his thoughts continuing to spin.

“It is,” Victor replied in something like a whispered moan, tears slipping down his cheeks. “What Alex had…God rest his soul…” A sob shook him. “I lose everyone I love.” He turned to Yuuri with a pleading look. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone like this. Don’t…” Another sob. “I don’t want to die. I’ve only just found you, and…and…” He hung his head, tears falling to the covers.

“Here,” Yuuri said, standing. “Get back under the sheets.” Victor slid down without a word, and Yuuri tucked him in.

“I’m hot and cold.”

“I know.” He trotted across the room, grabbed a cloth, and soaked it with water from the pitcher. Nothing to chill the liquid. Not even a fucking painkiller to give him.

“This might soothe you a little,” he said, returning to Victor and placing the cloth over his forehead. Then he fetched the wine jug and a cup, which he filled. “Can you drink?” Victor nodded. Helping him to prop himself up for a moment, Yuuri held the cup to his lips and Victor imbibed the contents, then sank onto the pillows. Yuuri stroked his fringe back, an instinctive gesture which he knew had nothing to do with making him well, but it felt like it helped somehow.

“I – I’m going to figure out what I can do,” he said quietly, with a quick little grin. “I might have to leave you alone for a bit. I don’t want to, but I’ll find someone who can look after you while I’m gone. Once I’m back, though, I won’t be going anywhere else, I promise.” He couldn’t stop the tears from streaking down his face as he gazed at Victor, and that awful fear in his blue eyes. “I love you so much.” He cupped his cheek lightly. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this beat us.”

Victor blinked slowly. Yuuri wondered if he was going to beg him again not to leave, and dreaded it, because it was necessary for now. But eventually all he said was, “God go with you, my love. If…if I should…” He took a shaky breath. “If I die before you return – ”

“You won’t,” Yuuri insisted before he could say more. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He leaned down and kissed Victor’s clammy temple, then jogged to his room and shut the door, feeling like he’d left his heart behind. In the quiet and cold of an unlit fire, the responsibility for finding a cure for the plague, here in 1393, loomed over him like the rain-laden sky.


	86. Chapter 86

“I don’t know, Yuuri. It’s a tough call. The mouldy bread might be his only hope – or it might kill him before the disease does.”

Yuuri braced a hand against the mantelpiece and hung his head, considering, precious time running through his fingers. “I threw out the stuff we had,” he said into his com. “It was disgusting. His toothache was gone.” He blinked more tears back, fighting to put coherent thoughts together despite the adrenaline pumping through his body. “Shit.”

“I’ve been reading up on this in case anything else happened, seeing as how you weren’t able to take any nanobots or anything with you.”

“And?”

“Well, penicillin’s still the best bet, I think. The easy availability of the mould is probably why it was the first antibiotic discovered by science. But you have to be _so _careful. Other things can grow on mouldy bread, like…let me look up my notes…like aspergillus, which can produce aflatoxin. It’s got to be a last resort. If Victor’s already ill, I’m not sure he’d stand much chance with that.”

Yuuri ran his hand down his face and took a shuddering breath. “Is there a way of differentiating between the moulds?” _Fuck, this really is clutching at straws._

“Just looking at my info. It says aspergillus is fuzzier, and penicillium is more blue. But Yuuri, really, it _has _to be the absolute last resort. I wish I could tell you something else, but the resources in that time period, there just weren’t – ”

“All right, I know. Um, thanks.”

“God, Yuuri, I’m so sorry. I wish I could be more help.”

“I wish I could be, too. I need to go find some mouldy bread, I guess, unless any other ideas hit me. I don’t even know what’ll happen with Victor once word about this gets out; if they’d quarantine him, or if they even know about that in this time.” But a memory from months back suddenly came to him then – Victor himself suggesting a quarantine. Of sheep. Because for the second time, a flock owned by one of the estate’s tenants had shown symptoms of plague and had to be destroyed. Could that have had something to do with Victor’s illness; had he recently come into contact with the disease-ridden remains of the sheep? It would be worth looking into once the crisis had passed. And it _would _pass, he told himself.

“I wonder if anyone else has caught it,” he said. “Jesus, Phichit. I’m gonna go, OK? I’ll contact you in a bit, when I’ve sorted something.” _Fuck knows what._

“Sure, Yuuri. I’ll be here. Good luck.” 

Yuuri cut the call, wondering if he ought to go see Victor one more time before leaving him. But they’d said goodbye, and now was the time to act. He put on a tunic and hose and boots, deciding there was no point in bothering with his armour, then threw on his beeswax-treated cape as proof against the rain. With a shaking hand, he opened the latch to his door and stepped into the hall, trotted down the stairs to the main garrison room – and paused for a moment as he noted that it was empty. At this time of morning, it ought to be full of the castle’s military personnel, having a drink and maybe a sop before the day’s work. But the tables were bare, and the fire from the night before had been left to burn down to ash.

Setting aside this particular mystery for now, Yuuri dashed into the courtyard, where a misty grey drizzle continued to fall, and headed for Mistress Ramsay’s workshop. There was no one out here either, however; none of the usual servants and deliveries and visiting pedlars and merchants, no one herding geese or chickens, no guards…no one at all. Fear curdled in his stomach at this as he reached the door to the workshop and discovered it was unlocked. He opened it and stepped inside.

No sign of Mistress Ramsay. Glancing around the room, illuminated only by the dim flat light diffusing through the windows, he located the wooden box in which she’d kept her store of mouldy bread. Racing over to it, he threw the lid open – to discover it was empty.

“Fuck,” Yuuri breathed, slamming it down. That had been his best hope. He scouted around the rest of the room, but could find no bread.

_The kitchen. Maybe there’ll be some sitting in a cupboard somewhere. _He re-entered the courtyard and sprinted to the southwest tower, passing the stump and axe for chopping wood where he entered, and the well and stacks of buckets, to emerge in a quiet and cold kitchen. This room was _never _left in such a state; even in the night, heat radiated from fires over which stocks and pottages bubbled for the following day. Now, the cauldrons were suspended over cold grey ash.

He quickly scanned his surroundings – and suddenly noticed two girls who appeared to be about Julia’s age, clad in plain linen dresses with white shirts underneath and wearing coifs, huddling together in an alcove in the wall which contained a seat. They were whispering and quietly weeping, but they fell silent and stared when they saw Yuuri.

“What’s happening?” he asked them. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh sir,” one of the girls said, “how can you not know? The plague has struck the castle! Most everyone’s affected. There are a few who are not, like us, mainly servants. They’re hiding in their rooms in the hope they don’t catch it themselves. Oh Lord, we are ruined!” she wailed; her friend shushed her and gave her a hug.

“We sleep in the kitchen,” the other girl said. “We have nowhere else to go. How is it that you’re unaffected, sir?”

“I…don’t know,” Yuuri answered, deciding the nanobots must be doing their job. But so many others catching it, all at once, and no sign of anything amiss the night before? It didn’t make sense. Yuuri was sure that even this virulent illness had some kind of incubation period.

_Something they ate or drank, maybe. Something served at a meal. That would at least explain the spread of the outbreak. But I can’t see how diseased sheep that were put to death four or five months ago could have anything to do with this. Maybe they don’t. _“Do you eat your meals in the great hall?” he asked.

The girls shook their heads. “We partake of a little food here in the kitchen,” the first girl told him. “Most of us who work in here do.”

“Have the other kitchen staff got ill, do you know?”

They conferred for a moment, then she knitted her brow. “Come to think of it, sir, all the ones we’ve seen have been hale, and are confining themselves to their rooms.”

“So what could’ve happened to the food or drink between leaving the kitchen and arriving in the great hall?” he wondered aloud.

“I’m sure as I don’t know, sir. But why do you think food or drink has anything to do with it? None of it were bad; it’s all checked before it gets served.”

But the source of the illness could wait til later to be tracked down, Yuuri decided. All of this was taking time while Victor languished alone in his room. He’d promised to find someone to look after him, but there appeared to be no one available. These girls were too young and frightened to be asked to perform such a task. There must be dozens, maybe even hundreds, of people in similar circumstances all around the castle, lying in their beds, counting their last moments. _Jesus. I’ve got to pull myself together._

“Is there any mouldy bread in here?” he asked the girl who’d been speaking to him.

“Why would you want to know that, sir?”

“Please, just tell me. It’s important.”

“Are you certain you’re not ill yourself, sir? How could it be important?”

“Where do you keep the bread in here?” he asked, ignoring this.

“In that cupboard.” She pointed. “But…”

Yuuri dashed over and looked inside. It was a large storage space with many shelves, but they mostly contained the round loaves used as trenchers, which were a few days old at most; they’d be left to go stale and hard before being used as plates in the meals. He discovered some flatbreads and plaits and loaves, some of which had been cut, but none were going mouldy. Aware that the girls were staring at him in bemusement, he checked other cupboards and shelves, but found no bread.

No bread; no mould. Might _anyone _in the castle have a store of bread in their room or workshop they’d forgotten about? Where could he check…?

_Stop it, Yuuri. You’re desperate, and you could spend a lot of time hunting and never find what you’re after. Besides, you could end up serving death to Victor anyway, if you give him aflatoxin._

He stifled a sob. While he’d been moving, while he’d had a definite aim, it had been possible to shove the most harrowing part of the situation out of his mind temporarily. But now he was at a loss for what to do…and Victor lay dying.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly. It felt wrong somehow to leave the girls here by themselves, but he was unsure what else he could tell them or what advice to give. He exited the kitchen, feeling their eyes on him until he was through the archway, and soon found himself in the ground floor room of the tower again. 

The ghostly outlines of the axe and stump were dark in deeper shadow, the narrow rectangular windows admitting only a meagre spill of watery light. Yuuri leaned back against the cold grey stone wall and thought about bright days and sharp cold, chopping wood shirtless with Victor, each desiring the other, neither able to divulge their secret. The most extraordinary and beautiful man he’d ever met. Who by some miracle had found it in his heart to return his love. They’d known each other only a handful of months, and been lovers barely two. It was too soon, far too soon for this, if it had to happen at all.

_God, please, help me. I’ll do anything. I just need to know what. There has to be a way…has to…_But with despair sinking into his heart, it seemed all he was capable of at the moment was weeping like the girls in the kitchen.

_No. I’m not going to be beaten._

_Garlic, honey, vinegar…won’t cure the common cold, let alone the plague. Did Phichit mention at some point that warm soil had antibiotic properties? Other plants? He’s going to have to help me; get back on the goddamn Cloud – _

A call on his com. Phichit was one step ahead of him, then. He must have an idea. “Phichit,” he answered, “what have you found?”

“I…um…” He paused.

Yuuri’s heart started to pound again. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Yuuri, it’s Celestino here,” came the familiar deep voice. “I’m with Phichit at his flat. I was contacted by Ailis a short time ago. She insisted she had something extremely urgent to say, but, ah, that she’d only talk to Phichit.” His voice dropped; he sounded embarrassed. “She said she _enjoyed_ it so much last time. I tried – ”

“Professor,” Phichit interrupted, “we’ve got to tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Yuuri asked, fighting down a surge of panic.

Celestino’s voice again. “When I got here, I gave Phichit Ian’s com, and he called Ailis, who answered for once.” He paused. “There’s no easy way to say this, Yuuri. Ailis claims she’s loosed the plague on the entire castle. I’d been hoping it was just something else she wanted to taunt Phichit with.”

Yuuri gasped as a tremor shook him. _She did this. She’s responsible. Fucking hell, all those lives – Victor and everyone else…_

He ran a hand through his hair as his thoughts raced. The _how_ could probably be explained, but not the _why_. For all her bluster, she’d only killed Dr. Quincey and his counterpart Arthur, to his knowledge. If she’d wanted to go on a rampage through the castle with her laser gun at any point, as she’d threatened, she could have done. But it had seemed clear that she’d been waiting for the king’s visit in order to hatch whatever plan she had.

“Yuuri, are you there?” Celestino asked.

“I…yeah, I’m here. Unfortunately, she seems to be telling the truth. Did she say why the hell she’s done this? Or how, or – ” He suddenly brightened. “Or if she’s got a cure? Did she bring nanobots here with her?”

“Calm down, Yuuri. She said a great deal. I think it might be best to play the recording back to you. I’ll skip the introductions; there’s no need for you to hear the unpleasantness she greeted us with. Are you ready?”

Yuuri braced himself. “Yeah. Go on.”

There was a click, and then Ailis’s voice. “I’ve been perfecting a witch’s brew, Phichit. It was finally ready, so I thought, why not use it? It’s working its magic right now on Crowood Castle. ‘Now’ by my standards, of course, not yours. You’ll never guess what I’ve done, so I’ll tell you. I poisoned last night’s wine at the communal meal with _Yersinia pestis_. Do you know what that is?”

“The plague,” Celestino breathed in the recording.

Ailis’s voice was suddenly strident. “When I want to hear from _you_, I’ll say so. I was addressing Phichit. That was the agreement.” She paused. “Your master is correct, my good man. I chose very watery wine, so that the precious bacteria wouldn’t be sterilised, and made sure it was sent round to everyone at the meal. Noble and servant alike, they all got ill. A disease like this is a great equaliser, isn’t it? They say the beginning of the end of serfdom was the black death. Not enough slaves to keep everything going.”

Yuuri’s head swam as he listened and tried to make sense of it all. It turned his stomach that someone who expressed sympathy for the downtrodden people of this time was also willing to kill everyone in the castle. The reason for this was forthcoming, he hoped – as well as a cure. And if the dinner wine had been the culprit, that meant Julia might have been spared; it also saved him from having to explain why he hadn’t got ill himself.

_We might end up being the only two people alive. _He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. _I can’t think these things._

“But as you know,” Ailis continued, “I’m really a woman of science. The people at the castle are my experimental subjects. I hadn’t expected the bacteria to take effect quite so soon, though. It ought to have been several days before anyone showed symptoms; I think it’s a little on the potent side. I did the responsible thing beforehand and performed some practice runs on animals, but well, animals aren’t humans.”

_The sheep! _Yuuri thought with a gasp. _Jesus Christ. She was doing this right under our noses._

“Ailis,” Phichit said in the recording, “last time I talked to you, you told me about…about what you could do with your gun. Then you said you weren’t being serious. You don’t honestly want to kill all those people now, like this, do you?”

_Prang, Phichit. You’ve got the guts to keep going after her. _The ghost of a smile twitched at Yuuri’s mouth for a moment.

“Let’s say I can be merciful,” Ailis answered, “unlike many others, who’d enjoy crushing these people like ants. I don’t actually want to see them die, though whether or not you believe that doesn’t concern me. So I’m putting their lives in your hands, Phichit. Yours, and Celestino’s, and your stooge’s at the castle. I brought nanobots with me, enough to cure everyone. But I won’t do it unless your man agrees to meet me here, alone and unarmed. They ring the bells at the nearest church at nine a.m. every day for mass; I’ll expect him then, and not a minute later, or he can blame himself for the deaths that’ll follow. I’m a bit vindictive that way when people – especially_ your _people – miss appointments. If he doesn’t have a clock, you do – get him here. I’m at a cottage in the woods. Very Hansel and Gretel, I think.”

The blood drained from Yuuri’s face as he listened to her give directions. So that was it – she’d done this just so she could get him where she wanted him. And kill him. The lives of the people at the castle were obviously incidental to this. And the diseased sheep were proof that she’d been planning it for months. He tilted his head back against the wall and let out a quiet sob. It had seemed that the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was. How wrong he’d been.

“That’s the end of the recording, more or less,” Celestino said quietly. “Yuuri, that gives you an hour; it’s eight o’clock now. Do you know where this cottage is – do the directions make sense?”

“Why are you asking him that?” Phichit jumped in heatedly. “Yuuri, don’t go. She’ll kill you.”

“Thanks,” he replied in a soft wavering voice, a tear escaping down his cheek. “But I have to, if there’s a chance of saving their lives. She says she’s got nanobots – ”

“_Says. _What if she kills you and leaves everyone to die anyway? What if she hasn’t even got any nanobots?”

Yuuri straightened and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “What else can I do? They’ll die for sure if I don’t go. I…” He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m not saying I intend to walk straight into that cottage and present myself as a target, like she wants. I don’t know _what _I can do yet, but I need time to think. I understood her directions; the cottage isn’t far away, though it’s well off the beaten path from the sound of it, which is probably why I’ve never come across it.”

“I’m sure you can find a way, Yuuri,” Celestino said.

Phichit’s increasingly agitated voice came again. “But there’s no time to come up with an elaborate plan, is there? If everyone got ill that fast, they could…well I’m sorry to be so blunt, but they could die soon, couldn’t they?”

“Fuck,” Yuuri whispered. “Yes, I know.”

“But there are other problems with this. Apart from losing you, which would already be awful, there’ll be no one left to stop her – that’s what she _wants_, Yuuri.”

“I know. Look, you’re giving me a Machiavellian proposal here, from the sound of it.

In other words, I ignore Ailis’s ultimatum, she leaves everyone to die, and I live so that I’m still here to stop her. But it’s complete and utter bullshit,” he added, the tears drying as his indignation grew. “I’d never do that to Victor, let alone everyone else at the castle.”

“I just don’t want to see you get killed! And you can’t trust her!”

“If I may add my own thoughts,” Celestino said, “we chose you for this mission, Yuuri, and at the moment I believe you’re better placed than anyone to decide what to do. I’ll stand by that. I’ll also be leaving Ian’s com with Phichit, since Ailis won’t talk to me, though he knows to tell me the moment she attempts to make contact. I’ll be setting up a system of relays so that it’s easier to listen to a com from a remote location, and speak into one if need be, without clumsy makeshift equipment or distortions.”

“You seem to expect me to live through this,” Yuuri said, the touch of a sad smile at his lips again, in spite of the chaos surrounding him.

“You seem to expect to go to the cottage.”

“I do.”

“Yuuri – ” Phichit’s voice, sounding small. “ – will you turn your com back on when you get to the cottage, and leave it on?”

He thought about this. “You want to hear Ailis kill me?”

“I want to be with you, as much as I can be, before…” His voice choked off.

After a pause, during which his tears started afresh, Yuuri said softly, “You…you’re a good friend, Phichit. Just don’t make a noise, either of you; don’t give away that you’re listening. She might decide to…do things to me to get a rise out of you.”

“OK.”

“I agree as well,” Celestino said. “Good luck, Yuuri. And be careful. Remember, you’re our last hope.”

“Yeah.” He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “Bye for now.” He cut the call and dashed across the courtyard, glancing up at the window to Victor’s room, wanting to mentally send him encouragement – something like _hang on, I’ll be back soon_; but he knew how unlikely that was.

_Please let me think of a way around this that allows me to live and get a cure to these people. If there is one._

_Only a small favour, then, God. If you’re there._

He passed through the gatehouse. No porters, no guards, no one. The castle was undefended, its residents incapacitated. Was _this _what Ailis wanted? Had she arranged an attack? But why, if she had a place here herself? If her only purpose was to have him at her mercy, however, why make the castle vulnerable and kill so many people?

_Perhaps…perhaps she’s repaired a time-travel sphere and has decided to cause devastation before she leaves. Including getting back at me for the inconvenience I’ve caused her._

He could speculate about this until the nine o’clock bells rang and still be no nearer to an answer, he thought as he ran down the hill to the stable, the misty rain clinging to his face and hair. The most important thing was to find a way to outmanoeuvre Ailis. But no solution was presenting itself, and time was slipping away.

Arriving at the deserted stable, he entered Lady’s stall and began saddling her. _Face it, this isn’t going to end well. _There was no guarantee that anything Ailis had said was true – that she had nanobots ready and waiting; that she didn’t want anyone to die.

He blinked back more tears as he fastened straps with shaky hands, Lady snorting and shifting as she sensed his unease.

_Victor…I love you._

The tears slid quietly down.


	87. Chapter 87

_Think, think, think._

_What do I do when I get there? Go inside – and what? Does she really have another gun? Would she shoot me on the spot like she did to Dr. Quincey – and Arthur, when his counterpart’s death brought him back? Or could I buy some time; would she be willing to talk to me? But what would that achieve?_

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking Lady’s bridle.

“Sir Justin,” came a quiet, unsteady voice behind him; and he turned to see Julia standing outside the stall, clad in a brown cloak and matching cloth hat that hid all of her hair apart from stray wisps, green eyes following his movements. His heart leapt at a familiar friendly face – but then, they were simply two lost souls here now in this dying fortress, with a moment to share a comforting word. And moments were in short supply because of what he had to do; because he was incapable of letting go of his last thread of hope, however thin it might be.

“I was hoping to find you,” she said. “I thought there was a chance you didn’t get ill, either. Everyone who was at the meal last night was affected, they say.”

“I’m glad to see you’re all right. Julia – ”

“The master isn’t,” she interrupted, her voice choking. “I’ve been to see him. I had to let myself in with my key because he couldn’t get up. He…he was asking after you, and someone with a strange name I don’t remember. A-And Sir Alex, who – ”

“I know about Alex.” He gazed out the entrance to the training field, where to his surprise a line cut across the sky between grey and blue, one rolling back and making way for the other. “Yuuri. He was asking for Yuuri.” He looked at her again. “Wasn’t he?”

She nodded. “Who’s that? I’ve never heard of him before.”

An idea flashed into his mind, and she stepped back under his intensified scrutiny. “What?” she said with a wary expression.

_I can’t involve her. Too many reasons to count._

_But I have to. Together we might stand a chance, if…_

The unexpected blue sky had given him the unlikeliest inspiration for a plan. He glanced around, noting they were still alone, though they could potentially be interrupted any moment by someone fleeing the castle and intending to escape on horse. There would be no quarantine while no one was around to decree it, let alone enforce it.

“I need your help,” he said, leaving the stall and heading for the training field.

“Why?” she called, catching up to him. He led her to a sheltered area overhung by trees that would screen them from anyone approaching, where he and Victor had shared their first kiss. Nothing to mark it but grass and mud, while Victor’s life ebbed away up in the castle. He forced himself to concentrate on Julia.

“Why are we here?” she demanded, glaring at him. “What is this about?”

“I want you to swear on your honour as a squire that you won’t breathe a word of what I’m about to tell you to anyone else, apart from Victor, who already knows.”

“I’m not sure there will be anyone left to tell, after today.”

“_Promise _me. Then I’ll explain how you can help.”

She wrinkled her brow, but seemed to see the sincerity in his eyes. “I promise.”

Yuuri paused before continuing, wondering how to fit all the essential details into the shortest possible time, and how she’d react. But he had to try.

“My real name is Yuuri Katsuki,” he said, and her eyes widened as she stepped back. “I’m a traveller from the future who’s taken on the appearance of Justin in order to track down a fellow time-traveller; a…a criminal who’s also pretending to be someone at the castle, though I don’t know who. She’s the one responsible for the outbreak of plague here. I received a message from her not very long ago; she wants to meet me at a cottage. I think she wants to kill me. But she says she’s got something from our time that she’ll use to cure everyone, if I go.”

Julia took this in, a series of expressions flitting across her face. Surprise. Alarm. Disbelief. She shook her head. “You’ve caught plague yourself, and your mind is unbalanced. I’ve never heard such a tale, even from people who ate fairy mushrooms.”

“No,” he said as she began to back away, “wait – I can prove to you that I’m telling the truth.”

She stopped and stood poised, curiosity mixing with scepticism as she watched him.

“I haven’t got much time,” he told her. “She wants to meet me at nine, um, of the clock, and at a guess it’s going to take about twenty minutes to ride to the cottage. Please, just – whatever I do, don’t run away. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She huffed a laugh. “I don’t run away from anything.”

“Good.” He turned his projector off.

Her eyes bulged. “What magic is this?” she whispered. “Who…what are you?”

“I told you – I’m Yuuri. I was chosen for this mission to find Ailis, the other time-traveller. But this isn’t magic, and I’m not a sorcerer.”

“Your clothes…how – ?”

He briefly explained about the projector; how it could give him the illusory appearance of Justin, and of any clothes he wanted. He intended to meet Ailis again looking like himself, as he had in the woods, seemingly dressed in his athletic clothing and long black coat.

True to her word, Julia didn’t attempt to flee, but her mouth hung open, and she goggled at him as if he were an alien who’d suddenly emerged from a spaceship. He supposed that in her eyes, it wasn’t far from the truth.

“I need to contact my friend for a moment,” he said, and called Phichit over his com.

“Yuuri, where are you – what’s happening?”

Julia jumped back, her eyes pinned to the device on his wrist, as he answered, “I’m, um, going to be riding out to the cottage soon. Can you tell me what time it is?”

“Quarter past eight,” came Celestino’s voice. “Is anything wrong?”

“Apart from the obvious? No. Thanks – I’ll be in touch soon.” He cut the call.

“What was that strange language – and who are _they_?” Julia asked. “I understood some of it, but – ”

“They’re my friends. We were speaking the version of English we use in the future.”

“How far into the future?”

“728 years.”

She huffed again and blinked. “Right. How is it that I can understand you perfectly now?”

“There’s a device in my ear that translates what you say, and turns my speech into Middle English – that’s what you’re speaking.”

“Right.” She shook her head. “Lord in heaven.”

“I’m even from York,” he added, wondering what she was making of all this, and hoping that in the end she’d be willing to trust him; knowing it was a great deal to ask of her, just as it had been of Victor. “I’ve lived there most of my life, but my family originally came from Japan, an island chain far to the east. That’s why I…don’t look English.”

She thought for a moment. “I _knew _there was something different about you,” she eventually said. “You don’t act like the real Justin at all. Where is he?”

“He’s safe. Julia, look, I know there’s a lot to explain, but I’ve got to get out to the cottage. If I’m not there by nine, she says she’s going to let everyone die.”

“Zounds.” She shook her head again. “But you’re a master swordsman. _That _can’t be a trick, surely? How can you have any fear of her when you could easily cut her down? Or is she good with a sword as well?”

Yuuri ignored the dubious “master swordsman” epithet. “She has a laser gun – a weapon from the future that’s quick and deadly. No weapon from this time – no sword, or bow and arrow – can match it. It shoots blue fire.”

Her jaw dropped again. “That’s what she wants to use on you?” When he nodded, she asked, “Do you have one?”

“No. But if you came with me, you wouldn’t have go inside the cottage, or anywhere near her. I’ve got a plan of sorts for what we might be able to do, and I’d want to make sure you were as safe as possible; but I can’t pretend there’d be no risk, especially while she has a gun.” He met her gaze earnestly. “Will you help me – and give Victor and the others at the castle a chance to live?”

She blinked and stared, considering for what felt like a long while. Then, finally, she set her mouth in a firm line. It reminded Yuuri uncomfortably of the look of a soldier. Though perhaps it was what was needed right now.

She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword, her gaze unflinching. “What do you want me to do?” 

* * *

Ailis had called it a cottage, though it looked more like an old abandoned storage barn, Yuuri thought. The windows, two in front and two in back, were very high up, and any shutters they might once have had were long gone, dark sightless eyes open to the elements. White plaster crumbled between bleached wooden timbers. The roof was mostly intact, with a few missing grey slate tiles, and tendrils of smoke drifted from the brick chimney.

Yuuri stood before the door, this area of the cottage in shadow, though the sun was slowly drifting around to illuminate the back. He hoped it continued to do so, and the fickle English weather didn’t take another turn for the worse and blot it out. His life depended on it.

Ensuring his call to Phichit and Celestino was open, he raised his hand to knock as the final chime of the church reverberated in the distance. He was tempted to think a dozen different things in what was possibly the final moment of his life, but it would only fuel the anxiety as he awaited the inevitable, he told himself. Taking a deep breath, he knocked solidly as nausea crept from his stomach to his chest.

Ailis’s loud, firm voice answered, “Open it slowly. I’m armed.”

Yuuri depressed the latch, and the heavy wooden door creaked as he pushed it inward. Eyes adjusting to the dim interior, the first thing he saw was Ailis standing across the earthen floor behind a wooden table with crude lab apparatus; she looked exactly as he’d seen her last, minus the hat, and was pointing a laser gun at him.

_She might shoot it at any moment, _he thought with a tremor. _She might not even want to talk first._

_I have to be strong, for Victor and everyone else who needs me. Julia will do what she needs to, as soon as she can. I just have to stay alive until then, somehow._

The thoughts passed through his mind in rapid succession, and he took in more of his surroundings, seeking any possible means of escape. They were in a high-walled, mostly empty one-room building which smelled of damp, and woodsmoke, and something astringent Yuuri couldn’t place. It was immediately clear that the only way out was back the way he’d come.

“Shut the door behind you and turn the key to lock it.”

Yuuri obeyed silently, willing his hand to remain steady as he manipulated the cold iron, his tongue feeling swollen in a dry mouth.

“Tell me your name.”

“Yuuri.”

“Yuuri what?”

“Yuuri Katsuki.” Before she could reply, he quickly added, “We need to talk.”

“So you do have a voice. A very English-sounding one.” Her words were flat, toneless. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now. Oh, and by the way, if you ignored my instructions and have any friends waiting outside, and they lift a finger against me, then even if they’ve got some bloody siege engine, I’ll fry them. I suspect, however, that they’re all in bed with some rather distressing symptoms at the moment.”

“No, there’s no one out there. But what does it matter if you shoot me now, or five minutes from now?” Yuuri asked, willing himself into the role the situation required of him. “I’m curious about you.”

She gave a quick, harsh laugh. “The thing _I’m _most curious about, for now, is whether you did as I said and came unarmed.”

“I left my sword – ”

“Strip,” she ordered him.

He stared in surprise.

“Every last stitch. Kick your clothes away from you into a pile.”

Yuuri slowly began to do so, wondering at the reasoning behind this.

She tossed a pair of braies and a linen shirt forward; they landed on the earthen floor. “There aren’t any concealed weapons in those. Put them on when you’re done.”

He moved forward to fetch them, then continued removing his own garments – and saw to his horror that as he placed them in a pile, they were clearly visible as what they were: the real medieval ones he’d been wearing, while the illusion disappeared from his body as well, and he stood nude. He supposed he could summon up the appearance of the athletic clothes again, but seeing no point in doing so, he donned the shirt and braies, sweat breaking out on his brow as he wondered if Ailis would approach and go through the clothes on the floor in an attempt to work out who he’d been posing as at the castle.

_What was in my pockets…? Could she find out from that?_

But she could easily learn the answer in other ways, he realised; some of them grislier than others. However, to his relief, her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, for now at least. He had to try to encourage that as long as he could.

Would the sun _ever _come through one of those windows? _Come on, come on, please…_

“I apologise for the inconvenience,” Ailis said, sounding anything but sorry. “But the clothes of this time have no end of concealed pockets and other places where things can be hidden. I can’t imagine what you might think would work against me and a laser gun, unless you brought that ridiculous little pen with you, but it’s just as well to be careful.”

_If she’s had me do this, and is still talking, maybe she’s open to conversation, _Yuuri did his best to muster a show of quiet dignity, though it was the last thing he was feeling. “I’ve been hoping for the chance to talk with you. Your tech is absolute genius. Beyond anything anyone else in our time could come up with. Maybe you could carry on inventing; the world could benefit from it. You could use your talents to help people.”

She considered his words, her face expressionless. Eventually she said, “You disappoint me, Yuuri. I’d hoped you were intelligent. The government of 2121 would only want to use me for their own ends, and I rather like having the liberty to do as I please with my inventions. Besides, do you honestly think our world is ready for time travel? How many people might get access to it who shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near it?” She laughed. “You and Celestino and Phichit are so worried about _me_ – one person. There’d have to be a hell of a lot more time cops like you. The whole fabric of history could be ripped apart.” She paused. “No, I invented my tech to please myself, and that’s how it stays. Anyway, you seem to actually expect that you or I could return to our time if we wanted to. I assume the sphere you stole from my lab was damaged on your journey here?”

Yuuri nodded. “Have you tried to repair yours?”

She gave him mirthless grin. “Get me a functioning temporal stabiliser and it’ll take five minutes. Problem is, they don’t survive a single trip. But there was no way I could find that out without trying it myself. No, Yuuri; you and I are as stuck as insects in amber.” With a quick huff, she added, “Not that I _want _to spend the rest of my life here. If I did manage to repair a sphere, I’d travel to a different time where I could work in peace, with access to the tools and materials I needed – and no one hounding me, or wanting to arrest me or steal my secrets.” She lowered her voice. “Like your masters are doing. And you.” Glancing at her gun, she added, “This is set to kill.”

Yuuri’s vision was suddenly filled with a bright blue flash, and a high-pitched mechanical scream pierced the silence. She’d fired the gun – over his shoulder; it had blown a deep chunk out of the stone wall.

“You can see for yourself that it works,” she said, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth for a moment.

A violent tremble passed through Yuuri, and his mind briefly went blank. _Keep it steady. Calm down. Jesus, why isn’t the sun shining in yet? _She seemed to be savouring his discomfiture; he sought desperately for some other way to get through to her before she decided to press the button again, this time while she was aiming at him. “Please – whatever you do to me, spare the people at the castle. You’ve been living here all this time. Is that what you really want for them – to die of plague? There must be some you care about. You said you had nanobots here?”

“These people are a curiosity, in a simple kind of way,” she said more conversationally. “But then, I could say the same for those of our time, too. Do you care about these medieval imbeciles yourself? They say there’s a spirit of brotherhood among fighting men.” She asked softly, “Are you a fighting man here, Yuuri?”

He made no reply, and she smiled.

“What if I ordered you to tell me exactly who you are? Would you do it, or stand there like a silent statue while I ended your life? Is your alter ego, for want of a better phrase, worth dying for?”

“Does it make any difference?” he asked, the nausea working its way up his abdomen again.

“It bloody well does, and you know it,” she suddenly exploded, brandishing the gun. He fought off the instinctive desire to close his eyes before the lethal shot was fired – but it didn’t come; not yet. “You attack me in the woods like that, you pay the price. Haven’t you learned basic chivalry yet? You’re supposed to express benevolent sexism toward a woman’s weak body and mind, not come at her like some rabid gorilla.”

“I didn’t – ”

“Don’t try to contradict me, or I might decide to use this sooner rather than later.” She gave the gun a wave. “What happened that day when I left? What did Victor do? Or is he in on it all as well?”

Yuuri’s throat constricted. “He interrogated me and let me go. He’s not involved.”

“You _would _say that, whether it was true or not.” She searched his face. “Tell me whose identity you’ve been parading around the castle.” When she was met again with silence, she shouted, “Now!”

“I’m not based at the castle,” he replied in a rush, seizing ideas out of the frantic jumble of his thoughts. “I live in the woods.”

“You know what I think?” she said, her voice going quieter, deeper. “I think you’re a _liar_, Yuuri Katsuki.” Her face twisted as she fired another shot – this one landing directly in front of him. Dirt from a small crater in the floor flew in his face. He coughed, blinking the glare away and struggling to conceal the fact that he was shaking, wondering if she intended to toy with him like this the whole time he was here, and which shot might be the final, deadly one. He brushed his face off, holding his silence.

Ailis stared at him. “I might end up doing to you exactly what I did to your predecessor. That way I discover who you are by seeing who turns up from the future after you’re dead – and then shoot him, too.”

“Don’t,” he whispered.

“_You_ don’t tell _me_ what to do.” She took a long, trembling breath. “You and your little team in 2121 have a way of making me lose my temper. Once I’m finished with you, they won’t be able to bother me again.” 

Yuuri gave no immediate reply, but glanced up at the windows once more. Still no sun. Were clouds gathering? What was taking so long? “You asked me if I care about the people here,” he said eventually, fighting to keep his voice from wavering. “I do. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt or killed. What benefit would you get from it? Where are your nanobots?”

She removed an injector from a tunic pocket and held it up for him to see, then placed it on the table in front of her. “These silly people will become the healthiest on the planet if I decide to inject them. I have a substantial supply.”

Yuuri eyed the device. It certainly added weight to her claim that she had a cure. _I’ve got to make sure that gets to the people who need it. Victor…_

Her glance flicked from him to the injector. She crossed to the front of the table and leaned back against it, contemplating him while she continued to hold the gun steady. “As for any benefit I receive from unleashing the black death…? I don’t know what, if anything, Celestino debriefed you on about me.” Her tone took on a bitter tinge. “But my late husband, in his infinite wisdom, took me right to the heart of the poorest, most disease-ridden part of the island chain where we lived, and I saw things you couldn’t begin to imagine in your worst nightmares. _Asclaxis rhombustia_ – melting flesh disease, they call it.” She continued barely above a whisper, a haunted look in her eyes, “There are worse things than plague, Yuuri. At least that’s quick. I saw so many people die horribly…the young, the old, abandoned by the only authorities in that backward corner of the world – the obscenely wealthy people they’d gone there in hopes of working for. And we were right in the middle of it all. Brian got ill, and so did I, because we didn’t develop the nanobots we needed soon enough. He joined the others in their terminal agonies. I almost did, too. I still have the scars. Do you know what it’s like to feel that helpless?”

Yuuri simply stared. He’d known about this part of her past, if not the details of the disease, and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But _she_ had_ – _she’d suffered like that, and then turned around here and spread the plague. Why?

“You look puzzled.” She gave a sharp laugh. “I’m not helpless like that anymore, and I intend for things to stay that way. Thanks to Brian, I discovered I had some scientific expertise of my own, which I was able to develop.” Her green eyes flashed as she added in a hushed voice, “And now, in this place, I’m the ultimate angel of life and death, with the power to give one or the other. What do you make of that?”

“I…” _I have no idea, but I think you’ve needed help for a long time._

“Clearly it’s beyond you,” Ailis said more loudly. “But you could make this much more interesting, now that you’re here. We could go to the castle together, you and I, and the nanobots, and this self-sterilising injector. And I could inform you that I’d only treat a certain number of people – ten, for instance. And leave it up to you to choose. Which ten would you pick?”

Yuuri’s mouth dropped open, and his insides crawled.

“Go on, tell me. Will you get into the feudal mood of things and name people by rank from the top down? Or do something a little more creative? Do you have any favourites among them, Yuuri? Friends, lovers? Or will it be women and children first?”

“Don’t make me do that,” he said quietly, clutching at the sleeves that hung down over his hands. “You said you have plenty of nanobots. You can cure them all.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” A grin caught at her mouth. “Perhaps we could take a tour of the castle first, and you could look into the dying eyes of every helpless person there as they pleaded with you to cure them. Then when we were done, I’d tell you that you had to pick ten people from the servants’ quarters – or ten guards? That would be a practical solution.”

Yuuri longed to shout at her to stop. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he forced them back.

“I don’t really expect you to understand any of this,” she carried on. “But I’ve played the part of the angel of death, and now I intend to become the angel of life, without any games involving you, more’s the pity. Did you think I was being serious just now? You and your masters have such deplorable opinions of me. No, Yuuri; those people at the castle will be cured of the plague, no harm done – and once they’re well, they’ll believe the illness was something else that mimicked the symptoms, because no one will have died. The guards will be walking the ramparts again, and the servants will go on with their dismal lives, and the king will still visit. The other benefit, of course, is that my little experiment has brought you here to me.”

Yuuri swallowed, eyes on the gun, blood racing as he willed the sun to shine through a window. “Why is it so important that the king still comes to visit?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did I say that?”

“What would be the point in killing him? Why – ”

Her gaze darkened, and she leaned forward. “I don’t _intend _to,” she snapped. “In fact, it’s insulting that you and Celestino assume these things. As if I couldn’t think of anything more clever, interesting or worthwhile; as if I simply wanted to cause chaos for the sake of it.” She began to walk slowly forward. “Perhaps I’m excited to see a literal living history event. Did you know there’ll be over a thousand people in the king’s royal progress?”

Yuuri stared at the gun as the distance between them narrowed. When she halted, she was still too far away for him to stand any chance of overpowering her before she could fire.

“Is this bothering you?” she said, giving the gun a twitch. “I’m beginning to wonder why I didn’t just shoot you the minute you walked in the door. I’m not sure anything about our little talk has been worthwhile. And nothing I’ve said or done so far is going to match the satisfaction of getting rid of you for good. No one could claim I didn’t have just cause. I’ve been _seriously _provoked.”

“Ailis,” Yuuri blurted, “please – time is running out, and people are dying. Go cure them. You’ve got the gun; I can’t hurt you. You know what it’s like to suffer that way; don’t leave them to suffer, too.”

She frowned, looking at him thoughtfully. “Don’t you feel it even a little bit, Yuuri? The power we have here, in this time and place? Ordinary knowledge from our own time becomes extraordinary. You can save someone’s life by telling them to wash their hands with soap, or end it by culturing bacteria and putting it in what they eat or drink. With tech like this laser gun, we’re the ultimate killing machines, making the best knights redundant – or infinitely more powerful.” Once again, she lowered her voice. “If we played our cards right, then instead of being burned at the stake for being magicians or possessed by demons, they’ll call us saints and venerate us. Build shrines to us that pilgrims would visit. Give us holy days. Paint us in stained-glass windows. Imagine.”

A vision of Victor dying alone in his bed, his dear frame covered with those awful blisters, swam in front of Yuuri’s eyes. Regardless of what Ailis had said about wanting the plague victims to live, she clearly was in no hurry.

“I’m begging you,” he whispered. “I’ll do anything you want. Just help them while there’s still time.”

“You’re becoming monotonous. Didn’t I already remind you that you don’t tell me what to do?”

“They’re dying – ”

“Don’t I bloody know it!” She gave the gun a shake. “Tell me who you are.”

“Henry Green,” he invented wildly. “I’m a woodcutter.”

“I don’t think so, Yuuri. I want the name of someone from the castle. Or no one gets cured, and their deaths will be on your head.”

Yuuri was silent. He couldn’t give her a real name; couldn’t implicate an innocent person who had nothing to do with him.

“I should say their deaths will be on your head before you die yourself,” Ailis spat. “Are you aware of what one of these guns does to a person at close range? They’d have to identify your remains by the teeth. _Tell _me – I want to make sure that giving up your one big secret is the last thing you bloody well ever do.”

_Where did I go wrong? _Yuuri wondered, clutching as his sleeves with trembling fingers. _How do I stand a chance against someone so volatile?_

This time he allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he waited for the flash and electronic wail. _Victor, will we both meet in some hereafter once we’ve each been dealt our fates? _He felt a tear slip down his cheek. _I’ll always love you…_

The sound he heard, however, was not the one he expected – a solid _thunk _followed by a cry from Ailis. His eyes flew open, and he had just enough time to register the bright shaft of light streaming through a window, illuminating her as she stared at an arrow that had pierced her upper arm. But she still held the gun, and suddenly seemed to remember him.

Using all of his training as a knight, Yuuri launched himself forward, twisting in mid-air to change direction just enough to avoid the beam of blue light Ailis sent his way. In the seconds that followed, she clearly saw that she was within Yuuri’s reach, and tossed the gun across the room before he grabbed her midsection and pulled her to the ground with him. “Why did you do that?” he breathed, looking down at her. She blinked back up at him, making no reply. “Have you got another gun?”

“No.”

He wasn’t about to ask _her _to strip, but he ran his hands along her front and sides, arms and legs, searching for the telltale round metal or anything else suspicious. Nothing. Perhaps she’d panicked. The arrow protruding from her arm hadn’t hit anything vital, but the wound was bleeding freely.

Leaping to his feet, he spotted the gun in the far corner and ran toward it. He’d easily be able to retrieve it before she had any hope of reaching the door, if that was her desperate plan; plus she’d have to turn the key. Perhaps she had a weapon concealed somewhere with her lab equipment. He quickly knelt down, picked the gun up, changed the setting to stun, stood, and whirled around – just in time to see the black-haired top of Ailis’s head dropping down through some kind of hatch in the floor behind the table, which closed after her.

“Shit,” he breathed, scrambling over to it. The crimson-tipped arrow was lying on the ground nearby. He attempted to pry open the top of the hatch with all his strength, but it wouldn’t budge. _How the fuck does this thing open? There must be a switch, a lever…_

He stood and scanned the wall, peeling plaster lined with warped wooden cupboards. Opening the door of the nearest one, he spotted what he was looking for – an iron handle. Grabbing it, he pulled and twisted, and discovered it was designed to be turned in a clockwise arc. Once he’d done so, the hatch slid open with a quiet creak, and he peered down into the black square. Worn grey stone steps led down into darkness; the first one was marked by a drop of red.

Though it lost him more precious seconds, he had no desire to be trapped in the sunless depths. He dashed to the hearth, seized a pair of tongs, went a little way down the stairs, and braced the ends of the implement against the closing hatch so that it didn’t shut completely. Then he began to make his way down the short flight, the rock cold against his bare feet. A thin shaft of light spilled onto the top steps from the crack where the tongs held it open, but that was the only illumination to be had.

_I don’t suppose even Ailis has had the time or equipment to rig this place with lighting, though I think she must have done something to that hatch to make it open and close like that. What the hell is down here, how far does it go, and where does it lead? Is she waiting for me somewhere, hoping to catch me by surprise, or is she hiding until I’m gone?_

“I’m all right,” he whispered into his com. “Ailis has disappeared into an underground passage. I’m in pursuit, but there’s no light down here. Best to keep quiet for now in case she’s nearby; I’ll fill you in later.”

“Got it, Yuuri,” Phichit replied quietly. “We’re just glad you’re OK. That was – ”

There was a shushing noise that Yuuri assumed was Celestino, and silence fell once more.

At the bottom of the stairs, Yuuri stretched his arms out and discovered he was in an earthen corridor. The ground was level, though somewhat damp, and he didn’t dare think what lay unseen under his feet.

_Do I just run blindly ahead?_

But he was still holding the gun. Maybe its uses didn’t have to be confined to immobilising or killing people. He pressed the button – and bright blue light shot ahead into the passage, accompanied by the characteristic wail, initially loud in the confines of the passage but quickly swallowed by the surrounding earth.

“Yuuri – ” came Phichit’s voice.

“It’s OK. I’m going to keep firing the gun to light my way.”

He felt he could hardly be less obvious than a charging rhinoceros as the eldritch neon blue illuminated the corridor in glowing bursts. It led forward with a few short turns; there were no side passages, doors or stairs leading elsewhere. Was Ailis waiting at the end, or had she been able to let herself out? If so, to where?

The answer soon presented itself: a large wooden door loomed ahead, without latch or keyhole. The end of the passageway here was lined with grey stone, and Yuuri spotted another iron handle in a niche, which he turned. As the door swung outward, he pressed himself against the wall, gun at the ready, in case Ailis lay in wait and had managed to re-arm herself.

The sunlight streaming in was almost blinding; it took a moment for his eyes to adjust as he scanned his surroundings. A road in the middle of the woods. Nothing to be heard but the cry of a bird. He found a rock and propped the door open with it. Clutching the gun, he edged out; the exit emerged from the side of a steep hill, and he kept his back to the mossy earth as he continued to look warily around. There was no sign of Ailis, though a fresh pile of horse manure on the road attested to a recent traveller – and when he investigated the verge, he found a leaf with another drop of blood. The obvious conclusion to draw was that she’d been only too glad to get away, though there was no telling whether she had an alternative plan. However, Yuuri felt sure that she’d never expected him to come out of this alive in the first place, let alone that he’d end up with her gun and that she’d be injured.

Re-entering the concealment of the doorway, he spoke into his com. “I’m at the end of the passage, which comes out onto a road, but Ailis isn’t here. I’m going to head back to the cottage, and cut the call for now while I’m firing the gun.”

“Sure, Yuuri,” Phichit replied. “Just let us know how you get on.”

He trotted back down the passageway, lit by flickers of blue. If this encounter had been the end of the matter, if he could simply return to the castle and Victor’s arms, he wondered if he might first just collapse against the wall and slide down, a spent and shivering wreck as the adrenaline left his system and he relived those moments in the cottage with Ailis’s gun trained on him. If only it were so simple. But there was much more yet to do, and many lives were at stake.

_I’ll be back soon, Victor. Just hold on, baby, please._

Of course, he owed the very fact that he was here to Julia. She’d come through just like she said she would. When they’d arrived at the cottage, they’d scouted around the periphery, keeping their distance. If there had been no windows, or if they’d been shuttered, they would have needed to change their plan; but Yuuri thought it was a reasonable assumption that the cottage Ailis had chosen would be an accessible ruin, since she was unlikely to actually own a building away from the castle, and rental agreements didn’t appear to exist on the estate. Fortunately, he’d been correct; and after staking Lady out behind the concealment of tall bushes, they’d brought Boudicca to the back of the cottage and remained under the cover of a dense copse of trees on the upward slope while they’d quietly conferred.

“The angle isn’t right,” Julia had said. “Let me see what happens if I get up on Boudicca.” She mounted her horse, then stood on the saddle. “This should work. But like we thought, I won’t be able to see into the windows til the sun shines through them.”

“Get down, then, before Ailis happens to look out and see you up here,” Yuuri told her, and she hopped off. “You really think you could shoot an arrow from this distance, through the window, to hit a target inside?”

She stared at the two dark apertures. “I admit it won’t be easy. But if I go any further down the slope toward the cottage, I’ll be too low. You said not to kill her, and there are any number of ways I could injure her, so I won’t have to be completely accurate.” Turning to him, she added, “I can do that.”

_I sincerely hope so. I don’t know if an arrow that doesn’t hit a target will be enough of a distraction. _He nodded and made a quick call to Phichit and Celestino over his com; Julia watched in fascination. “How much time have we got?” he asked.

“Ten minutes, by my estimation,” Celestino replied.

“Thanks. I’ll get back to you before I go inside.” He cut the call. “The sun isn’t moving fast enough,” he muttered to Julia. “It’d be perfect if it was shining through right now; you could shoot her without me even having to set foot inside.”

“But it isn’t. You have to go in.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Soon, too soon, the church bells rang out, causing them both to start. “Speak with her,” Julia urged him. “Do whatever you can to bloody stay alive until I can see to fire an arrow. I’m sure it won’t be long.”

Yuuri looked at her and saw both determination and anxiousness in her expression. “Remember what I said to do if I don’t make it.”

She nodded. “But you _will_ come back out.” Then she tilted her head toward the cottage. “Go. You may not be the real Justin, but you’re one of us. God be with you.”

Moved by this, Yuuri gripped her arm briefly and looked into her eyes. “You too.” Then he was making his way quickly through the cover of the woods to the front of the cottage. In 2121, Victor would have a connection to the Cloud, they both would, and they’d be in constant contact. It was terrible having to imagine what he was going through. Somehow he had to get this sorted, _now. _But first he’d have to make sure he stayed alive –

“Yuuri – is everything OK?” Phichit asked over his com, snapping his thoughts back to the present. He’d arrived at the stairs leading up to the cottage, and had stopped firing the gun; the tongs were still in place to keep the hatch open, and a faint ghostly glow continued to illuminate the stop steps.

“Fine. I’m going back into the cottage.”

“Be careful.”

When Yuuri was near the top of the stairs, he crouched, gun poised, then pushed the top of the hatch open. There was no sound other than the small creak it made as it slid. Slowly standing, gun at head height, he darted a glance around the room as soon as he could see over the floor. It appeared to be deserted. Climbing the remaining steps, he jogged to the centre and looked around. There was only the table here; no other possibilities for concealment. Ailis hadn’t re-entered the cottage, then, in the hope of finding him.

He crossed to the door, turned the key, and opened it cautiously, ready to fire if anyone was waiting in ambush outside.

“Sir! You’re alive!” Julia jumped out from behind a thick tree, bow and arrows still in hand, and pelted forward. Yuuri opened the door the rest of the way with a small grin and stood aside to let her in. “Where is she?”

“She’s gone. There’s a hatch in the floor over there; it leads to a passage that opens onto a road. I tried to go after her, but she had a good start. She could be anywhere by now.”

“How badly was she hurt?”

“You got her in the arm. It can’t have been too bad; she pulled the arrow out and wasn’t bleeding much. But it distracted her enough for me to be able to attack.” He smiled at her. “Just the kind of shot I asked for.”

As Julia raced over to investigate near the hatch, retrieving her arrow in the process, Yuuri spoke into his com again. “I’m going to see if those nanobots are here. If not, I just hope the injector’s got something in it I can use.” When there was no reply, he said, “Hello?”

“Who’s the girl with you?” Phichit whispered. “Is she close enough to hear?”

Julia rejoined him. “This must be an old smugglers’ barn,” she mused. “I’ve heard of these. They could get their goods here from the road, and no one would see what’s going in or coming out. Did they leave anything behind? Weapons, jewels, wine – ”

“Not that I noticed,” Yuuri said. “Or if they did, Ailis took it when she was here.” He paused. “Professor, Phichit, this is Julia, Victor’s squire. She free of the plague, and gave me some help. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for her.” She beamed at him.

He could just make out a sigh through the com. Then Celestino said, “Does she understand how vital it is that no one else is told – ”

“About my identity and my mission? She’s given me her word. That’s good enough.”

“Yuuri, what actually happened there?” Phichit asked. “We recorded what Ailis said, but obviously we couldn’t see what was going on.”

“I’ll explain later; we need to find the nanobots and get out of here. But I’m going to put my clothes back on before anything else.” He placed the gun on the ground, slung off the shirt Ailis had given him, decided to keep the braies on in front of Julia, and began pulling on his hose.

“Why did you take your clothes off?” Julia asked, watching him.

“Ailis ordered me to; she thought I might be hiding a weapon in my tunic or something. She had a gun, so I wasn’t going to argue. But I’ve got that off her at least, even if she got away.” He quickly tied the tops of his hose to the braies, glancing up at her. “You were just in time. That was one hell of a shot.”

“The angle was even trickier than I expected,” she said, sounding as if she’d been waiting for the chance to tell him. “I knew it was going to be one of the most difficult I’d ever fired, just landing it near her. I had to stand on my tiptoes.”

Yuuri looked at her again before grabbing his tunic off the floor and pulling it on. “Really?”

“Yes. One arrow, to injure and not to kill, just like you said.”

He smiled as he did up his buttons. “You’re magnificent. That shot was worthy of Robin Hood.”

“Thank you, sir,” she gushed, her smile stretching almost from ear to ear. He considered telling her to call him Yuuri, but thought perhaps Victor would want him to stay “sir” to her.

_Victor. _He pulled his boots on, then dashed to the table and took the injector, putting it carefully in a pocket. Julia continued to talk as he looked for a container of nanobots.

“After I shot the arrow,” she said, “I went round to the front of the cottage and waited for someone to come out, but they didn’t. I feared the worst.”

“I fear the worst for everyone at the castle right now,” Yuuri answered, pulling cupboards open. _Please let them be here somewhere._

“Yuuri,” Celestino said, “if you do find a supply of nanobots, do you know how you’ll distribute them?”

“I’m aware of the problems involved. I’ll need to think.” _She couldn’t have had them in a pocket; I’d have found them when I searched her._

“This cupboard is full,” Julia told him, standing in front of the one nearest the dying fire. “Is she an alchemist – is that what all these things are for?”

Yuuri hurried over. “If all she was trying to do was turn base metals into gold, I’d say she was welcome to it,” he replied as he peered inside. Candles, oil lamps, bottles, phials, a retort – a mixture of modern and medieval; nothing that concerned him at the moment. Toward the back, he found a bundle of red cloth and removed it, pulling it open while Julia watched.

A transparent tube with a metal lid containing a clear liquid. Identical to the one he’d been planning to bring himself, before Ian shot it to hell. He carefully opened it, to discover what he’d hoped to see – the top of the tube was sealed with an apparatus to which the back of the injector would attach, so that it could be filled. His shoulders slumped in relief as he replaced the lid.

“What’s that?” Julia asked.

“It’s the cure for the plague,” Yuuri replied, doing the bundle back up, and her eyes went wide.

He took a final quick look around the work area for anything else of interest – time-travel tech, or perhaps the remainder of the plague bacteria. The room was largely bare, however, and he hadn’t expected Ailis to store anything here that was valuable to her. He took a moment to confirm to Celestino and Phichit that he had the nanobots, and said he’d be cutting the call for now, contacting them later when he had more to report. 

Taking up his cape and fastening it, he wondered briefly about stationing Julia near the cottage with the laser gun while he distributed the nanobots; she could watch for Ailis’s return. But no, it was too dangerous, and there were too many variables. He couldn’t leave her to face Ailis alone.

“Come on,” he said, running to the door. “Let’s hope we get back in time.”

“What will we do once we’re there?” she asked, following him. 

“I need to think of a way to get the cure to everyone who needs it, as fast as possible, without Ailis finding out I’m Justin.”

“But where will we go first? Back to your room?”

He glanced at her as they exited. “Back to _Victor’s _room. I’m going to see to him before I do anything else.”

“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” she replied sternly as she kept pace at his side.


	88. Chapter 88

No one was in the stable when they arrived. The well-worn path up the hill was deserted, as was the gatehouse; the tall grey edifice sat silently in the bright morning sunlight. Yuuri sprinted into the garrison and up the stairs, Julia at his heels. Now that it had come to it, his heart pounded and he could barely breathe – was Victor still alive? He unlocked the door and stepped inside, turning his projector off.

“Victor?”

There was no answer. He hurried over to the bed, sending up a quick prayer, and found Victor with the covers pulled up to his collarbones, an arm lying limp at his side. His skin was the colour of marble, and he didn’t move or make a sound.

“Jesus, Victor, no,” Yuuri choked out. He placed the back of his hand on Victor’s forehead; it was damp with sweat, and chill. Leaned down to listen for breathing but heard nothing. Felt for a pulse and detected none, but he knew he wasn’t even any good at finding his own.

“Stop fussing and give him the cure,” Julia said from behind him, the distress in her voice clear.

Yuuri pulled the cloth bundle and injector out of his pocket and placed them on the bed, then removed the lid from the tube and tried to attach the injector to the seal, but dropped it through shaking fingers. “Come on, Yuuri,” he whispered to himself, “you can do this.” Picking up the injector again, he carefully manoeuvred it in place, filled it with solution, pulled it gently away, and pressed the switch to sterilise and prime the needle.

“What are you doing?” Julia asked.

Under ordinary circumstances, he’d explain what an injector was and what it did. Right now, all he could manage was, “It’s the cure. I’ve got to get it into his body. It won’t hurt him.” _If he’s alive, _some traitorous voice inside him added, and a wave of nausea swept through him. He reached for Victor’s cold hand and took it in his own, turning it palm side up, and searched for a vein in his wrist. “Victor, come back to me, baby, please,” he whispered, holding the tip of the injector lightly against a blue line. Then he pressed the button at the top and heard a click. When he lifted the injector away, a tiny bead of blood appeared, crimson against white. _He can’t bleed if he’d dead. Can he?_

Closing his eyes, Yuuri lifted Victor’s hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers. He could stay like this all day, if only it would help.

“Sir…”

“Please, just…give me this; give me a moment,” he said quietly to Julia, feeling a tear escape as his lips lingered over Victor’s skin.

“Do you think his eyelids flickered?”

Yuuri quickly lifted his head and looked. Half a minute passed. “I don’t see anything.” What he _did _see was the terrible angry blister on Victor’s neck.

“Wait – he just opened his mouth!”

Yuuri had seen it too. A distant, quiet moan escaped Victor’s throat, almost inaudible, but there. A finger twitched. “He’s alive,” Yuuri said in a shaky voice, heart fluttering. He heard Julia breathe out and stood, his tears born now from joy rather than sorrow. “He’s alive!” he repeated, this time practically in a shout; and Julia smiled back at him, her own eyes bright. Then suddenly he grabbed her in a hug, letting out a laugh. Her hands came to rest on his arms; and when he pulled away, she stared at him in warm bemusement.

“Do – do you know that your cure will work?” she asked.

“The nanobots will be programmed for the plague, yes. Don’t ask me what that means, because there’s no time to explain. But before you catch it, I’d better inject you, too – hand?”

She held it out, and he sterilised and primed the needle again, then found a vein in her wrist and pressed the button.

“Ow! That felt like a bee sting.”

“It injected the cure into your blood.”

“What about you – aren’t you going to do it to yourself?”

“It was done to me in my own time,” he replied, returning to stand next to Victor. Nothing had yet changed about him apart from the fact that his lips were slightly parted and he was obviously breathing. _You can beat this now, Vitya, thank God. _It would take the nanobots a while to work, though; if they acted too quickly, it would send the immune system into overdrive. However, it should be safe to leave him alone again, much as Yuuri loathed the idea. There was a whole castle full of people who needed their help. “I have to work out what to do,” he said, tucking Victor’s exposed arm under the sheets and smoothing his fringe back.

“We should take that stinging device and use it to cure the others. Unless you have more than one, it will be a long task – we should start soon.”

“I only have this one, and I got it from Ailis.” He glanced at her, then returned his gaze to Victor. “Dealing with her, and with what she’s done, is going to be like a game of chess, guessing moves and counter-moves. If she finds out I’m Justin, she’ll come straight after me. She might have more guns; I was going to bring more than one myself, before…things happened. And Justin’s the only person whose likeness I can project. I’d have to leave the castle – and this is where she’s living.” His thoughts in a whirl, he continued to speak them aloud for Julia’s benefit. “If I go around the castle with the injector, everyone will be talking about me; Ailis will know who I am straight away. I can’t do it looking like this, either; I’m a stranger, and they’ve never seen a Japanese person before, so they’ll probably try to run me out of the castle, if not kill me. If I loaned the injector to someone else – ”

“Give it to me,” Julia offered excitedly.

He looked at her. “That’s a problem, too. Because word will get to Ailis that _you_ cured everyone. Before she shot you, she’d make you tell her who I am.” Reaching into a pocket, he removed the laser gun. “These can cut through armour as if it wasn’t there.” He aimed it at the opposite wall and fired low; plaster exploded outward, leaving a small crater.

“Holy mother of mercy,” Julia breathed. After a pause, she added, “The master will be cross when he sees that.”

“I’d be relieved to know he was well enough for it,” Yuuri said, pocketing the gun again and tugging the sheets higher so that they reached Victor’s neck, then smoothing them. “_How _can I get the cure to everyone?” he murmured.

He thought about how Ailis had distributed the plague bacteria. Maybe what had been done once could be done again – with certain modifications.

Turning to Julia, he said, “You _can _help me.”

“What?” She stared at him quizzically.

“I’ll explain in a minute – but are you with me?”

She nodded. “I’ll carry the gun if you want.”

“That _won’t _be necessary,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “We hopefully shouldn’t have to worry about defending ourselves at all; we’re on a mission to heal. For once.” He leaned down and kissed Victor’s cheek, giving his hair a final caress. “I love you,” he whispered near his ear. “Get well. I’ll see you again soon.”

* * *

After turning his projector back on, they went back down the stairs to the main garrison room, both wearing hooded cloaks, Yuuri with his leather travelling bag over his shoulder. The place was as empty as before. Deciding it would be best not to call attention to themselves by crossing the courtyard, he entered the hall which passed by his old room, followed by Julia, and led the way to the servants’ quarters.

There were more signs of life here now, but what Yuuri saw sent shudders through him. Moans and the occasional wail echoed down the corridor – of the sick, of people terrified of the sick, it was impossible to tell. Weeping. He was surprised to see that several maids, most of them stout middle-aged women, were taking their chances to tend to the dying, their expressions grim as they hurried between rooms with baskets of stained bedclothes, stinking buckets, pitchers of water, and bundles of bandages trailing behind them. One woman carrying a bucket passed them from where they’d come, glancing at them wordlessly before darting into a room.

_Victor’s still up there, alone, _Yuuri thought as he and Julia continued to make their way along._ When he starts to wake up, he might be frightened and in pain; he won’t know he’s been given a cure. I’m not sure when that’ll be…but I’ve got to help these people._

Julia remained a step behind him, silent, as they crossed the turret room containing the well and entered the kitchen. But this time, instead of two girls huddled together amid cold ashes in the great hearths, cauldrons of boiling water hung over blazing fires, some attended to by women stirring linens inside with thick wooden sticks. No one paid the cloaked figures any mind as they passed through the archway that led to the buttery, where neat rows of wooden barrels stacked on their sides lined the walls.

“Do you know anything about what’s stored here?” Yuuri asked Julia as they pulled their hoods back. “I need thin wine or beer.”

She pointed to a corner. “There. Supper wine.”

“Help me lift it down – can you manage it?”

Glaring at him as if the question were insulting, she went to the barrel and began to pull.

“Wait – if it’s full, it’s safer if we both do it,” Yuuri said, joining her. Together, they shifted it to the floor and stood it on end. “I need to get the top off.”

“I’ll do it if you give me the hammer and chisel.”

Yuuri reached into his bag and handed them over; he’d taken them from his clock-making paraphernalia at her behest after he’d explained his plan. She tapped and pried, and removed the metal hoop at the top, then the wooden lid, as quickly as a pro.

“You’ve done this a few times before, haven’t you?” he said with a small smile.

“When you serve at every meal, you get used to it; the butler or one of the servants aren’t always around when you need them.”

Yuuri took out the tube of nanobots and carefully pulled the seal off the end, then poured half the contents into the barrel before resealing it and placing it back in his pocket. “Can you close the lid? Be careful – it has to be secure, so the contents don’t spill.”

The glare again. “Like you said, I’ve done this before.” She did as he’d asked, and he put the chisel away, then took out a nail and the piece of paper she’d written on for him, which he hammered to the rim of the barrel. Not having had to write a message in any language other than his own until now, he’d soon discovered that the translator’s powers didn’t extend to enabling him to write in Middle English, and he’d had to tell Julia what he wanted it to say: _Drawte of helinge. Lat þe syk drynke right anon_ – an emergency healing drink for the sick. Signed with the name of an actual physician, according to Julia; one who had travelled to the castle from York on occasion – Lord Cedric Lyons.

“They’ll have to believe it was left here under his instructions,” Yuuri said.

Julia wrinkled her brow. “But no one will see him.”

“No one’s looking anyway; they’ve got other things on their minds. I think we might be able to get away with it in the confusion.” He pulled his hood back up and gripped the barrel. “Come on, let’s get this in place. Hopefully no one will see us; or if they do, they won’t recognise us.”

Julia mirrored his actions, and they each took an end of the barrel and carried it between them as quickly as they could through the archway that led to the deserted great hall, and then into the courtyard, where they placed it on the grass before sprinting back to the buttery. Once there, they went to stand on either side of one of the tall, narrow leaded windows, peering out. No one emerged to examine the barrel, which was what Yuuri had anticipated.

“You know what to do,” he said to Julia, and then suddenly thought to add, “Do you know where the wine barrel from last night’s supper would be stored? I’d better make sure there’s nothing left in it.”

“There won’t be,” she replied. “The barrels of thin wine and beer go fast; last night’s will have been emptied before the morning.”

“All right. Good luck, then. I’ll be here if you need me.” She nodded and disappeared through the kitchen.

There was nothing else to do for now but wait and watch, and hope she succeeded. It was in quiet moments like this, when Yuuri was alone with his thoughts, that the anxiety tended to bleed into his awareness, gradually at first, until it had him by the throat and he was shaking with it. Ailis and her threats; the gun pointed straight at him. And the spectre of Victor’s pale form with those horrific blisters. The sights and sounds and smells in the castle as he and Julia had walked through. He swallowed and deepened his breaths, counting them, in and out.

_I can’t bear to think of Victor up there in his room like that. He needs me._

_But I gave him the nanobots. He’ll be better soon. Please let him be better soon._

He could feel the sweat on his brow, trembling inside, his throat constricting. _This is stupid. I’m through the worst of everything now, aren’t I? Stop, Yuuri, just stop it._

Then, mercifully shattering his racing thoughts, Julia appeared in the courtyard with Ethelfrith. As he’d guessed, she was well, since the university would have ensured she’d received an injection of nanobots during her trip to the future, and fortunately Julia had found her quickly. From what Yuuri had learned of her during their interview, she seemed like someone who might be willing to help spread the word about the wine and distribute it. He smiled at the expression of surprise and excitement on Julia’s face as she pretended she’d just noticed the presence of the barrel and was eager to tell someone. A few words passed between them, and they hurried off in different directions. 

Julia soon rejoined him in the buttery. “She’s going to let the others know the barrel is there,” she informed him. “I swore her to secrecy that I had anything to do with it, as you instructed; I said I was afraid of getting in trouble because I was supposed to be assisting the master.”

“Well done,” Yuuri said quietly as they watched out of the window. It wasn’t long before about a dozen servants issued from the opposite wing of the castle, conferring while they circled around the barrel. “Can any of them read?”

“I’m not certain, but I told Ethelfrith what the note says.”

Yuuri spotted her in the group. No doubt they were wondering why the hell Lord Lyons would leave a barrel in the courtyard with a note nailed to it. But judging from some of the oddments he’d seen in Mistress Ramsay’s workshop, Yuuri reckoned they’d be willing to take just about anything that was purported to be medicine if they trusted the credentials of the person who gave it to them. 

Ailis would know he was responsible for the presence of the barrel, of course; there was no point in trying to hide it. In fact, the obviousness of it might have struck him as darkly humorous in more relaxed circumstances. As long it enabled the drink to get to those who needed it, and Ailis didn’t discover his identity or that Julia was helping him.

“Do you think they’ll do as the message says?” Julia whispered as they continued to watch and wait.

“I hope so. Time’s running out. They must be aware of that.” Yuuri wondered for a moment if, with their human capacity for perverse and self-destructive behaviour, the servants would decide this was some kind of devilry and pour all the wine out onto the ground. But then a man emerged from the servants’ quarters wearing a leather apron, and from it he produced a hammer and something small which he tapped into the bung near the bottom of the barrel – a spigot. Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief, and heard Julia do the same. There was more activity now as the servants fetched jugs, filled them, and disappeared back into the castle.

“It seems the name of Lord Lyons is trusted here,” he said as he watched.

“What have they got to lose? There’s no cure for the plague, not in this time. Sometimes people will try anything to prevent the end from coming.”

Yuuri looked at her, suddenly wondering what experiences she might have had.

“What do you suggest we do now?” she asked.

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” he told her, shifting his attention to the courtyard again. “We were sparring last evening and missed supper, which means if Ailis sees us now, she shouldn’t think it’s suspicious that we’re healthy. We’ll just be two more of the lucky ones who have been told about the barrel of medicine from the good doctor and want to help.”

“Let’s get some pitchers from the kitchen.” She turned to leave.

“Julia,” he said solemnly, catching her arm, “thank you for everything today. I owe you my life.”

She held his gaze for a moment, green eyes steady. “That makes us even, then.” 

* * *

Yuuri stood with his pitcher full of wine, watching Julia walk quickly across the courtyard to the garrison, carrying her own pitcher. Of course she’d want to treat the fighting men first. He’d be glad to treat the servants, though there might also be logic in seeing to the baron and his chief officials, since they kept the castle running. Then he decided his musings reminded him too much of Ailis’s suggestion in the cottage that she only allow him to treat ten people, and force him to choose. He thought of the men in the garrison who he’d trained and fought with – and his squire, who’d only ever been loyal and kind – and suddenly there was no more debate to be had.

He caught up with Julia in the main garrison room, careful not to spill anything from his pitcher. “Would they all be upstairs? I’ve, um never actually been up there myself.”

She turned to look at him. “There are three floors above this one. Where do you want to start?”

“Where would Emil be?”

“Top floor,” she replied with an approving nod.

Yuuri hadn’t expected to witness the symptoms of plague when he’d travelled to the past; it hadn’t crossed his mind. Seeing them in Victor had been indescribably awful – and it was no easier now in the garrison, the cots on every floor occupied by the suffering and the dying, their moans filling the air, the sick-room odours clogging Yuuri’s nostrils. This day would live on in his nightmares, he had no doubt. Ailis had recreated her traumatic memories of Surga right here, and there was every possibility she’d never intended to distribute the cure.

A woman in white holding a bowl had been trying to get Emil to take something on a spoon when Yuuri arrived. She was propping him up with an arm; his eyes were shut, and a faint moan escaped him. Yuuri was struck by how young he looked, and remembered he was only three years older than Julia. But his skin had a terrible pallor, his lips tinged blue.

“What are you giving him?” he asked the woman, taking an empty cup from a table and pouring some wine from his pitcher into it.

“Ten-year-old treacle,” she replied quietly, the spoon hovering near Emil’s lips. “’Tis the best remedy in the castle. I couldn’t leave them to suffer without trying to help, sir.”

_Fucking hell, _he wanted to say, though what came out as he joined her was, “That’s kind of you, but I have something better. A healing draught given to us by Lord Lyons, the physician. There’s a barrel full of it in the courtyard; everyone who’s well is getting some and giving it to the sick to drink. It, um, seems to start helping straight away.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Indeed?” 

“Yes; I recommend you give the patients that, instead of the treacle. Here.” He located another cup and handed it to her, then poured wine into it. “Let each person have several good swallows, if they can manage it. Help yourself to my pitcher. And,” he added with a sudden thought, “be sure to drink some yourself, in case you’ve caught the disease too.”

“I survived it two years ago, sir, praise be to God, which is why you see me here now; it’s said that those what get over it are less apt to catch it again. You’d likely find the same with most of the others who’ve been doing their best to help; I seen plenty trying to hide themselves away. If they had horses, I daresay they’d have fled the castle, but it ain’t no good spreading plague elsewhere anyway.”

“Leave me with Emil, then,” Yuuri told her, “and perhaps get a pitcher for yourself. Spread word about the barrel of wine, and tell everyone you see to drink it whether they feel ill or not.”

“Yes, sir, I will.” She stood, made a quick bow, and hurried to the spiral staircase with her bowl and cup.

Emil lay propped against his pillow. The usual maroon coif covered his sandy hair, and he wore a plain linen night shirt which hid any possible blisters from sight. “Emil,” Yuuri said quietly. “It’s Justin.”

Deep blue eyes, bright with fever, were suddenly fixed on him, and a hand grabbed weakly at his wrist. “Sir,” he said in a hoarse, trembling voice that pierced Yuuri’s heart, “you must go from here. If God has spared you from this horror, don’t stay to catch it.”

“I’m not going. I’m here to help. I have – ”

“I don’t want to die,” Emil cut him off, a tear rolling down a cheek. The terror deep in his eyes was something Yuuri never thought he’d witness in this man, unless perhaps the world turned against them and sent them into battle – and not even then; he was a trained squire. But their training prepared them to face human attackers, not one of the deadliest diseases in history. It would be a personal battle waged against a faceless enemy with no mercy; one taking place quietly all over the castle. Yuuri reminded himself there was a lot of work yet to do.

“You’re not going to die. I have a healing draught from Lord Lyons. I, um, gave it to Victor, too. Julius and I and some of the servants are taking it round. I need you to sit up a bit more and have a drink.”

“Julius…he’s well?” Emil sighed, struggling to get higher; Yuuri reached around to help him.

“He’s fine. Victor’s going to be, too, and so will you. Here.” He held the cup to Emil’s lips, and he sipped. Yuuri allowed him to take his time. But if he did this with everyone, he’d make very slow progress, he realised. The injector and nanobots were in his pocket. Most of these people would hardly notice a pinprick if he quickly went round injecting them, and it would be simple to ensure he wasn’t seen doing it. Yes, that would be preferable, though he’d carry the pitcher of wine just for show, unless he came across other servants he could share it with when theirs had run out.

“Wine,” Emil whispered. “He thinks to cure us with wine?”

“I’ve, um, been told he mixed special herbs with it.”

Emil shut his eyes and sank back, having drunk half of the cup’s contents. “I’m not sure I have faith in that against what ails me. Sir, if I should…if I should die – ”

“You won’t,” Yuuri hastened to reassure him. “You’ve taken care of me all this time; now it’s my turn. I promise you this will help.”

“Promise…is a strong word.”

“It is, and I’m using it.” Yuuri laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t ask me how I know, but I do. Trust me.” He paused. “I have to give the wine to other people who are ill, but I’ll be back later.” He added in a warm, confident tone, “You’re going to be all right.”

Emil made no reply, and his wide eyes followed Yuuri as he got up and left the room.

* * *

Yuuri visited most of the areas of the castle, injecting the ill, or giving them wine if there were other eyes upon him or the victim was particularly lucid. The servants had quickly seen to the baroness and the castle officials, though the baron, he was told, was away on a trip, along with a small retinue. He crossed paths several times with Julia, who said she’d tended to the young pages; and also the woman in white from the garrison, whose name he learned was Beatrice. When he went to treat Monica, he’d found her there already, and at that point remembered her face as that of one of the seamstresses who’d been present at his dance lessons. Monica had been unconscious, and he’d pretended to successfully get her to drink while he injected her wrist.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done,” he said to Beatrice before he left the room. “I’m sorry you had to go through this once yourself.”

She was tucking Monica in, and had placed a cloth over her forehead. Turning to him as he stood in the doorway of the little tower room, she said, “Thank _you_, sir. It seems men such as yourself have courage for more than battle.”

_That’s kind of you, but undeserved. I’ve already got nanobots in my system. _He nodded. “Have you drunk the wine yourself?”

“Yes, sir, and I’ve urged everyone else to do so. I daresay she’s looking a mite rosier already, what say you?”

Monica’s face remained unchanged in Yuuri’s opinion, but he smiled. “I think she is.” Then he had a sudden thought. “Can you tell me where Mistress Ramsay’s room is? I haven’t come across her yet.”

“Oh, she’s been away for the past few days visiting family, I’m told. All the worse for us as are still here; we could have done with her help.”

“I have high hopes for Lord Lyons’s cure. Thank you.” He let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him, and decided to climb the narrow winding stairs to the top room of the tower, now deserted, where he and Monica had danced throughout the dark evenings.

“Phichit,” he said quietly into his com once he’d made the call.

“Yuuri! How are you? What’s happening?”

“Is Celestino still there?”

“Of course,” the professor answered. “Are you back at the castle?”

“I have been for a while. I think everyone’s got the nanobots in their system now, or will do soon.”

“I don’t suppose there was any other way to cure them? No, of course not. And they couldn’t be left to die. Ailis put you in a difficult situation, Yuuri.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Do you have time to tell us exactly what happened at the cottage, and what you’ve done since?”

Yuuri explained as succinctly as he could; they’d heard the part with Ailis, even if they hadn’t seen it, which helped.

“I was sitting here on my sofa with my hands over my mouth the whole time you were in the cottage,” Phichit said. “You were amazing, Yuuri. You didn’t let her get to you.”

“If by that you mean I wasn’t worried, I can assure you I thought any second might be my last.” His stomach gave a lurch as he remembered.

“But you didn’t _sound _like it. And she still doesn’t know who you are at the castle, does she?”

“No. But I don’t know who she is, either.” He repeated what Beatrice had told him about Mistress Ramsay being away. 

“It’s a perfect alibi,” Celestino said. “It means she wasn’t at the meal, so no one would comment on the fact that she hadn’t got ill. She was free to meet you at the cottage. Perhaps she’s attending to her wound somewhere, waiting for everything at the castle to settle.”

Yuuri considered this. “True. But something’s bothering me. These roles she told me she’s fascinated with – the angel of life and death…”

“It explains why she was so keen to culture the plague all this time and then let it loose, as a way of discovering your identity.”

“Maybe,” Yuuri answered, biting his lip, “but that’s not what I was thinking. If it means that much to her, I imagine she would’ve wanted to be there at the meal herself and watch everyone get served the wine she’d contaminated and drink it down, completely oblivious to the fact that they might as well have been drinking poison.”

“Wow, Yuuri, now that you mention it – ” Phichit began, but Celestino jumped in.

“Alice Ramsay wasn’t at the meal, was she?” he said.

“No. Which means we need to keep our options open regarding who Ailis is.”

“Do you have any new thoughts after what’s happened?”

“I’ve been trying to come up with ideas, but she wasn’t giving anything away.” Yuuri forced himself to think back to the encounter at the cottage again. “I got a better look at her this time, but all that can be said is that she’s obviously well-fed and healthy, and she doesn’t have chapped hands like the washerwomen or cleaning ladies. But since we’re already working on the assumption that she’s not living a life of drudgery here, that isn’t much help.” He paused. “I’ve had to watch my step since I’ve got back, and make sure no one would have an easy time tracing the wine barrel full of nanobots back to me and Julia, just in case she’s here and on the lookout. For all I know, she raced back to the castle and found a way to pretend to be sick, so that if I went around asking questions, no one would list her name among the people who’d been free of plague. I wouldn’t put it past her, and it’d be a clever move.” He gave a little sigh. “Or she could still be Mistress Ramsay.”

“Stay on it, Yuuri. She’ll be shaken from things not having gone her way today. You almost captured her, and she lost her gun to you and is injured. For now, it seems to me that you have the upper hand.” 

_I wish that were true. She still knows what her ultimate plan is, and I don’t. _He suddenly realised how very, very tired he was, and that he had no idea of the time. It felt like he’d been working along with Julia, Beatrice and the others for hours, and that was after the trip to the cottage. Now he’d have to trust that the nanobots were doing their job. How had Victor been all this time? Had he awoken?

“Phichit, have you got the book there – the one with Victor’s death date?”

“Yeah, let me get it out; I’ve got the page bookmarked.”

Yuuri hardly dared to hope. But when a long silence ensued after he heard Phichit leafing through pages, it confirmed his suspicions. “No change, is there?”

“Sorry, I’m afraid not.”

Slumping back against the cold stone wall, Yuuri let out a breath. _Alive today, but not past the end of the year. Damn it, what can I do when I don’t even know the cause, let alone the day? _“I suppose it makes sense,” he murmured. “Victor would never have caught the plague anyway if Ailis hadn’t released it. I need to get back to him; I’ll touch base with you later.”

“And I’m going to leave Phichit for now,” Celestino said. “I’ll be immediately contactable if necessary, however. You did well today, Yuuri; you displayed bravery and quick thinking. I’m glad we’ve got you on our side.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said, cutting the call. Celestino wasn’t a bad person to work with, he thought, but he missed speaking to Phichit on his own.

His thoughts whirled around everything he’d endured over the course of the day. Almost losing his life. The castle full of plague victims. Nanobots. Ailis – who was she, and had she returned to the castle?

And Victor…with his marble skin and blisters, hardly breathing.

Yuuri wasted no more time; he knew where he was needed, and ran down the steps. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Middle English translation:
> 
> Drawte of helinge. Lat þe syk drynke right anon.  
_Healing potion. To be given to everyone who is ill, immediately._
> 
> Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html)


	89. Chapter 89

_Get well, baby. Not long now. I’m looking after you._

Yuuri hardly left Victor’s side initially, and had no desire to. He knew the nanobots were working; the colour had returned to Victor’s skin, and he was feverish rather than that disturbing deathly cold. Best of all, the balloon-like blisters were quickly going down. But he hadn’t yet regained consciousness, and Yuuri wanted to be present when he did.

However, he also had to eventually accept that it was necessary to do some investigative work, and Julia was happy to stay with Victor while he was gone. The first thing he did was ride out to the cottage, armed with the gun, only to discover what he’d expected: Ailis had had plenty of time to clear her things away, and there was no longer any evidence that she’d been there at all. The news back at the castle, however, was more heartening. All of the plague victims were beginning to recover, but since such a thing was unheard of, there was a great deal of speculation as to what other disease was capable of causing the same symptoms. Everyone was singing Lord Lyons’s praises, though no one remembered actually seeing him. Yuuri smiled when he thought about the mysterious nobleman. No doubt he’d be all too glad to further his career by accepting responsibility for providing the cure.

In the kitchen, which was beginning to return to its usual bustle and pleasant aromas, Yuuri discovered that most of the servants had avoided catching the plague. He visited briefly with Bridget, asking after her health and whether she knew of anyone he could speak to who had served the wine on the evening in question. She directed him to a blond-haired boy called Nick in a linen shirt with a blue and white tabard over it; Yuuri recognised him as one of the servants who often brought food and drink to his own table. He steered Nick into the buttery, where they could avoid prying eyes and ears.

“I’ve been asked to look into what happened the night before the illness broke out,” Yuuri told him, “since no castle officials are well enough to do it. Can you tell me who gave you the wine to serve?”

The boy blinked up at him. “The barrel for the meal was on a table for us to help ourselves to, sir, as it always is. Mistress Shaw usually chooses it and has it put there; she’s the butler, sir.”

Yuuri had frequently seen her at meals, and briefly spoken to her: a quiet, taciturn woman in her forties with dark eyes and hair swept up under a stiffened linen band they called a torque. She’d seemed no more suspicious than the other women he’d interviewed, if rather reserved and imperious, though he was getting used to encountering that attitude in people here who held important positions. And as for contaminating the wine, Ailis could conceivably have removed the bung in the barrel and then replaced it once she’d done her work, no one the wiser.

“You didn’t see anyone lingering near the buttery who wouldn’t usually have any business here?” he asked Nick.

“No, sir. But I don’t hang about when there’s folk in the great hall waiting to be served.”

“Do you remember if anyone was missing from supper?”

The boy puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. “There’s a great many people who attend meals, sir, and I couldn’t rightly tell you about them all.” He squinted, as if thinking hard. “The knights and squires were all in attendance, apart from yourself and Julius, I believe. You were lucky, sir, you and he both. At the high table and the ones nearby…all the usual personages were there also, apart from the lord and his chancellor, I’m certain. I’ve heard tell he’s on a visit, having been summoned by a message from the Duke of York.”

Yuuri started at this. “The duke? Are you sure?”

“That’s what they say, sir.”

But wouldn’t Victor have gone again in his father’s stead? Though Yuuri admittedly understood little about the politics here. “Do you know of anyone who drank at the meal and stayed healthy?”

Nick thought again. “I honestly can’t account for everyone, sir. But it seems to me that they all became ill. Father Maynard says it was a sign from God to remember how great he is, and to worship him daily, lest the next time he visits pestilence upon the castle, no cure will be given.”

_Bloody hell. _“Thank you, Nick. I appreciate your help.” Yuuri escorted the boy back to the kitchen, where he asked Bridget if she had any special treats, and she said she’d baked a batch of honey pies that morning. Nick got one, to his delight, and Yuuri took a plate with one each for himself and Julia – and Victor, when he awoke.

In fact, during the course of just a few days, he saw a great deal of Julia, who brought food and drink up to Victor’s room; meals in the great hall had been cancelled, and servants were busy taking provisions to those who were tending to the sick, as well as plague victims who were well enough to sit up and take nourishment. But Yuuri had no desire to leave Victor anyway; nor did Julia, apparently. Without him or anyone else to train with or to serve at meals, she was obviously keen to spend most of her time this way. It seemed to soothe her when she fussed over Victor, and she also was intensely curious to discover more about Yuuri Katsuki. 

It was different from how it had been when Victor had first learned of his real identity. Her questions were rapid-fire, generally blunt, and often unpredictable. The first one, however, was only natural, he supposed. He’d bombarded her with a lot of information in a short space of time, and she wanted him to repeat it and elaborate on it. And for once, there seemed to be no hurry while they sat together at the table or on the window seat. He told her more about who he was and the time he lived in. Showed her the clock he was building, which she admired more for the craftsmanship than because it was any practical use when they had church bells and an astrolabe. He figured she’d happily have him talking all day, but he wasn’t inclined to go into as much detail as he had with Victor; he liked her, but she was persistent, and he wanted time alone with Victor even if he wasn’t yet conscious, both to tend to his needs and to quietly _be_. 

Still, he got Phichit to play stories and music for her. She liked _Macbeth_, and fractal and bangbang music at a volume as loud as he dared – in his own room, so as not to disturb Victor. He showed her a bit of modern dancing, and she insisted he teach her some, which he decided would have to be more of a long-term project, as it was with Victor. She was good, of course; fluid and graceful, just like when she wielded a sword. He wondered what she might have done with her considerable talents if she’d been born in his own time.

The conversations they had were unlike anything he’d experienced with anyone else before – but then, he’d never met anyone quite like Julia. 

* * *

_“What is the nature of the voices talking out of your wrist? Did you bring spirits here to advise you?”_

_“No. Like I’ve said before, there’s nothing magical about my tech. Celestino and Phichit are men in my time who are helping me with my mission.”_

_“What spirits take your messages back and forth, then?”_

_“There are no spirits involved in any of this. It’s…hard to explain. But they’re all natural, ordinary processes that haven’t been discovered yet in this time.”_

_“If you say so. But you won’t convince Father Maynard of that.”_

_“I don’t intend to try.”_

* * *

Yuuri sat with Julia at the table, watching her dip her bread in her pottage. He’d had little appetite lately, and didn’t expect he would again until Victor woke up. The same, however, could not be said for Julia, who seemed to be enjoying the unusual privilege of eating meals in Victor’s room rather than serving in the great hall.

She’d been asking him about what people looked like in his time, how they dressed, how they did their hair. He’d explained about face paint, which she seemed to find fascinating, especially when he said he regularly wore it himself.

“Did you do that every day?” she asked as she ate and he sipped his thin beer. “Paint designs on your face? What kinds?”

He shrugged. “Some people like to create elaborate art; they might paint their entire face one colour, or a blend of colours, and do patterns or pictures on top, butterflies and dragons and things. But it takes a lot of time, and well, mainly it’s for special occasions. I usually just put a few lines around my eyes and some spirals.”

“Do those men who talk to you over your wrist device wear it too?”

“Yeah, pretty much everyone does.”

“Zounds. Will you paint my face sometime?”

Yuuri laughed. “What with?”

She considered this as she cut off another piece of bread. “I’ll have to ask a visiting troupe if I can borrow theirs.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Can you show me what your face looks like when you paint it? That device of yours – it creates illusions, does it not?”

“Um.” He hadn’t even considered this until now. “I’m not sure.”

“Go on, try.”

“I’ll have to go to the mirror to see if it’s working.” He stood and went there, then brought up the projector’s BCI and concentrated. To his surprise, once he’d visualised it well enough, the lazy monochromatic pattern that he usually drew appeared. He knew it from countless half-asleep makeup sessions in the bathroom: electric blue lining his eyes, with swirls and spirals at the far corners. Deciding he liked what he saw, he added a dusting of blusher and a touch of coral lipstick, then rejoined Julia at the table with a little smile.

Her jaw dropped. “By God’s holy bones, that’s astounding,” she breathed, and Yuuri’s smile widened. “You should’ve done that when you performed your dance for the competition.”

He gave a small laugh and lifted his cup, thought better of leaving lipstick smudges on the rim, remembered the lipstick was only an illusion anyway, and took a drink. “Ailis could’ve been in the audience. I think a knight in 1393 wearing face paint from 2121 might’ve been a bit of a giveaway.”

“You _are _a performer, though. I’ve seen you and the master on the wheel. Is that what you do in your time?”

“I told you, I repair things. Tech. Like my com – my wrist device. Well, not things as sophisticated as that. Ailis invented it, and I’m not entirely sure how it works myself.”

She looked thoughtful. “You can alter Justin’s appearance too, can you not? He had long hair and a goatee, and you fixed it.”

Yuuri smiled. “I can do minor things, but I can’t fundamentally change how he looks. I don’t think I can change his hair colour, for example, or make him skinny or fat.” 

“Try giving him the silliest hair you can think of; I want to see.”

Silly hair? Yuuri blew out a breath. Impersonating Justin here at the castle was serious business; the success of his mission, and possibly even his life, depended on it. But he supposed that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun for Julia’s benefit.

He exchanged his own appearance, which seemed a shame after he’d made himself up, for Justin’s, trying to imagine him with shaggy locks like a lion’s, instead of his neat bowl-shaped cut. “How am I doing?”

Julia sat back as she chewed, scrutinising. “Bit blurry around the edges.” Then she gave a little gasp.

“What?”

“Your – his – eyes are tourmaline. That’s how I’ve always seen them.”

“That’s right.”

“But the master didn’t agree. Do you remember when we discussed it at the tournament? He said he was certain he couldn’t have been mistaken. I wonder what colour he thought they were?”

“Brown,” Yuuri said with a grin. “He was seeing my own eyes through the projection.”

“But how?”

“We haven’t worked it out, but well, maybe it’s because he…” _Actually, this is a little awkward._

“The eyes are the mirrors of the soul,” she said with a knowing smile. Silence fell while Yuuri felt his cheeks pink. “Well, like I said, definitely tourmaline.” She took a sip of her beer. “I suppose that means I don’t fancy you, then.”

“I’d say that was a good thing,” Yuuri replied, running a hand through his hair. “Right, you said you wanted it to be silly, so…” He closed his eyes and visualised again, and suddenly he could feel the ghost of what he’d been trying to accomplish: long hair and a beard down to his waist.

Julia’s eyes flew wide; then she burst into uproarious laughter. She slapped the table and guffawed, and bent over and clutched her stomach, pointing at him but apparently unable to speak. Yuuri glanced toward the bed and saw Victor shifting uneasily.

“Shhhhh,” he hissed, his amusement from witnessing such a display from her quickly altering to annoyance. “You’re disturbing Victor.”

But her eyes shone and she continued to snort and giggle. Yuuri supposed it would be difficult for anyone to take him seriously like this; he reckoned he must look like a refugee from a desert island who hadn’t had a haircut in twenty years.

The _most _annoying thing, however, was the length of time it took him to remove all the excess hair from Justin’s projection. For reasons perhaps only understood by Ailis herself, it was easier to “grow” it than to “cut” it – a fact which continued to entertain Julia for quite some time. 

* * *

_“Do you have any suspicions as to who Ailis might be? She’s somebody here at the castle, is she not?”_

_“A woman, yes. We don’t think she’s a servant.”_

_“Is that all? How long have you been attempting to unravel this conundrum?”_

_“You sound like Celestino. That’s not a good thing. And I’ll have you know it hasn’t been easy. Victor and I were looking into the possibility that she’s posing as Mistress Ramsay, but we’re not sure.”_

_“Really? Zounds. I’ll watch her workshop night and day.”_

_“You could certainly help that way – but I think Victor would tell you it needs to fit around your training and other duties. And you can’t let her know you’re doing it. Besides, we both have been watching her, and she’s not giving anything away. We can’t even assume she’s Ailis.”_

_“Maybe she’s Agnes the Red.”_

_“I think I met her briefly – she works in the kitchen, doesn’t she? I take it they call her that because she usually wears red?”_

_“No, they call her that because she got scalded by boiling water and that was how her skin looked.”_

_“Oh. Anyway, I didn’t think there was anything suspicious about her. Do you?”_

_“Well, she behaves as if she’s above most everyone else just because she’s the pantler’s wife.”_

_“The pantler? What do they do?”_

_“You haven’t learned yet? The pantler, future boy, is the person in charge of the bread and the pantry. One of the most important jobs. Anyway, Ailis sounds like she must be a bit that way, so…”_

_“You can’t just base your suspicions on something like that.”_

_“Why not? You’ve got to start somewhere, haven’t you?”_

* * *

“So in 2121, do many people of the same gender fancy each other?” Julia was lying on her back in front of the fire, and Yuuri was sitting in an easy chair, sipping wine and occasionally glancing Victor’s way.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, wondering what had got her thinking about the topic. There often seemed to be no anticipating what she’d come out with, and he realised Victor must have a great deal of patience with her. Though what she’d chosen now was perhaps not a bad thing to try to discuss.

“You’re so easy about it,” she replied. “As if it were normal where you come from. It isn’t here.”

“I suspect it’s quite common,” he said, swirling the wine in his cup, “along with different kinds of sexual and gender expression, because people are people no matter what time or place. It’s just that they’re taught here to think and behave in ways that repress it.” He paused. “You must have given it some thought, bearing in mind your circumstances here? If you carried on presenting as a man, you could legally marry a woman – ”

“Don’t keep hoping I’ll give in to you and agree,” she said, pointing at him briefly.

“I’m not.”

“Because I told you it’s not for me.” She looked toward the bed where Victor lay, and added quietly, “I was surprised when I discovered it about him. He’s the most excellent knight in the land. No one could ever claim he wasn’t manly.”

Yuuri’s eyes followed hers, and his heart ached to be properly by Victor’s side again. _No one ever should. If only he’d wake up…_

Deciding he ought to comment on her words, he wondered how to be tactful about it. “Manliness only is what it is in your mind, and the minds of other people here, because that’s the definition this society has created. Gender roles are exaggerated; men are supposed to be dominant and women submissive. You can’t tell me you like it that way.”

“I do now that I’m a knight in training,” she answered quickly. “But I comprehend your point…I think.” Her green eyes were thoughtful as she asked, “I take it that’s not so in your time? What are women able to do that they can’t do here?”

“They’re allowed to do anything a man does,” he said with a smile as he watched her eyes light up. “They don’t need their father’s or husband’s or lord’s permission. And you might be surprised to see what men do. It’s quite common for them to look after children, for example.”

“I can hardly imagine such a world,” Julia mused, propping herself up on an elbow. “So what would I see if I walked down the high street in York in your time? Men wearing dresses, who aren’t Scotsmen? Women – ”

“Dressed as boys?” Yuuri raised an eyebrow, and she blinked. “Sometimes. Mainly, you can just be yourself without fear of getting in trouble with religious officials. People like me are called snapdragons, because ‘snap’ means ‘same’.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well that I can’t visit your time,” she sighed. “I wouldn’t want to be called by the name of some flower just because of what type I fancied.” But she quirked a smile.

“Obviously you wouldn’t be interested in the vehicles that fly you through the air, then, like you’re riding on a bird.” Yuuri sat back in his chair and rested his hands behind his head with a smug look as her jaw dropped and her eyes became saucers. “Thought not.”

* * *

_“Does everyone in Japan look like you?”_

_“Does everyone in England look like you?”_

* * *

“I really don’t think sparring in Victor’s room would be that clever a move,” Yuuri said as he did stretches and drills with his sword, clad in his armour, as far away from any furniture as possible. “Apart from the fact that we’d crash into something, we’d also make a hell of a lot of noise, and Victor’s resting.”

“He’s always resting,” Julia said with a frown, sheathing her sword and sitting in a chair. “I thought you said you gave him the cure.”

“I did. It’s only been a couple of days. You can see he’s getting better. He can sit up and drink now, even if he’s not opening his eyes. Anyway, if you’re bored – ”

“I’m not bored.” There was a silence while she watched him; then she commented, “You remind me of the master, doing that.”

Yuuri had been imagining an écarté ballet position while he’d been slowly dancing with the sword. He’d actually expected snide comments from Julia about how impractical it was, since anyone could simply walk up to him and stab him, but they hadn’t come. “I learned from the best,” he said. “Well, I’m still learning.”

“With him, you always will be. The same can be said for anyone.” She paused. “How long, exactly, have you been training to be a knight? Did you receive intensive instruction before you came here?”

“I did a bit of…” _Immersion. _“…sparring, I guess you could call it, but I didn’t have any formal training, no.” He stood straight and lowered his sword so that he could talk with her more easily. “I was pretty much starting from the basics when I arrived,” he said with a small laugh. “I didn’t know I’d be taking on the role of a knight. I’d never even ridden a horse before, not properly.”

She stared at him.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said in a quiet voice. “Just…maybe you do have a chance against Sir Tyler after all.”

Yuuri met her gaze, his stomach sinking at the mention of Tyler while his heart fluttered with hope that she was correct. With a small grin and a nod, he turned and resumed his exercises.

* * *

_“Are you going to tell Emil?”_

_“What, who I really am? I don’t see a need to. Only you and Victor know.”_

_“But if he did know, then when the four of us are together, no one will have to pretend.”_

_“Wouldn’t we still be pretending that you’re a boy?”_

_“Well…I don’t know. That’s different.”_

_“Is it? Anyway, the most important thing is that my secret doesn’t get out. With the best will in the world, anyone can let a word slip. Or Ailis might find a way to get information out of them, if she somehow discovers they know me. I’d hate to think of you getting hurt, especially if it was my fault.”_

_“I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”_

_“Good.”_

_“I don’t think Emil would, either.”_

_“Well…we’ll see.”_

* * *

Julia began clearing their dinner things from the table, putting plates and bowls and spoons on a large tray. It was Friday, a fast day, and she’d brought sorengue of eels made with verjuice and spices, baked herbed eggs, mushrooms sautéed with leeks, manchet bread, and a dessert called rosee consisting of almond milk, rice flour, rose petals, dates and cinnamon. She’d been providing enough food for two, though Victor hadn’t shown any signs of being conscious enough to eat. After the first meal had sat largely untouched on the table, Yuuri had invited her to eat Victor’s portions of subsequent meals; she’d protested at first that squires weren’t supposed to have most of these fine foods, but when he smiled and said he wouldn’t tell anyone, it hadn’t taken much persuasion for her to help herself to what were probably rare treats for her here.

“So how long are you expecting to stay?” she asked, pausing and looking at him as he sat at the table drinking a cup of thin wine. “Thinking of the master, of course. If Ailis were able to fix your time-travel device…?”

_Oh. _It hadn’t been something he was keen on discussing with Victor, let alone Julia. Because what he wanted, what he might be obliged to do, and what options would ultimately be open to him were all nebulous. “I don’t know,” he answered after a pause. “I might have to take Ailis back to my own time.” She stared at him wordlessly, and he continued, “She’s dangerous, Julia. Can you imagine what she could do in this time just with a laser gun?” He met her gaze intensely. “And she’s brilliant. She could try to change history – well, what I call history; events as they unfolded in the past, from my perspective. She could…” He thought. “…assassinate people. Introduce tech centuries before it was originally invented. Warn historical figures about their deaths, or upcoming battles – or tell them how to win, when they’re supposed to lose; make them lose when they’re meant to win…The possibilities are endless, and that’s the problem.”

Julia folded her arms across her chest. “You’ve changed things yourself by being here.”

“I know, but not on that kind of scale. I’m also trying to be responsible about what I do, whereas she isn’t. She’s…um, her mind is unbalanced, I think you could say.” 

“You have the gun now. Kill her when you get the chance.”

“It’s not as easy as that.”

“I saw you use it. It looks _very _easy to me.”

“We’re not as quick to put people to death in my time.” He stared at her pointedly. “We wouldn’t put anyone in a pillory, either.”

After a pause, she said, “It would still be the simplest solution, don’t you think?”

_To the mind of a fifteen-year-old medieval squire. _“Perhaps. But not necessarily the best.”

She looked over at Victor in bed, then back at Yuuri as she sat down in her chair again. “So tell me, then,” she said, her words measured, “when you leave, what’s the master going to do?”

Yuuri’s gaze dropped to the table, and he searched for a response. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. _Carpe diem_, they’d agreed, and events would unfold a day at a time. “I don’t _want_ to leave him. I’d never want that…but Ailis can’t stay here.”

“Can _you_?” Yuuri raised his eyes again to meet hers. “Or is our poxy little castle not good enough for you, future boy?” She’d said it half-jokingly, but there was an obvious edge to her words.

“It’s not like that.”

“What _is _it like?”

Yuuri breathed out a small huff. “You don’t know what Victor and I have been discussing. The villeins, the poverty. Duels, wars, diseases. The way the Church tries to control everyone’s lives; the ignorance and stupidity it encourages. Things aren’t like that where I’m from. Not in most places, not anymore.”

She thought about this for a moment. Then she stood, placed the remaining plates on the tray and picked it up, glaring at him. “It sounds wonderful. Good luck enjoying it on your own, then. I’ll still be here to look after the master when you’re gone, just like I was before. Someone needs to.” And with that, she strode to the door and let herself out.

Yuuri put his head in his hands, trying to force himself not to imagine what it would be like to be separated from Victor not for just a few days while he was ill, but permanently. Before long, his palms were wet with silent tears.

* * *

Sunlight slanted into the room, shadows gradually and inexorably shifting as the moments passed. An occasional shout issued from the courtyard, or the clack of cart wheels over one of the two cobblestone paths that crossed in the middle. Life was returning to normal at the castle, though many of the ill hadn’t yet left their rooms. Yuuri was sitting in a chair he’d pulled away from the table and placed next to Victor’s bed. His arm rested near the little oil lamp; he’d been watching Victor’s face for signs of animation. Somehow his body had instinctively known to take down liquid occasionally when Yuuri had offered it, but there had been no words from him; only sighs, snuffles, mutters and moans.

_I miss you, Vitya. This place isn’t the same without you. It’s…like a living history museum. But you give it a spark. You’re the beating heart of the castle._

He reached out and took Victor’s hand resting on the coverlet. No longer cold or clammy. But it didn’t move.

People could have different reactions to nanobots. Phichit had done some research and told him that it could make a difference whether they’d been imbibed or injected. The latter was likely to evoke a quicker, more extreme response; sometimes the body fought off the infection so assiduously that it would spare no energy to fuel the mind into wakefulness until most of the work was done. Or so Phichit had said; Yuuri had no experience of it himself. Illness was uncommon but not impossible in his time. Well, Ailis was an expert on that.

He’d visited Emil earlier, discovering he was awake though weak, and had got up for a walk round the courtyard after a dinner of bread and pottage supplied by Beatrice. His eyes, though heavy and shadowed, no longer contained the fear Yuuri had seen in them, and he seemed to have no recollection of having drunk from the cup that had cured him. Despite everything he’d suffered, he was still quick with a genuine smile, and insisted he was simply glad that Yuuri and Julia had been spared the mysterious illness that had descended upon the castle – and when was he required to attend to his master? Yuuri had assured him that he was fine, and told him to rest as long as he needed.

Julia had returned earlier to Victor’s room with a full jug of thin wine; they’d made small talk for a while, the atmosphere between them hanging thickly after their conversation before; but then Yuuri had come up with the idea of removing his translator and showing it to her, and she’d been amused by the differences in their speech, declaring that his was strangely clipped and lacking in rhythm, whatever that meant. However, while he respected and even admired her in some ways, he also found himself looking forward to a time soon when she had her daily tasks to attend to again, as the frequency and intensity of their interactions over the past few days had been draining. At least he had this quiet time now, just himself and Victor, even if one of them wasn’t entirely present. 

He rubbed Victor’s thumb gently. _You look like a sleeping prince. If only I could wake you with a kiss. _Leaning over, he pressed one to his temple. There was no reaction, though he hadn’t really expected one. It could be hours yet, or even another day. He ought to find something to do. Work on his clock. Touch base with Phichit. Send for Julia to sit with Victor, which he knew she’d gladly do, so he could go exercise. But none of it appealed. There was only one thing he wanted. 

“I’m here, and I’m waiting for you,” he whispered, smoothing Victor’s fringe back. “Please, Vitya…come back to me.”


	90. Life and Love, In Your Hands (Part 12)

The black-haired boy darted round the edge of the massive rock and pinwheeled to a halt.

“God’s bones, you did it!” he said to the older boy, who’d been standing in wait. “She’ll never find us here.”

With hair as light as the other’s was dark, the older boy blinked with the same blue eyes. He’d won the race with enough time to spare that he could sit down and catch his breath. Neither of them had been here before; the family had been travelling, and when Nana had taken them exploring, the blond boy had decided to venture further afield without her – followed, as he always was, by the younger one. He’d discovered a lake fringed by rocks on this side, and a tall cliff face.

“I wish you’d stop swearing like that,” he said to the black-haired boy.

“And you never do?”

“You do it all the time, just because you think it’s funny. God’s bones, God’s arms, God’s sides. It’s tiresome.”

“God’s knees, it’s hot today,” the black-haired boy declared with an exaggerated sigh. “God’s eyebrows, do you fancy a swim?”

The blond-haired boy stood, surveying the lake. “God’s yard, I suppose I do.”

The other boy gasped and giggled. “That’s so wicked. You’ll have to say a hundred Hail Marys to make God forgive you.”

“Bollocks to that.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Big, hairy God’s bollocks.”

The black-haired boy guffawed as he got undressed and ran into the water. The older boy pulled his boots off and waded in up to his ankles. Good mud to squish between your toes. Yes, they could cool off here, and Nana would eventually come and find them; she always seemed to be able to work out where they’d gone. Even though he’d led her quite the merry dance this time, he thought.

He went back to shore, took off his clothes, and followed the other boy into the lake. A strange day this was; hot, even though you couldn’t see the sun for the grey blanket stretching from horizon to horizon. The rocks were black, and the water. A strange place for a strange day. But there was good swimming to be had.

They splashed themselves and each other, and did somersaults, and dodged and tagged. Then the black-haired boy wanted to race to the far side of the lake and back. The blond boy agreed, and won, of course; he was three years older, after all. He encouraged the younger boy to kick his legs and straighten his arms, and congratulated him when he caught up, both of them treading water.

“Stop talking to me like I’m two years old. I know how to swim.”

“If you’re that good a swimmer, you should be able to give me a challenge.”

With a fiery spark in his eyes, the black-haired boy insisted, “I’m going to beat you one day, you wait and see.”

The other boy laughed. “No one beats me.”

“Not so. Nana beats you at chess all the time.”

Another laugh. “No one beats me at swimming. Or with a sword.”

“You need someone to take you down a peg. I swear on God’s nails that it will be me.”

The blond boy rolled his eyes, then grinned good-naturedly. “I’m not being proud, I’m just stating facts.”

The younger boy shrieked. “I think a fish swam past my leg!”

More laughter. “You want to be a knight one day, and you’re scared of a fish?”

“I’m not! I’m not scared of anything – and I’ll prove it to you,” he added as a light sprang into his eyes. “I bet I can hold my breath and stay underwater longer than you.”

The blond boy wasn’t keen on that kind of thing, lingering in dark waters below the life-giving air until his lungs burned.

“Now who’s scared?”

“Not me,” he replied with a huff.

“All right – on the count of three. One, two, three!”

He gulped in so much air that it hurt his chest, and dived under, slowly letting out his breath and opening his eyes to watch the bubbles, glassy beads floating up through the depths of night to the dim light of day; mastering the panic response of a body under siege. _I don’t need air. It’s safe down here. I can return to the surface whenever I want to._

Eventually, however, there was no denying the need to breathe, or the feeling that the weight of water above him could crush him down into the mud and he’d never escape. He shot upwards like a sleek fish with a sweep of his arms and broke the surface, the force of his strokes sending him out of the water to his chest before he bobbed back down, certain he’d won this game too. Maybe he was being a trifle mean, though. Maybe the little imp really would be up to beating him one day. But it wasn’t going to be today.

The blond-haired boy looked around. Where was he? He couldn’t stay under water this long, there was no doubt about it. Might he have swum to the shore? Calling his name brought no response. There was no sign of anyone else, in or out of the water. No splashes, bubbles, waves. Another call, louder this time. And still no answer.

He felt a new kind of panic now, one born not of fear for himself, but for this sometimes fun, sometimes annoying seven-year-old who happened to live with him at the castle – and who had suddenly taken on a very different role in his mind and heart. This was his little brother, his flesh and blood, who he’d looked after as long as he could remember, who he couldn’t imagine being without, and who was now missing because of him. 

What could he do? Why, oh why, had they run away from Nana? But what could_ she_ do? What could anyone?

He dived, and dived again. Over and over until he couldn’t tell the difference between the water and the tears on his face. In desperation, he called for Nana. But she didn’t know where they were, again because of him. And then, just as he was about to dive one more time…laughter floated through the air.

His brain couldn’t comprehend it at first – how could anyone be laughing at this? Then he recognised the voice. And the black-haired boy splashed out from behind a rock closer to the shore; a place where it would have been impossible for him to be seen.

The blond-haired boy swam forward with tears of relief now instead of fear. Everything was fine again with the world; tragedy had been averted.

But – he was_ laughing_ at him!

“I fooled you! You were calling for Nana like a baby. You were_ scared_.” Another laugh.

The blond-haired boy swam toward him and then stood when his toes brushed the mud, feeling red and hot inside.

“I thought you’d_ drowned_, you_ mudak_!” He came close and gave the younger boy a firm shove. “You think it’s funny?” He shoved again.

“Calm down – it was only a jest!” the boy said, shoving back.

The blond boy prepared to shove once more, harder still – but then Nana’s voice called from the rocks further up, where they’d first spied the lake.

“Boys, behave! Fie, you both should be ashamed of yourselves!” She hurried down to the shore in her maroon dress and white wimple. The blond-haired boy wasn’t sure of her age, but she’d always seemed ancient to him.

“But he – ” he began, pointing at the other boy.

“None of that. I want you two to put your clothes back on, for a start; you’re like a couple of seals. Then we’ll return to the horses, and you can tell me why you seemed intent on pounding the bejesus out of each other.”

Nana’s cheeks were rosy, and she smiled more often than she scolded. She’d sounded cross when she told them off, but she didn’t seem genuinely angry. More tired, perhaps. Unlike his father. He shuddered to think what_ he’d_ do to them both for this.

_Even though it wasn’t my fault. Not really, because he was just hiding all along. _

“That was the most ignoble, villainous, oafish thing you ever did,” he told the black-haired boy.

Nana gasped. “Such language about your brother! Come, now. I can see you’re upset. What misadventure have you both been involved in this time?”

She made them explain. Lectured the black-haired boy for frightening his brother, and made him imagine how it must have felt, until he admitted that no, it hadn’t been a funny prank after all. After he’d apologised, she remonstrated with the blond-haired boy for shoving his little brother like he had, especially when he’d been full of concern not a moment before.

“I was angry!” he protested.

“Anger is as natural an emotion as anything else,” she replied as they walked. “But untempered, it’s caused a great deal of ruin in the world. If you lads hope to become knights, you’d do well to remember it; many a drop of blood has been spilled for no better reason.”

“But it’s not fair,” the blond-haired boy said petulantly. “He was being a shi – an idiot.”

“Does that justify an assault?”

“That’s not what I was doing.”

“Really? What else would you call it?” When he didn’t answer, she continued more gently, “I know you youngsters get into scraps, my pet. Not that I’d encourage them. I’m simply trying to get you to think. If you’re wielding a sword instead of your fists, it’s anger that might cause you to kill instead of considering whether being merciful might be the better option. And I know,” she said with a sideways glance at him, “that this must be the most tedious stuff for you to hear. I only wish that the men who raided my village had been made to think about it. But you can be better than them. Both of you.” 

She made him apologise for shoving his brother. And he was genuinely ashamed of his actions, though he hadn’t been before. He knew what had happened at Nana’s village; what she’d seen. He didn’t think her words were tedious, as she’d described them, even if he didn’t say so. In fact, he also felt bad about running away from her, too; all the more so, perhaps, because she hadn’t said anything about it. Just that tired look in her eyes.

When they found the place where their horses had been staked out, Nana took food and drink from her saddlebags and passed it round – strawberry tarts and thin wine. He could tell just from looking into his brother’s eyes that he’d already half-forgotten his jest, or prank, as he’d called it, and was soon putting all his concentration into wheedling Nana for a second tart.

She eventually gave in, after making him work for it and teasing him. Then cast her gaze toward the blond boy. “Here now, my lamb, I think you’ve had a hard time of it from this scamp today. I won’t embarrass you by offering a hug; I’ll make a request instead – when we return to the camp, will you play that lovely instrument for me that you’ve been learning? It’s so very soothing. In a few years’ time, I daresay you’ll be charming the birds and beasts like Orpheus himself.”

He did want a hug, that was the problem. The heir of a baron, training to be a knight, should not be seen to make a spectacle of himself. Nor was he tempted to with anyone else; not even his brother, who would pull away with a look of disgust. In their sphere, affection had to be shown in other ways…until one no longer desired anything more.

“I’d love to,” he said. “It’s called a citole. I can’t promise it will be very soothing, as I don’t pretend to have much skill yet, but I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all anyone could ever ask of you, my sweet. And you – ” She turned to the younger boy. “ – tart-devouring jackanapes, can listen with me, and explain what on earth possessed the two of you to come out here in the first place.”

As Viktor mounted his horse, he watched them both, and wondered. Nana Irene, always there to look after them, even when they tried to run away. Alex, naughty at times – especially today – but warm-hearted, and Viktor knew he looked up to him. Was this love he was feeling? Different kinds? How many kinds were there? One for each individual? Why didn’t he feel that way about others, then? The baron and baroness; previous nursemaids who he barely remembered? He couldn’t ask Nana, because it would be like hugging her.

They took up the reins and rode to other days, other places; to happiness and heartbreak, and many things in between. But they never returned to that dark nameless lake somewhere on the moors.

…So why was he there now?

The dark waters lapped at his feet, rocks slick and slate-black, sky shrouded in a thick blanket; a hot day nonetheless, just as he remembered it. But Alex should be here, shouldn’t he? Where was he?

_He’s passed out under the water from holding his breath too long, and I’ve got to save him. But I can’t find him, and it’s all my fault – _

_No,_ he told himself, quelling the panic threatening to bubble over._ He’s hiding behind the rocks, laughing at me. Seven years old, without a clue how I feel about it, though I showed him – until Irene came. Then…_He smiled to himself._ She dealt with us in the usual ways. A telling-off, a lecture, sympathy, good food. _

But she wasn’t here, either. He seemed to be alone.

Circling the rocky patch where Alex ought to be, he saw nothing but water flowing smoothly around stone. As he looked down, he noticed the size of his feet. And other parts of himself. He was taller, too. Not ten anymore, but a grown man. Why was he here? If he was divested of clothing, it ought to be around somewhere, unless he was meant to be taking a dip in the lake. But it wasn’t something that appealed; not here, not ever again.

If he walked back the way he must have come, would he find Irene and Alex and the horses? But he couldn’t go in the nude. He must find his clothes.

A splash behind him. He tried to turn, and gasped when he felt something curl around his ankle, tightening like a whip – and then a yank. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could grab onto, as he flew off balance and hit the ground on his stomach. Struggling nevertheless to scramble onto the shore, for that was what instinct demanded he do, the mud slid underneath him as he was slowly and silently pulled into the water.

_What is that thing? What’s happening to me?_

_Master the panic response of a body under siege…_

Finally a hand closed on a rock. He twisted until he lay on his back, still sliding – and saw a smooth grey tentacle wrapped tightly around his ankle, extending from some unknown leviathan in the depths of the lake. Blood racing, he bashed at the slick, thick flesh with the rock. If the thing could feel, however, it did not seem to be in pain. Then his feet were submerged completely, and his legs, and he was floating – then starting to sink, his flailing arms unable to prevent him from being dragged downward.

Panic broke through the barriers he’d built around it, and he screamed as the sky careered overhead. But the pull was merciless; the water lapped up to his chest, tickled the bottom of his chin, over his ears as he strained to hold his head up…then finally covered his mouth and nose as he sank into the depths.

He tried to call out for help, though he knew it lay beyond him now._ Yuuri, Alex, Nana…God, please make it stop…I don’t want to die._

The light was fading fast, and his thoughts with it, as the air was expelled from his lungs.

He had a vague notion that it was hot and cold here. A parched throat in the midst of suffocating water. He shivered, his remaining strength bleeding into the dark. Soon there would be nothing but peace and calm.

_This is not what I want,_ came the last ebb of consciousness._ I have to get back._

_Yuuri…_

On the edge of awareness, something shifted. The waters, and their movement, changed. He drifted.

But no, he wasn’t drifting – he was being pushed. How? His thoughts began to trickle back to him, ice melting under the sun. Something was touching his back, something pressing there. Hands…two cold hands. He couldn’t see them, but he somehow knew – both what they were, and who. And there was power in them; they were guiding him back upward. The tentacle around his ankle had vanished.

His imagination didn’t want to fill in the rest of what lay behind those hands; couldn’t bear to think of him that way, here in the deep of these benighted waters, destined to stay and never breathe the air again.

_It’s not like that, _came the voice he knew so well._ This is your perception. Your fears are feeding into it._

The water rushed past his ears, and between his fingers and toes; he was aware of them again._ I thought you’d drowned here, that day._

_A heartless trick played by a young boy in awe of his older sibling._

_Can I see you?_

_You’re Orpheus, remember? If you turn to look, I’ll fade away._

_You already did._

_I’m always with you. The light is growing – look._

_I feel so strange. What happened to me?_

_You’ve been ill. But it isn’t your time, Vitya. Not yet._

_I don’t want to remember you like this._

_Then don’t. I can be anything you want me to be. Live and love, Victor Ivorovich Nikiforov._

His head broke the surface, and he gulped at the air. The hands were no longer touching him; had faded into black – he saw it happen in his mind. But he was too weak to swim after his ordeal; was going to sink back down, where had he gone – 

“Vitya!” someone called. He knew that voice, too, and warmth spread through him as he heard it. But he continued to flail.

“Help,” he gasped. “Can’t – can’t – ”

“Take my hand.”

Victor grasped blindly; then he was grabbed by the wrist and pulled up…and found himself lying on his back in the mud, coughing out water, filling his lungs with sweet air. The hand that had brought him out of the water now touched his forehead gently and smoothed his fringe back.

“I thought for a moment I’d lost you,” the man said softly. “But you’ve come back to me. My shining angel.”

A sigh escaped Victor’s lips. Then he looked into those warm brown eyes, the eyes of the man he loved with all his heart…and smiled.


	91. Chapter 91

_Was that Alex? No, why am I thinking such things…he can’t be here._

_Everything hurts._

_Where am I? This isn’t a muddy shore. No black lake. Can’t…open my eyes._

A touch on his face, on his hands. Something wet. Warm and cold fluctuated, and light and dark beyond his lids. Noises…strange ones.

_Is that music? But it’s fantastical – loud, thumping…must be the beating of my heart._

_Who said “Vitya”? Yuuri – ? I can’t…can’t move…_

_But someone’s doing it for me. Where are they taking me?_

_Liquid going down my throat? What is it?_

_So tired…_

_No. Not drowning again. I’m coming to the surface. Nothing to hold me back. Under my own power. I will, I will…I will open my eyes…_

And there he was again, coming toward him, face alight, his smile a mixture of concern and relief. Victor blinked slowly. “My Yuuri,” he whispered in a voice cracked from drought and disuse.

“Vitya,” he breathed, sitting down in a chair next to the bed and taking his hand. “Thank God. Oh…it’s so good to see you awake. How do you feel? Stupid question, I suppose – ”

“Tired…” It sounded to him like dry leaves on the wind, far away. “How long have I been…?”

“Three days. Let me get you a drink; you haven’t had a proper one all that time.”

Victor lifted a hand to hold the cup, but it dropped back down.

“Here.” It was pressed gently to his lips, and he drank. Not wine, not beer, but…water?

“I’ve had Julia fetch it after it’s been boiled in the kitchen, so all the pathogens have been killed. Not that you probably need to worry about it anymore, but well, even I got ill in York, and I’ve got nanobots in my system, too.”

The words slipped around Victor’s brain, their meaning incomprehensible. He drank, and the empty cup was taken away and another full one offered to him; he sipped at it as he faded into a soft quiet darkness.

Warm lips against his forehead. A hand on his shoulder. Victor let out a calm breath and sank once more.

* * *

The next time he awoke, his lids no longer felt heavy. He rubbed at them, expecting them to be crusted, but they weren’t. The…the buboes – ? He couldn’t see them, because somehow he’d acquired a shirt. Shifting the open neck to the side, he searched there. No more grotesque protruding lumps. Just…scabs.

_I had plague. I know I did. It almost took me. What…what stopped it? How was I so fortunate?_

He thought he remembered brighter light in the room earlier, when he’d briefly awakened. The sun had moved to shine over the western part of the castle now, its rays no longer directly falling into the room. Must be evening. What peculiar dreams he’d had…the black lake…

The scraping of wooden chair legs against the tiles – and then Yuuri was approaching the bed carrying one; he put it down and sat. “Hi,” he said with an almost shy smile. This time Victor reached a hand out and took his, and Yuuri clasped it. “How are you feeling?”

“Better for seeing you, my love. Though I must confess I’m not at my best. But didn’t you ask me that earlier? I hadn’t intended to go back to sleep.”

“You must’ve needed it.”

There was something curiously restrained about his voice and manner, and Victor felt a dart of concern – but then his eyes opened wide when he saw Julia approaching, also carrying a chair, which she put next to Yuuri’s.

“Master, you’re awake,” she said with a bright smile; then she quickly turned to Yuuri. “_Don’t _tell me to leave, because I won’t. I’ve been as worried about him as you. And I’m his squire.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Yuuri mumbled.

He had his projector off – with Julia beside him? And yet Victor felt sure he’d heard snatches of conversation between them while he’d been senseless; she’d been here in his room quite frequently, he thought. It must also have been music from Yuuri’s time that he’d heard, because nothing else he knew of sounded like that. Had he asked Phichit to play it for her?

_He guards his secret with his life; he wouldn’t even tell me, when he knew he loved me. What happened to bring this about?_

“Are you hungry?” Yuuri asked.

“I…well, I suppose so, but – ”

“Julia, go put food on a tray for him, please.”

She stood and went to the table. Yuuri poured water from a jug on the stand next to the bed and handed the cup to him. “You look surprised,” he said with a small smile.

“You could say so,” Victor muddled out, absent-mindedly sipping at his drink.

“I had to tell her. She saved my life, Victor. And then she helped save everyone’s at the castle, including yours.”

She beamed as she brought the tray of food over and put it on Victor’s lap. He barely took notice of it, staring at her in amazement.

“It’s true, sir!” She nodded at the food. “You should eat. You’ll feel better.”

Victor unthinkingly tore a piece of bread from the loaf and put it in his mouth, then sipped more water to wash it down. Actually, now that he’d had a taste of something, he realised he was famished – but he was even more curious about what momentous events must have passed while he’d been too ill to have any inkling of them.

“Yuuri, Julia – explain?” he said between mouthfuls.

“Let me tell him,” she offered brightly, sitting back down.

“We can both tell him,” Yuuri added.

And so they did. Yuuri began by relating what Celestino and Phichit had said over his com about the source of the plague outbreak.

“_Ailis _spread plague at the castle?” Victor gasped. “How exactly was she able to use the wine to infect so many people? Why would she do such a thing? Do you have any more clues as to who she is?”

“That’ll take some time to explain,” Yuuri said. “We’d better tell you what happened first. Though like I said, it seems her main reason was to lure me out and try to kill me.”

Victor’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you go? Is she still – ”

“Yeah, I went. And as you can see, I came out alive, again thanks to Julia. Ailis is probably back at the castle. I know we need to find her before she does anything else; I’ve been asking questions, though I haven’t come across any clues yet. But anyway, let’s take this a step at a time; it’ll be less confusing.”

Victor leaned further back against his pillows, wondering what fresh revelations were in store. His stomach was starting to tangle itself in knots, though he was still hungry and somehow continued to eat.

Julia took up the thread from when they’d met at the stable, lingering on Yuuri’s revelations about his identity and future time.

“They put this paint on their faces, like actors do – he showed me later.”

“Did he?”

“He says they have vehicles that fly like birds. I’m not sure I believe him.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Yuuri put in.

“As you say,” Julia rejoined. “His friend Phichit from his time played me some of their music. Have you heard it, master? Is it not astounding? I like the bangbang style best.”

Victor blinked and stared.

“And the most amazing thing of all – he’s got this weapon he calls a laser gun. Show him, sir.”

“You have one?” Victor echoed excitedly, looking at Yuuri. “Did you take it from her?”

He nodded and pulled it from a tunic pocket to show him. “I wish I’d been able to stun her with it, but she got away.”

“He showed me how it works,” Julia said. “He blew a hole in your wall just to demonstrate it, look.” She pointed.

Victor’s gaze followed, and he saw a small crater.

“I’m sorry about that,” Yuuri said sheepishly. “I haven’t had a chance to try to fix it yet. Anyway,” he continued, putting the gun away, “we’re armed now. That gives us a better chance. But there’s still a lot to tell you.”

“Indeed,” Victor said. “Though you make me wish I’d been there to help.”

“You would just have been in danger, I think. What helped the most was having the services of one of England’s best archers.” He flashed Julia a smile, and she crossed her arms, grinning proudly at Victor.

“Please, don’t leave me in the dark any longer,” Victor said. “What brave deeds have my valiant squire and knight performed?”

Yuuri explained what had happened inside the cottage, which was clearly news to Julia as well. Victor was outraged at what Ailis done to him and the others at the castle.

“If I’d been there – ”

“Like I said, you would’ve been in danger, too. There’s no defence against a laser gun.”

“And,” Victor said, gazing at Julia, “you shot the arrow that distracted her enough for Yuuri to attack? You’re a marvel, my girl.”

“Thank you, master,” she said with a delighted grin.

“But what did you do once you had the cure?”

Yuuri took turns with Julia explaining how they had returned to the castle and distributed it, starting with him, and Victor laughed despite his continuing astonishment when he heard of the fictional contribution of Cecil Lyons.

“You say you used a device to inject the cure directly into my blood? Where did you do this?” he asked, looking at his hands.

“The injector’s only small,” Yuuri replied. “I’ve hidden it so Ailis can’t find it if she comes looking. It sends the liquid into you through a needle.”

“He did it to me too,” Julia added.

Victor raked his fingers through his fringe, taking it all in. “You both have been wonderful,” he said quietly. “I’m proud to know you. But to think that Ailis would put so many lives in jeopardy just to kill you…” He gazed at Yuuri.

“She claimed she never intended for anyone to die,” he answered. “That she was going to cure them after…after she killed me. And then everyone would end up thinking it was just an illness that mimicked the symptoms of plague but was actually harmless – from what I hear, no one’s died – and so the king’s visit won’t be affected.”

“It does seem to be important to her,” Victor mused. “Did she say anything else about it? What she’s intending to do?”

“No. I…don’t suppose there’s any chance the visit can be cancelled – ?”

“Would you like to suggest it to the baron and baroness? What reason would you give? Besides, if we were to do such a thing, Yuuri, our standing with the king and among our peers would diminish, and my father would never allow that to happen.”

“I promised to watch Mistress Ramsay’s workshop,” Julia said.

“If you do,” Victor told her, “then be careful not to be seen.” Turning again to Yuuri, he said, “Did she catch plague, too?”

Yuuri told him about her absence from the castle, but also why he thought Ailis was likely to have attended the meal at which the tainted wine had been drunk. One was a piece of evidence against her, the other an insightful conjecture that might well be true. Victor wasn’t sure what to make of it; but then, there was a great deal to reflect upon.

He finished his food, feeling rejuvenated if still weak, and Julia took his tray. Yuuri told her he wanted some time to speak with him alone, and an expression of disappointment crossed her face, but then she disappeared out the door with the supper things. The two of them seemed more comfortable with each other now, though Yuuri had a somewhat harried look that had only vanished when she had. Knowing her as he did, Victor suspected she might well be intrigued by the new side of the man she thought she’d known, and in her enthusiasm given him little peace unless he’d firmly insisted upon it.

_And what did I do when I learned of his true identity – ? I felt betrayed, and tried to send him away._

But the situation had been different in many ways, and Yuuri had forgiven him. He thought he’d forgiven himself as well.

_Oh…but I’m tired. How can that be, when I’ve slept so much?_

He looked at Yuuri, who was gazing down at him now with undisguised love shining in his brown eyes. Victor savoured a moment of feeling lost in them. “You…you were tending to me when I was ill, weren’t you?”

“Julia did some, but it was mainly me, yes. Most everyone in the castle’s been recovering, too, though for once the servants seem to have got the better deal, since fewer of them have meals in the great hall.”

Victor closed his eyes and sighed, wondering what that must have been like for him. He was a knight – a techie, too, as he called it – and not a nurse; unused to such duties, especially with his own lover. Yuuri must truly have experienced him at his worst. But he was still here. Still looking at him like no one else in the world could compare. Perhaps he really was of the fay, and not human at all.

“I didn’t mind,” Yuuri added quietly. “There was no one else to care for you; so many people in the castle were ill. Besides…that’s what you do when you love someone. I hope that’s OK…I couldn’t just leave you like that for three days. Thank goodness you were able to drink. They would’ve hooked you up to an IV in my time, to get fluid in you, but there’s no way to do that here.”

“Thank you, my love.” He reached out again for Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri took it and kissed it. _I hope it didn’t send your opinion of me too far into ruin. _“I wonder if I’ll have scars from the buboes.”

“The blisters you had? They’re healing, though it’s too early to say, I think.” He smiled. “There weren’t any on your face, if that’s what’s worrying you. I’d love you anyway, though,” he added with a little laugh.

_I’m not sure I could suffer any greater indignities in front of your eyes. It isn’t in me to laugh about it, but I’m touched by your words, my sweet Yuuri. _

Victor thought back to when he’d first realised what was happening to him; that his body was going to be ravaged by the same scourge that had taken his brother. “The worst horror I’ve ever faced wasn’t a knight charging me with a sword or a lance,” he said; and Yuuri, sensing his mood, stopped smiling and squeezed his hand. “It was the one time I was allowed to see Alex just before he died. I’ll never forget, Yuuri – it’s burned into my memory. The shaking, the blackened skin, the boils…” His voice wavered, and he swallowed. “M-My heart broke into pieces.” Unexpected tears flooded his eyes and ran down his cheeks. “He told me to be brave. To…to find someone to share my life with, as he would soon be gone. H-He didn’t want me to be alone. Then he gave me his ring.” More indignity. He wiped at his face with his sleeve.

Yuuri left his chair and hurried to the other side of the bed, where he climbed up, producing a cloth which Victor took and clutched, dabbing at his eyes again.

“Can I hold you?” Yuuri asked.

Victor nodded. “I…I’d like that.”

Then Yuuri’s strong, warm arms were around him, and Victor circled his own around his back. The feel and smell of him, just like how he remembered. And something inside of him stilled. “It’s so good to do this again,” he whispered into Yuuri’s hair, nuzzling him.

“Yeah, it is,” Yuuri sighed against him.

“It took me two years after Alex was gone, but I did find someone, didn’t I. And…and I thought you and I were going to be separated too, in the same way.” Another tear ran down. “I was certain I wasn’t going to live. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I sorted it out, with Julia’s help. It’s OK now, Vitya. No one in the whole castle died.”

“You almost did.”

“It was close for you and me both. But we made it.” Yuuri gave him a small grin and kissed his cheek softly. “Julia was amazing. When can she be knighted?”

Victor chuckled. “Perhaps when her hot head cools down a bit more.”

“I still feel guilty about what I asked her to do, though.”

Victor pulled back slightly and looked at him. “Why?”

“She took a risk just by doing what she did. But I also had to consider what might happen if…you know, if I was killed. So I had to come up with a plan for that possibility, and tell her.” He released Victor and sat back against the pillows. “I didn’t want to have to do that, either. But Ailis could be as big a threat as a whole army; I had to think what to do if – ”

“I know.” Victor mirrored his actions, giving his face a final wipe with the cloth and placing it on the table. “So what did you say to Julia?”

“Well, I told her to stay hidden outside the cottage until she saw Ailis come out, then shoot to kill. I’m not sure I would’ve said that to anyone else, but as good as she is, she can do that with one shot.”

“True.”

“Then I described what a container of nanobots might look like – the cure. And a self-injecting steriliser. That’s the needle I mentioned. I told her how to use it, and said she should do that for everyone at the castle as soon as possible. Without Ailis around, there wouldn’t have been any need for the deception with the barrel of wine.”

“You were thinking of how to save everyone even if you’d died.” Victor gave him a small grin, running a hand down his arm. “I’d like to say I would’ve done the same, but I’ve never been in such a situation. You kept your wits about you and listened to your heart even when you must have been frightened.”

Yuuri stared at him. “I was. But I couldn’t leave everyone like that. There was a lot more to think of, too. I told Julia she might find the real Justin nearby, wearing strange clothing, and then I had to explain about how time-travellers swap places with someone at their destination; how I’d done that, and Ailis had too, only I didn’t know who with. She seemed to think it must be a fun trip Justin’s having.” He huffed a laugh. “She asked if you’d been to the future yet, and if she could go too. I told her that wasn’t how it worked, and that Ailis and I are stuck here for now because the devices we used for time travel are broken, and I don’t know if she’ll be able to fix them or build something new.”

“I’d love to visit your time,” Victor said wistfully. “Tell her to design a device that would take us all there.”

“I wish it was possible. The things I’d show you…” He sighed and shook his head. “Well, she’d also have to fix it so that you can travel properly, instead of swapping places with someone. You’d be kicking someone out of their modern life and landing them here, and they wouldn’t have a projector.”

“I don’t suppose that’s a choice I’m ever likely to face; but if I did – ? You swapped with Justin, did you not?”

Yuuri’s expression was sombre. “That was a necessary emergency, I’d say. Though of course it’s wrong to remove someone from their life like that.”

“Perhaps travelling to your time is something I’d consider a necessary emergency,” Victor replied half-jokingly. “But no, not just to take an unusual holiday.”

Those brown eyes gazed deep into his own, and Yuuri said in almost a whisper, “Would you, though? If you could, would you come be with me in my time? To…to stay?”

Victor’s heart missed a beat. He’d never thought about it before. “Is such a thing possible?”

“Um, well, no. Not unless Ailis…” He sighed. “Who am I kidding. All of these scenarios depend on Ailis producing some kind of miracle. The materials and tools aren’t available to her here.”

“And as you said,” Victor reminded him, “there’s the issue of swapping places with someone.”

“Yeah, of course.” He pulled idly at the bottom of his tunic.

The topic was giving Victor a headache, and before long, he anticipated adding heartache to it if they continued to discuss the time-travel problem. “You were telling me about the instructions you’d given Julia at the cottage,” he prompted.

Yuuri blinked. “Right. Yeah, I was. Well, that was everything I told her. I said I knew I’d be lucky to be alive at the end of it all, and she might be too, and I didn’t want to have to ask her to do any of it, and I hoped it didn’t come to that. But she was very…noble about it. ‘Perhaps God spared us from this illness last night for a reason,’ she said. Then, ‘Let’s smite this witch.’ ”

Victor quirked a grin. “She said that?”

“Those were her words. Ailis isn’t a witch, and I doubt anyone’s going to be smiting her, but well…you know, she sounded really determined, and it made me feel a bit better. I just didn’t want to think about what might happen if Ailis caught sight of her and was holding the gun. I put all that responsibility on her shoulders.”

“She’s no stranger to responsibility.”

Yuuri leaned forward and said earnestly, “But I told her to commit murder, Victor. And she’s only fifteen.”

“I…think I understand what you’re saying. But she’s a squire, and will be a knight. That’s what we do. She’s killed people before, though never without good reason. She and the other soldiers had our backs at the skirmish on the bridge.”

Yuuri considered this. “That was self-defence.”

“And killing Ailis isn’t?”

He bit his lip. “I don’t know. In some circumstances, maybe. But Victor, in my time, fifteen-year-olds are in the middle of their education, and learning about adulthood and relationships, and…and life in general. They’re not training to kill.”

“Then they’re blessed. Your time has no need of knights and squires, but this one does.” He stroked Yuuri’s arm again. “You should be glad Julia was there when you needed help. _I _certainly am. Don’t castigate yourself for making the right choices. You both saved many lives.” He let out a breath. “I can’t believe how tired I am, Yuuri, when all I’ve done lately is sleep.”

“I’m not surprised. I shouldn’t be encouraging you into conversations like this when you’re still recovering. I was worried about you,” he added softly. “Well, that’s an understatement.” He glanced across the room. “I could fill the bath. We could both get in.”

Something flashed through Victor’s mind – touches, movement, wet. “I seem to have a vague memory of you doing that with me while I was ill?”

Yuuri nodded. “Like I said, I couldn’t leave you like you were for three days. I only did what I thought I’d want someone to do for me, and I thought it’d be all right because we’ve bathed each other before, but – ”

“Yuuri, my sweet,” Victor said with a smile, “it sounds like _I _owe _you _some care, after everything you’ve done.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Vitya,” Yuuri replied, returning his smile. “You’re weak, and recovering. Let me look after you a while longer.”

Victor’s instinct was to object, but of course he wouldn’t. This was Yuuri, and his suggestion was a good one, because Victor knew he must be dirty from having been ill, and he hated that. His teeth felt fuzzy too, even after having eaten, and he wouldn’t try to kiss Yuuri in that state. The truth was, he’d never been so vulnerable with anyone.

_Being vulnerable can feel good, though, can’t it? It can even feel…sexy. With the right person. Didn’t I learn that in York? And at other times? _

His heart filled with warmth, and he nodded. 


	92. Chapter 92

Victor was pleased that he was able to get out of bed the next morning to perform his usual ablutions. True, he was achy and still feeling rather weak, but the change from the previous day was remarkable. The whole of his body was functioning again; that was made plain to him as he watched Yuuri pull his hose over his shapely legs and felt a stab of desire. Yuuri noticed his dark gaze and gave him the ghost of a smirk, slowing his motions and making a show of them, and Victor only wished he were taking the clothes off rather than putting them on.

_I’m not quite myself after all, it seems, or I’d be over there right now, pulling him down to the bed. _He gave Yuuri a knowing smile and went to the mirror, readying his razor and rubbing rose-scented oil on his face. Several days’ growth. The only time he’d let it go that long was when Alex had told him he’d look manlier with a beard, and he set out to discover the truth – which was that he looked ridiculous. Even if Yuuri had had fun stroking it when they’d awakened not long ago. No, it definitely had to go.

“I’m going to train later,” Yuuri said, coming to join him as he buttoned his blue cotehardie. “But I would’ve thought it best for you to take it easy today; you’re only just up and about. I doubt Matthew Everard or any of them will bother you, since they’re recovering too. But I imagine Julia will be in at some point.” He watched Victor pick up his razor. “Would you like me to do that for you?”

“Under ordinary circumstances? Maybe,” Victor replied, tilting his head up and running the blade over his throat – wishing he could pretend the ugly red scab wasn’t there. “But you’ve fussed over me enough. And while I appreciate it…” He rinsed the razor in the basin and made another pass over his throat. “…I ought to get back into routines as well as I’m able.”

“Just watch how you go, OK? Even nanobots won’t cure plague overnight. They’ll still be working in your system.”

“Fuss,” Victor said, touching Yuuri’s nose playfully with an oily finger before resuming his task. “Though I love you for it. You and Julia, you both spoil me.” He glanced sideways at Yuuri. “You two seem to be getting on well these days.”

Yuuri finished buttoning and leaned against the wall, watching him. “Well, she knows now that I’m not Justin le Savage, which helps, I think. The two of them have got some old grievances.”

“You haven’t been that for a while. You’re Justin la Rose.”

“Thanks to you,” Yuuri said with a smile. “She’s happier at the moment, but she was picked at me for taking up too much of your time. I said maybe you both could come to an arrangement – Tuesdays after supper or something.” He paused as Victor continued to shave. “She needs you, Victor; I can see that. You…” He gave a small laugh. “…well, you seem to have a way of curbing her worst tendencies.”

Victor grinned at this; it was probably true. “I’ve given her reassurances already, but I suppose I’m not surprised. I shall speak to her again. At the same time,” he added, “she’ll have to get used to the fact that I’m in love with you, that I’m living with you, and that I want plenty of time alone with you.”

“I like the sound of all those things,” Yuuri said softly.

“I do, too. Very much.”

Victor had just finished the last stroke with his razor and was wiping his face with a cloth when there was a knock at the door, and Yuuri, having turned his projector on, admitted Julia and Emil; they’d both brought breakfast, which they laid on the table. Yuuri greeted his squire like he hadn’t seen him in a year. Of course, he must have been ill, too.

“Master, you’re out of bed!” Julia exclaimed, scurrying over to him. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m fine, thank you, my lad. And you?”

“I’ve been helping with things around the castle while people are still abed, getting well. But I hope I can return to training soon. I miss it.”

“What have you brought for us this morning?” Victor went to the table to look.

“I knew you hadn’t been eating, so I wanted to make sure you had enough food today. Spicy pork and currant tartlets in broth, and apple fritters in ale batter, along with your usual bread – and I thought you might like some hypocras, too.”

Victor laughed. “This is a proper dinner, not a breakfast. I’ll burst my buttons if I have meals like this three times a day.” When her face fell, he added, “But it’ll serve me well this morning, I think. I could do with something to fortify me. Justin, please help yourself to anything here. Emil, Julia, have you eaten?”

“I had some pottage, sir,” Emil answered. “I’m…not allowed these things.”

“I say you are. There’s plenty here.”

Emil glanced at Yuuri, who smiled and nodded. Then he picked up a fritter, took a bite, and raised his eyebrows with a grin.

“That must mean Fernand escaped illness and is directing the kitchen,” Victor chuckled, spooning some tartlets and broth into a small bowl. “No one else elicits such a response.” He tried a tartlet. Saffron, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and pepper in just the right proportions with the pork and currants. The flavours danced on his tongue.

Julia took a fritter as well; she needed no persuading, but Yuuri had explained how he’d given her permission to eat the portions she’d brought when he’d been incapacitated, in the hope that he would recover and want a meal. It probably wasn’t anything far removed from what she’d enjoyed at her family’s castle, though it was rich pickings for squires.

“That’s delicious, sir, thank you,” she said as she chewed. “While you were resting these past few days, I gave your armour such a clean and polish as it’s never had before; it’s like a set of mirrors now. And I made sure Alyona and Perun were extra-well groomed. Will you feel up to coming to the training field today?”

“Julius,” Yuuri said, breaking off his conversation with Emil, “he’s still recovering. For that matter,” he added, turning to Emil, “so are you. I told you to take all the time you needed; you didn’t have to hurry up here and serve me.”

“Truth be told, sir, I missed it. The garrison’s not the pleasantest place to be at the moment. Most everyone there is still off colour.”

Julia gave a little snort. “They had plague, and you describe them as being off colour?”

He shrugged and ate another fritter. “These really are very tasty.”

“Anyway,” she said to Yuuri, “I didn’t ask the master to spar, just to come visit. Don’t you think the fresh air will do him good?”

No one disagreed with that, and so after they’d eaten, Victor accompanied the group to the training field. Perhaps a third of the men were present – Abelard, Chris, Philip his squire, and a few soldiers. They all came to greet him, and began some gentle training. Yuuri and Julia stretched, and Victor joined them; it eased his aching muscles. But when they brought a mattress out for practising gymnastics, he stepped back to watch for a while before explaining that he would have to leave them and attend to various things around the castle. Julia looked displeased for a moment – she always did when he didn’t stay for long; but Yuuri nodded and smiled, gave his hand a quick squeeze, and got back to work. Victor wished they could kiss rather than hold hands, but it was one thing to expect people to turn a blind eye to what they knew was going on behind closed doors, and another to flaunt it in front of them. With a last glance at Yuuri as he did a beautiful front flip from standing, immediately followed by a back flip, he smiled to himself and turned toward the hill to the castle.

There was much to do today, whether or not he felt up to it; though it appeared he was making excellent progress, now that he was awake and out of bed, with this cure that Yuuri called nanobots. He returned to the garrison first, to visit with the fighting men who were still ill. Most of them were able to sit up and take food and drink, and some had gone out on walks. They were pleased to see Victor and asked him if he knew anything about this mysterious sickness that had swept through the castle; he feigned ignorance and told them he’d only just recovered himself. Many wanted messages sending to their families in case they heard about the outbreak and feared for their kin here, and he said he’d arrange for clerks to attend to them soon.

Afterward, he went to visit his mother, who seemed to be much recovered and was embroidering in her window seat with one of her ladies-in-waiting in attendance. She looked pale but otherwise well, and asked after his health, and they exchanged small talk until he found a way to tactfully end the conversation and leave, grieved as he often was that there was nothing more meaningful between them. He attended dinner in the great hall, with Julia pleased to serve him; he once again watched Yuuri from a distance, sending him small smiles and wishing he were at his side instead of Matt, who contrary to prediction had taken up his duties again and was seeing to the organisation of the castle – a demanding task, since the baron was away and things had come to a standstill for several days. Victor admired his dedication, and spent the rest of the afternoon working with him and John and other officials, all of them flagging toward the end, but doing what had to be done to ensure that the castle and estate were defended and fed. Supper saw more people attending the communal meal; afterward, Julia returned to his room to visit him and Yuuri, until he sent her away, saying it had been a long day and he was tired.

“Of course, master,” she said as he saw her to the door. “You’ve been busy. Can I bring my harp here sometime? Perhaps you and I could accompany something Phichit played.”

“I like that idea,” Victor replied, wondering about the practicalities of this. “Good night, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Yuuri was pouring himself a mazer of hypocras, and looked up with a smile as Victor approached. “Want some?” he asked.

“Want _you_,” Victor answered in a low voice, slipping his arms around Yuuri’s waist and dipping in for a long, lingering kiss. He hummed into it, and Yuuri responded with growing enthusiasm, but then pulled away.

“Don’t think I don’t want to,” he said somewhat breathlessly. “But you’re still supposed to be resting today, though I’m not sure how much you have. No sex until at least tomorrow, remember we agreed?”

Victor made sure Yuuri saw his crestfallen look, even if, yes, he _had _agreed, and he knew he was just being difficult now. “I’ll settle for the wine, then, though it’s a poor second best.” He gave a pout, then smiled to show Yuuri he was only teasing even if his body wasn’t, and accepted a mazer of wine.

He took it with him to bed, where he stretched his legs and rested his back against the pillows. “Julia mentioned bringing her harp sometime soon.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” Yuuri said, leaning back against the table and sipping his wine. “She’s good, and so are you. I guess I’ll have to make do with croaking out a song or two, until I can prove to myself I’m not tone deaf and find some instrument to learn.”

Victor was intrigued. “What would you play?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what half the instruments here are called. I always fancied some kind of guitar. But if you already play a citole, and we were forming a band with a harp, and maybe Chris’s ocarina, I don’t know…I guess I’d have to take up a keyboard or the drums or something,” he laughed.

“We’d be a unique quintet. But I only mentioned it because it made me remember that I haven’t heard any music from your time in a while. I won’t count when you were playing something for Julia while I was ill. I daresay it gave me strange dreams, whatever it was.”

“Just things that teens in the future tend to like,” Yuuri said, putting his empty mazer on the table. “The songs I play for you are the ones I like myself. Bangbang’s loud and obnoxious.” He paused. “Actually, Phichit might be home right now; I can ask him if he’ll play us something. I need to contact him anyway.”

Sometimes Yuuri went to his room to talk into his com, and sometimes he remained here with Victor, as if there were a third friend in the room, unseen but audible. Victor continued to sip his wine, seeing that this would be one such occasion. When Phichit answered, they spoke in their strange version of English for a moment, then Yuuri came over and gave him his translator.

“Hey, Victor, how are you?” came Phichit’s voice.

“Much better now, thank you. And yourself?”

“Celestino’s got me working hard at the university, but well, that’s what I came here for. How’s everyone at the castle – are they getting better?”

“Thanks to Yuuri and Julia.”

“You know,” Yuuri said, “it feels like I may finally have done some good here. I might not have found out yet who Ailis is, but I scuppered her plans. In the short term, anyway.”

“Actually, you’re aware you’ve probably changed history, aren’t you?”

“I cured the people Ailis made ill.”

“But you also made them immune to most diseases.” Victor blinked at this. “People are going to live who would otherwise have died. What if the descendants of one of them gives birth to another Adolf Hitler or Randall Flanagan?”

Yuuri raked a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think of it like that. I mean, it was either that, or leave them to die, which would’ve been changing history as well. I’m sure I made the right choice.”

“I agree. It’s just, do you think we’d even be aware of it if historical events have changed? Or would the ‘new now’ seem to us like the way things always have been? For example – I know it’s stupid, but what if you did something to cause unicorns to come into beings as real animals – ”

“What the fuck, Phichit,” Yuuri laughed.

“No, let me finish. What if you did that, but no one ever realised, because it just seemed normal to see them walking down the street?”

Yuuri laughed again, and Victor joined him, though he could understand Phichit’s point. “I think anyone would forgive Yuuri for tampering with time in order to counteract Ailis doing it in the first place,” he said.

Yuuri came to sit beside him on the bed as Phichit replied, “I’m just sorry you jacks are getting caught in the middle of it, Victor. Anyway, I’ve been doing some research, and I can’t spot anything that seems to have changed. Which made me wonder, would it even be possible for me to spot it anyway?”

“In which case,” Yuuri said, “maybe other people have travelled in time and changed things – a lot of things. But we wouldn’t know about that, either.”

“Blimey, this is giving me a headache.”

“I’d ask Ailis to explain the rules, if she even knows them herself, but I don’t think she’d be keen to talk to me somehow.”

“You’ve got to find her, Yuuri. I wouldn’t like to imagine what she might come up with next.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But for now, we have a music request, if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What did you want to hear?” Yuuri asked Victor.

He finished his hypocras and put his mazer on the table next to the bed. “I think I’m in the mood for the kind of music we do ballet to.”

Yuuri thought for a moment. “You haven’t listened to any Mozart yet, have you? Phichit, can you put that on? No opera, though, because we’ll be trying to talk. How about the Piano Concerto in D Minor, second movement?”

“Be more specific, can you?” Phichit said with a laugh.

“I just like that one.”

Soon, the keyboard instrument began on its own, then was shortly accompanied by the magical lilting sea Victor had come to recognise as an orchestra. It was a stately melody that had something impishly lighthearted about it, making him think of a child running and playing in the grand halls of a castle. “I want to hear more from this fellow,” he said to Yuuri as they listened. “The emotion in his music almost has a voice, don’t you think?”

Yuuri smiled. “I do think. Phichit, would you mind putting the whole concerto on?”

“No problem. Looks like the track lasts about an hour; this concerto segues into another one. I’ll leave it and be in the next room, OK? Shout loud if you need anything.” 

“Thanks, will do.”

“Thank you from me, too, Phichit – you’re lovely,” Victor said, and he heard something like a snicker from the com.

“Lovely?” Yuuri echoed with a laugh as the music started from the beginning.

“He is. He does all these things for you, and he’s there when you need him.”

“You’re right,” Yuuri sighed, snuggling into him. “Kind of like you.”

“You flatter me,” Victor said, kissing the top of his head.

“I love you.”

Victor let out a slow breath. His body always wanted to react to Yuuri’s close proximity, as it was doing now, but this kind of intimacy was good, too. He stroked Yuuri’s hair and gradually relaxed into the warmth they shared, closing his eyes and allowing the rich textures of the music to wash over him. Mozart had a remarkable range, he decided; gone suddenly was the spirit of the playing child, and in its place were drama and catastrophe – the child running out of an archway and encountering a siege, perhaps. It reminded Victor of the hours he’d spent in this bed as his body slipped from his control, gradually dragging him down into darkness. Wishing Yuuri would return. The soaked sheets, the trembling. Those buboes…just like Alex. He thought he might have cried out a few times, but no one had answered. Of course, Yuuri and Julia had been risking their lives in an encounter with Ailis. But Victor had felt so very alone, until his thoughts themselves had broken and scattered.

_It’s all right now. I’m no longer ill, and Yuuri’s here._

The swell of the symphony disappeared, replaced by the tinkling keys once again. Victor settled back a bit and gazed into those brown eyes. “Why is it that you couldn’t catch plague?” he asked. “You said something about having nanobots in you.”

Yuuri remained quiet, seemingly unsure what to say.

“Perhaps the details might be difficult for me to understand, but – ”

“No, it’s not that,” Yuuri said, his expression sombre. “It’s…” He took in a deep breath. “Well, it’s not something I ever expected to try to explain to anyone here, because it’d sound so barmy. You heard what Julia said about the flying vehicles I mentioned to her? Well, that’s nothing compared to this.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “I believed you when you talked about the vehicles – hovercars, you said they were called, correct? So why wouldn’t I believe what you said now?”

Yuuri bit his lip. “Because it’s going to sound utterly absurd, even though it’s completely true, and one of the most important things about the nature of life that humankind has ever discovered.”

Victor’s eyes grew wide, and he smiled. “Now you’re going to _have _to tell me. You can’t say something like that and then leave it. Please.” He snuggled against him some more. “If you said someone had discovered a stairway to heaven, where we could meet the dead and the angels and God himself, I’d believe it if it came from you.”

Though what Yuuri revealed to him as he began his explanation was infinitely stranger.

Victor had been taught Galen’s theory, over a thousand years old, of the four bodily humours. The work of cooks and herbalists and physicians was meant to ensure that they were in balance to promote health and happiness. But Yuuri was telling him this was nonsense; that the reality was that living beings were composed of things so tiny they were invisible, as if that made more sense. He said it would be about three hundred years into the future before anyone built an instrument with a lens powerful enough to magnify them. For now, Victor would have to trust him – and he felt sure that if anyone else had told him this, he would never have believed it.

Cells made up much of the human body, Yuuri said – blood, bones, skin. Along with a lot of water. But there were also individual creatures he called bacteria, and much tinier ones he called viruses; and together he referred to them as germs, which caused disease and the body fought off. Nanobots were like an army that took up residence in the blood and assisted in the strange miniature battles taking place. They could be instructed how to do this for every germ known to exist, though there were some here in the past that were foreign to them, which Yuuri said was the reason he’d caught a cold when he’d been working at The Black Dog.

Victor stared at him. The plinking keyboard music seemed like the backdrop to a farce, with Yuuri onstage delivering the amusement. But there was no mirth in his eyes; only earnestness and a vulnerability that said _please believe me_. Victor smiled shook his head briefly, as if it could dispel the shock that had gripped him.

“I told you it’d sound crazy,” Yuuri said, his voice tinged with disappointment.

“No…well. Perhaps it does. But that doesn’t mean it is. You’re telling me there’s warfare of an infinitesimally small nature occurring in my body right this moment, and I can’t even feel it?”

“You do feel it. That’s what symptoms are. And it’s why, especially if you don’t have nanobots in your system, or there are germs they’re not programmed for, it’s important to wash – yourself, the things you eat off of, and so on. Germs can multiply in anything that’s dirty. It’s why I had the water boiled before you drank it – it kills the bacteria. It’s why so many people get ill living in cities where butchers throw their offal into the streets, and shit’s lying around from animals and humans. Basically if it’s rotten, or smells bad, it’s probably got germs in it, though you can’t use that as the only indicator. If we had a microscope here, I could _show_ you,” he added in frustration. “The plague is caused by a bacterium called _Yersinia pestis_; it’s the shape of your thumb, but a lot smaller. It gets into your lymph nodes – part of your immune system, which fights these things off – and multiplies and causes them to swell, which creates those blisters. From there, it can move into the blood or the lungs. Phichit told me the details.”

Victor shivered. This _thing, _this miniature monster, had been inside of him, attacking him? Alex as well? All these other people at the castle? “The wine,” he murmured.

Yuuri nodded. “Ailis cultured – grew – enough of the bacteria to put into the barrel, so that everyone who drank it would catch the plague. She…said she practised by giving it to sheep first.”

Victor gasped. “God in heaven, those flocks we had put to death on the estate?”

“Yeah. At least you know how they got it now.”

“I…” He raked a hand through his fringe. “I never would have dreamed any of this. It’s incredible. But I do believe you. I may just need a little time for it to…to sink in.” And suddenly some of the things Yuuri had insisted on since he’d moved to his new room made more sense. Washing in certain ways, especially when food or sex were involved. Not that Victor didn’t do many of those things already, or that Yuuri was obsessive about it; he’d simply thought they might be rituals from Yuuri’s culture, or that he was being fastidious. But if that was any indication, then considering the places where these germs were to be found on the body…Victor decided that if he’d known, he might never have started having sex with men. Or anyone.

_No, that’s not true. But an invisible enemy? It could lurk anywhere, couldn’t it? What other things happen in this fantastical tiny world?_

Yuuri was watching him quietly. “We must be born with an innate disgust of certain things that are harmful to us,” Victor said. “Because without any of this knowledge you’ve just given me, we still want to be clean. You’ve seen what we do at meals – the bowls for washing your hands, how you’re expected to wipe the lip of a cup before sharing it with someone, and so on.”

“I think you’re right,” Yuuri replied with a small smile. “But now you’ve got nanobots in your system; everyone at the castle should, if they took my advice and drank, ah, Lord Cecil’s wine.”

“No wonder you told Phichit you felt like you’d done some good here. Imagine the pain and misery you’re saving people from, if they’re unlikely to get ill ever again.”

“Which is why Phichit was wondering about history being changed, if some of them were destined to die that way, which I’m sure they were. But I won’t apologise for it.” He gave Victor’s arm a squeeze. “You’re my main concern. I’m glad you’ve got that defence inside of you now. In a place where people don’t understand hygiene – the things you do like washing, in order to keep germs out of your body – sometimes the most innocuous thing can make you ill. A bit of meat that’s gone off. Something that wasn’t washed properly before it was cooked. People’s dirty hands preparing food. Sometimes I’ve wished I could go to the kitchen and explain to them, but…” He shrugged.

“You couldn’t, I know. I doubt they’d believe you anyway.” A sudden thought struck Victor, and he said, “I’m sure my father will be glad the Duke of York called him away when he did; he’s avoided it all.” He huffed a little laugh. “When the duke and the archbishop wanted to meet him in York, he was too busy, and sent me in his place. When the duke is travelling just south of our land and asks Andrei to attend a hunting party so that his sons can watch him shoot arrows from his horse and learn how to do it themselves, it touches his vanity enough that he accepts. He wanted me to accompany him, but I refused.” He looked pointedly at Yuuri. “I told him I was too busy helping you prepare for the duel. We’ll get back to your training soon.”

“How do you feel?”

Victor considered. “Not bad. Your nanobots have won the battle. If I tried to run or spar, I’m not certain. _But_…” He gave Yuuri a mischievous smile and ran a thumb along his bottom lip. “…I’m certainly well enough to do this.” And he captured Yuuri’s lips in a kiss. The Mozart was a wonderful accompaniment, he decided. It could’ve been written for the purpose of adding poignancy to kissing. He let it flow through him as he tried to make Yuuri’s lips tingle and his blood race. Caressed his face, and then Yuuri was doing the same to him. Entwined their tongues; curled his fingers around the top of one of Yuuri’s hose pieces the way he knew he loved. Yuuri pressed against him more closely, then moaned as Victor slid his hand around to the inside of his thigh – and pulled away, cheeks glowing.

“That’s not fair,” Yuuri breathed. “You promised. Not today, not til you’ve recovered. Besides,” he added in a whisper, “Phichit might hear.”

Part of Victor was ashamed for tempting him again, and part had revelled in it. He wanted to whisper in return, _It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve made love to his music, _but decided better of it. “Tomorrow, then?” he asked hopefully.

“Let’s see how you feel,” Yuuri answered in a hushed voice. “You do realise I miss it as much as you?”

“I doubt that,” Victor said near his ear.

“I think you’re trying to tear down my resistance.”

“Is it working?”

“I love you too much to say yes,” Yuuri replied, placing a palm on his chest and gently pushing him back.

Victor laughed. “I’m sorry; I know I promised. You’re distracting, that’s the problem.”

“I should say the same.”

“I _am _tired, I admit it. But it’s too early to sleep. That’s all I’ve done lately.”

Yuuri looked across the room. “What about playing your citole for a while? I missed hearing it.”

“What is that, compared to the music Phichit’s playing for us? It’s so beautiful and complex; I could listen to it for hours. Dance to it with a sword on the wheel. Or with you.”

“A single instrument can be as beautiful to listen to as an orchestra. I’d listen to anything you played.” Yuuri leaned forward and gave him a sweet, soft kiss. “What do you say?”

Victor decided he could sit here kissing Yuuri all night, even if it never led to anything else. And look into those lovely brown eyes. He smiled. “All right. But first, I want to listen to this Mozart until Phichit returns to stop it. I’ve had a lifetime of never knowing such music existed.”

They lounged side by side, idly playing with each other’s fingers and hands. Victor let his thoughts drift. Eventually they came to rest on something Yuuri had said to Phichit.

“Who are Adolf Hitler and Randall Flanagan?”

Yuuri seemed taken aback. “Um, they’re seen in my time as villains in history, I guess you could say.”

“How so? Will you tell me?”

“Well, it’s grim, but – ”

“The plague is as well, and you’ve explained that to me now.”

“All right,” Yuuri said quietly.

He began by telling Victor something about World War Two in the twentieth century. When he asked about World War One, Yuuri said it had taken place about thirty years previously, mainly coming about because of tangled alliances different countries had made with each other, and there had been no good reason for millions of people to die. It set the stage for World War Two, he explained, because Germany had been so harshly punished that it was in economic collapse, enabling a leader to come to the fore who promised a swift recovery and made certain types of people scapegoats for the country’s woes, who were then put to death in huge numbers. Victor was already in awe of the revelations – Germany, millions of people…He was sure there were only a few million in all of England right now. But when Yuuri spoke of autocratic rulers trying to seize land, wealth and power with their modern machinery, it seemed a sadly familiar story.

“I would hope,” Victor said when he was finished, “that people would’ve learned a lesson or two in five hundred and fifty years. It seems they didn’t.”

“Maybe lessons learned by one generation can be forgotten by another,” Yuuri said.

“Don’t they learn about history?”

“Anyone in this time who’s lucky enough to get an education does, too. It doesn’t stop them, does it?”

Victor thought about this.

“At least Hitler and his allies didn’t win,” Yuuri continued in the same quiet voice. “This little island put up quite a fight; though when the United States threw its power behind the resistance, it was a big turning point.”

“That’s the country you’ve visited on the other side of the ocean, isn’t it?” Victor remembered from some of Yuuri’s tales of his travels.

He nodded. “That’s what it was called then, before it fragmented into smaller countries. And that’s where Randall Flanagan and the Water Wars came into the picture a hundred and thirty years later.”

As Yuuri continued, Victor could tell he was trying not to overwhelm him with too much detail, but the concepts were alien in a world that was difficult to grasp. Business empires that spanned the entire earth and made fortunes vaster than those of entire nations. So many people doing so much to ruin the planet that great catastrophes had occurred. Yuuri didn’t list what they all were, but chief among them, he said, was a shortage of fresh water, which Victor could hardly countenance in a country that seemed to have a surfeit of it. These were days before climate control had been invented, when the world had warmed due to human activities; that and other factors had caused fresh water to become a precious commodity in many places. The powerful businesses, seeing money to be made through this, were able to buy or seize water resources, which they then sold at prices they set themselves.

Victor jumped in when he heard this and said, “What if people couldn’t afford to pay?”

Yuuri simply looked at him. “They stole, I suppose, or they died. Is it that so different from not being able to afford food?”

“It’s not still like this in your time, is it?”

“No. A lot changed after…all the troubles. So we’re looking at about fifty years into the past, from my perspective. The water companies got so powerful that as time went on, they were in charge of the people who supposedly ran countries, instead of vice versa. They could buy people into those positions who were in their pocket, and they kept the ordinary citizens on their side by investing in infrastructure and financing other projects that would normally be paid for by a government. In essence, they _were _the government.”

“A government of water companies?” Victor said, trying to imagine it.

“It was a genius idea in a way, because what’s the one thing everyone needs, every day? That’s how they got control so easily. One big problem they faced, though, was as you say, not everyone could pay. There was a lot of poverty, and it was spreading. Most people didn’t have farms or grow their own food; they worked for employers. But work was becoming scarce, and the pay for the jobs that did exist was dropping. Governments tried to deflect criticism by placing blame for all the problems on the climate refugees.”

“I don’t understand how these things could be allowed to happen,” Victor put in. “And what’s a climate refugee?”

Yuuri sighed and squeezed his hand briefly. “It’s a dark time in human history that I’m telling you about. It’s making me feel embarrassed, like I’m apologising for a family member or a friend who’s done something horrible. I know it’s silly, but I’d like to be able to say we’re better than this; that almost seven hundred years into the future, you can expect a better world. It _did _get better, but only after it got really bad. Not everywhere, but in a lot of places.”

“Here?”

Yuuri nodded. “There were already problems with a population that was sliding into poverty, and a small number of people who were getting incredibly rich.”

“Like the way it is now.”

Yuuri gave him a mirthless grin. “Yes. It’s just a bad model for a society. But I know it’s not your fault, and it’d be ridiculous to blame you; I…I hope I’ve made that clear.”

“You’ve shown me better than most where my responsibilities lie,” Victor replied, squeezing his hand back. “But no, I’ve never thought you blamed me as such.” He paused. “So what happened; how did these Water Wars end?”

“Well, it’s probably best to go back to your earlier questions. There were two kinds of climate refugees – dryouts and washouts. Dryouts were people fleeing from areas where most of the fresh water had been used up, or that had become too arid. Washouts came from homes or whole cities that were submerged because of rising sea levels – with the world getting warmer, ice was melting, and coastlands where a lot of people lived were being lost. Dryouts and washouts were crowding into places already full of suffering, so with some prompting from national leaders, I suppose it was easy for a while to heap the blame for everything on them. But when conditions got bad enough, it wasn’t citizens versus refugees anymore, but the poor versus the rich.”

“Like the Peasants’ Revolt, on a much larger scale.”

Yuuri considered. “Not at first. The water companies got so powerful, and had so many important people on their side, that there was no one left who could rein them in; they were basically free to do what they wanted. That was a pretty hard thing for ordinary people to fight, because they controlled such an important resource. One particular water company from New Missouri ended up buying out a lot of the others and became the richest business in the world. It was called Crystal Clear, and a jack called Randall Flanagan owned it. He developed a huge private army that guarded his water resources and distribution centres. I guess that really set the scene for what happened next.”

“Some kind of rebellion?”

“I think that’s what he and the other water companies were afraid of. They had governments try to make people pay fines if they used water in their homes that they couldn’t pay for – but since they didn’t have the money to pay the fines either, a lot of them ended up in gaols. That was one of the first things that happened when the riots first broke out right here in this country, in London; they opened up the prisons and let people out.”

“They started here – not across the ocean?”

“That’s right. They managed to arm themselves with laser guns, and they went on a tear through a city that had become a notorious haven for the super-rich, looting or destroying everything of theirs that they could. It was like a domino effect across the world, and other riots broke out in other countries. But Randall Flanagan had his army concentrated in the former United States, and…” He took a breath. “It’s horrible, Victor, the death a laser gun can dish out. They had flying vehicles back then, too, and huge versions of laser guns, and bombs – devices that create explosions. Even agents that spread deadly bacteria which overpowered the nanobots, though they were illegal. The wars went on for several years, and the devastation was incredible. Whole cities were wiped out, millions upon millions of people killed, or dead from dehydration. Historians reckon that Flanagan could’ve stopped it at any time, and brokered a deal through various governments, but he was hell-bent on massacring everyone who went against him.”

Victor listened in stunned silence. He thought he’d seen depredations here, but that was nothing compared to this. It was evil on a truly colossal scale. And still the Mozart in the background, at times a fitting accompaniment to the story of horror Yuuri was relating, and at times a mockery, it seemed. “Please – tell me how it ended.”

After a pause, Yuuri said, “I suppose it happened when so much had been destroyed, and people were so tired of war and death, that the remaining governments finally developed a will of their own and started fighting back. Crystal Clear had problems, too, when several other powerful people in the company planned a coup against Flanagan. It’s thought that one of them assassinated him, though the question of who did it has kept history buffs and conspiracy theorists busy for decades. Anyway, instead of a strong leader at the helm, the people who took over the company were constantly fighting each other, and eventually they split it up amongst themselves, which made it weaker.

“So it was a combination of that, and resistance forces that became better organised, which eventually brought things under control,” he went on. “The leaders of countries from around the world banded together and passed laws that forced other huge global companies to break up, so none of them could become that powerful anymore, and they also took control of fresh water back into public hands. Things they could’ve done long before the wars, if the will had been there. Now we have a world government, which began from that time, though there are still governments of countries and regions and so on. We tend to mark the end of the Water Wars as the beginning of many of these things I’ve told you about that sound so idyllic – but this is what it took to get there.” 

Victor tried to digest everything he’d heard. Along with the revelations about bacteria and cells, it all felt like an overwhelming task. The living world wasn’t what he thought it was; and in the future, horrors awaited.

“Wars that take place across the planet,” he mused. “Devices that bring about death and destruction on such a scale…”

“It isn’t all bad,” Yuuri said with a little smile. “Think of all the things I’ve told you about in my time. From hovercars to chocolate,” he said with the ghost of a laugh.

“Is that all? Does it take 728 years for those to come about?”

“Some things will improve over time,” Yuuri answered, “even if they take some steps backward. Prejudice of all kinds diminishes. People’s human rights are recognised and defended. You don’t have a government or a religion trying to control everything you do. Technology makes life easier, and more fun in some ways. I’ve told you about times and places where these things weren’t true at all, but if you look at worldwide trends over long timescales, they tend to be the case. The Water Wars were a big step back, but things got better.”

“Will the system we have in this time – with the king and his vassals and their tenants – end like that?” Victor said in a quiet voice. “In a rebellion or a war? Will you tell me?”

“It won’t,” Yuuri replied, moving closer and running the backs of his fingers down his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about angry mobs trying to attack the castle. It’ll fade away, I guess you could say, as changes in the economy and the population and other things take place. But I think it’s worth remembering that everyone’s happier when society’s more equal – and that includes the people at the top. There’s been a lot of research done on it.”

“I think I can begin to imagine, maybe. A little.” He paused. “I never asked for this life, Yuuri.”

“I know.”

“What do we do, then, my sweet? I’m not sure there are any other practical options open to us, or at least I haven’t thought of any more since the last time we – ”

“Hey, jacks, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” came Phichit’s voice as the music stopped. “Do you want me to play something else? Or I could put a book or a play on.”

Victor shook his head, and Yuuri answered, “I think that’ll be enough for tonight, Phichit, thanks. Have you got any plans for going out?”

“Me? Nah. I thought I’d do some gaming over the Cloud with a few mates. It’s been hard to coordinate it, because one’s in China and one’s in Mexico, but we’re gonna see what we can do.”

“Have fun.”

“Hey, I’m also going to see Mike Stein do a gig at the university. I wonder what Victor would make of it.”

“A stand-up comedian in 2121? He wouldn’t know what the hell he was on about, would be my guess. Find some medieval comedy and get back to us. Mind you, then _I _won’t know what the hell they’re on about.”

The three of them exchanged good nights, and the room seemed strangely quiet without any music. Victor remembered Yuuri’s earlier request, but his heart was no longer in it. “I think I shall have to leave the citole for another time,” he said. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about, and even though I feel better today, I’m tired.”

“Sure. I hope I haven’t overdone it.”

“No. I did ask.” Victor added more quietly, “This might sound silly to you, but I don’t want to have nightmares about Adolf Hitler and Randall Flanagan and the things they did. Would…you hold me until I go to sleep?”

Yuuri gave him a sad grin. “You’d be the first person in history for that to happen to, but certainly not the last. Of course; that’s one of my favourite things.”

“Mine too,” Victor sighed as he began to unbutton his tunic, feeling his thoughts begin to slide pleasantly away in the warmth of Yuuri’s words. 


	93. Chapter 93

_I can’t believe I told Victor all those things yesterday, _Yuuri mused as he jogged up the castle hill with a sack of grain over his shoulder. _What did I think I was trying to do to him? Hey, Victor, did you know there’s this miniature world of living things you can’t actually see, and we’re made_ _of them, but you’re just going to have to take my word on that? Oh and by the way, these jacks will come along and slaughter untold millions of people – that’s the sort of future everyone can look forward to. After Catholics and Protestants kill each other for hundreds of years first, and nations commit genocide in order to take control of other lands and the people who already live there._

But Victor had prompted him to consider positive things that had come about too, even if many of them were long-term trends punctuated by violence and catastrophe. York in 2121 wasn’t bad, by comparison. And Victor had been wonderful about it all; he’d seemed keenly interested.

This sack he’d chosen to carry was heavy. He’d already been on a jog with Victor, who seemed to be just about back to full health today, though he was still taking things easy, or had said he would. Yuuri had left him in the training field, instructing a delighted Julia. He’d told Yuuri that he had more castle business to attend to today, so it was unlikely they’d see much of each other; but Yuuri was simply relieved that he felt able to get on with things as normal now. The entire castle had come to life, in fact, even if it felt collectively like someone who needed more sleep but still had to get out of bed.

Running downhill was definitely more fun, he decided once he’d turned around at the top.

_I wonder how serious Victor was yesterday when he tried to seduce me. He likes to tease. _

_I miss making love with him, even though it’s not even been a week. It feels like a long time wanting him._

_Yuuri Katsuki, you should be ashamed of how selfish that is. You’re supposed to be taking care of him, not trying to hump him first chance you get._

_Still, he’s up to exercising, so…_

He shook his head and turned when he got to the bottom of the hill, sweat dripping off his fringe as he forced his legs to take him back up.

After supper, he discovered Victor waiting for him in the courtyard. “Fancy some sparring?” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I feel like I could take on Sir Lancelot himself right now.”

“I’m not Sir Lancelot,” Yuuri answered with a smile, “but that sounds wonderful. Don’t overdo it, though.”

Victor rolled his eyes in mock indignation. “Me? Never. Besides, I’m not a frail old man. Sir Victor Nikiforov is back, and I shall humble you with my trusty blade.”

Yuuri gave a hearty laugh.

They fought five well-contested rounds, though he could sense they were each holding something back. Victor seemed to be testing out his muscles after his illness, and Yuuri didn’t want to push him too far. However, he could also see that Victor was indeed feeling much better, and finally he felt able to give himself permission to do his best to win.

In the end, it was four rounds to one in Victor’s favour. He pulled Yuuri into a tight hug after the final one. “You’re improving so much,” he said against his hair. “Well done.”

_Let’s see if I can do that when you haven’t been ill with the plague, _Yuuri thought; but he still felt a glow of pride.

As they made their way back to the castle, Victor gave him a sidelong look with a grin and said, “I’ve got you all to myself tonight. What should I do about it, I wonder?”

Yuuri wanted to answer with some playful innuendo, but instead he simply said, “If you’re sure…?”

“Oh, believe me, I am. I want to give my hero a reward for saving my life.”

A pulse of desire raced through Yuuri. Perhaps that meant they might just about get through the door to his room before –

“My lord! There you are.”

The chancellor, white coif framing his salt and pepper beard, dark red robes flying, was hurrying down the hill with a collection of scrolls tucked under one arm. A look of alarm mixed with annoyance flashed across Victor’s face, but then he schooled his features into neutrality.

“John – is there a problem?”

“Julius told me to look for you at the training field. No, sir, no problem as such. But your father sent me to find you. Having returned to the castle today, he’s been dealing with missives of a most urgent nature, and requires your help. If you’d be so good as to read these – ” He indicated the scrolls he was carrying. “ – and sign them, and return them to his lordship…”

“He mentioned nothing of this when I met with him before.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but he hadn’t looked at them yet. He’s declared that they’re urgent, and he wants your signature at once, so that the messengers can depart with replies at first light.”

Victor eyed him. “Does he fear an attack?”

“No, sir. These are financial matters involving our suppliers for his highness’s visit. If they’re left unresolved…”

Victor held his arms out for the scrolls and collected them. “Only my father would see dire urgency in such a thing, with weeks yet to go. But very well, I’ll do as he asks.” He paused. “Thank you.”

* * *

Yuuri rested his chin in his hands as he scribbled his makeshift pencil over the paper. The gears were going well, but the pendulum was just as crucial.

_Length equals _g _times _T _over two pi squared, where _g _is the gravity constant and _T _is the pendulum period._

Phichit had given him some recommendations for the size, shape, and weight of different components based on research on the Cloud. If the period was two seconds, that would mean the pendulum would take one second to swing to one side, and one second to swing to the other – yielding a pendulum length of one meter, or 3.28 feet on the measuring stick he was using. He wrote it down.

Then looked up and sighed. It was difficult to concentrate on this tonight. Victor had apologised for the sudden influx of work, as if it were somehow his fault. He’d summoned a clerk to answer a few questions and then wait to return the scrolls to the baron; Yuuri had gone to his own room, leaving the adjoining door slightly ajar, and got to work on the clock, which had been neglected while Victor had been ill and Julia had spent so much time here. She’d gone back to her usual routine as well, and Yuuri had found himself wishing she were here now; he’d get Phichit to play them some music or a story. Visiting the main garrison room was another possibility, though a less appealing one, as that meant socialising with a large, more impersonal group.

What he really wanted, of course, was intimate time with Victor. But he knew it could occasionally be hard to get, and as the baron’s son he had important responsibilities on which people’s lives could depend; Yuuri certainly didn’t begrudge him that. It had been quiet in Victor’s room, apart from the sounds of paper being moved about, rolled and unrolled, and the scratching of a quill. But then he’d said something in an irritated tone about “nonsense” and “I _told _him not to do that”, followed by scraping and crackling noises. Then he’d knocked on the adjoining door, and Yuuri stood and opened it wider.

“I need to discuss some of these issues with Andrei,” Victor explained, looking slightly harried; he’d swept the scrolls up into his arms. “I’ll be back when I can.”

Yuuri nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, don’t worry. I hope you can get it sorted out.”

With a quick wordless grin, Victor held his gaze for a moment, then left his room, calling for the clerk in the hall to follow him.

That hadn’t been long ago. Victor might be away all evening; there was no telling. Yuuri called Phichit, then considered going to the main garrison room after all and having a drink. He’d been used to doing it anyway, when he lived in his old room.

Or…

An idea struck him. _That _could be fun.

He put his pencil down and smiled to himself. If Victor returned fairly soon, he could be here waiting for him. Ready. And if he didn’t, there were plenty of other options, even going to see Mistress Monica and checking again on her health, or visiting with the squires. He wouldn’t sit here for hours, but he could wait for a while and see.

Later, when he heard Victor return and call his name, he’d been designing the pieces of the clock pendulum.

“Yuuri, did you prepare this bath? What a lovely idea.”

“I did,” he returned. “I’ll be there in a minute. Sit down and have some hypocras if you want.” Checking that his projector was still on, he stood and went to the door, where he peeked through the crack and watched Victor take up the suggestion, sitting down at the table with a mazer. Yuuri pulled the door open quietly and walked over to him, stopping behind his chair and resting his hands lightly on his shoulders. Victor was wearing a fir-green tunic embroidered with gold thread; the material was smooth and soft under his fingers.

“How did it go?” he asked as he rubbed Victor’s shoulders lightly.

“Andrei is the stubbornest man on earth, I believe,” Victor sighed. “He insists on driving a hard bargain with everyone, when sometimes it would be easier just to settle on what they’re offering; it’s ridiculous to argue over a few shillings when it’s nothing to him. But he saw sense in the end. Mostly.”

Yuuri removed Victor’s cap and kissed the top of his head while stroking his fingers down his cheek. “I’m glad,” he said quietly.

Victor took his hand and was about to kiss it, then paused. “You’re still Justin.”

“You can tell that just from my hand?”

“Of course I can. I know every inch of you, my love.”

“Is this better?” Yuuri whispered, turning his projector off and making the minor modifications he’d got ready earlier.

“_Oh_,” Victor said. He was still holding Yuuri’s hand, but the black-trimmed sleeve of his scarlet and gold eros doublet was now clearly visible. Turning in his chair, he looked at Yuuri – and gasped. “Oh,” he said again. “I haven’t seen you wearing that since…since your first night here. And…” He breathed in. “Your face…”

“It’s a projection of the kind of paint I put on most days in my time. Julia got to see it, and well, I thought you should, too.” Hoping Victor didn’t think it looked too strange, he stepped forward and nudged his legs apart with his own so that he was standing right in front of him. “What do you think?” he asked in a sultry voice, draping his arms around his neck. He’d also added a spot of blush and pink lipstick.

Eyes still wide, lips parted, Victor ran a hand slowly down the tight black laces in the front of the doublet, then gazed back up at him. “I think it’s incredible,” he said in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And these hose…” He swallowed, sliding his hand down a thigh. “They’re positively _wicked_.”

Yuuri _felt _wicked in the ensemble, too. To complete the effect, after he’d finished his wash in his old bath bucket – the larger tub was going to be fresh and waiting for them both later – he’d towelled off his hair and slicked it back with some rose-scented olive oil; on training days, which was most days, he tended to let it flop as it liked, since no style held itself very well through sparring and hard exercise. The preparation itself had felt sensuous, as he’d imagined how Victor might react.

It was easier to summon the confidence he needed when he looked like this. Leaning over, he whispered in a low voice near Victor’s cheek, “I haven’t got any braies on underneath.”

Victor blew out a small breath and stood, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s back and pulling him close, while at the same time playing with the plunging neckline of the doublet. Yuuri leaned into him, still with his arms around his neck, and let out a breathy sigh, tilting his head up. There were no lips to meet, however, and he opened his eyes to see a hesitant expression on Victor’s face. 

His heart fluttered. _Does he not like the face paint? Is he too ill for this, after all, and doesn’t want to tell me? Am I – _

“I’m sorry, Yuuri, I…” Victor faltered, searching for words.

_What’s wrong? Is it me…?_

Victor thought quietly for a moment, then said, “I – I feel…” He sighed. “It isn’t easy for me to admit, but I feel embarrassed.”

Yuuri processed this. It certainly wasn’t what he’d expected. “Why?” he said gently.

“It’s not that I don’t want you.” He smiled. “You look amazing, like this exotically sexy man from the future who’s come to seduce me.” He laughed.

“I suppose that’s what I am,” Yuuri said in a low voice with a smile. “So what is it?”

Victor swallowed as he idly fingered the neckline of the doublet. “Yuuri, you saw me at a…difficult time, these past few days. I appreciate everything you did, I want you to know. But being ill like that is _not _alluring.” He bit his lip and said more quietly, “Nursing your trainer and your lover as you did…I can’t imagine what it was like.” His cheeks pinked.

Warmth spread through Yuuri’s his chest, and stroked the bottom of Victor’s chin. “We love each other. We look after each other. It’s a privilege for me to be able to do that for you.”

Victor blinked. “It is?”

“Of course it is,” Yuuri said softly. “Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

“Well, yes.” Victor huffed a little laugh. “This is all new for me. I’ve never had the kind of relationship with anyone before where…where we’d do those things.”

“I’m just glad you got better,” Yuuri said, running his fingers over his cheek. After a pause, he added, “I’m not at my best all the time either, but – ”

“I’d always love you, my sweet.” Victor mirrored his actions, and his fingers sent tingles through Yuuri.

“Then we don’t really have a problem, do we?”

“It seems we don’t.” He added quietly, “Thank you.”

“So,” Yuuri said with a smirk, “do you think you’re up for this?”

“I can be, very much so,” Victor answered with a smile, tilting his head down. “God’s bones, Yuuri, it makes me hard just looking at you in those clothes, your face like that, your hair…”

Before he could initiate a kiss, however, Yuuri laid a finger over his lips. “I have an idea.” It was something he’d been planning for a while, though he hadn’t intended to suggest it tonight. But it felt like this might be a good time. He had everything he needed. “Maybe I could…take care of you a little more now,” he said with a sultry smile. “What do you say?”

A spark leapt into Victor’s eyes. “God, yes.”

“Oh good. Then I’d like to try something new,” Yuuri purred, ghosting a finger down his cheek. “Just relax and leave everything to me.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “Do you want me to have a bath first?”

“Ignore the bath for now. I prefer you as you are.” Yuuri leaned forward. “I want to smell your sweat and your scent tonight, after you’ve been sparring with me,” he whispered, placing a lingering kiss on Victor’s neck and moving up to his ear, where he nipped the lobe. He breathed in; tasted salt on Victor’s smooth skin. Victor trembled and let out a shaky sigh.

“Am I allowed to kiss you?” he asked.

Yuuri pulled away slightly and looked into his beautiful eyes. “You may.”

Losing no time, Victor clasped Yuuri to him and dipped his head down. “Slow,” Yuuri whispered. Their lips danced and caressed, pressed and gently nibbled. Eventually Victor licked into his mouth, their tongues stroking and curling around each other, while Yuuri threaded his fingers through his hair. Moaning, Victor placed a palm on the bare stretch of chest the doublet revealed, thrusting his hips forward. Yuuri made a throaty noise as their erections pressed firmly together through the material that separated them. He loved grinding, and Victor knew it; knew it was a quick way to make him come undone. His body craved it now. But he had other plans for them.

Pulling back regretfully, he said “Stop” in the quiet but firm voice he’d cultivated for this purpose. Whenever he started to feel a bit lost in an encounter like this, he told himself to pause and focus, as he did now. “What were you doing?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Victor looked at him in surprise. “Well, you said I could kiss you – ”

“_Kiss _me, yes. You were doing more than that.”

He was obviously trying to suppress a small bemused smile. “You seemed to like it…?”

“That’s not the point. Who’s supposed to be in charge here?”

“You are,” Victor said quickly.

“Right. Did you forget?”

He wrinkled his brow. “No…”

Yuuri slid a hand down the front of Victor’s tunic. “If you don’t like that arrangement, we can stop. Any time you want.”

“No, please – I’m sorry.”

Now Yuuri had to suppress a smile. Victor looked genuinely apologetic. “Then let me tell you what I want you to do. If I said, for example, that you had to stand here, completely still, while I…” He moved his hand further down, pressing his palm against Victor’s cock under his tunic and braies, eliciting a gasp. “…did what I liked, you’d have to comply. Wouldn’t you?”

Victor close his eyes and his jaw dropped open; his hands twitched at his sides, but he didn’t lift them. “Yes,” he breathed, cheeks pinking.

Rubbing and squeezing with one hand, Yuuri circled the other around Victor’s neck. “Then do it. And let me kiss you,” he said in a low voice; and when he met Victor’s lips, the response was enthusiastic, though the tension in him was palpable as he forced himself to stand still. Yuuri pressed against him, his hand continuing to work, as he plundered Victor’s mouth. When he pulled back, Victor’s breaths were coming fast, his eyes hooded.

“Yuuri…” he said, “it…you…this is driving me mad. I need to – ”

“Follow a simple order?” Yuuri finished for him with a smile, giving his hand a twist as he squeezed Victor’s cock. It was iron hard. He wanted to do all kinds of things with it. _This is driving me mad, too. Not for much longer, though, I don’t think. _Victor moaned and made a couple of little thrusts with his hips; he always seemed to want more of whatever rhythm they struck up. Only, Yuuri had told him not to. He stilled his own movements.

“I’m sorry – I forgot myself,” Victor said. “It feels impossible not to move when you…when you’re doing that.”

“Hmm.” Yuuri eyed him. “You’ve needed help with this before,” he said with a slight drawl. “You tell me you’re going to do as I say, but…”

“I am. I’ll try harder. I promise.”

Yuuri pretended to consider. “I think you need some help again now.” He touched Victor’s cheek. “But that’s only fair. I want you to succeed.”

Victor stared, remaining still while a mixture of confusion, anticipation and trepidation flashed across his face. Yuuri had been teasing a bit just now; Victor seemed to want, perhaps even need, physical restraint to put him in a space where it was easier for him to do as he was told and give over control.

“Take all your clothes off, then stand in the middle of the room,” Yuuri instructed him. “Don’t turn around. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you.” He stole another kiss, long and deep. Victor remained still this time, and Yuuri felt a flush of pleasure.

“Well done – now get to work.” He trailed his fingers down Victor’s neck. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”


	94. Chapter 94

Victor unbuttoned his tunic, dazed by what had already passed between them. Yuuri being in control was the most unique, sensual experience, and he was trembling to discover what was going to happen next. Though if it were possible to tell his past self about this just a year ago, he would have been astounded, wanting to know what had gone so terribly wrong. He huffed a little laugh.

_My Yuuri. All the incredible things you’ve brought into my life._

He unbuckled his sword belt and placed it on a nearby chair, then finished unbuttoning his tunic and did the same. The tops of his hose were next.

_I wish he was doing this for me right now. _

Victor also wanted to devour him in those clothes. The strongest will in the world wouldn’t have prevented him from touching Yuuri eventually; it had been difficult enough to hold out so long when he’d been doing _that _to him. He was no longer painfully hard, but he tingled with lust, thinking about those beautiful blue swirls around Yuuri’s eyes as if he were a Pict painted in woad, his pink lips and glowing cheeks, the curving line of each leg sheathed in black down to his feet, that maddeningly tight doublet.

_I should get him to put his future-clothes on for me again soon. Or we could swap. I’d love to have a coat like that. But wearing an outfit that’s mostly black, in this time, you’d be mistaken for a monk._

He chuckled at the image as he pulled his boots off.

“Not finished yet?”

Victor began to turn around, then remembered he’d been told not to. “Almost.”

“I’ve been watching,” Yuuri said in an awed voice. “You’re so beautiful, Vitya.”

_Not with plague scars. _Though it was too soon to tell. The scabs were gone from his shoulder and neck, impossibly quickly it seemed to him, but they’d left rosy red splotches behind. _He loves me despite those._

“So are you,” he replied quietly. “Can I turn around and look at you?”

“No. Once you’re finished undressing, move to the middle of the room and stand still.”

_What’s he doing? _Victor wondered as he pulled off his hose and then his braies, and added those to the pile on the chair. Then he moved away as he’d been told. There was no embarrassment in this situation – Victor liked being nude when circumstances allowed – but what was it _for_; what was coming next?

A slide of cool steel across his back. Victor gasped. Was that –

“Gorgeous,” Yuuri whispered from behind him. The metal passed smoothly across his buttocks.

_Holy Christ, it is. He’s got his sword. _

Victor trembled from head to toe. _This _was unexpected. And, he realised, deeply deeply alluring. _Saints in heaven…_

“Don’t move a muscle, Vitya. You’re perfect just as you are.” Victor complied, eyes slanting to the side as Yuuri circled slowly into view, hips swaying, sword resting easy within his grip.

Victor was going to die, he was sure of it. Very happily. Right now. His jaw hung open and his throat tightened. Yuuri was still completely clothed, looking so otherworldly with those blue swirls and pink lips, so desirable. His dark eyes inspected Victor, and the ghost of an approving smile crossed his face.

“You know…” Yuuri said in that slow voice which melted Victor inside; he continued to circle, cat-like, brushing the flat of the sword across his bare thighs, “…I think I must always have wanted you like this. From the moment I first saw you.” The sword trailed as Yuuri moved, a metallic caress.

Victor squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shuddering breath, unsure if this was torture or bliss or some strange mixture of both.

Behind again, where Victor couldn’t see him, the sword traced lightly across his shoulder blades. “Michelangelo would’ve loved you as a model. One of the most talented artists who ever lived, sixteenth-century Florence. Likenesses of you would grace museums all over the world. Everyone’s eyes would roam over your body.” The sword slid across the top of Victor’s arm as Yuuri returned to the front. He stepped forward, pressed the flat of the blade diagonally against Victor’s chest and added, “But that won’t happen. I get you all to myself.” His gaze dropped to Victor’s protruding cock, lingered, then returned to meet his own. Victor could easily trace the bulge under the taut material between Yuuri’s legs. He closed his eyes again, burning, breath hitching.

“Sir Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri purred, moving closer still, until their chests were lightly touching, the sword between them. “Without armour, without a sword, without a stitch of clothing.” Eyes hooded, pink lips tempting.

_I can’t move, I can’t move, I can’t…_But oh, Victor wanted to. His cock was trapped between them, like the sword; aching for friction. He wanted to grab this man and ravish him. Yuuri was driving him mad. All the more so because he could do nothing about it; nothing but stand and take it.

“You’re completely at my mercy.” Victor could feel Yuuri’s breath on his lips. “You’re mine,” he murmured.

_Yes, I am…please – please kiss me, something, anything…_

Yuuri gave a little laugh. “Be patient; I’ll give you some help again.” He caught Victor’s bottom lip between his own and gave it a teasing pull, then flicked him a smile and stepped back, raising the point of his sword as if Victor were his captive. “Go lie on your back on the bed.”

Victor did as he was told, a new tingle of anticipation passing through him as Yuuri followed. “Arms against your sides,” Yuuri said. Then, to Victor’s surprise, he laid the sword across his chest. “You’re not to move in any way that shifts the sword in the slightest. Understood?”

Victor’s eyes were wide, and he was silently swearing to himself again as he swallowed in a tight throat.

“Imagine I’ve just beaten you at sparring,” Yuuri suggested, looking down at him. “I’ve got you down on the ground, and you’re not going anywhere.” His eyes danced. “You’re right where I want you.”

_Bozhe moi. _Victor wondered blearily how much of this could he take before he fell apart completely.

“Close your eyes.”

Victor obeyed. He heard Yuuri pad away for a moment, then return and place an object on the table next to the bed that sounded like a tray.

“Lift your head a little, and hold it up.”

When Victor did, he felt quick hands slipping a piece of cloth over his eyes and tying it at the back of his head.

_Holy mother – he’s blindfolded me. What’s he going to do?_

“You can tell me to stop any time, remember. Do you want me to – ”

“No,” Victor answered instantly, surprised at his own enthusiasm. “No, don’t stop.”

“You’re so good for me, Vitya,” came Yuuri’s purring voice. A hand guided his head back down to the pillow, and then he felt soft, warm lips on his own. Moaning at the contact, Victor instinctively began to lift his arms to pull Yuuri to him – but remembered just in time that the sword was barring his movements, and he wasn’t to shift it. The kiss, as their tongues slid together, became a growing tease, both delicious and not enough. He put everything he could into it, that being the only point of contact between them, until Yuuri pulled away breathlessly and got up.

Victor lay quietly, waiting. “Yuuri?” he eventually asked. Where was he? What was he doing? Had he left the room? Even with his eyes open, he only saw a white haze.

The bed sank down next to him. Victor started when he felt a light, smooth, almost ticklish sensation over his right nipple, just above where the sword lay. It trailed and circled, sending tiny jolts through him.

“What _is _that?” he whispered. He gasped when the smooth-tingling-tickle slid over the sword and down his abdomen.

“It’s a feather,” came Yuuri’s voice. “I apologise if it tickles; I don’t mean to. But you did agree not to move under the sword.”

There was a hint of teasing in the tone. Victor momentarily blenched inwardly; if Yuuri _did _tickle him, there was no way he’d be able to remain still. Was he giving him an impossible challenge?

But then the feather returned to caress his nipple – while a hot, wet mouth engulfed the other one, tongue drawing circles and lapping at the tip. Victor let out a series of little breaths, the different sensations continuing to send tingles and tiny shocks through him. He realised he’d always watched Yuuri when he’d explored his body before; and not being able to see him now, feeling his lips and teeth and tongue, was exciting. And where would that feather go next?

The weight on the bed suddenly eased, and Victor lay still, listening. No sound in the room but the soft crackling of the fire. But then Yuuri was on the other side of him, stroking his fringe back. “You look amazing. All laid out for me like this.” He paused. Victor had never been so focused on Yuuri’s voice before; he was sure he was making it deeper, breathier, more lazily confident just for the occasion, because he didn’t ordinarily speak this way. It was just as well, Victor decided, or he’d be in a state of permanent distraction. 

“I’m going to move your hand. Leave the other one at your side.”

Victor felt a grip around his wrist, and allowed Yuuri to guide it where he wanted. Up – why up? _Yuuri, I’ll touch you anywhere, I’ll pleasure you – _

His forefinger was taken into Yuuri’s mouth, where it sank into the wet warmth as Yuuri gently sucked. Victor groaned as heat radiated down his arm and through his body.

“Vitya,” Yuuri moaned, “you taste so good.” His lips moved slowly back and forth, tongue circling around Victor’s fingertip. Soon he added a second finger.

“Fuck,” Victor breathed, tilting his head back.

Yuuri’s other hand nudged his legs apart, and he obliged. To Victor’s surprise, the feather was dragged slowly up the inside of one leg, just firmly enough not to tickle. When it reached the top of his thigh, he gave a little gasp. How…how could this feel erotic? And yet it did, while Yuuri continued to suck gently, lewdly, at his fingers. Focusing on those two points of pleasure, as the feather was trailed up his other leg, Victor was awash in sensation.

“Yuuri,” he sighed, moving his head from side to side because he couldn’t move anything else.

“Beautiful, Vitya,” Yuuri said softly. The feather disappeared. His fingers were wiped with a cloth, his hand returned to its confines under the sword, and Victor felt a pang of loss. Then Yuuri’s weight shifted off the bed again, and Victor was left wondering once more what would come next.

The weight returned near his feet this time, and his legs were nudged further apart, bent so that his knees were pointing toward the ceiling. Some kind of silky-soft material was threaded around one leg and pulled slowly; it felt like a waterfall, and whispered as it moved. Then the other leg received the same treatment. It was like having a luxurious houppelande billow around him.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Can’t you guess?”

“It’s soft and silky.”

“Mmm.”

Victor felt Yuuri move again. He kept the material continually in motion, slowly sliding it across his skin and around his limbs. Focusing on that, Victor wasn’t prepared for the nails that suddenly raked up an arm, and he let out a small cry. They weren’t sharp, they didn’t scratch as such; but as an unexpected counterpoint to the silky stuff, they made Victor tremble. He wasn’t sure if it was a sexual feeling or not; he was simply revelling in it all.

A soft, lingering kiss near his waist took him higher on the wave he was riding. Somehow Yuuri was keeping his hands busy, everywhere, while his mouth moved up Victor’s side, lips and tongue slowly dragging. Victor tilted his head back and moaned his name. A puff of breath blew on the wet stripe on his skin, Victor heard as well as felt it, and the tiny chill sent shivers through him. How Yuuri was able to accomplish all these things at once, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He wanted to writhe; to slide that soft material all around them both. But he knew he had to lie still; that if he didn’t, Yuuri would stop all these glorious things he was doing. Leaving the material threaded around the top of a leg, Yuuri licked at a nipple, scratching his nails down the other side of Victor’s chest.

“Yuuri,” Victor gasped, “God, what you’re doing to me…”

A muffled combination of a chuckle and a hum; then Yuuri pulled his mouth away and puffed a breath over Victor’s nipple, eliciting a cracked moan. Somehow Victor had grown as hard as he’d been when Yuuri was palming him earlier, though he hadn’t so much as laid a finger near that area since they’d got on the bed. “Please,” he sighed out.

“Please what?”

“Please, touch me…let me touch you…anything.”

“Oh, but I’m enjoying myself, Vitya. The way you’ve responded to everything I’ve done…why would I want to stop?”

Victor bit his lip. The sword was like a cage. He felt a tense coil of frustration building inside of him, though there was something pleasurable about _that _too, and Jesus, what was happening to him? “I need…”

“I’m seeing to your needs, aren’t I?” Yuuri said quietly, his voice like the silky material. “You wanted me to. Trust me, baby.”

No one had ever called him that before Yuuri; he didn’t think people in this time said it at all, not that he’d heard. But there was something reassuringly endearing about it. Victor fell silent.

“I have something else here. I think you’ll like it. I know _I _will.”

All of Victor’s senses seemed heightened, and he felt both excitement and trepidation about whatever else was in store. Yuuri moved, slipped the material away from him, and picked up an object with a small clink. 

_What makes that noise? A vessel?_

Victor flinched when he felt something on his chest. A liquid poured in a slow thin line from a height, but not water; it was thicker, forming a small pool there, growing warm from his skin. He heard Yuuri put something on the table, then felt him kneel close to him on the bed and dip two fingers in the liquid.

“Open your mouth, Vitya.”

Victor obeyed, that sense of excitement and trepidation surging through him.

“Keep your head still and let me do the work.”

Yuuri’s fingers slipped into his mouth.

_Honey._

A question flashed through Victor’s head about how the cunning devil had got it from the kitchen, but he supposed it wouldn’t be difficult – and anyway, he was sucking on Yuuri’s _honeyed fingers _as they began to slowly slide in and out, and nothing else right now mattered but that. He could hear Yuuri’s breaths quickening, and felt a pulse of heat to his groin as the sweetness trickled down his throat. Caressing with his tongue, he gave a satisfied moan.

“Fuck,” Yuuri whispered. “Yes…”

A spark of power shot through Victor, and he felt in that moment as if _he _were the one in control, giving Yuuri pleasure. But no sooner did he realise this than the fingers were removed, and again there was the sense of disappointment and frustration.

More honey drizzling, this time down his abdomen. Yuuri knelt next to his hips and planted an arm on either side of him – Victor could feel the bed sinking with the movements, feel Yuuri’s heat – and then he was trailing open-mouthed kisses along and around the line of honey, like a thirsty man who’d found a desert oasis.

Victor groaned and arched his back, desperately needing to move underneath Yuuri’s sword holding him captive. Yet the fact that it was doing so only served to fuel his desire. He thrust his hips up, meeting empty air.

“Easy, Vitya,” Yuuri said in a husky voice, pulling away. There was a long pause in which Yuuri got up and shifted things around.

“Please…Yuuri…” Victor couldn’t bear being left like this – trapped, quivering, needy. “What are you doing? Come back…”

“So eager,” Yuuri drawled softly from next to the bed. That voice…it did things to him. And Yuuri _knew _it, and was taking advantage of it.

_Oh God. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours…_

A finger slid quickly up his cock to the tip, and gave it a playful flick. Victor gasped. “I need you.”

“I’m here.” Yuuri climbed back onto the bed and nudged his legs open again, kneeling between them.

“God, Yuuri – yes, please…”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me. Take me.”

Another drizzle of the honey – this time on his cock. Victor gave a loud gasp, eyes flying wide open onto nothing.

“You should see what you look like from where I am. You’re incredible, Vitya.”

Victor was wondering how to reply when he felt Yuuri lick a long stripe from root to tip, and all he could do was let out another moan. Yuuri repeated the action, his tongue lingering around the swollen head of his cock, circling, teasing the slit. Victor’s breaths were juddering; he grasped at the sheets under his hands. Even though it was in his most sensitive place, Yuuri was still hardly touching him.

“I need more,” Victor said quietly. “Please…”

A pause. Then Yuuri said, “I’ll give you what you want.”

It sounded to Victor as if a _but_ should have followed, because there was something odd about the way he said it. Then every thought in his head shattered when Yuuri’s hot mouth sank onto his shaft, while he squeezed his balls and tugged at them. Victor inhaled sharply, throwing his head back, and used every bit of willpower he had not to move the sword.

Yuuri was merciless, continuing the assault on his senses with nothing but his mouth and hands, kneading and sucking, tongue teasing. Victor imagined what he must look like, his head bobbing as he took him in again and again, and almost came.

“Yuuri,” Victor panted. “Fuck…I’m close.”

There was no pause; Yuuri didn’t even slow down. Moaning, he took Victor even deeper. Victor shuddered, clawing at the sheets, little sounds escaping from his throat. 

“Can I…can I come?” he gasped, wondering how much longer he could hold out. He knew he could come just from having his balls kneaded or his cock swallowed like this, but both together, with _Yuuri _doing it – Jesus…

The removal of stimulation was so sudden that Victor lay in stunned silence for a moment. “Yuuri…?”

“I’m still here,” came the purring reply. “I could bring myself off while I just sat here and looked at you. You’re so hard for me. Maybe I will.”

“Don’t…don’t stop. It felt so good.”

Yuuri gave his cock a few lazy strokes and he bucked his hips, loving the touch, aching for more.

“_Please, _Yuuri, please – I’ll do anything you want.”

“This isn’t a _bribe_, Victor.” He felt a swipe of tongue on the underside of his cock and gave a small cry. “Tell me what you need. Tell me how much you want it.”

Victor could barely think, let alone form words, especially as Yuuri carried on stroking him slowly, adding a twist or a lick as a maddening surprise. His cock twitched and throbbed. “I need to come,” he choked out, feeling his cheeks flame. “I want you.”

“Hmmm, I’m not sure I understand,” Yuuri said in that teasing voice, dragging his lips and tongue up and down Victor’s shaft and giving it a squeeze.

It was the most exquisite torture. Victor arched his back and cried out, eyes shut tight, hands forming into fists as he forced them to remain where they were. “God, Yuuri, please, _please_,” he said, raising his voice in his urgency, the tendons in his neck straining. “I can’t bear it. Let me come. Fuck me. Anything. I _need_ you.”

“That’s better,” Yuuri said, sounding pleased. “I knew you could do it, Vitya.”

Victor breathed out in relief, though the need to be touched still tingled in his skin and raced in his veins. Yuuri shifted until Victor could feel him getting on his hands and knees above him. Lips and tongue dipped into the small warm pool of honey remaining on his chest…and then Yuuri’s mouth met his, the syrupy sweetness sliding around their tongues as the faint scent of roses surrounded them. Victor gave a loud moan and thrust his hips upward. He’d never _wanted _so much in his life, or been so helpless to assuage the desire.

And then something inside of him made the decision to…simply embrace it. Surrendering to the power he’d given Yuuri, he found himself drifting in the calm and warmth of complete trust, finer than any wine, beyond the straining desire of his body. He continued to moan into the kiss, words failing him; he didn’t need them. It was all wonderful – the softness, the heat, the tension, the need.

“I want you, too,” Yuuri said in a husky breath that Victor felt on his lips. “I’m going to take care of us both.”

He sat up; then Victor heard what felt sure was the phial of oil being unstoppered. His heart leapt in anticipation, though he continued to feel like the honey had seeped into his very blood somehow, so sweet…

A hand slicked warm oil over his cock. Was Yuuri going to ride him, then? _Oh Bozhe. _He moaned again. It seemed to be all that he could do; the only way to express the pleasure. Did he want Victor to prepare him?

No, no he certainly didn’t…Yuuri was sinking down – _Christ, _how did that feel so good? Victor felt his legs tensing as he straddled him, and his tight heat. He was sure noises were issuing from his own lips, though he didn’t know what they were. Yuuri was vocal, too, as he gradually bottomed out; it sounded deliciously primal. Underneath that calm velvet voice had been his own aching need, that much was clear now. Victor longed to reach out for his cock, to feel how hard it was, to give him more pleasure. But he’d do whatever Yuuri wanted, and his arms remained motionless under the sword.

“That’s it, baby, you’re being so good,” Yuuri said breathily as he began to move. Victor heard him gasp. More breaths sucked in, and exhaled with the hint of a moan. “Fuck…Victor…Jesus, you feel incredible.”

Something like a choked sigh escaped Victor. Pleasure surrounded him, infused him; he was drowning in it. His fingers flexed against the mattress, his breaths quickened, and a coil of heat in his abdomen was tightening with every thrust Yuuri made. He felt Yuuri’s weight shift forward; more moans and swearing as he fucked himself faster. A hand caressed Victor’s waist, skating brokenly up his side, stopping at the sword and palming flat.

“Fuck into me,” Yuuri told him hoarsely. Victor did so gladly, tossing his head back as _ah _and _fuck _spilled from Yuuri, mixed with more gasps, the rhythm of his hips relentless. He sounded like he was close. Victor didn’t know how he’d been able to hold back himself; the part of him that was already floating on bliss seemed to take the raw edge off somehow, though the pleasure was no less. Beautiful…the world they created as they joined like this.

“Please…” he said before he even thought about it, the word thick in his mouth as the waves of sensation threatened to engulf him. “…can I see you? Touch you?”

There was no answer for a moment. Then then sword was lifted and tossed aside to clatter to the floor. Yuuri leaned forward, Victor slipping out of him. Fingers scrabbled at the knots behind the blindfold, then pulled it away and tossed it to the floor, too.

Victor blinked as if a candle had suddenly leapt to life in the dark of night. And there was Yuuri in front of him, propping himself up on his hands, still clothed. Pupils blown wide, pink lips parted, cheeks glowing, bright blue swirls still decorating his face, wisps of unruly hair brushing his forehead. He might as well have been a man of the fay come to seduce Victor in his bed – but he was also, truly and utterly…

“Yuuri,” Victor sighed, cupping both of his cheeks. “Oh, my love. My sweeting.” How good it felt to move; how wonderful to be able to touch the man he loved again.

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathed, chest heaving under the tight doublet.

They crashed together, kissing deeply and hungrily, Yuuri raking his hands through Victor’s hair while Victor clasped him in a tight embrace. The sounds their lips made, moans, breaths all hung in the air.

“Please, Yuuri my love, please finish me,” Victor whispered between kisses, looking up into those brown eyes framed in their cloud of blue. “I need you.”

Yuuri palmed his cheek, his gaze dark. “You’ve been so patient, baby,” he said, obviously aiming for the voice of drawling confidence, though it was rough and broken with desire. “I said I’d give you what you wanted.”

He straightened up, gripping Victor’s cock and sinking back down on to it, pulling groans from them both. Victor stared. Yuuri’s legs were still sheathed in those sleek black hose, and the upper part of his body in the short doublet; but he’d removed the codpiece, and his cock jutted lewdly from its thatch of dark curls, bouncing as he began to move, quickly matching his former pace.

It was almost too much – being inside Yuuri like this; able to see him now, right in front of him; watching the shreds of control fall away from his expression as he was overcome with pleasure and desire. Victor had been made to focus on every sound and feeling, and he continued to do so without the blindfold or the sword; the _ahs _and sighs and moans from Yuuri as he closed his eyes and moved his head, the sheath of pressure as he fucked himself on Victor’s cock, the smooth material of his hose as Victor ran his hands up their length and settled at the tops of Yuuri’s thighs, where his thumbs played along their insides.

Yuuri altered his rhythm from deep thrusts to quick, shallow ones. “T-Touch me,” he said.

The command sent that feeling of bliss sweeping through Victor again. He pressed the thumb of one hand firmly into the dip of hot skin at the very top of Yuuri’s thigh, while he wrapped the other around Yuuri’s cock and began to pump. Yuuri’s mouth dropped open and he tilted his head back, clutching at Victor’s arm.

“Oh God,” he moaned. “Fuck, yes…_yes_, Vitya…”

Victor’s cock pulsed as he listened and watched. There was no longer any holding back; he’d had all he could take. He was on the edge – and if Yuuri took him deeper again…

“Please,” he said in a cracked voice, “can I come?”

“What…would you do…if I said no?” Yuuri answered between gasps.

Victor closed his eyes, imagining it, fighting the demands of his body. “I want to do what you tell me. I’d try, but…Yuuri, I need – ”

“I know.” Yuuri guided Victor’s hand away from his cock and back to the top of his thigh as he lifted himself and then slammed down – once, twice, again. Victor cried out with the pleasure of it. “Do what you need to do,” Yuuri breathed. “Give it to me, Vitya. Fill me up.”

Victor’s fingers dug into Yuuri’s soft skin as he surrendered himself to need, and thought to instinct. He bucked up into Yuuri to meet his rhythm, shifting his hands to Yuuri’s hips and pulling him down firmly with every stroke. Yuuri’s eyes flew open wide, his jaw going slack. A few more thrusts and he was crying out, his thighs trembling as he spurted over Victor’s abdomen. Victor bucked into him a final time, hard, and held him in place, groaning as pulses wracked through his body.

They remained as they were for a long moment, their ragged breaths gradually quieting. Then Yuuri leaned down on his elbows until they were chest to chest, Victor’s softening cock slipping wetly out of him as he shifted. They touched damp foreheads. Victor draped his arms loosely around Yuuri’s back.

“I love you,” he whispered, his words syrupy as he drifted on a warm cloud.

Yuuri kissed him languidly, and Victor hummed into it.

“I love you too, Vitya,” Yuuri whispered. “So much. You were amazing…all those things you tried with me tonight.”

“Mmm, I _feel _amazing.” Victor gave a contented sigh. “Like I’m melted inside. Whoever would have thought…with a feather…” He made a soft snickering sound, drunk on pure bliss. 

“There’s a bath waiting for us.”

“Let it wait. This is so good, my sweeting.”

“It’s still me taking care of you. You’re body’s full of…feel-good chemicals from what we just did. It might help you be more grounded.”

Victor glanced toward the bath, which was very gently steaming, then returned his gaze to Yuuri. “Will you hold me when we’re in – and leave the face paint on?”

“Of course. It’s just a projection, anyway; it won’t come off in the water.”

Yuuri got up and Victor followed. “Go ahead and get in; I won’t be a minute.”

Victor did so, slipping under the warm lapping waters. The wooden plank had been laid across the bucket, he noticed. And Yuuri was bringing a jug with cups, which he placed on it. Then he fetched a plate with two muffin-sized cakes and set it down, removing his clothes before taking soap and a cloth and lowering himself onto the white-sheeted bench next to Victor. He placed an arm around his shoulders, and Victor relaxed into him, closing his eyes while Yuuri gently washed his chest and belly, then his neck and chin.

“I hope that’s all the honey gone,” he said. “I suppose we can have a proper wash later; I believe there was a request for me to hold you.”

“You’re spoiling me,” Victor murmured, snuggling into him as they settled into a warm, comfortable embrace. He kissed Yuuri’s chest. There’d been no chance to explore his body this time. That would have to be put right. Quite soon, too.

“Oh, Victor,” Yuuri said, kissing the top of his head. “I’m not. I wasn’t sure what you’d like – if any of it. It’s all new to me still.”

Victor opened his eyes and gazed up at him. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before. It was beyond words. Thank you for everything you did, and all the thought you put into it.”

Yuuri smiled. “How are you feeling?”

He considered. “Like I’ve been exercising all day. Tired but…glowing inside,” he said with a little laugh. “I felt for a while like I was almost floating or flying, but you’re right, being here with you like this, it’s calming. Wonderful,” he sighed. “How did I ever get so lucky to have met you?”

“You didn’t think so at the time,” Yuuri chuckled softly. 

“Ah, but I thought you were the real Justin.” He snickered again. “I was just thinking of your sword. When we go to the training field next, I’ll be remembering this night, you know. In fact, I’m never going to forget it.” He blew out a breath. “The way you looked with it…what you _did _with it…saints in heaven.”

Yuuri simply laughed, and there was the most devilish glint in his eyes.

“Actually,” Victor added, continuing to look up at him, “as beautiful as your face paint is, could you remove it? Just so I can see you as you are?”

“Sure,” Yuuri said quietly. The blue faded away, leaving those lovely brown eyes unadorned and gazing down at him, full of warmth. The pink lips and rosy cheeks went with it, though a fetching natural tinge to his cheeks remained.

“I swear you must be a magical being from some enchanted land.”

“I’ll have to disappoint you in that case. Would you like some water, or a honey pie?”

“Honey pies? You really are devious,” Victor laughed. “The things you did with that…” He sat up straighter and took a pie while Yuuri poured some water into each cup. “How did you get these?” he asked, taking a bite. A buttery crust with a honey and saffron filling. Delicious.

“Well, you see, it pays to have connections in the kitchen. It’s where I got the honey from, too. Bridget must think I’ve suddenly gone mad on the stuff.”

“Yuuri my darling, you can go mad about honey as long as you like, if it entices your tongue into doing all those things,” Victor said in a low voice.

“Maybe I’ll let you return the favour sometime.”

Victor felt a throb of heat in his groin as the image entered his mind. “Good lord,” he breathed. Yuuri chuckled as he drank and picked up a honey pie.

Nestling back against Yuuri as he ate, Victor looked at the table by the bed, where he’d left the tray of items he’d used. “What sort of feather is that?”

“A chicken feather. I cleaned it.”

Victor smiled in surprise. “I never would have thought I’d have a lover pleasuring me with a chicken feather.”

Yuuri laughed. “When you put it that way, I have to say I never imagined _doing _that to someone.” 

“And is that your blue samite shirt?”

“It is.”

“You realise it’s going to drive me mad next time you actually wear it.”

“Good,” Yuuri said with a smile.

“You’re the sweetest distraction. Though…” Victor took another bite of the honey pie. “…this is a good one, too.”

“Just out of curiosity, which object did you like the most?”

“The sword,” Victor replied without having to think about it. Then a blush stole into his cheeks. It was a knight’s ever-present weapon; the use of it had been in his life blood for years, and it was perhaps the most important thing he owned. And having _Yuuri’s_ sword do those things to him, especially after all the sparring…

“I’d have to say the same for me,” Yuuri told him with a knowing smile. “Though the honey’s a close second. I suppose lots of ordinary items could become sexy in the right context,” he mused.

Victor wanted to know how Yuuri had learned all these things if he’d never had other lovers. Then he remembered him saying that people in his time had the Cloud and Immersion. Both sounded like heavenly delights.

Once they’d finished their cakes, and Victor had drunk some water at Yuuri’s prompting, they lounged on the bench, tangled up in each other. “This is what happens,” Victor said, “when you don’t let me touch you. When I _am _allowed, I don’t want to let go.”

“I’m not complaining,” Yuuri sighed, threading his fingers through Victor’s hair. “I couldn’t stand not being touched by you, either. If you hadn’t asked, I might’ve removed the sword and blindfold anyway. Maybe that means I’m not a very good dom.”

“You were taking care of me. I’m so glad you did.” He brushed his fingers down Yuuri’s cheek. “We’re not still doing the power-play now, are we?”

Yuuri smiled. “No.”

“Then I’d like to give you an order.”

The smile changed to a smirk as Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

“Kiss me.”

And Yuuri did. He tasted like honey. 


	95. Chapter 95

Victor had fallen asleep first, as he often did. After they’d got out of the bath, Yuuri had checked in with Phichit and asked him to play slow music for dancing. He’d been conscious, maybe overly so, of making sure Victor was all right. It was silly of him, he supposed. After all, they weren’t doing anything that caused pain, though the restraint, the surprise sensations and the begging might have taken a collective toll; it was hard to tell. Victor _had _said he was tired. But he’d seemed to enjoy the dancing; and then Yuuri had the idea of asking Phichit if any of the _Canterbury Tales _had been written after 1393, and he said there were several. Victor was delighted at the idea of listening to future instalments that he’d be the first in his time to hear, and so Phichit had played a few. Yuuri needed his translator, but Victor had understood perfectly, though he’d been amused by the “wondrously strange” accent of the reader.

Eventually they’d gone to bed with their arms loosely draped around each other. They slept together in Victor’s room most of the time now, though on occasion they still used Yuuri’s. It was beginning to feel like this was where he actually lived, with the other room being a kind of hideaway for when he needed quiet time, or to avoid intruding on Victor’s meetings. And Victor was here now beside him, safe and well, the only sign he’d been ill those red marks where the blisters had been. Yuuri basked in the warmth of him, listening to his quiet breaths.

His thoughts drifted back to their scene, as he’d learned it was called. The term appealed, fitting as it did into that feeling of a rehearsed performance, complete with costume and props, cultivated voice, a whole persona. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to think of anything that would top what they’d done with the sword, especially when he’d been circling Victor and teasing him with it; wasn’t sure he’d ever felt sexier in his life.

_Now all I need to do is learn how to feel like that without the performance. But the theatricality is fine. I like it._

He’d been careful about what he’d done with the sword, wondering while he’d been exercising and putting his ideas together just how much Victor was likely to find sexy, and where the boundary might lie between that and upsetting him. In fact, using the sword at all had been a risk – though a small one, he figured, since it was as familiar a tool for them as the knives they carried. But what if it had brought back a memory of some experience Victor had undergone with an enemy in the past which he hadn’t mentioned? And yet he’d also said he wanted the scenes to be surprises. Yuuri had been prepared to stop the instant Victor showed any sign of being tense or uncomfortable. With the opposite clearly being the case, however, he’d breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed into his role. And he’d loved it.

His eyes lingered on Victor’s fair hair, catching the glow of the little oil lamp as it always did, which spilled over his face and neck, and the white blanket pulled up to his chest. He looked perfectly content in his sleep – but then recent memories of him thrashing and groaning as his body fought off that terrible illness flashed into Yuuri’s head.

_It’s OK. He’s fine now; he’s safe._

He brought back the image of Victor lying here just a few hours before, and that was better, much better. He’d looked magnificent with the blindfold and gleaming sword across his chest, like some debauched avatar of the goddess of justice. Yuuri had wondered what he’d make of the feather and the silky shirt, whether he’d simply laugh; but it had been sublime to discover that he’d allowed himself to go so deep into the scene that every kind of touch elicited a gasp, a twitch, a moan. He’d handed over a great deal of trust; that in itself was evidence of it. While the realisation touched Yuuri deep in his heart, he also felt it as a weight of responsibility; one that could easily make him anxious about how he planned and guided a scene.

_As good as it was, I think I could do with some “vanilla” sex for a while, so I can relax too._

And there was no denying it _had _been good. Good? Fantastic, more like. Both of them gasping for it after such a build-up – and Victor begging for him…He smiled to himself. Of course, he owed Phichit a debt of thanks, in a roundabout kind of way. It had taken some audacity to bring the subject up with him. Yuuri had imagined him laughing uproariously when he found out what the two of them had been getting up to, though he didn’t really think he would. More likely, it would just add an air of awkwardness to their subsequent conversations. But Yuuri had decided to risk it in the end, because he had to understand more about what he’d taken on; how to do it properly and make sure he was caring for Victor instead of hurting him. That meant getting information from the Cloud, and there was only one way to access it from here.

To his relief, once Phichit understood he was serious about the subject, he’d been as obligingly helpful as he had with anything else Yuuri had asked him. Sex was something they hadn’t really discussed until now, perhaps because Yuuri hadn’t been having any with real partners, and Phichit didn’t seem inclined to share many details about the people he was seeing. This time, though, he mentioned Yasmin.

“Do you remember her, about a year ago?” he said. “I introduced you at that dance bar, Earthshock.”

“Um…” Yuuri thought back. It seemed strange to place himself in his memories of the future, almost as if he were landing in someone else’s shoes. “I think so. She was an astrophysics student at the uni, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah, that’s right. We went out together for a while. She had these two ferrets she used to take for walks on leads…well anyway, she asked me once if I’d let her put a pair of handcuffs on me. They were, um, these leather straps with a chain between them.”

Yuuri smiled, blushing, though it felt good in a way to talk about it. “So did you?”

“Yeah, I decided to try it; I thought, what the hell.”

There was a pause. “And – ?” He wondered for a moment if Phichit was going to reveal a hitherto unknown secret life of BDSM.

“Well, I guess I can say I did it once, but it just didn’t do anything for me. I kind of didn’t like not being able to move?”

“That’s the point,” Yuuri laughed.

“I know some people are into that kind of stuff, but I can’t say I really understand it, to be honest. I mean, Victor’s this big, strong, important jack from what you’ve said, and he wants you to tie him up?”

“Yeah, he…likes it,” Yuuri said quietly, still with the hint of a smile. “It wasn’t originally my idea; we just…found out.”

“OK, well, I guess I don’t need to know more than that, especially if I want to have a normal conversation with him again. I’m still trying to imagine you as a dom; I can’t say that’s something that ever crossed my mind, but it’s juke, Yuuri. I think you’d be good at it.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said with a little laugh. “I appreciate you talking about this and looking all these things up for me. It helps. They, um, don’t seem to be too sexually liberal in 1393 England, you know?”

“I’d say a jack who’s openly a snapdragon is liberal enough for the times, to be honest. That’s a virtual theocracy you’re living in.”

“Tell me about it. But yeah, I guess you’re right; I’m lucky Victor didn’t decide to hide that part of himself and marry some princess. Really, though – thanks.”

“Sure. I’m your contact for any and all information, aren’t I? Hey, better me than Celestino, you reckon?”

“Bloody hell, I should say so,” Yuuri laughed.

Once they’d said their goodbyes, he’d mentally gone through what Phichit had told him about basic dom/sub relationships; he hadn’t asked him to go into any more detail than that, figuring he could work the rest out himself, which he’d already started to do. What a scene was, and the kinds of play it could involve. Good sub care – asking Victor how much of a say he wanted to have in what happened, what he liked and didn’t like (surprises, restraints; no violence); a safeword (they’d agreed “stop” was simple enough); and aftercare, such as cuddles, food and drink or a bath, to ease the sub down from whatever high he might have achieved, so that he felt safe and grounded and didn’t experience a rebound crash. Yuuri hadn’t been consciously aware of that particular aspect, and was glad Phichit had told him about it. His lust-fogged brain had still been able to note in their scene tonight, just before he’d started riding Victor, that the tension seemed to have drained from him and there’d been a beatific expression on his face, as if he’d had a little taste of heaven. 

_Somehow I helped him to find it. I wonder what it was like._

He smiled again as he watched the sleeping form he was still holding. _And you were worried I wouldn’t want to have sex with you because I cared for you when you were ill? We’ve shared so much already. As different as our backgrounds are, as much as there is that stands between us sometimes, in a way I feel like I’ve known you forever. It’s strange – silly, maybe – but I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anybody; more than I realised it was even possible to feel._

Close on the heels of that thought was another that pierced his heart. _I don’t ever want to leave him._

_What the hell do I do?_

Always, always in the night these worries bit at him, when Victor was asleep and there was no comfort to be had. Yuuri caressed his shoulder gently, lightly, so as not to wake him. There were no answers to his questions for now; he’d stayed awake for hours before in the dark, wracking his brain, his only achievement the circles under his eyes the following day.

_But there _is_ some comfort, _he decided. _He’s still here, next to me. I’m still here. We love each other._

_That’s not so bad. _

The tinge of a grin crossed his face. _I’ll take that for now._

* * *

_I could really use some music to work to. Such a simple thing. I thought I’d packed so thoroughly; I brought so much with me. But not that. What the hell do I get in this place – ? Church hymns and chamber music. Not even a lively fiddler during meals. Too plebeian for the nobs._

Ailis sat on her stool at the wooden table, eyes straining. The hour was late, but there was still sunlight to be had at this time of year; not that it made much difference, filtering in weakly through iron bars in windows high above, projecting a punctuated line of grills across the stone floor. She’d lit candles, but the only appreciable light came from the white electric lamp she’d placed next to her. It made her skin look ghostly and the veins in her wrists stand out in blue. But it meant she could do her work. This was far too delicate to attempt by the light of a little dancing flame. Modern tools hacking into modern tech.

It hadn’t been easy to move into this place. Like before, it had required sneaking out of the castle at night with a horse and cart, taking ways that were more likely to be deserted. It was a risk. A hassle. Though she knew she herself was to blame; she’d invited Celestino’s stooge _right into her lab _because she’d been so confident of dispatching him there.

_Fuck you, Yuuri Katsuki, _she thought as a dart of white rage shot through her – and her tool almost slipped. She took a moment to compose herself, then started anew.

She’d had to scout this place out in a hurry. Fortunately she’d heard talk about it at the castle, so it had just been a matter of working out where it was. No one ever came here and it hadn’t been used in years. The perfect place – or so it had seemed, until she’d realised just how dismal it was inside. Well, had she expected anything less? It served the purpose, and there was even a small fireplace.

She worked a while longer, tools and tech flashing white and blue. Then winced when she moved her arm in just that wrong way, which exacerbated the injury from the arrow. It wasn’t deep, having struck her at an angle, and was healing slowly. She’d almost turned to prayer, dreading the idea of having to visit a barber surgeon whose idea of finesse was probably sawing off limbs. But it hadn’t come to that. Luckily the women in this backward place always wore long-sleeved garments, no matter how hot the weather, so she’d been able to conceal the wound. Though it had been more difficult to hide it from her “husband”, even with the wonders the projector could accomplish.

_Fuck you, Yuuri Katsuki._

It had been difficult to deal with the flashes of helpless rage every time she thought of what he’d done. She supposed she ought to be thankful he hadn’t left an immediate watch on the cottage; she’d been ready to blast anyone there to kingdom come – with caution, mind you, because he had one of her guns now. But no one had been around, and she’d been able to retrieve her possessions and get them to a safe place. Including the container of _Yersinia pestis _behind the loose stone in the hearth – she’d spent months perfecting that.

A hologram beamed from the apparatus to occupy the floor in front of the table. Good. She just needed to get the BCI to follow her instructions and do something rather different from what had been programmed. It was a mindless piece of machinery; she’d soon have it bent to her will.

But thoughts about Celestino’s bloody ragtag time-police kept shattering her concentration. She never did get to properly meet the first two who’d come after her; in fact, it had only been the fatal illness of the second one which had drawn her attention to that particular cuckoo in the nest. But Yuuri had lasted much longer than either of them; he was subtle, and patient, and a problem. _Why_ hadn’t she made him tell her who he was pretending to be at the castle?

_Because I thought I was going to have the satisfaction of finding out by taking my com back from his dead blackened wrist and looking at what it showed me. I was far too careless._

And what of his confederate who’d fired the arrow? Every man in the kingdom was required to be proficient with a bow, so finding a reasonably accurate archer who could shoot through a high window but failed to hit any vital organs wouldn’t exactly be an easy task; it could be almost anybody. 

_I still should’ve thought of that possibility, too. I didn’t even realise anyone could get high enough up from a close range to do something like that. Because I’m not familiar with the primitive tools of war they have here. Give enough cave men enough rocks to throw, and they could kill anyone as well._

Whether the archer knew Yuuri’s identity, or whether they’d simply been told to shoot an arrow through the window at a certain time – in order to, say, kill a criminal – was anyone’s guess. He might just be bright enough to arrange something like that; it was difficult to know. There _had _to be another way of flushing him out, something clean and simple that didn’t involve endangering the whole castle again.

She’d posed inconspicuous questions during conversations, asking for example if anyone seen a man with “exotic” dark eyes lately, though she always had to couch it in terms that wouldn’t make them too curious about why she was asking. A foreign merchant who was expected to bring his wares to sell. Sailors who had berthed their ship on the river and visited the village. A troupe of actors who were petitioning to play at the castle. And on top of that, it was important not to start any gossip about why she was looking for such a person, lest word got back to Yuuri and he found out who was asking the questions. But it seemed that all the care she’d put into the task had been wasted anyway, because no one said they’d seen anyone who sounded as if he fitted the description of a Japanese man.

_I hope you’re having just as difficult a time trying to discover who I am_. _Ask away. I hear a great deal of gossip, and the minute you make a mistake, I’ll do what I should’ve done to you the instant you walked through the cottage door._

He must have returned to the castle quickly after she’d managed to escape; he was that keen to be everybody’s hero. If he’d placed the barrel of wine, into which he’d clearly poured the nanobot solution, in the courtyard – and then gone off to pretend to be among the sick…? She wouldn’t put it past him. And that note she’d eventually seen, which she’d been told was nailed to the barrel – _draught of helinge _or whatever it said – was almost taunting her, like a flipping magic potion in an Immersion game. Ironic, really, considering what she was doing right now.

_I want to see the fear in your eyes before I put the lights out, Yuuri. You’ve given me enough trouble to deserve it, and then some._

He must’ve been frustrated she’d got away; it was a crumb of comfort. In the instant of his attack at the cottage, the memory had flashed into her mind of their first encounter in the woods, when she’d dropped the gun, and how eager he’d been to go after that rather than her. So she’d deliberately tossed it away in desperation this time as bait, and while he’d scrambled to grab it, that had given her the time she’d needed to escape.

_But I don’t run from people, not for long, _she thought as she picked up her laser pen and braced her hand to keep it steady. Such primitive conditions she was forced to work in. _I’m not going to allow this man to keep me down. This time my lab is going to be defended, as I should’ve thought to do before. No one will be able to wait in ambush. They won’t even be able to get close._

A spark flew up and she flinched. _Careful. _If only the world of her time could appreciate her abilities. Not just the time-travel tech she’d created, but also what she was doing now – the creativity and innovation required to hack and cannibalise existing tech and make something new and astounding. She’d had to sacrifice a few simple electronic components she’d brought with her, and another laser gun, unfortunately – there weren’t many of those left – but the result would be worth it. In fact, she hoped Yuuri would fully experience her invention, the sooner the better. Along with his mate the archer, perhaps.

And to think she’d only brought this particular piece of tech for a bit of amusement in case she found herself in a deserted place with time to spare. It was going to turn out to be almost as vital as the guns, and far more interesting. If only she’d come up with the idea in her modern lab before she’d come here, then the task of making it a physical reality would have been exponentially easier.

_Never mind. I can handle this. Soon all I should have to do is make a few tests, and it’ll be ready. _

She paused and looked up. The sun was setting now, and the flames in the grate danced, illuminating the grey stone walls. There was time yet to make use of this evening, after she finished here; the usual people who surrounded her at the castle thought she’d retired early. It had irked her that she still hadn’t been able to find the missing com from the deceased woman Celestino had sent here; the additional freedom she’d have if she could project herself as the washerwoman would be very welcome. But at least the passageway under the castle gave her the means to come and go as she needed.

Her thoughts turned briefly to Ian as she began carefully storing her kit away in the cupboards; her concentration was too fragmented for her to do any more of this work tonight. If he’d been caught, or if her own counterpart had been found, she supposed she would have heard from that gormless Phichit by now. Or Yuuri would know who she was, and come after her. The thought of it made her shudder.

_Don’t let the bastard scare you, Ailis; you’re better than that._

The woman must have some resourcefulness, to have held out for so long. Ailis had suspected as much, from what Ian had told her, and what she’d learned about her here. _More power to you, sister. Maybe you’ll come to like your new home. It’s got distinct advantages over this one._

Funny, but half of her hoped Ian _would_ get caught, despite the undesirable consequences for herself. He prided himself on being above the law; undetectable. He was also a first-class pillock. Not a patch on Brian, who had been a brilliant if highly flawed individual. She had him – or at least his notebooks, apparatus and money – to thank for her first forays into the world of science, and her subsequent studies back in Blighty.

But if she really was trapped…well, it wasn’t all bad here, especially considering the position she’d taken up. Maybe she could even get used to it, if necessary.

Come to think of it, perhaps she already had. 


	96. Chapter 96

“Yuuri?” Victor called as he walked through the door to his room. They’d gone their separate ways that afternoon; he’d worked with Julia and met with his father and John, while Yuuri had gone for a run. Surely he’d be back by now? It was almost time for supper, and Victor was keen to tell him the good news. But the chairs around the table and near the fire were empty, and the door to his room was open, with no sign of anyone in residence.

“Victor, here,” came Yuuri’s voice from near the wall by the corner; and he turned and looked in surprise.

“What are you doing?” Victor laughed as he joined him. Yuuri was still wearing his armour, while he himself had changed into his blue houppelande, black chaperon and livery collar, all the better for persuading his father, who was impressed by such finery.

“I told you I was going to fix this.” Yuuri rocked back on his toes and surveyed his work. He had a small bucket a quarter full of what looked like white plaster, a trowel in one hand, and small white splotches on his nose and cheek.

“Are you plastering the wall or yourself?”

“Hey, you try this when you’ve never done it before. It’s not as easy as you might think.” He wrinkled his brow and smoothed a bit of the wall with the trowel. “Crap, that just made it worse. How do people use these clunky tools? Wouldn’t it be better to use…I don’t know. Come to think of it, I really _don’t_ know. Robots do this stuff where I’m from.”

“It’s sweet of you to try,” Victor said, squatting down next to him. The fresh plaster bulged slightly, and Yuuri was trying to smooth the edges of the patch, which refused to blend into the existing wall. “Why didn’t you just ask one of the plasterers from the workshops at the back of the castle to come do it?”

“I got this these things from there, but I thought it’d be better if I did it myself; it looked easy. If some jack saw what I’d done to the wall, he could tell anybody about it, and what if Ailis decided it sounded like what it is – damage from a laser gun?”

“Anything could cause a crater in the wall like that.”

“Like what, late-night sledgehammer practice? Best to be on the safe side.”

“I think that looks all right,” Victor said with a little grin, feeling impossibly fond. “It’s not important.”

“Well…” Yuuri frowned and made a few more swipes with the trowel. “OK, if you think so.” He stood and went to fill the bucket with water, placing the tool inside. “I’ll take this back tomorrow, then.”

Victor crossed the room and leaned against the table, watching him. “Speaking of laser guns, have you got yours with you?”

“I always carry it,” Yuuri replied, removing it from his purse as he approached to stand in front of him. “What about the laser pen?”

Victor nodded. “Just as I promised – with me all the time.”

“Good.”

“Will you show me how the gun works?” He added quickly, as Yuuri’s eyes widened, “I mean, not to excavate another hole in the wall. Just so that I know how to use it in case the situation ever arises?”

Yuuri handed it to him; the curved grey metal was smooth, and there was a button on the top and a tiny switch on the side. Taking his hand, Yuuri showed him how to hold it, with his thumb hovering over the button, then checked that the switch on the side was slid to minimal power; that was the stun setting, which he said was always preferable unless there was no other option.

“Phichit told me the stun on these types of guns usually lasts about a quarter of an hour, so it should be good to incapacitate someone without putting them out too long.”

“Does it hurt them?”

“No, it just knocks them out. But…” He gazed sternly at Victor. “…Ailis will be shooting to kill.”

“Do the beams from these guns cut through everything, then?” Victor asked as he fingered it lightly.

“Pretty much. They won’t cut through solid rock; obviously I didn’t make a hole straight through the wall. But…” He paused. “They’ll burn through a person’s whole body and make it look like they died in a fire. That…that’s what happened to the first man Celestino sent after Ailis here. Then when the boy he’d swapped with was pulled back into his timeline from the future, she was waiting, and…” He gave a little shake of his head, his voice trailing off.

“She’s a demon,” Victor muttered.

“She’s not. She’s…sick. But she’s as human as we are.”

“Human, without the slightest bit of moral fibre, considering her actions.”

“Victor.” Yuuri’s gaze was earnest now. “We don’t put criminals to death in my time, no matter what they’ve done. You remember Randall Flanagan? If they’d had the chance to put him on trial and convict him, they would’ve put him someplace where he couldn’t harm anyone, and tried to rehabilitate him to whatever extent they could. If they decided he couldn’t ever be safely released back into the community, then it wouldn’t happen. When we kill, we’re stooping to their level.”

Victor continued to meet his eyes. “Sometimes killing is necessary,” he said.

Yuuri nodded solemnly.

_Of course you know. That’s what I’ve been training you to do. _“Would you kill Ailis if you felt you had to?”

After a pause, Yuuri said firmly, “Yes. Would you spare her if it wasn’t necessary to kill her?”

Victor blinked. “Yes, I would.” He handed the gun back and Yuuri put it away. “Yuuri…what if you carried this with you into the duel, in your purse like that?”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “Take the gun into the duel with me? What – ”

“Maybe you could use it to stun Tyler.”

Thinking about this, Yuuri shook his head. “How would that even work in front of everyone, including Ailis? They’d see the blue light.”

“I didn’t know the stun button made a blue light as well.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Feeling his chest tighten, Victor said, “Anything that would help – ”

“You’re asking me to cheat with the gun.” Yuuri’s eyes flashed in astonishment. “I may not have been here long, but I know enough about chivalry to call bullshit on that. No one would think it was a fair fight, and they’d probably decide I was a sorcerer or something. Then Ailis would come after me, too.”

“Yuuri,” Victor said heatedly, “I don’t give a damn about chivalry when it comes to you. Nothing else matters.” His voice choked as he added, “I just want you to live.”

Yuuri blew out a quick breath. “It feels like the day when I got that message of yours that you sent Tyler. Asking him to call off the duel.” He said emphatically, “I need you to have confidence in me so _I_ can have confidence in me.”

Victor laid a hand on his arm. “I do, my love, I do. But Tyler has beaten _me _on occasion.” They stared at each other, their cheeks flushed. “Please,” Victor murmured, “say you’ll take the gun with you. In…in the event of an emergency. So you have a last chance before…if…” He swallowed.

“But that’s just it.” Yuuri’s voice was also quiet. “If Tyler…if he killed me, you need to have the gun. God knows who’d find it on me, otherwise; maybe Ailis would come get it herself when no one was looking. It’s the only defence you’d have against her. You…” He took a quick breath. “Christ, someone would have to go after her if I wasn’t here. But I can’t ask – ”

“I’d do it gladly. Don’t worry about that.”

“How can you stand there and tell me not to worry? God, Victor. She could kill you, too. She could – ”

“Yuuri.” Now both of Victor’s hands rested lightly on his arms. “We have time yet to consider and discuss it. We don’t need to decide anything now.”

After a moment, Yuuri deflated. “O-OK. You’re right. You don’t know how much I think about this. About the duel.”

“I can imagine.”

“It keeps me up at night sometimes.”

“Then wake me,” Victor said softly, “and I’ll hold you.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I’m telling you to.” Victor cupped his cheek. “I’ve been doing my best to help you with this all along. Let me carry on doing that.”

Yuuri closed his eyes. After a moment, he nodded. Then he wrapped his arms around Victor and buried his face in the thick black material draped over his shoulder, sighing his name. Victor circled his arms around his back, hands resting on metal, while he kissed into his hair.

“I have something to tell you that might cheer you up.”

Yuuri pulled back to look at him. “You do?”

_Because the duel has been on my mind too, though I haven’t wanted to add to your worries. As much as the thought sends daggers into my heart, we may only have a few more weeks left together. And I’m determined to spend them in your company as much as I can. _Aloud, Victor said, “Yes. I spoke to my father this afternoon. He’s granted a request for me.” He gave Yuuri a little grin. “I must confess, however, that I didn’t give him much choice in the matter.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “About what?”

“Well. You’re part of the household, as it were, and a knight. It’s known that we have rooms next to each other, and I doubt anyone’s under any illusions about why that is.” His voice quietened. “I love you, Yuuri Katsuki. And I’d like you to eat meals in the great hall at my side, in a place of honour. Permanently.” 

Those brown eyes widened, and it was the most beautiful thing. “Are you sure?” he stammered. “I mean, I – I’m flattered, but – but your father – ”

“Like I said,” Victor told him with a smile, “I didn’t give him much choice. I announced that if he didn’t grant my request, I’d be eating all my meals in my room with you. And to be honest, I’d be happy to do so. He relented, however. It took less persuasion than some other things. He’s warmed to you a little, I think, which for him is no small achievement. Everyone knows how hard you’ve been training, and that you helped distribute the sickness cure to those in the castle who needed it – even if they can’t know the full truth about that.”

Yuuri’s face lit up. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he placed a hand on either side of Victor’s neck and kissed him fervently. Victor clutched at his back, wishing it was warm clothing with flesh and bone underneath that he could feel instead of a shell. They could stay here, wrapped up in each other; he could remove Yuuri’s armour just the way he liked, and then they’d make love. But supper would be starting soon – and Yuuri was going to be there with him this time.

“You should get changed,” he suggested when they parted, his blood racing delightfully.

“What should I wear?”

“Your blue samite shirt and chaperon? You’d grace the high table beautifully.”

“They’d let me do that? The shirt’s so short – ”

“Don’t bend down in front of anyone, then,” Victor said with a grin. “Or wear your eros hose with the codpiece. Though I refuse to be responsible for my actions if you do.”

“I think you just want to see me in that shirt again after what I did with it,” Yuuri said with a cheeky smile.

“Did I say that?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I think you’ve guessed my secret.”

“There wasn’t any guessing required,” Yuuri laughed. “But I think, at least for my first meal with you like this, I ought to be a bit more modest, I guess? Everyone will be looking at me, and if I’m wearing something they consider risqué….”

Victor sighed. “Perhaps. But I reserve the right to ask you to change your clothes later.”

Yuuri kissed him on the cheek. “And I reserve the right to wear none at all.”

A frisson of anticipation shivered down Victor’s spine.

In the end, Yuuri chose to be conservative in his attire, donning a loose vivid blue tunic, chaperon and tan hose, along with Henry Jago’s fine shoes; and Victor took a wet cloth to the adorable little splashes of plaster that had dried on his face. They walked together to the great hall, where all eyes were upon them. Victor could feel their stares, and hurried whispers broke out as they passed the tables. Let them talk; they’d soon get used to the arrangement. When they reached the high table, he seated Yuuri to his right; his father sat to his left, with his mother next to him. To the other side of Yuuri, Matt had chosen to seat Blake and Roger, their most important reeves, who had left their shires to attend to business at the castle. Victor doubted they’d be interested in making conversation with Yuuri, but that was no matter, as he himself was Yuuri’s partner here.

Emil and Julia soon joined them, both clearly pleased to be serving them together. Though Victor unapologetically gave them little to do this time, treating his love to the best wine in a golden goblet and cutting his meat for him. His father tolerated it between snatches of talk about castle business; his mother, however, wore a perpetual frown and flashed displeased glances his way. Eventually Yuuri remarked upon it in a whisper as they leaned together to converse privately. 

“You said you parents knew about…about me being here?”

“I should say so. It was my father who I spoke to, and he will have told my mother.”

“She doesn’t seem very happy.”

Victor slanted a look at her. She was staring idly at the trio of musicians playing ambient music, but sensed his gaze and suddenly returned it sharply, blinking once before turning away to drink from her goblet. He rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together, whispering to Yuuri, “Perhaps something else ails her; they both have known for years how it is with me. There’s no dishonour in being my consort.”

“Consort?” Yuuri echoed, cheeks pinking as he seemed to be trying the word on for size.

Andrei issued an exclamation of disgust as he tasted his partridge tremollette. “This is cold and bland,” he grumbled to the young man who had hurried to his side. “Take it back,” he said, thrusting the bowl into his hands, “and tell Fernand to send me some real food.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man mumbled, hastening away.

The baron didn’t often make a scene, and Victor wondered what was bothering him, though he knew not to ask unless he wanted a list of half an hour of everything that wasn’t right with the castle and estate. “I’m quite partial to it myself,” he commented in Russian.

“It’s not the damn food, son,” Andrei replied, taking a hefty swig from his goblet, which was instantly refilled by another hovering servant. “Though Fernand’s not at his best today. It seems my time is not my own these days, and just when I need it most, with the king visiting in a few weeks.”

Victor gave Yuuri an apologetic glance; he knew he could hear his father’s deep voice and understand his words, though his expression remained neutral as he briefly returned his gaze, then sliced himself a piece of bread.

“What demands have been placed upon you?” Victor asked.

“First the hunt with the duke and his sons, which at any other time I might have rather enjoyed, so long as it didn’t come with a stab in the back. But I’ve not long returned, and must ride out on the morrow to attend this infernal moot in Doncaster. I _must _go, if I value everything I’ve worked all these years to achieve in this country.” He coughed loudly several times and drank more wine. “You and our chamberlain and steward – ” He coughed again. “ – will have to ensure that preparations are continuing apace while I’m gone.”

“Of course, Father.”

“On top of it all, I seem to quickly be coming down with a cold, blast it. Events are conspiring against me, I tell you.” He tore a piece from his manchet loaf and buttered it before taking a bite. “Did you know, it turned out that I needn’t have gone anywhere at all?”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “How do you mean?”

“Messengers must have got crossed. Edmund said he hadn’t sent for me, and had no knowledge of the message! As it was verbal, there was no wax seal to check. When I arrived, I didn’t have time to try to get to the bottom of the wretched business, but it made me look a fool.” He laughed, then coughed. “They didn’t want to learn shooting from horseback. I was obliged, however, to stay a few days so as not to cause offence, though I was concerned the whole time about blasted Doncaster and the king’s visit.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Victor asked, thinking the whole thing was peculiar.

“Too much on my mind, son. In the end, it was a good hunt. And don’t believe I don’t know how to count my blessings, for I’m aware I was also spared the indignity of that mysterious illness which struck while I was gone.”

_Indignity? I’d say it was rather more than that. _“I take it the king hasn’t considered cancelling his visit?”

“Why should he? No one was harmed, were they? Everyone was up and about in a few days’ time, from what I hear.”

Yuuri leaned forward and commented, “You wouldn’t have wanted to experience it, my lord, either personally or…”

But Andrei was giving him a stormy look, and Yuuri trailed off, sitting back and mumbling an apology for speaking out of turn. Victor navigated his way out of the conversation, leaving his father to his meal and his cough, then surreptitiously gave Yuuri’s thigh a stroke under the tablecloth, remembering with a pulse of heat what had happened the last time Yuuri had sat here with him; how he’d climbed under, and…

Feeling his cheeks grow warm, he said quietly to Yuuri, “I’ll make sure Matt separates us from my parents at dinner tomorrow. By the way, were you aware you were speaking in Russian?”

Picking up his goblet, Yuuri smiled. “No,” he replied with a little laugh.

“It sounds beautiful coming from your lips.” Victor watched him stare at his own, and wondered how much longer it would be until they could return to his room together.

When their dessert came, Yuuri looked at it curiously and sniffed at the contents of his little silver bowl. Victor chuckled; it was always a delight to introduce his love to new foods. “Pears in confit,” he said.

“What makes them so red?”

“Sandalwood powder.”

Yuuri looked at him in surprise. “You can eat that?”

“Of course you can.”

“No wonder it’s so…aromatic.”

“If it’s how Fernand usually makes it, the liquid consists of sweetened and spiced hypocras and sherry.”

“Wow,” Yuuri murmured, shaking his head and trying a bite. He chewed and considered, then gave a little smile and had some more. “You know,” he said between spoonfuls, so quietly that Victor had to strain to hear, “it’s strange, isn’t it – your father being summoned to see the duke again so soon after you saw him yourself, especially when it turns out he wasn’t actually summoned at all?”

Victor glanced at his father, who was engaged in conversation with his mother, then back at Yuuri. “I agree. What do you make of it?”

Again, he spoke in barely a hush. “Well…what if Ailis arranged somehow for the fake message to be sent? It’d _have _to be verbal, because she wouldn’t have the duke’s seal for anything written.”

Victor scratched at his temple, considering this. “Meaning she wanted Andrei to be away from the castle during the plague outbreak. But why, if she intended to cure everyone?”

“Either she never meant to cure them,” Yuuri mused, idly playing with his spoon in the dish, “or it was a safeguard to ensure he stayed alive if anything went wrong.”

“I thought we were concerned about the king. What would she want with my father? She’s out to kill, isn’t she? Not to save lives. Unless – ”

“Her plan involves him somehow,” Yuuri said excitedly; then he stared down at his dessert again, looking suddenly demure. He wasn’t used to being the centrepiece of the room here at the high table, and Victor thought it must be easy to forget that many pairs of eyes were frequently turned this way. “She’s caught up with power games between men and women,” he murmured. “He’s the most powerful man here, and I think it’s very likely that she’d fancy herself as the most powerful woman.”

Victor frowned. “But surely that would be my mother, at least in the hierarchy of things.”

“Did she have the plague?”

“Yes.”

“What if…” Yuuri was still whispering, but his enthusiasm was plain to hear. “…what if Ailis gave the whole castle the plague not to bribe me into showing myself – maybe that was just an added bonus – but because she wanted…” He shook his head, as if the very idea was horrific.

“What?” Victor whispered back.

After a pause, Yuuri said, “Because she wanted to kill the baroness, and she didn’t care who else got in the way in the process? She’s threatened the lives of everyone in the castle before.”

Victor swallowed, taking this in. It was mercenary – but so was Ailis. “God’s bones. It could be a possibility, if you think she’d do such a thing. It would mean she never did intend to cure anyone, or at least not my mother.”

“Only, I scuppered that particular attempt by taking the nanobots.”

Victor briefly rested his head against his hands, then checked again to ensure no one was listening. “You’re telling me she intends to take power here by killing the baroness and getting the baron to marry her.” Yuuri’s silence confirmed he was correct, and he let out a breath. “In which case, she’s making many assumptions. My parents…I don’t honestly know if they love each other, but I’m certain they’re _fond _of each other. And Andrei isn’t the type of person who would quickly remarry after such a loss. Nor does he have a roving eye; he’s too practical to be ensnared by a young beauty, if that’s what Ailis is. Furthermore, he’d never marry a woman beneath his pedigree, and there are no other noblewomen living in the castle.” His back was completely turned to his father while he spoke to make doubly sure he didn’t overhear, though he expected to be chastised for his rude behaviour at any moment.

Yuuri wrapped a hand around his goblet, thinking. “Maybe she reckons that if she showed him her tech, her guns and so on, she’d be able to bribe him that way. He wants power, doesn’t he, your father? What wouldn’t he do to get the Duke of York off his back?”

Victor gave a little gasp, seeing the sense in this.

“I’m not saying that’s her plan,” Yuuri continued, “but the pieces seem to fit, don’t they? We should keep an eye on your mother.”

“Would that I could explain everything to my father; he’s in the best position to do that.”

“Don’t,” Yuuri almost hissed. “He’d never believe it, for a start – ”

“I wasn’t – ” 

But then Andrei spoke Victor’s name loudly, and he turned to him. “Father?”

“If you’re going to insist on having this…knight at the table with you, show some decorum, will you, and don’t have your back turned to me in front of the entire castle.”

Victor looked down and sipped his drink. “My apologies.”

He and Yuuri lost themselves in thought while the musicians played, the food forgotten. The reeves’ conversation drifted to his ears, and he suspected one of them had had rather too much to drink.

“…visions in the forest? It has been known to happen.”

“Perhaps, if your servant picked and cooked the wrong kind of mushrooms for you. You _cannot _expect me to take you seriously.”

“I tell you, it’s haunted! I was on my way here to the castle, and I never drink in excess when I’m in the saddle, especially not when I have business to attend to.”

“But men clad all in brown, with metal sticks and helmets?” He laughed heartily.

“And flashes of light, and thunder.”

“Then either the Lord God Almighty chose to favour you as a saint, or there’s rot in whatever drink you keep in your travelling bag. I know which option I’d be willing to place my bet upon.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow at Victor, who gave his head a slight shake, returning a look of confusion. He hardly noticed the woman in the turquoise dress approach the table until she stopped and spoke to the reeves, and he heard a sharp intake of breath from Yuuri.

“I am bidden to ask all guests at the meal, sirs, if you know aught of this object.”

Victor recognised her as one of his mother’s ladies-in-waiting – and across her palms were the charred remains of a dark wrist strap with a small box attached, quite similar to Yuuri’s com. His eyes flashed to Yuuri, who appeared remarkably composed.

“What, by the hairs of St. Joseph, is that?” asked Blake, the head reeve.

“That’s what the lord and lady seek to discover,” she replied. “Have you ever seen its like?”

“Bring it here, my good lady,” Victor told her, and she complied. He took it from her hands and studied it, fixing an expression of surprise and curiosity on his face. Yes, it did look like a com. He would swear it was nothing that belonged to this time, though as it was singed and partially melted, it was difficult to glean much from what was left.

“Whatever could it _be_?” Yuuri drawled, as if it were an amusing trinket; then he laughed. “It looks as if it’s seen better days. Did you find it on the fire?” he asked the woman.

“No, sir. I didn’t find it at all.”

“Then who came across it?” Victor said, handing it to Yuuri, who studied it, then shook his head and handed it back to her.

“A servant found it on the floor next to Mistress Shaw’s bed when she went to her room to clean,” she replied. “The mistress said she’d never seen it before and didn’t know what it was, so she took it to her ladyship, who was much amazed. The lord and lady are therefore making enquiries into the matter, and have tasked me with asking some of the diners here tonight.” She paused. “But perhaps, my lord, you’ve already heard aught of this?” She looked at Victor, who turned to his father and tapped his shoulder, as he was conversing with Natalia.

“Are you familiar with this item the lady’s brought to us?” he asked him.

Andrei eyed it. “Yes, I’ve seen it. Most unusual, is it not? I was wondering if it might be a piece of jewellery. The blacksmith was confounded when I showed it to him.” He looked at Natalia. “Who did you say found it, my dear?”

“A maid. And yet Ingrid claims she’s never seen it before. _Someone _must have put it in her room in that case – but in heaven’s name, why? It looks large enough to be a locket of some type, but I don’t believe it opens.”

“Well,” Victor sighed, “regardless of whatever function it may have had, it appears to be rather damaged now. If you learn anything more, it might amuse me to hear.” He pretended to lose interest, and spooned a piece of pear from his bowl.

Yuuri remained quiet at his side.


	97. Chapter 97

“Victor – ” Yuuri began as soon as they’d entered the bedroom room and locked the door.

“I know. You took it marvellously well when that damaged com suddenly appeared. I’m guessing that’s what it is?”

“Yes. That must mean she took it from Dr. Quincey’s body after she shot and killed him, and kept it. Now, after all these months, it suddenly turns up.”

“She must have been hoping to get a reaction from you in order to discover who you are. You haven’t turned your projector off, by the way.”

Yuuri did so. His features were agitated. “Maybe she didn’t know it’d be passed around the great hall like that, but she must’ve been thinking it’d be a good opportunity; you can bet she was watching each person it was shown to. But…” He paced away a bit, tossing his chaperon on the table and running a hand through his hair. “…it seems the most important thing is that it was found next to Mistress Shaw’s bed.”

“You don’t suppose she could be Ailis, do you?”

“How would she allow it to get there on the floor? She’d be more careful.”

Victor unwrapped the trails of his own chaperon and placed it on the table next to Yuuri’s. “She might have dropped it. It could have fallen from a pocket or out of a drawer.”

“Doubtful,” Yuuri said thoughtfully. “There’s no reason for her to carry that around, or even have it to hand. None that I can think of, anyway. I don’t do that with my own things I brought with me from my time. They’re hidden.”

“She’s in charge of the wine.”

Yuuri stared at him for a moment. “So as the butler, she would’ve had the perfect opportunity to pick the right watered-down supper wine without there being any need to switch barrels, _and _no one would think she was up to anything unusual if she was hanging about.” He shook his head, pacing once more. “I don’t know, though. It’s too convenient, the wine and the com. Someone’s trying to frame her.”

“Frame?”

“Implicate her in a crime when she’s innocent. So we assume she’s Ailis, while the real Ailis carries on with whatever she’s doing.”

“That makes sense.”

“Unless…” Yuuri said, seemingly to himself. “Nah. But…”

“What?”

“Unless it was a double bluff, and Ailis really _is_ Ingrid Shaw; and by doing something this seemingly transparent, she hoped to throw suspicion off herself.”

“I can’t say I suspected her to begin with.”

“The only person I’ve suspected so far has been Mistress Ramsay, as you know.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe she was just trying to shock or confuse me. Or remind me she’s here, still trying to find out who I am.”

“Perhaps it would help if one of us spoke to Ingrid about this, to see if she has anything more she can tell us.”

Yuuri stopped his pacing and looked at him. “That’s a good idea. And in her room, where there’s less chance of anyone seeing or hearing anything. But…” He paused to think. “…well, it couldn’t be me. If she mentioned to anyone that Justin was asking questions, that’s got to be one thing Ailis is hoping for. But I can’t show my real face either, because I’d have to explain how I’m from the future, and I’m not sure how she’d react.”

“I’ll go, then. She’ll answer any questions I ask her.”

“No, Victor,” Yuuri breathed, rushing up to him. “If she’s Ailis, she could kill you then and there.”

“She could do the same to you.”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take; this is my mission.”

“Yuuri,” Victor said, placing his hands on his arms as he’d done earlier, “please, calm down and think about what you’re saying. You’ve spent all this time training for a duel you have every chance of winning. Do you want to throw that away by doing something reckless?”

“But if you do this, you could die,” Yuuri whispered.

Now Victor’s voice was stern; he forced it not to waver. “Do you think I want to see that happen to you?”

Yuuri let out a shaky sigh, his eyes bright as he clasped Victor’s arms in return. “My life isn’t my own. I decided to risk it on this mission. I can’t turn away from that.”

“I know all about duties and obligations,” Victor said quietly. “If this has to be done, then we’ll do it together. Fighting men always have each other’s backs.”

Yuuri’s brow wrinkled. “You understand that once you did this, if she’s Ailis, she’d know you’re in my confidence? If you left that room and she went free, she could…” His voice hitched.

“I know. But that can’t be an excuse for cowering under the covers while she plans her next attack, can it? She must already have suspicions, since she saw you and me together that day in the woods.”

“You didn’t know who I was.”

“She could either have guessed I was lying, or that I discovered the truth after she left. Yet she doesn’t appear to have wished me harm since then.”

“Apart from giving you plague.”

“But we’re working on the idea that it’s my mother she wanted to harm, not me.”

“Fuck,” Yuuri said. “We can’t be sure about anything.”

“Then be sure I want to do this. I promised I’d help you, and I have every intention of doing so.”

It was clearly a difficult decision for Yuuri; brown eyes studied his, full of concern. But finally he nodded. “If you’re going to ask the questions, I’ll give you the gun.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll cover you outside her room.”

“With what? There’s only one gun.”

“I’ll borrow the laser pen and stand back in the shadows so that there’s less chance of her seeing me.” He paused. “We should go tonight. I’m tired of waiting for things to happen; I want to look into this, now that we might have a clue.”

Victor nodded.

“Quite late, I think, in case she’s hoping this is exactly what I try to do and is waiting somewhere nearby for me to turn up.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “This could be really dangerous.”

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather face it with, my love,” Victor said, giving his arms a gentle squeeze. “Now – shall we decide what I’m going to ask her?” 

* * *

Two cloaked and hooded figures felt their way along the castle wall that faced the courtyard, shadows in a deeper night.

This was a side to being a fighter that Victor had seldom encountered. Knights were not usually trained in stealth; they charged out to battle in armour with a weapon at the ready. Flitting about under the cover of darkness, as they were doing now, might even be considered by some to be cowardly behaviour.

But tonight it was essential. If Ailis lay in wait for them, then even though the hour was late, it was best to approach Ingrid’s room from a direction that didn’t indicate the origin of their point of departure. They were headed for the far end of the servants’ quarters, where they would enter through the archway. It was a moonless night, and only the faintest silvering from the stars penetrated the gloom.

_I’d be more comfortable with questioning this woman in the great hall during the manorial court, _Victor thought. _Unfortunately, that isn’t an option in this situation. _

It felt good to finally be doing this, however, after a wait of several hours, though he suspected Yuuri had borne the worst of it. After they’d decided what Victor would say to Ingrid and what they would do in the event of different possible outcomes, and had mused further upon the information they currently possessed without any new insights, they’d gone to spar in the training field. When they’d returned to the room, Julia soon arrived for the time Victor had scheduled together with her; he’d suggested to Yuuri beforehand that he cancel it, but Yuuri insisted he should see her as he’d planned. He’d retired to his own room, but when Victor met with him later after Julia had gone, he had that haunted look which often seemed to indicate he was struggling with anxiety. Victor didn’t feel as calm himself as he would have liked before such an endeavour, but he’d sat in front of the fire with an arm around him until they’d decided it was time to set off.

He wondered if anything would actually come of this, or if it was a frame, as Yuuri had suggested. If Ailis had been hoping to catch him on a visit to Ingrid, then perhaps she’d either decided to retire for the night, or _they _would end up catching _her _unawares.

_Be alert at all times,_ he reminded himself, fingering the gun under his sleeve.

Victor knew where the room was; he guided them as they moved silently along the corridor. There was no one else here to be seen, though quiet noises in the collective quarters indicated that some of the servants were still awake. He took Yuuri’s arm to get his attention and indicated the door, and his hooded head gave a nod. With a quick squeeze, Victor left him and knocked. After a pause, the door was opened a crack by a woman in a long white nightdress with a black plait that hung to her waist. She gasped to see the cloaked figure and tried to close the door.

“Mistress Shaw,” he said quickly, pulling his hood down, “I know it’s late, but I need a word with you. It’s urgent.”

She stared, her dark eyes wide, but opened the door and let him in. A dying fire threw a glow into the small room, which contained a bed, a table, a chair, and two chests.

“What is the meaning of this visit, my lord? It’s very late, and as you can see, I’m prepared to retire.” Her eyes flashed; he was clearly unwelcome here, which was no surprise. It was considered indecent for a man to visit a woman’s chambers at night like this, and no doubt she was suspicious of his motives. He would quickly have to put that right.

_I’m already assuming she isn’t Ailis. I must be careful._

“Madam, I’ll be brief. I have reason to believe that the person who dropped the mysterious object in your room, the one the servant took away and gave to Lady Nikiforov, is a criminal, and I’m making enquiries in the matter. Since the object was found on the floor of your room, I naturally wished to speak with you about it.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll answer any questions you put to me to the best of my ability.” Her eyes were wary as she watched him.

“First, raise your hands so that your sleeves drop back, please. I want to be sure you’re unarmed.”

“What weapon could I conceal under my sleeve?” she said, huffing a laugh. But when she saw he was serious, she did as he’d asked. To Victor’s relief, there was no obvious place on her person where she might have secreted a gun. He nodded and she lowered her hands.

“I assure you, my lord, I’d never seen the object before, as I informed the baron and the lady. Someone must have dropped it here.”

“Please, have a seat.” He indicated the chair, and she lowered herself slowly, her eyes meeting his. “I’m told a maid found the object.”

“Yes, sir. But I’d swear it wasn’t here that morning when I left. I didn’t return here til my work was finished in the buttery that evening.”

“Is your door usually locked?”

“Yes, but I’d left it open that day so that the cleaners could service it. Anyone could’ve come in at any time.” She frowned. “I was under the impression that there was an honour system at this castle; that folk leave each other’s possessions alone, and fall into disrepute if they do otherwise.”

“Then you’ll support me in my endeavour to find the culprit.”

She sniffed. “Naturally, sir.”

Victor didn’t need to ask her about her job; she’d worked here for a while, and everyone knew what a butler did. She had the freedom to come and go from the castle, making arrangements with brewers and merchants across the estate and further afield, oversaw a small staff and budget, kept the buttery and the beer cellar well-stocked. If she were Ailis, no one would think it unusual if she were absent from the castle occasionally, to work in some secret place or go hunting with her gun.

Victor asked her to talk him through what she’d done the night everyone had got ill, but the story she related could’ve been one of a hundred other days, as mundane as it was. Once the barrel for supper had been selected, it had sat in wait on the table, and presumably anyone could have come to the buttery and contaminated it.

“Did you yourself choose an especially light wine that night?” he asked her.

“Yes, my lord. As you know, people like a bit of variety, and I try to serve something different every day. Though I’m not sure how this has any bearing on the object found in my room. Do you have a quarrel with my selection of drink?”

“No. But it’s possible the two events may be related.”

“Oh,” she said, looking perplexed. “Well there’s always something like mead, hypocras or vodka for the noble family. We must have something light, as well, to quench people’s thirst without the entire castle becoming…in their cups.” She flashed a smile.

“Indeed. It’s all very well judged. Your drinks selection is second to none,” Victor said, relaxing his features and hoping the flattery would help. “In fact, I remember being particularly impressed two Christmases ago. What was it you served then…? The name of it eludes me.”

Ingrid brightened a little. “I remember it well. That was the year the lord baron’s entourage travelled north, and while I was there, I sourced a good supply of ale from the monks at Byland Abbey on the moors, and made a great vat of wassail, enough for the entire castle to enjoy. It was quite an undertaking, but it pleases me to hear that you liked it so well.”

_If this lady is Ailis, she’s done a good bit of research, _Victor decided, though he couldn’t remember himself what the main beverage was two Christmases ago. He pretended to become distracted with his love of drink and asked her about several more notable occasions before Ailis was known to have arrived. She told him what she’d served on each one, claiming she had a most excellent memory. By the time he was ready to bring the subject back to the night of the plague outbreak, she appeared somewhat more relaxed and content. 

“I wasn’t aware you were such a connoisseur of the grape, sir. I shall cast my net out more widely in search of the finest red wine as a base for hypocras.”

“Thank you,” Victor said, leaning against the wall as he spoke, though ever watchful for any sudden movements. “I hold anyone in high regard who can brew a good batch.” He smiled. “I have a final question to ask about the night of the illness, if you’d be so good. Did you drink the wine?”

“I taste everything before it’s served, sir. If it doesn’t meet my standards, I won’t allow it in the great hall.”

“And did you get ill?”

“Yes, sir, I did. Are you implying that the wine was somehow responsible for – ”

“I have reason to believe it may be connected with the criminal, yes.” His eyes searched the room. There was little here that could offer any kind of hiding place. “I don’t wish to take up any more of your time, madam,” he said in Russian, switching seamlessly from English. “If – ”

“Beg pardon, sir, but I didn’t understand you just now.”

“Dear me, I must be tired,” he said, rubbing at his temple briefly. “My thoughts are running away with me.” He repeated the words in English. “Before I leave,” he continued, “you wouldn’t mind if I had a look around the room?”

“I have nothing to hide, sir.” The wary look had returned to her eyes.

He asked her to show him the contents of the drawer in the table next to her bed, and to unlock both chests, removing the items they contained. Clothes and hats, and a few other sundry personal possessions. The chests themselves were the basic type that most residents of the castle had; the walls and bottom were of straightforward construction, with no room for hidden compartments. A walk around the floor, while keeping Ingrid in sight, revealed no loose boards. He could also see a good way under the bed, which was nothing more than a simple wooden platform raised above the ground on four sturdy posts, with meagre sheets tucked around the sides. Ingrid obviously lived frugally despite her status as butler, and Victor made a note to ascertain from John what her salary was.

“That will be all,” he said when he was done. “I’m sorry to have kept you so late, madam, though you’ll understand it’s necessary for me to look into these things in the course of my investigations. I appreciate your cooperation, and I must ask you to promise not to mention to anyone that I was here, or what I was doing. If word gets back to the real criminal – ”

“Of course, sir. May God aid you in your pursuit.”

She saw him out the door, her gaze friendlier than it had been when he’d first arrived, though she was clearly relieved he was departing. He pulled his hood back up, continuing to finger the gun, wondering how Yuuri had fared while he’d waited in the shadows and if –

Was that the sound of footsteps? Quiet, almost stealthy. But Yuuri was supposed to be at the other end of the corridor, and these noises were coming from the direction of the garrison.

There was nowhere to hide, no rooms or niches to dart into. He couldn’t very well knock on the door behind him again. The footsteps were coming closer, quick little hiss-slips on the stone floor.

_Shit. _There was nothing else to do but flatten himself against the wall and hope he’d be taken for another shadow; if he chose an area between the faint rectangles of starlight shining through the high windows, he might be missed. Unless the person was Ailis – in which case she’d be on the alert…

The cold hard plaster pressed against his back as he watched the corridor, gun at the ready. He thought he saw the bobbing movement of a head or hood hurrying forward. Had they seen him? Were they waiting to get close enough to use their weapon?

He considered firing to stun. But these guns created light and noise. He needed to be sure.

The dark figure was almost upon him; Victor heard them more than saw them. With a quick silent prayer, he leapt into the middle of the corridor toward where he judged the person to be – and shoved them against the far wall as they let out a loud gasp and struggled to get free. Not wanting to drop the gun, he pressed his weight against them and grasped the rough material at their throat with his left hand. A cloak with a hood.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

There was a pause as his prisoner’s struggles died down. “S-Sir? Sir Victor?”

Victor knew that voice, but he couldn’t place it. A young man. Not Ailis. He exhaled. “Who _are _you?” he repeated.

“Roland, sir.”

Charles’s squire. Victor released him. “Why on earth are you slinking down the corridor at this time of night?”

“I…”

Victor waited as the silence stretched. “Well?”

“I was going to see someone,” Roland mumbled.

“Who?”

“She…she’s one of the maids. We were going to meet in the courtyard.”

“At this hour, in the dark?” Though actually, those conditions were probably ideal for a romantic rendezvous. “Did you tell Sir Charles of your intentions?”

“No, sir. He…wouldn’t have approved.”

“I don’t, either. You know you’re meant to keep to your bed in the garrison. Go there now, and consider yourself reprimanded. I’ll be having a word with your master in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Roland mumbled again, clearly embarrassed and losing no time in hurrying back the way he had come. If he was wondering why Victor had also been skulking in the corridor in a cloak and hood, he was welcome to his musings.

Truth be told, Victor felt sure he would have been attempting similar things himself at Roland’s age, though hopefully with more guile. However, it was his job to enforce the rules. At least Ailis didn’t seem to be here. He turned – and almost collided with another approaching figure. Before he could think to press the button on the gun, however, it spoke.

“Victor, it’s OK – it’s me!”

_Yuuri. _He slumped against the wall. “I thought you were waiting down the corridor.”

“When I heard you talking with someone, I decided to find out what was happening. Who was it?”

“Roland, going to an assignation – or trying to. I soon put him right.” He sighed and pulled the back of his hand across his forehead, feeling his knees buckle. An oncoming attacker with a sword, he could easily handle. One who possibly had a laser gun pointed at him was a new and unwelcome experience. “I don’t think Ingrid is Ailis.”

“Let’s go back to your room and you can tell me what happened.”

They followed in Roland’s footsteps and were soon there; the glow from the candelabra was like a circle of suns after the near-total darkness of the night. Victor and Yuuri threw their cloaks off, looked at each other, and then shared a hug.

“We’re OK,” Yuuri said against Victor’s neck.

Victor kissed his forehead. “Did you see anyone in the corridor?”

“No. A few servants from the kitchen went to fetch buckets of water, but that was it. So did you find out anything from Ingrid?”

Victor described her spartan room and related what they’d discussed. “I asked all the questions you and I planned,” he said. “And tried the tests as well. She didn’t understand the Russian, and said so. But if she’d been wearing a translator – ”

“She wouldn’t have known you were even speaking it. Probably. Unless there are ways of using these devices that no one else has discovered yet; she did invent them. What about things she supposedly did before Ailis got here – nothing you said tripped her up?”

“If she was lying, she was very convincing. She claims to remember the drinks she served on several occasions, though I can’t honestly verify it myself. If the drink is good enough, I end up remembering very little at all,” he said with a chuckle.

Yuuri smiled. “If you can list them on a piece of paper, I’ll make some enquiries. I bet if I ask enough people in the garrison, I can find out if she’s right.”

“Good idea. And I know Julia’s been watching Alice’s workshop. She hasn’t said as much, but I think she’s growing weary of it; she says she hasn’t noticed anything untoward.”

“I wouldn’t expect her to keep at it anyway. She volunteered, but I’m sure she has better things to do.”

“I’d say the same about keeping watch over Ingrid. That would be more difficult as well, because she frequently works near the kitchen or is away from the castle. My feeling is that it’s as you said – someone made a frame for her.”

“Tried to frame her,” Yuuri corrected him with a brief grin. 

“Well. It’s late, I know, but all this talk of butlers and drinks has made me thirsty. Would you like some wine?” Victor asked as he pulled away from their embrace and went to the table, where he poured himself some hypocras.

“Sure, that sounds good.” Yuuri took the mazer offered to him and sat down. Victor sat across from him, and they sipped in silence for a moment.

“Yuuri…about this possible threat to my mother.”

Silently, Yuuri nodded.

“I don’t want to alarm her by telling her anything directly, for example that she might be in danger, especially if we’re wrong about this.”

“I understand. I just wish we didn’t have to consider it at all; it must be upsetting for you.”

Victor’s thoughts drifted to the woman who had given birth to him and whose likeness he shared. Was there really so little he could say of her? “I’ve never had much occasion to speak to her in my life, Yuuri. I’ve spent a great deal more time with my father out of necessity, because I’m his heir, and I help to run the castle. But I was cared for – raised, I suppose you could even say – by nursemaids when I was young. Irene was the last, but by the time she died, I was already training to be a knight and the future lord of the manor.”

He sighed and sipped at his mazer. “It’s not that I haven’t tried with Natalia over the years. But we don’t share the same interests. We move in such different spheres. I want to say that the idea of her being in danger fills me with horror and makes me feel a desire to rush to protect her.” He frowned and looked down. “But in truth, all I feel is the same concern I’d have for anyone else; that I’m a knight and it’s my duty.” He added in almost a whisper, “There’s surely something terribly wrong with that.”

Yuuri briefly laid a hand on his knee. “Maybe, but it isn’t your fault. I can’t say I know a lot about family dynamics in this time, but even until fairly recently it was common for wealthy parents to have servants look after their children, or to send them away to boarding schools. It hasn’t long been recognised that it could cause a lot of problems. I…think you’re lucky to have had Irene. And Alexander.”

Fighting off a sudden urge to cry, though he wasn’t entirely sure what the tears were for – a failed relationship? Those he’d loved who were gone forever? Yuuri’s warmth and understanding? – Victor gave a shaky smile and simply said, “Thank you.” There was a short silence in which they both finished their drinks, and he refilled their mazers. “So…regardless of my feelings in the matter, how can we try to protect my mother?”

Yuuri put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “I keep wondering what Ailis is thinking; what she’s likely to do. I like to imagine I’m good at it. But it’s dangerous to make assumptions.”

“Tell me what your ideas are now?”

Yuuri considered, then answered pensively, “If you, I don’t know, put a secret guard on her or something, they couldn’t protect her; no one could, not from a laser gun.” He rubbed his chin. “I don’t think Ailis is likely to just walk up and shoot her, though. Too many complications. She doesn’t like shooting people. It, um…it leaves her a mess to clean up.”

Victor’s stomach turned. “Did she tell you that?”

“Just something she said when she contacted Celestino a while back. I would’ve been an exception, I guess, because I’m a threat to her, and she had me at that cottage where no one would know what happened if she shot me. But if she went after anyone else at the castle? I think she’s likely to be more subtle than that, and try to conceal the fact that the death was murder.”

“I wouldn’t call giving plague to most people in the castle subtle.”

“But no one would think it was murder.” He paused. “At least your mother will have nanobots in her system now, so Ailis won’t be able to make her ill.”

“And the stable master knows to inform me if she tries to go riding again on her own, though she ought to know better. Her ladies-in-waiting escort her most places as well. Not that I believe they’d be any kind of defence, but they’d be unwanted witnesses to anything Ailis tried to do.”

Yuuri suddenly gasped, staring at his mazer. “She could poison the food or drink. There are non-biological agents she could use – arsenic, cyanide, nightshade, hemlock. Jesus…”

“My parents already have food tasters,” Victor told him.

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “Really? Those – those servants who bring their food and drink and try it?”

“What else did you think they were doing?”

“Making sure it was all up to standard?”

_Oh my innocent darling. You truly do come from a better time. _“My father insists on it. They’re very well paid for their services, and I’ve never personally thought they were needed, though Andrei knows he’s sown rancour by confiscating estates belonging to other nobles with the duels I’ve won. I think that’s what worries him.”

Yuuri looked at him with sympathy, pity, horror; it was difficult to say. “Jesus,” he commented again.

“So for now, we can watch my mother, just as we’re watching Alice Ramsay, and I suppose Ingrid Shaw. But it’s not much.” He drank the remaining contents of his mazer. “We have to discover who Ailis is.”

“Find Ailis,” Yuuri muttered, this time resting his forehead in his hand. “Kill Tyler. That’s all. Simple.” He closed his eyes, his face looking drawn.

“It’s late, and it’s been a trying day,” Victor said softly. “Why don’t we go to bed; I’ll hold you while we go to sleep.”

After a moment, Yuuri opened his eyes and looked at him. “I know it’s been hard on you. You had to interview Mistress Shaw. All I had to do was wait and keep a lookout. But you know, the whole time you were in that room, I…” He looked down for a moment, then continued, “…I didn’t know if you’d ever come back out.”

“Yuuri…”

“I know it’s silly. I – I knew, even at the time, that she’s probably not Ailis. But I stood there and couldn’t help worrying. It got hard to fight off the anxiety, but I managed. I suppose I make a pretty lousy knight if I can’t even handle something as simple as that.”

“But you did handle it. And besides, most knights don’t have to do what you did; what both of us did tonight. It took a different kind of courage, I think.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “It must take a special kind for you to do everything you do and be able to manage those feelings on top of it.”

Yuuri took this in. “That’s a different way of looking at it, I suppose. It’s kind of you to say so.”

“I’m not trying to be kind as such,” Victor said with a little smile. “I’m just trying to help you see through my eyes. You’re beautiful, Yuuri.”

As if to highlight the point, Yuuri blinked at him with those lovely brown eyes, and grinned. “How are you real?” he whispered. Then he stood. “You can hold me; I’d like that. I’d like it even more if we held each other.”

Victor stood as well. “I’d like that, too.”

“Besides,” Yuuri added, placing a hand on his arm, “not everything today was bad. Some of it was even nice, I’d say. I get to eat meals with you now.”

“You do.” Victor grinned.

“So, what does it mean that I’m your…consort?”

Victor ran a finger down his cheek. “I’ll show you first thing in the morning, once we’ve slept. I think you might like it. Possibly quite a lot,” he said with hooded eyes and another smile.

* * *

Victor didn’t get the chance, however, because he was awakened by pounding on the door and Julia calling his name. He jumped out of bed and pulled on braies and a shirt while Yuuri groaned and stirred. What could have agitated her at this time of morning? It must be early. Dashing to the door, Victor turned the key, depressed the latch, and yanked it open.

“Master,” Julia panted, “I’ve been sent to fetch you. You father was meant to set out for Doncaster today, but he’s fallen ill. Not plague,” she hastened to add as his eyes grew wide. “A very bad cough. He can barely get out of his bed, let alone travel all the way to Doncaster. Master Everard says you need to go in his stead, and to hurry, as everyone is at the stable, ready to leave. I’m allowed to go with you, along with a few guards, but the officials want the other fighting men to stay here as extra security while the castle is preparing for the king’s visit. I’m told the baron insists that all the knights remain, as we’re more prone to raids while the building work is going on, we’re taking in so many supplies, and an entourage of important people from the castle will be absent.” The words all tripped quickly off her tongue in her haste, and Victor had to concentrate to take them all in.

“The entourage has already been delayed while the baron attempted to get up and get ready,” she continued. “They’re waiting to go, and it will need to be soon, in order to ensure they arrive in time. I…I’m sorry, sir; I know this isn’t the most welcome news.”

Victor’s heart was in his throat. There was clearly no time to attempt to argue with his father; he would have to leave straight away.

Leave Yuuri, when his love needed him most.

_But if I don’t, the consequences could be…_He didn’t want to speculate about those right now, however.

“Go back to the stable and tell Matt I’m coming,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

She gave a quick bow and dashed away through the hall and down the stairs. Victor closed the door and hurried to the wardrobe to grab suitable clothes for riding, then looked over at Yuuri as he pulled on his hose. He was sitting up in bed, looking bemused.

“You’re going to Doncaster?” he said in a voice still thick from sleep.

“My father’s too ill to go. I’m afraid I have no choice.” Victor tied his hose to his braies while continuing to meet Yuuri’s gaze, and added in a faltering voice, “I’m so sorry, my sweet. I don’t want to. But I must. Unless…” He paused. “Andrei wasn’t here when those nanobots went round. What if you gave them to him? You said you had a device?” 

Yuuri’s face clouded. “I don’t know, Victor. First of all, nanobots won’t cure anyone in an instant; it took you a few days to get better after I injected you. So that’s not an immediate solution. But well, I’d be concerned about giving them to someone as important as he is.”

Victor pulled his tunic on and began buttoning it. “You would’ve done it if he’d caught plague, though, wouldn’t you?”

“If it meant saving his life because Ailis was trying to take it? Yes. But this is different. It needs some thought; I – ”

“Yes, of course; you’re right. I…I’m not thinking straight at the moment. Where are my boots?”

Yuuri pointed to the corner of the room, and Victor went to pull them on.

“Your father made it sound like this was a really important meeting, when he was talking about it last night,” Yuuri said, watching him.

“The king will be there, and every important noble in the country. Yes, it’s important. Or believe me, I swear to you I’d refuse to go.” Victor pulled a comb through his hair, then shoved his cloth cap on his head and grabbed the cloak he’d been wearing when they’d gone to visit Ingrid, quickly slinging it over his shoulders. “You don’t know how much I hate being Andrei’s son right this moment.”

“Victor, I – ”

“Please – will you get dressed and meet me at the stables? I _will _refuse to go until I can say a proper goodbye to you. There’s no time to pack,” he said, looking around distractedly. “The servants will have to do it for me and then ride out to catch up with the retinue.” He took a breath. “Fuck.”

“You go,” Yuuri told him. “I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

Victor nodded. “Thank you.” He grabbed his sword belt and buckled it on as he dashed out the door, wondering when the last time was that he’d been so angry.

_I want no part of this life. The person who means more to me than anything else is back in my bedroom, probably wondering what the hell is happening. And I must master my feelings as I approach the stable._

But how could he, when there was no telling if his love would still even be here when he returned?


	98. Mon Cuer en Vous Remaint (My Heart Remains in You) (Part 13)

Yuuri’s cloak billowed behind him as he dashed through the gatehouse and down the castle hill. From here he could spy Victor speaking to Matthew Everard, and his mother on her horse; there must have been thirty or forty other castle officials, servants and guards in the riding party.

_He’s going to Doncaster. And I can’t come with him. _

_But even if I could, my place ought to be here, not sitting on a horse and then hanging about somebody else’s castle. I need to train, and I have to find Ailis._

All his heart knew, however, was that he’d be without his lover, best friend and mentor for who knew how long. 

Victor disappeared into the stable with Julia. Yuuri soon reached the bottom of the hill and raced past the gathering of snorting, stomping horses, some hitched to carts and wagons, others carrying riders. They’d been adorned with bright caparisons, most with variations of the blue and gold from the Nikiforovs’ coat of arms. Mounted standard bearers at the front of the party waited with flags on tall poles, while goodbyes were said and servants checked saddlebags. As Yuuri went along, conversations ceased and stares followed him, but he ignored them and entered the dim building. He spotted Victor and Julia in Alyona’s stall and hurried to stand outside the gate.

“Victor.”

Blue eyes met his. “Julius, give us a moment, please,” Victor said quietly. She nodded and looked at Yuuri with what appeared to be a glimmer of sympathy, then left the stall to join the party waiting outside. Yuuri entered, and Victor spoke first.

“Yuuri,” he said earnestly in a hushed voice, “please believe I’d never want to leave you like this. But I’m obliged to ride out in my father’s stead to the Earl of Doncaster’s castle. The king and his nobles will be discussing issues of national importance – unrest in Ireland, the king building a military power base in Cheshire which is alienating his support elsewhere, the cost of his lavish patronage of his favourites and his expensive royal retinue – most of which affects us here in one way or another. I’ve never pretended to have much genuine interest in politics, but if I don’t go, we stand to lose the support of our allies, as well as a great deal of influence. I’d rather not think of us coming under siege because we haven’t maintained important contacts. And there _are _people who would attack us if they fancied their chances. I…I’m so sorry, Yuuri.”

“How long will you be gone?” Yuuri asked, taking his hand.

Victor looked down. “Travel will take two days either way, if we’re not delayed. We’ll be staying two days.”

“Six days?” Yuuri tried and failed to keep the alarm out of his voice, and was angry at himself for the slip. That meant there would be less than two weeks after Victor returned before the king arrived and the duel was due to take place.

Victor’s eyes flitted as he thought. He glanced out the exit, where the riding party was waiting, before looking back at Yuuri with agitation. “Damn it, it’s not too late to change this. I can call the trip off and speak to the king myself when he’s here, or my father can. Then I’ll be here to train and support you before the duel, help you find Ailis, whatever you need me to do. Those are my priorities, and they come before all these political machinations.”

_You’d do that for me? _Yuuri stared. _But that would be terrible, considering what you’ve just said. _His heart filled with warmth, but also the urgency to prevent Victor from making a grave mistake.

“No,” he said, continuing to meet his gaze. “I’ll be fine. I’ll keep exercising and training; I know what to do.” He forced a little smile. “And I’ll be here waiting for you.” 

A flash of concern crossed Victor’s face. He squeezed Yuuri’s hand. “All right, then. Work hard – but don’t overdo it. Spar with anyone you can here, particularly Abelard. He may be able to teach you, too.” He briefly glanced out the exit again. “My mother is keen to come along, though it’s not the usual procedure if my father’s not in attendance. I won’t order her back to her rooms; perhaps she’ll be safer away from the castle at the moment.”

“Or maybe Ailis will be in the entourage.” Yuuri glanced at Victor’s purse. “Have you still got the laser pen?”

He nodded. “And you have the gun?”

Yuuri patted his pocket. “But maybe I ought to give it to you instead. The pen’s not much of a defence.”

“Ailis won’t expect me to have it, so it’s still an advantage. If she does remain at the castle, though, you may need the gun. I’d rest easier knowing it was in your possession.”

“I could say the same thing.”

“Keep it, Yuuri my love. Please. It’s likely you’d have more need for it, though we can hope neither of us will.”

Eventually Yuuri nodded. “But be careful. Promise me.”

“Of course – and you do the same.” Victor took a shuddering breath. “Oh Yuuri, I shall miss you.” He leaned close and kissed his cheek tenderly.

Yuuri felt his eyes welling up, but he blinked it back. “I’ll miss you too, Vitya. Do what you need to do, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

Pulling away, Victor said, “I’ll return to you as soon as I can. Depend upon it.” He opened the gate of the stall and took Alyona’s reins. “Godspeed,” he added, patting the horse’s rump so that she backed out into the aisle.

Yuuri gave him a small smile. “God give you a safe journey. I love you.”

Victor’s gaze lingered for a moment; then he turned his face to the exit and led Alyona out to where Julia stood in wait.

Leaning on the side of the stall, Yuuri watched as they both mounted their horses and urged them to the vanguard, where they were lost in the crowd before it started moving out. How could this be happening, after yesterday? He’d been filled with joy when he’d learned that he was going to be eating meals at Victor’s side; though it wasn’t even so much that as the fact that Victor had taken such a firm stance with his father on the issue, all while Yuuri had been unaware, and would’ve told him not to potentially stir up trouble just for his sake if he’d known. Then the promise of intimate time together this morning; he’d fallen asleep in a haze of warm speculation. All for it to have been abruptly snatched away when he’d awakened.

It hadn’t been an easy night, of course, from the meal onward. Realising that the baroness might be in danger from Ailis, then the damaged com appearing – Yuuri had only just managed to subdue his reaction in time; Ailis’s eyes must have been on him at that precise moment. Was that what she’d been hoping for – that the com would cause him to give his identity away? But how would she know it would be passed around the great hall like that? Perhaps the original intention had been that she, as some kind of underling, would helpfully offer to take it around the castle herself, asking questions in all apparent innocence on behalf of the lord and lady. If anyone tried that, Yuuri vowed to be on it straight away.

And the business with Mistress Shaw…in all truth, he didn’t think she was Ailis any more than Victor did. However, they couldn’t be certain, even though investigating the possibility might have meant playing straight into Ailis’s hands. Maybe Victor thought Yuuri was trying to coddle him, with the concerns he’d expressed for their safety; but then, he didn’t know about his death date.

_Of course I don’t want him to get hurt, regardless of that. But I’m going to have to face the fact, I think, that we’re in this together now, and we’re both in danger. Just as if we were in battle._

He wondered briefly how people coped with loved ones risking their lives on a regular basis. In this time. Even just fifty years ago in his own past, though in 2121 there were still people who did so – human police, government agents. A grim smile flashed briefly across his lips as he realised he was one of them, in a way. For that matter, how would two agents who had worked together and grown close carry on doing so, in the knowledge that they could lose each other at any moment? Wouldn’t it interfere with the task at hand, that desire to keep each other safe? What job could take precedence over that?

_Finding Ailis._

He wished for a moment that things with Victor didn’t have to be so complicated. That they could’ve met in his own time and had a normal life together, without Ailis mixed in or being surrounded by death and disease, ignorance and religious fanaticism. No castle and estate for Victor to worry about. No villeins, or Duke of York, or duels. Just the two of them, in peace. The longing for it was so strong, as Yuuri watched the bright blues and golds file out of the field gate, that his throat hitched and his eyes welled up again.

_There’s no point in thinking about all that. This is what we have. This world, and its people, have made Victor the person he is; the man I fell in love with._

_Who’s going to be gone for almost a week, while I have to prepare for the duel on my own._

_Be strong, Yuuri. You can do this._

Then the last of the horses disappeared beyond view of the exit, and he was alone. 

* * *

The next few days were cool, grey and drizzly; dismal weather for travelling in, and Yuuri thought about Victor and the entourage, wishing their journey could have been pleasanter. He thought about them often, in fact, though he made an effort to distract himself with training and exercise. His appetite was waning despite the good food that was still being served, even while Fernand himself was travelling to Doncaster. Yuuri was now given the best the castle had to offer, but it was a strange and lonely experience sitting at the high table with no one apart from a few clerks to keep him company, as the baron was still too poorly to attend meals. He wasn’t in any hurry to have the nobleman as a partner in conversation, however.

Abelard was willing to take him under his wing again, though it was a bittersweet experience, because despite the fact that he had good tips and strategies to share, Yuuri had never cared for his attitude. There was noticeably more respect in it now, but the attempts at flyting were ever present; Yuuri was a “barmy wee roaster” and a “feckless fucking layabout”. He knew none of it was meant personally, but Abelard seemed to take an inordinate delight in it, and Yuuri was pleased to be able to humble him on a number of occasions when they sparred. It provided a certain sense of satisfaction…but he’d never missed Victor’s hugs and encouragement more.

Realising he’d become used to having someone to talk to, and feeling the absence and the long silences, he stretched out the evening conversations with Phichit, asking him for more details about his life and what he’d been doing. They spent chunks of time with their coms open, chatting as they got on with various activities. On the second night, this included the hours Yuuri spent finishing work on his clock. Once he’d designed all the pieces, it hadn’t been difficult to cut them out with the laser pen and put them together, and from there it was a matter of refining the design until everything fitted and worked as it should. He was mesmerised by the steady motion of the pendulum, the tick-tock, the turning gears. The room smelled of wood and the boiled adhesive he’d used, which he’d sourced from the carpenter without wanting to ask what it had been made from; he could guess well enough. The instructions he’d been given were for a wall clock, but he’d built a wooden frame in which to mount it so that it would be easy to lift and conceal in his wardrobe, away from prying eyes. It would still need winding twice a day, which would be cumbersome, and he knew he was likely to forget occasionally, but the astrolabe should help him reset it. At least now he’d no longer have to guess at the time, or rely on church bells. It felt like a minor triumph to bring future tech to this earlier period using his own hands and the materials available here. He couldn’t wait to show Victor.

Yuuri was still sleeping in the main room, which seemed like a connection of a kind between them. Victor’s scent was on the pillows and bedsheets; they weren’t changed every day, and he was glad. The servants had taken the little oil lamp; maybe it was something they did automatically whenever Victor travelled. Yuuri had placed a candle in its stead. He’d seen them take Victor’s citole the morning of his departure, as well as two chests full of clothes and toiletries. Some of his things still hung from pegs on the wall; Yuuri slipped a shirt on and slept in it. No one would ever have to know. He tried to imagine it was Victor’s arms wrapped around him.

On the afternoon of the third day, Yuuri was told by Abelard to go on a patrol around the structures that were being erected around the castle, and to take Emil with him. He’d seen Chris, Charles and their squires, and Emil as well, on such patrols every day, and had been wondering why he’d not been sent himself before now, though he hadn’t seen any reason to complain; any unfairness factor was trumped, in his opinion, by the fact that he was preparing to fight for his life. But today he found himself wandering with Emil from the training field to the back of the castle hill, an area he didn’t usually have occasion to visit.

The makeshift wooden buildings intended to house the king’s retinue had grown exponentially in number since Yuuri had last seen them; it felt almost as if he were a lawman wandering around a wild west boomtown. Popup pubs and food and drink stands were mixed in with lodgings and workshops, while horses and carts clogged the alleyways, and the sounds of hammers, saws, and conversations and shouts filled the air. The scents Yuuri caught seemed to depend on which way the wind was blowing: woodsmoke, roasting meat, baking bread, tar, glue, sawdust. And more natural smells, both pleasant and otherwise: freshly turned earth, sweat from people labouring all day in the warmth of late May now that the sun had returned, rotting meat and fruit and vegetables, human and animal waste, as well as the seemingly ubiquitous bundles of dried flowers and herbs that Yuuri had learned people tucked between the planks and eaves of buildings to ward off “miasmas” they thought would bring illness. It was enough to both tantalise and pummel the senses.

He and Emil broke up one drunken fight, half-dragging both parties to the little sheriff’s building, where the men would sit in chains fastened to the wall until they sobered up. They helped repair a wheel that had splintered underneath an overloaded cart of apples, potatoes and peas, sinking the vehicle partially into the mud. A worker had fallen through a half-constructed roof, and Yuuri found a plank for him to be shifted onto so he could be taken to the barber surgeon who was in residence; the man’s lower left leg lay at an awkward angle, and he screamed when they moved him. Yuuri apologised while in his head he reviewed what would be done for him in 2121. He’d be left to lie still where he’d fallen, wrapped in a blanket to protect him from shock, while medi-bots – always small stations full of them around every ward – would quickly be in attendance to mend the bone and cauterise the tendons and muscles, which would soon heal. But in 1393, this unfortunate jack was facing the possibility of losing his means of livelihood with a permanent disability. It rankled in Yuuri’s stomach and swelled his chest with impotent anger. 

“Have all your patrols been like this?” he asked Emil as they left the barber surgeon’s shack. It really was a town here in everything but name, if only for a few weeks. 

“It depends,” Emil answered as they walked down the alley, both of them in armour, hands resting lightly on the hilts of their swords. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, but the people seem to be peaceful for the most part. I find myself directing traffic more often than anything else, and helping merchants collect spilled produce and runaway animals.”

Yuuri shook his head. It all seemed surreal, especially when they reached the outskirts of the village and arrived at what was normally a quiet pastoral scene of fields being ploughed or sown with crops, which had been turned into livestock farms filled with oxen, cows, sheep, pigs, geese, goats, stacked wooden cages containing hundreds of rabbits, hen coops, and a bewildering variety of other things. “Shit, Emil, how did I not realise this was all going on?”

“Well, sir, it does seem you’ve spent the majority of your time at the castle and in the training field. I don’t suppose you would’ve had any reason to venture back here.”

“No, I guess not.”

They walked in silence for a while, though plenty of activity around them ensured the area was far from quiet.

“Your lodgings in the castle suit you well, if you don’t mind my saying, sir. You seem more content than you were before.”

Yuuri gave him a little smile. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I wish I had more for you to do; Victor and I tend to help each other. But you’re brilliant at keeping all my gear organised, clean and polished. And serving me at meals.” He kicked at clods of soil in front of him as they walked down the path, past more building work. “I’ve never been much of a mentor to you, though, have I? In fact, when I first arrived at the castle, the opposite was the case. You deserve better, Emil, and I’m sorry.”

After a pause, Emil replied, “I’ve actually learned a great deal from you and Sir Victor, master.”

Yuuri looked at him in surprise. “You have?”

“Of course. Have you not observed me watching when he instructs you and when both of you spar?”

“I’ve seen you by the fence sometimes, but – ”

“All the squires watch, even Julius. I suppose you’re so focused on what you’re doing that perhaps you don’t notice when you have an audience.”

“Um.” Yuuri considered this. “I guess I don’t tend to think much about what’s going on around me when I’m with Victor, no.”

Emil huffed a laugh. “If you’ll forgive me for saying so, that’s not an ideal habit for a fighting man.”

“I won’t argue,” Yuuri said with a small smile. The path turned uphill; they were heading for the workshops behind the castle, weaving around carts pulled by people and oxen and horses. A sack of cabbages fell out of one further along, and they dashed after them as they rolled down the hill. Yuuri was sweating by the time they finished; it was a warm day, and he’d been starting to learn what being cooked inside plate armour felt like as summer approached. Emil, in his lighter leather breastplate, didn’t seem to be bothered.

“Here, master,” he said, stepping off the path and indicating for Yuuri to follow him. He’d taken a leather pouch from his belt and drank from it, then handed it over. “You’ll want to bring one of these next time you go on patrol, I imagine. You look hot and parched.”

“Thank you.” Yuuri took a swig of the watery ale, and then another, before handing it back. “You think of everything.”

“Just being practical, sir.” Emil took another drink himself. In a quieter voice, he continued, “You miss him, don’t you? Sir Victor.”

Yuuri turned and gazed down at the village of wooden structures below, teeming with movement, as if Victor could be spotted somewhere within if he looked hard enough. “Yeah, I do.”

Emil replaced the pouch on his belt. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.” Yuuri raised an eyebrow, but Emil didn’t elaborate. Instead, he said, “Once we finish our patrol up here around the craft workshops, I’ll take you to the area outside the kitchen.”

“They’ve been building there too, haven’t they? I’ve heard all the noise during meals.”

“Indeed, sir. I thought you might like to see.”

“Sure.”

They patrolled for another hour or so, by Yuuri’s estimate, before heading toward the thick double doors near the kitchen where supplies were normally taken in. He expected to see them either propped open or secured with heavy iron bars, but discovered instead that they were completely obscured by a long wattle-and-daub lodge whose walls were twice as high as a person, though the roof was as yet incomplete.

“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Yuuri murmured as they wove past more deliveries for the kitchen, labourers, and scaffolding. Within was just as busy as without, as plaster was applied to panels of woven twigs, and wooden planks and posts were cut and shaped at trestle tables. The floor was made of packed earth, and a large square stone-lined hearth had been built in the middle.

Emil suddenly brightened. “Over there.” He waved, and a tall man with light brown hair and a trimmed beard looked their way, clearly recognised Emil, and waved back. “That’s my cousin Dmitrei. Our fathers came to England together. He’s one of the head carpenters working on this project. Everyone calls him Dom. I think you’ll like him, sir.”

Dom wore a deep blue tunic and white coif, and was making measurements along a post with a yardstick and marking intervals with a piece of chalk. He smiled when they approached. “God give you good day,” he said pleasantly. “Who’s this fine fellow you have with you, coz?”

“This is my master, Sir Justin la Rose. We’ve been on patrol.”

“At least you’ve had a chance to stretch your legs. I’ve been working in here all day.” He placed the chalk on the table and picked up a saw, but held it idle in his hand while he spoke. “You ought to keep your eye on my cousin, sir,” he said to Yuuri with a grin. “A more troublesome handful you’ve never seen.”

“Actually, he’s been invaluable to me ever since I arrived here,” Yuuri replied with a laugh, and Dom raised an eyebrow while Emil looked down with a little smile.

“Well. Seems we’re going to end up having the first knight in the family, from the sound of it.”

“He deserves it.” Yuuri paused and looked around. “What’s this building going to be used for?”

“A meal hall. A great many people travel with the king. The most important ones will eat in the great hall along with the baron and his family, but the others also need somewhere to eat.”

“Will all these buildings be left as they are when he leaves?”

Dom shrugged, lining his saw up with a chalk mark but holding it still. “I suppose his lordship will decide that. I doubt he’ll have much use for most of them, and they’ll become firewood stores. But a sturdier building like this? Who knows? If it’s not in the way of things, it might have a variety of uses.”

“It’d seem a shame to tear it down.”

“You don’t say,” Dom chuckled. “I’d like to hope our handiwork here will live on to be more than a pile of kindling.” He paused, and seemed to be struck by an idea. “Work finishes an hour before sunset,” he said. “You’re welcome to come visit later; the portcullis isn’t lowered til the compline bell. Join us for a drink at the little ale-house yonder if you like.”

Emil’s blue eyes danced when he looked at Yuuri, who decided it was the last thing he was in the mood for, though he didn’t say so; and they lingered a while to speak with Dom before leaving the lodge.

“It might do you good, sir, to get out of the castle of an evening for a while,” Emil said as they approached the next workshop.

“Thanks,” Yuuri replied, “though maybe not tonight.”

“What else do you have to do, though, sir, if you don’t mind my asking? Surely Sir Victor wouldn’t want you to be alone and melancholy in your rooms while he was away.”

Yuuri simply looked at him, unable to deny the truth of that.

“You might like to see what’s inside this building,” Emil added.

“Why? Aren’t we finished with our patrol?”

“Indeed we are. But it will surprise you, I think.”

It was just another makeshift wooden workshop, and Yuuri wondered how many Emil was going to suggest they visit before they returned to the castle. But once he’d set foot inside and his eyes had adjusted to the dimmer light, he couldn’t help but agree with Emil’s prediction – the scene was fantastical.

“Can I help you, sirs?” a woman in a long grey dress and white turban asked, coming to join them and bowing.

“I was showing my master some of the preparations for the king’s visit,” Emil explained. “We’ve not long come off patrol. I hope we’re not disturbing you, madam.”

She smiled at him. “My, but you have fine manners, sir. You and your master are welcome. We’re preparing subtleties here. The ones that will keep for a while are being made now, while others will be created nearer the time.”

Yuuri had heard the word used before, when a boar’s head had been served at a feast in a pose that made it look like it was still alive, chomping on an apple. Subtleties could be beautiful or bizarre, but he’d never seen anything like what was taking form under the skilled fingers of the men and women working at tables here: three-dimensional marzipan likenesses of castles and cathedrals, ships, men jousting, a chessboard, all painted with food colouring; stained-glass pastry windows whose brightly hued panes appeared to be made of sheets of fruit jelly.

“You stand amazed, sir,” the woman said with a laugh as she studied his expression. “But I hear the noble family at this castle has never been particularly enamoured of such clever constructions. They’re fortunate in that it’s something I know a great deal about, as his royal majesty is partial to such pageantry.” She paused. “I do apologise; I haven’t even introduced myself properly. Joan Delacroix, king’s provisioner.”

At Yuuri’s blank look, Emil told him, “She goes ahead of the king to places he intends to visit and assists with preparations.”

“Indeed,” Joan said. “The royal progress will be travelling to Lancaster once it departs from Crowood, though that will be a journey of some days. Alas, I rarely have the privilege of enjoying the fruits of my own labours; I’m constantly advised of changes in fashion and tastes at the royal court without being there myself to experience them.” She smiled. “And yet, I’m told my work is good. I pride myself on it, in fact. The subtleties seem to draw more admiration than anything else.”

“Can you actually eat them?” Yuuri asked.

“People can and do, my dear sir,” Joan replied as Yuuri watched a worker cut several fruit-jelly sheets into small pieces with scissors and begin pasting them together with grey-coloured marzipan, to mimic church windows.

“It seems a shame to do that to works of art like these.”

“Thank you, sir. What you won’t see until close to when the feasting begins is the fresh food. We’re planning redressed peacocks, with their skin and feathers replaced after cooking, their tails poised in beautiful fans.”

Yuuri looked quizzically at Emil, who simply smiled. Was this considered appetising?

“Such things are the height of fashion at the moment, sir,” Joan told him. “We’ll also produce ‘pilgrim’ capons which will each bear a staff made of a roasted lamprey, and in each lamprey’s mouth will be a piece of paper with a line from a psalm. There will be a selection of likenesses of mythological creatures as well. A cockatrice, for example, with the front of a rooster joined to the stuffed hind quarters of a piglet.”

“And all those things will be edible too?” Yuuri asked, feeling as if some kind of macabre scene of death were being described to him.

“Oh yes, sir. I enjoy helping to create the subtleties, but my tasks are varied – and I must needs be checking on supplies soon.” She stepped out of the door, surveying the view of the buildings and paths from the top of the hill, and Yuuri and Emil followed her.

“This is a huge operation,” Yuuri said as he took in the extent of the livestock in the fields, now that he had a better view. Rough fences were being erected to create still more pens.

“Indeed, but quite normal. I’m expecting to have over two hundred geese by today, one hundred and forty pigs, fifty swans…”

“Just for one week?”

Joan chuckled. “Good Lord, sir, no. That’s only for the feast upon the king’s arrival.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “A single feast?”

“Yes, indeed. The hens are laying furiously; we need eleven thousand eggs.” Yuuri had a sudden vision of hens being whipped into an egg-laying frenzy. “And butter is being churned by the gallon. It is an undertaking, sir, but it’s what I specialise in. If this astounds you, then you should have seen his royal majesty’s wedding feast.”

Yuuri was glad he hadn’t, because the disparity between this and the way the poorest of the land lived was too horrific to contemplate. However, he and Emil thanked Joan for taking time out of her busy day to speak with them, and then circled to the front of the castle hill, which felt a great deal less claustrophobic. This side of the fortress showed little sign of the dizzying activity Yuuri had witnessed that afternoon.

“I could do with some quiet training time after all that,” he said as they walked.

“I understand, sir. I’ll see if Abelard is free when we arrive, and if he’s willing to train for a spell.”

Yuuri looked at him. “Why don’t you come with me? We could train together. I know I’m not the world’s best teacher, and I’m still learning myself, but – ”

A bright smile broke out across Emil’s face. “Why thank you, sir. It would be an honour.”


	99. Chapter 99

_I should’ve been training occasionally with Emil all this time, like Victor does with Julia, _Yuuri thought as he ate his supper in the great hall._ I never considered myself talented or experienced enough to do it. _

It had been an enjoyable session of drills and sparring, though Yuuri had gone a little easy with it, not wanting to be too aggressive with his own squire the first time they’d worked together in that way.

_I’m a proper knight now, with a squire who I can actually train. _Emil’s technical knowledge met or exceeded his own, though, and he was clearly more interested in learning _how _Yuuri was doing certain things, which could be difficult to explain when he wasn’t always sure himself; much of it seemed to come naturally. The scrutiny made him more conscious of his movements, however. And he wasn’t beyond asking Emil to repay the favour; before they’d finished for the afternoon, Yuuri had asked him for a horse-riding lesson.

A harpist serenaded the great hall, and his thoughts turned back to his food as he dipped a piece of bread in the rich sop he’d been served. He was used to thin broth with vegetables, but the sort of thing they brought to the high table must be the reduced cooking liquid from meat, he surmised, with vinegar or verjuice and honey and spices added. The flavour practically leapt off his tongue. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that the experience was akin to Richard “Let Them Eat Cake” the Second and his ravenous retinue. Coming up with humorous descriptions didn’t ease the guilt while he ate, however; not only over the villeins, but also the servants and soldiers and other “commoners” at the castle who were fed scraps deemed suitable for those on the bottom rungs of the hierarchy. It was as if Victor’s absence was intensifying Yuuri’s feelings on the subject; he was here tonight at the high table with the baron to his left for the first time since he’d taken ill, still coughing and looking pale, and some officials further down.

Andrei Nikiforov had ignored him throughout the course of the meal so far, leaving him with a sense of embarrassed tension that pressed at him. At least the baron hadn’t ordered him to leave the table. Instead, he’d been arguing with his officials much of the time.

“I tell you, I should have gone to Doncaster,” he huffed, his black beard practically bristling. He was wearing his customary ermine-trimmed conical hat with crimson robes and heavy livery collar, and Yuuri was beginning to wonder if the summer heat ever touched him. It was difficult to see much of Victor in his face, with the dark hair and eyes, though there appeared to be a similarity in the sculpted cheekbones and forehead.

“You were most insistent, my lord, that you could not,” the official replied. Yuuri had seen the man a number of times; he was a rather pompous clerk in a flouncy yellow shirt whose name eluded him. “With the strongest will in the world, your illness had made you too weak. The moot will already be taking place now and should conclude tomorrow.”

“Damn it to hell – it should be me there, and not Victor. Don’t misunderstand me; he’s astute and quick-thinking. But he doesn’t have my knowledge of people and politics.” He tapped his temple to emphasise the point.

“I understand he averted a potential crisis with the Duke of York and the archbishop. Surely he’ll – ”

“He also lacks a necessary degree of ruthlessness,” Andrei continued as if the clerk hadn’t spoken. Then he erupted into a loud coughing fit and drank the contents of his goblet, which a hovering servant refilled. Who, Yuuri now knew, was also his food and drink taster. “He’s too soft on people who…” Cough. “…don’t deserve it. They’ll take advantage one day if he’s not careful.” Cough, more wine. His clerk mumbled to him again, and then they both fell silent as they ate.

Yuuri had planned for a situation like this, however. He’d expected to be dismissed from the high table while Victor was gone, once the baron returned to meals; but if he was allowed to stay, he didn’t care to be made to feel small or invisible by this man. Imagining himself as the confident adviser who’d appeared to be an expert on medieval property law, or the nobleman who’d been only slightly amused by the strange device that had been taken around the great hall, or the controlling dom, he quickly reviewed in his head what he wanted to say, then turned to look at the baron.

“My lord, I meant to ask you when I got the chance – what do you make of my accent?” He was willing himself to speak in Russian, and hopefully succeeding.

Andrei raised an eyebrow and turned away from his clerk to return his gaze. “Why don’t you ask my son? You spend enough time with him.”

Yuuri smiled. _Confident, be confident. I handled the Duke of York; I can handle this jack. I’m a time-traveller._

“He understands me well enough,” Yuuri replied in a smooth voice with a touch of aristocratic syrupiness. “But he’s lived here all his life, while you’ve spent many of yours around native speakers. I reckon that makes you the expert here. So, do I pass the test?”

Andrei stared at him while he considered. “I’ve never heard its like, though it’s clear, and good Russian. Where was your tutor from?”

Yuuri’s mind raced. “Oh, a small village out east,” he said dismissively. “I’m glad he taught me well, then.”

“Hmm.” The baron drank more of his wine. “Much good it’ll do you in this insular country, where most of them have never even heard of the land of my birth.”

“If your lordship is pleased by it, that’s a good enough use,” Yuuri replied, hoping he hadn’t crossed the line into obsequiousness. He sipped at his own drink while Andrei continued to stare as if he wasn’t sure what to make of him. “But it did serve me well when I visited Moscow. Have you ever been, sir?” he asked lightly.

The baron brightened. “Yes, I should say so. I rode against the Mongol hordes in Prince Ivan the Fair’s army.” His eyes misted over. “Those were the days, Stanebeck. What triumphs we shared…before events occurred that are best not mentioned,” he finished hurriedly. “I’d dearly love to stand on the banks of the Moskva before my time is over, and look upon the glorious buildings of the grand duchy once more.” He gazed at Yuuri with renewed interest. “You say you’ve seen it yourself?”

“Indeed I have.” Thanks to the information about medieval Moscow that Phichit had given him from the Cloud, it was only a small lie, he figured.

“And what were your thoughts on it?” The disdain in the baron’s voice was obvious, as if highlighting the absurdity that Yuuri’s opinion of such a grand place was worth anything.

He put his goblet down, placed his elbows on the table, and folded his hands as if remembering. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful city,” he said, trying to infuse his words with feeling by imagining the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen for real. The answer came readily; it was Victor. “The people in this country don’t know what they’re missing.”

“True, true. Which part did you like most?”

“That would have to be Krutitskoe Podvorye,” Yuuri replied, appearing to wax nostalgic. “The red-brick buildings there are amazing, especially the monastery, with all the arches and windows and walkways. I’d love to go back myself and see it again.”

“Indeed? Did the Kalita Palace not capture your interest? Built by Ivan the First, the only large stone edifice in the city?”

_No, because no one in my time seems to have heard of it. _“Well – ”

“Or perhaps you didn’t rank highly enough to be invited inside?” Andrei chuckled.

“I wasn’t there to visit the nobility, sir,” Yuuri replied, thinking fast. “My ship was only docked for a few days, and I wanted to take in the atmosphere, and talk with as many people as I could to improve my Russian.”

“It pleases me to be able to speak it with someone here. You must tell me more about your travels in my homeland. Were you aware that the blood of Prince Vasili runs in my veins?”

“Really?” Yuuri said, sounding fascinated. “How are you related? When were you last in Moscow yourself?” Anything not to have to make up more lies about where he’d been and what he’d done. And as he’d anticipated, Andrei was perfectly content to talk about himself, his ancestry, and his noble connections. None of it seemed to have much bearing upon Victor, which limited its interest, but Yuuri decided he could call his attempt to break the ice between himself and the baron a success.

Having eaten little at supper apart from the bread and sop, he was ready to exercise straight afterward, performing sword drills and dances, and then going on a run. When he returned to the training field, he saw Emil approaching the fence, and trotted over to him.

“Good evening, master. I thought you’d be here.”

“Hi, Emil. Were you wanting to train some more before it gets dark?”

Emil lifted his face to the west, the golden rays of the low sun shining on him while the wind lifted tendrils of hair that poked out from under his coif. “There’s time for that tomorrow. It’s a beauteous evening, is it not?” 

“I suppose so. What did you have in mind?” Then he remembered. “If you want to go see your cousin – ”

“I was hoping you might want to come with me, sir. I was on my way there and thought I would ask.”

Yuuri considered.

“If it wasn’t to your taste, you could always say you had something else to do.”

“Well…”

“Dmitrei sources very good ale.”

“That settles it, then,” Yuuri said with a laugh. “I’m thirsty, and it sounds like the perfect remedy.”

Emil smiled, and they walked to the back of the castle hill and up into the maze of workshops. Most workers had downed tools for the day, and the makeshift ale-houses were busy.

“This isn’t the easiest shift to patrol,” Emil said as they approached the building Dmitrei had indicated earlier. “I’m glad I’m here to drink this time.”

“I can imagine,” Yuuri replied; presumably he’d have the dubious pleasure of discovering it firsthand sometime soon, when Abelard sent him out as a lawman again. He’d experienced enough today to learn that the average person was not particularly skilled with a sword, though, which meant there was probably little to fear – apart from tools or planks falling from above, or being tripped up by fugitive rabbits or chickens.

The ale-house was like many others of its kind, if smaller. Rushes had been scattered across the floor, on which tables and benches sat, dimly lit by candles. The sounds of conversation and laughter filled the air, and Yuuri smelled woodsmoke and stale sweat. For a moment, it took him straight back to The Black Dog, and he could almost imagine the lingering aroma of Jan’s cooking.

Emil’s cousin hurried up to them, exclaiming something in a language Yuuri couldn’t understand; it seemed he’d finally found a limitation of his translator.

“God give you good evening, Sir Justin,” he said in what was presumably English. “I’m pleased you both are here! Come, I’ll find you some drink.”

Yuuri pressed through a fairly large crowd toward a table with many jugs and cups. He wondered if he should have dressed down for the occasion; with his armour on, they’d all know he was a knight and a nobleman. He could sense the stares around him.

“Try some of this, sir,” Dmitrei said, passing him a pewter pint. “Tell me what you think.”

Yuuri took it and sipped. A dark ale, rich and malty, with a good head; it went down smoothly and left a slightly bitter note on the tongue. He’d tried many ales at The Black Dog, and this would have been considered one of the best, he felt sure. “That’s good stuff,” he said, licking foam from his top lip. It was also strong.

Dmitrei nodded as he gave Emil a pint and took one for himself. “I’ve been getting it at a decent price from a brewery in the village; the head brewer is the brother of one of the men working here, and he puts in a good word. The castle limits our supply, of course, but not ungenerously.” He took a long draught from his pint, looking at Yuuri. “So, what is my cousin learning from you these days? It can’t be any worse than what happened with Sir Duncan, God rest his unfortunate soul.”

“He knows about that,” Emil said. “I was beginning to think there wouldn’t be a knight for me at all. Then Sir Justin arrived in rather unlikely circumstances…”

Yuuri listened as Emil related the story, in terms that he felt were unjustly flattering. When he mentioned Tyler, Dmitrei’s eyes widened.

“But everyone in the land has heard of his prowess. Why doesn’t he fight someone who has the skill to match him, the coward?” Then he glanced at Yuuri and choked on his ale. “I beg your pardon, sir. The drink must be getting to me already. I meant no insult. Virtually no one has the skill to match him. But why not Sir Victor?”

“Victor’s not coming into it; it’s my fight,” Yuuri said.

“Whatever did you do to incense him so?”

_Please don’t tell him he was jealous of Victor and me, _he thought as he watched Emil, who to his relief said, “He’s quite the hothead, coz. It doesn’t take much. And because he’s confident in his skill, he’s fearless with his challenges.”

Dmitrei swigged more ale. “Then if it’s at all possible, sir,” he said to Yuuri, “go and bust his bollocks.”

Emil laughed. Yuuri drained his tankard and poured himself another drink. It really was very good ale.


	100. Chapter 100

Yuuri wasn’t sure if the pounding was on the door or in his head. He shifted under the sheets and reached a hand out, only to touch a cold and empty bed. Where was Victor?

_Wait – is that Julia knocking on the door to tell him he has to go to Doncaster? But how would I know that?_

“Sir, it’s Emil. I’ve come to wake you.”

Yuuri groaned, an extra-hard thump in his head making him feel sick. Christ, what happened last night? _Think, Yuuri. What do you remember?_

Dmitrei talking about Tyler. Helping himself to more of that very nice ale. Then…oh yes, a fiddler had started to play a jig. Yuuri remembered his heart leaping when he heard it; music like that was never played within the castle proper, and certainly not during meals. They still did those stately chorus dances sometimes, and while Yuuri tolerated them and played his part, he always found them a chore.

If Victor had been there, he might have asked him to dance. Two of the few young women in the ale-house had snapped Emil and Dmitrei up as partners, leaving him on his own. Still with the feeling that his armour marked him as someone different who didn’t belong here – no one else seemed interested in talking to him; they looked a little frightened of him in fact – he stood against a wall, drank his ale quietly, and watched the fiddler and the dancers. There weren’t many of those, anyway; they had little room among the rest of the crowd. The thought crossed his mind that he might be able to fit more training into the day before the sun went down and the portcullis was lowered – but he’d enjoy another pint first; he’d had so much watered-down drink lately that he’d forgotten how much he appreciated a good brew.

_So what happened after that? Fuck, I don’t even remember how I got back here. _He tried to sit up, and his stomach lurched. _I’m in my own room. What the hell – ?_

“Sir, are you all right?” Emil called.

“Come in if you’ve got your key,” Yuuri forced himself to say loudly enough for him to hear. “But take your time,” he groaned. “I need to visit the garderobe.”

When he emerged, Emil had left a jug and a cup on the table and was laying pieces of his plate armour out on the bed in readiness. It was beginning to feel to Yuuri like the days before he and Victor had started their physical relationship; when he’d been so full of longing, and secrets he didn’t dare share with anyone. Empty nights in his room, or sitting in the corner of the main garrison room watching the world go by but not feeling part of it.

_God, Victor, I miss you so much._

He went to the pitcher and basin and tried to make himself more human. What he wouldn’t give for a simple painkiller right now.

“This looks interesting, sir. What is it?”

Yuuri looked over to the table and gasped at his own stupidity. He’d left his clock out. Because he hadn’t expected to be in here this morning, let alone with Emil. “I…”

“Did you make it yourself?” He touched the numbers on the face; Yuuri had cut them from wood with the laser pen, varnished them and glued them on. They’d been hand-drawn rather than traced from a template, but they did the job.

“Yes,” he replied, shuffling over in his bare feet to join him. He was in his braies and nightshirt, and he didn’t remember taking his armour off, or his clothes. “Just something I was doing in my spare time.”

“It’s an amazing device. Does it tell the time?”

“Yes, it’s a clock.” A throb exploded in his head and he winced, tears briefly springing to his eyes. “I was just experimenting. Emil,” he said gravely, forcing himself to concentrate, “please give me your word that you won’t mention this to anyone else. Well, Victor and Julius have seen it, so it’s all right to talk about it with them. But – ”

“If it works, though, you could be celebrated throughout the land, sir. This is an astounding achievement.”

“I want to refine it before I officially present it to anyone,” Yuuri said quickly, his thoughts trying to race through the treacly blob that was his brain. “So until I’m ready for that, it has to be a secret.”

Emil nodded. “Of course, sir. Just as you wish. Can you read the time on it now? The terce bells haven’t yet rung, so it must be – ”

“Quarter past six.” Yuuri slumped into a chair, staring vacantly at the wall across from him. “That’s not a decent hour for anyone to be out of bed.”

“I’d say it’s late, myself. Especially at this time of year, when the sun’s already been up for quite a while.”

“Emil – what the fuck happened last night? I can’t remember anything after you and Dmetrei went off dancing.”

“I thought you’d be a little the worse for wear this morning, sir,” Emil said with a chuckle. “You were rather in your cups.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow and looked at him. “In my cups?”

“Is that not an expression you use? Or are you still plagued by the amnesia? I had hoped it would improve for you – ”

“It’s better than it was. Look, was I flat-out drunk?”

After a pause, Emil answered, “Well yes, sir…quite spectacularly.”

“Fuck,” Yuuri moaned, putting his head in his hands.

“But I don’t believe you need worry. I was there the entire time, and I escorted you back here to your room and saw to it that you were comfortably retired for the night. I did have to ask Alfric to raise the portcullis, but it’s not as if we make a habit of it, and he was quite understanding.”

_Jesus, I spent the whole evening embarrassing myself. Probably. _“Thanks for looking after me,” he said quietly. “I hate to ask, but I guess I’d better. What did I do?”

Emil smiled. “Do you not remember dancing with me?”

Yuuri’s jaw dropped.

_This can’t be the same as what I did with Victor. I desired him. I don’t feel like that about Emil or anyone else. So what the hell – _

“On a table.”

“What?”

“We danced a jig on a table. It was great fun.”

“I danced a jig…in my armour?” He ran a hand over his face. “On a table? With you? Please tell me you’re making this up.”

“It’s a shame you don’t remember, sir,” Emil said with a little laugh as he poured liquid from the jug into the cup and handed it to him. “You ought to drink; it’ll help you feel better. Very thin wine.”

Yuuri absentmindedly wrapped a hand around the cool metal of the cup. “I can’t imagine what got into me.”

“Dmitrei’s ale?” Emil laughed again. “When we’d finished our dance, I left you to it, and you danced another jig on the table by yourself, with most everyone in the room watching you. Many of them are temporary labourers who wouldn’t have seen you perform in the contest against Julius earlier this year, so I believe it came as quite a welcome surprise. They sang and clapped as you – ”

“Jesus,” Yuuri mumbled into his hands.

“But sir,” Emil said gently after a pause, “you’re a good dancer. You were the life of the party; others got up on the tables too, and I daresay for a while the entire castle hill was ringing with the sounds of revelry from our little ale-house. Until you told me you didn’t feel well. At which point, we said our goodbyes and left. But no one was laughing at you. They quite enjoyed themselves, in fact. Dmitrei told me he hoped you’d come back soon.”

Yuuri was struggling to picture a scene like this in which the crowd was doing anything _other _than laughing at him. He couldn’t picture it at all, anyway, because this seemed to be a side of him that only came out in the right, or wrong, context, like a Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll. At least his drunk self seemed to have a little more grace and charm than that particular character. Possibly even more than his sober self, come to think of it.

“Why do I have to get drunk out of my skull before I can do things like that?” he sighed. “Not that I ought to be doing them anyway. Something tells me that drunken ale-house dancing isn’t anywhere in the code of chivalry.”

“Relaxing and having a good time with colleagues is a worthy activity,” Emil said with a smile. “Honestly, sir, you should drink what I’ve given you.”

Yuuri picked the cup up and took a mouthful. Thirst-quenching weak wine, just as Emil had said. He drank the whole cupful, and Emil poured him another.

“Besides,” Emil continued, “we all have a bit of a personality change when we drink enough. That side of you happens to be a very agreeable one, whereas many others become violent or melancholy. Having said that, perhaps you were also missing Sir Victor, and thought this would take your mind off it for a while.” 

Yuuri raked a hand through his hair. The thin wine was helping; he felt the throbbing in his head begin to ease. “You might have a point,” he said.

“It won’t be long before the retinue returns. A few days. Is there anything else I can do for you just now, sir?”

“Hold my helmet for me while I’m sick into it?” Yuuri shook his head. “No, it’s all right. Just give me a little while, and I’ll meet you down at the training field.”

“Are you certain? Your face has a slight a green tinge.”

“If it does, it’s my own stupid fault. I’m sure it’ll wear off.”

Emil looked at him. “When you feel up to it, and if you’re certain you have the time, will you show me your half-swording techniques again? You’re the best at it that I’ve ever seen.”

Yuuri’s heart lifted with the praise. “Sure,” he answered. “Just as soon as it stops feeling like someone else is trying to half-sword me by ramming the hilt against my head. That might be a little distracting.”

* * *

_I ought to get Phichit on the com and ask him to play something I can dance to._

Yuuri was sitting on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace in Victor’s room, as the candles nearby hissed and guttered in a draught; the weather had eventually taken a turn for the worse, the clouds descending and never letting up. Streams of rainwater had run down the castle hill, though the suppliers with carts and wagons had seemed undaunted, trudging up and down the muddy path with their hoods pulled well over their heads. Yuuri had continued to exercise in it; at least it wasn’t cold out there on top of being wet. But it hadn’t been the most pleasurable experience.

And now, try as he might, it was difficult to distract himself from thinking about Victor. Hoping he was safe, that the meeting had gone well, that Ailis wasn’t travelling in his retinue intending to cause trouble. Things had been quiet at the castle, and Yuuri could only hope she’d returned to keeping a low profile for now. But there was no knowing what was happening with Victor and the others, because they couldn’t be contacted. Yuuri had wondered sometimes what people had done in times past before there had been the ever-present connectivity of the Cloud, or even a telephone. Now he knew. They hoped, and worried, and prayed.

_I wonder how much more time we have together. I keep telling myself I have a chance against Tyler, but who am I kidding? And shit, that’s only two weeks away now. _

He suddenly felt the familiar tightening in his throat, his heart beginning to race.

_I’m not going to have an anxiety attack. I…I’m better than this. What would Victor say? _He thought for a moment, then realised he wouldn’t have to say anything, because being in his arms would be enough.

They’d made love on this rug a few times – Victor’s skin bathed in firelight, his hair aglow, eyes sparkling…though actually, Yuuri hadn’t been able to see his face very well on one of those occasions; it had been somewhat compensated for by the fact that he’d been taking Victor from behind while he’d moaned into the rug, clutching at it with scrabbling fingers.

A wave of desire pulsed through Yuuri, leaving him empty in its wake. Missing Victor like this was better than letting the anxiety in, though. Maybe. Both hurt; neither was going to go away tonight. He let out a sob, a tear sliding down his cheek. And then called Phichit.

“Hey, Yuuri. How’s it going?”

“Hi, Phichit. Um, not great, to be honest. It’s been a hard week.”

“When’s Victor due back?”

“Day after tomorrow, unless they get delayed.”

“Any more stories about rough justice on the frontier? Ever since you told me yesterday about being a medieval policeman, I’ve been wondering. You’re doing all that stuff, and here I am, studying the polarisation correlation of a pair of optical photons.”

_Yeah, I got drunk and had a hangover for half the day. I suppose that’s very wild west too. _“You’re doing juke stuff that you’re interested in. It sounds a lot more peaceful than what’s going on here.”

“Peaceful and boring.” There was a crunching noise. “Sorry, I’m eating a poppadom while I watch the numbers go round. I had an Indian delivered last night.”

_You’re eating last night’s stale poppadoms? Better you than me. _It would be easy to fall into a discussion of nutri-pills and modern foods he missed, but Yuuri had something else in mind. “Are you at the university right now?”

“Yeah. I came back to set up this experiment up for Celestino, but I was about to pack it in for the night. Why?”

“While you’re there, I was wondering if I could have another word with Justin. A private conversation this time, with no one else listening. Maybe he’ll be calmer if it’s just the two of us.”

After a pause, Phichit answered, “You want to talk to him again? Why?”

“I want to find out how he’s doing, and if, um, he’s settled in any better. Try to help him. Maybe I can.”

“I haven’t seen him in a while, which is a good thing. Dr. Fay’s been taking him to the living history museum, and he goes to the gym sometimes, but every time he goes out he has to be under armed guard, especially if he’s been allowed to have his sword. I think he’s had to be stunned a few times.”

“I don’t suppose you could stop by the Gupta Building…?”

“OK, Yuuri. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll just finish up here and then call you back when I get there.”

“Cheers, Phichit.”

While he waited, Yuuri asked himself what he was trying to achieve by this. All he’d managed last time was to stir Justin up and feel guiltier himself for taking over his life here at the castle. What would work now that hadn’t before?

_I’ll use all my powers of persuasion. I must have some. _

_Yeah, like that’s really going to help. The jack’s extremely picked, and rightfully so._

He stared into the flames, trying to quieten his thoughts, until Phichit called again. “He says he’ll talk to you, Yuuri. Actually, you ought to see him. He says Dr. Fay got him some modern clothes and a shave and haircut. He’d been insisting on wearing medieval-style things before, and we had to ask a costumer from the drama department to come over here.”

“I wish you could send me a photo. Did he say why he’d done that?”

“No, but it’s eerie to be honest. He looks…normal.”

Yuuri heard a voice in the background, and Phichit answered, “OK, just a moment, I need to get this set up and then you can talk to Yuuri.”

_You weren’t saying those things in front of him so he could hear, were you? _Yuuri shook his head and waited.

“Right,” Phichit said into the com, “I’ve got this sorted out so that you two can talk through the microphone in the window. Should I give you, say, ten minutes and then come back?”

“That sounds good. Thanks.”

A silence stretched, and he realised Justin must be waiting for him to start. “It’s Yuuri. How are you?”

Another long pause, and then, “I’m locked in this flat. How are _you_?”

“Phichit says you’ve…altered your appearance.”

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” There was a little huff.

“What do you think of it there? Have you…have you changed your mind about anything since we last spoke?”

Another pause. “You’re quite transparent, you know, my dear sir. If you’re hoping I’ll assuage your feelings of guilt for what you’ve done, it won’t be that easy.”

“I explained to you why I did it,” Yuuri replied. “I wasn’t to know I’d change places with you in particular. But Ailis has to be stopped, Justin. She already gave most of the castle the plague, and Julius and I were able to…to fix it. If she tries anything else – ”

“What?” Justin sounded genuinely shocked. “Repeat that; I mustn’t have heard you correctly.”

Yuuri did, and he told Justin the story of the tainted wine, meeting Ailis in the cottage, Julia firing the arrow, and obtaining the cure and distributing it. He kept to brief facts, knowing they didn’t have much time to talk. Justin was silent until he finished.

“If I didn’t know better, I would call you the most villainous liar who’d ever been born,” he eventually said. “But I know something of the cause of disease, and they’ve given me an injection. These nanobots are floating in my blood now, they say, helping my body to fight infection.”

“That’s good. And yes, that’s what I poured into the wine. Though I also went around with an injector and used that on people. I had to be careful about it so that Ailis didn’t know. If she finds out I’m pretending to be you, she won’t hesitate to kill me.”

Another long pause. “I can tell you how I would have replied to that when we spoke last. I would have said I hoped that God Almighty would guide her in smiting you down.”

“What would you say now?”

Justin sighed. “That perhaps you and that squidling archer have performed a noble deed, loath as I am to say it. I saw the Nikiforovs and their entire estate as enemies and would not have shed a tear at their demise. But spending time in this place, it causes one to think, when one has never put aside much time to do so before. And to talk. Your Dr. Fay, for example. She’s persevered, despite the less than flattering words I’ve used with her. A patient woman. And knowledgeable – though not as much of an expert in what she calls the Middle Ages as she believed.” He laughed. “I’ve been putting her right, and she’s always keen to hear more.”

Yuuri listened in quiet astonishment, struggling at the same time to follow the tangled direction of Justin’s thoughts.

“I’ve learned a great deal about my time, and yours, and how the world works,” Justin continued. “If your friends here at this university had been more forthcoming initially, we might have achieved more of an understanding.”

_It would also have helped if you hadn’t been quite so aggressive. _“That’s good to hear,” Yuuri said aloud.

“I’m pleased you lifted the scourge of plague from the castle. No one deserves to die that way. I have little sympathy for the baron or his ilk, but there are many innocent parties who would have been struck down.” He huffed again. “They must have been greatly astounded that a cure had been discovered where none had existed.”

Yuuri gave a small laugh. “They decided it couldn’t have been the plague they’d caught. But they also think the wine that cured them was left by a physician from York called Lord Cecil Lyons – ”

“What? That pompous ignoramus? Oh how very amusing. Good show.”

_If I ever get to speak to Dr. Fay again, I’m going to thank her from the bottom of my heart, _Yuuri decided. _She seems to have tamed this tiger somehow. _“You seem to be…more content there than you were.”

“As I told you, the fact that you forced me out of my own life and took it for yourself is not going to change. But be that as it may, now that I’m getting a proper taste of this place, it’s growing on me. I’ve been spending most of my days at the living history museum, pretending to be a worker pretending to be someone from the Middle Ages. They find me very convincing, would you believe? There’s a weapons expert there who is fascinated by everything I tell him. He’s one of the few who know who I truly am. It’s meant to be a big secret. If I weren’t in the company of this tedious guard with a laser gun the whole time I’m out of the flat, I might even be able to say I was content, in a manner of speaking.”

“It’s for your own protection as well as theirs. If you tried to run away, you could get lost, or hurt. And, well, I’ve been told you tried to attack people.”

“Wouldn’t you do so yourself, if you’d suddenly been taken from everything you’d known and put down in some strange place, as if the very hand of God had moved you in a giant chess game? I was eager to express my displeasure. I’m a captive, after all.”

Yuuri decided it was time to put the questions to him that he’d been formulating for a while, though he could guess what he’d say. “So if it ended up being possible for you and me to swap places again, would you say no and stay where you are, or would you rather be a knight of the Nikiforovs?” And the third option, the one he hadn’t wanted to suggest, because that was the one Justin would want. “It’s possible, though, that the baron would let you return to the Courtenays’ castle. They’re vassals now, in a sense, but they’ve been allowed to keep what they had, in the Nikiforovs’ name.”

“In other words, my family has been emasculated. If I returned, my dear sir, it would be difficult not to give in to the desire to see the baron’s head on a platter. But that would mean fighting his son again, and as you must have realised by now, he’s no ordinary knight.”

“No, he’s not.”

Another pause, and then Justin said more quietly, “There’s little affection between myself and my own family. I’d been dreaming about becoming a knight errant and seeking my fortune and happiness elsewhere. In bondage to the Nikiforovs, that will never happen. What is it like, taking orders from the man who wanted to kill you?”

“Um…”

“How utterly humbling. No, my good sir, I would not care to be in your position. And I believe I’ve made my feelings clear about what’s been done to me here. I heard what they said about how I’m violent, how I need help, poor Justin. As if I weren’t in control of my own actions. I can be as peaceful as a dove if it pleases me. I’m tempted to say that I’d prefer to remain here, apart from the fact that I’m no longer treated like a baron’s son, which has been a rather shocking adjustment to – ”

“You would?” Yuuri blurted.

After a moment, Justin replied, “You’ve had experience of my time. Which would you prefer? Bathrooms with toilets, bidets, sinks, showers; machines that satisfy your every whim; the Cloud at your fingertips; flying vehicles…or stinking pits full of human filth; disease-ridden food and drink prepared by people with no concept of hygiene; candlelight to illuminate your evenings and messengers to keep you in contact with the rest of the small known world; wars and death which will find you, as a knight, even if you don’t ride to seek them out yourself? You really must think I’m mad.”

“I…” Yuuri’s head was in a whirl.

“Not to mention the bewildering varieties of food and drink. I’m quite partial to chicken tikka masala. As for music? Wagner, Candy Yao, and The Cloud Surfers. I’m sure there’s much more yet to discover.”

Yuuri took all this in, then burst out laughing, and heard Justin chuckle as well. It was absurd, but he wanted to cry at the same time. Because this was what he was choosing to leave behind, at the same time as Justin was learning about it.

“What really impressed me, however, was this game you call Immersion.”

Yuuri sat up straighter. “Have you tried it?”

“Indeed I have. It’s installed in this flat. I usually play it while I’m here, if I’m not reading or watching something on the Cloud. It’s incredibly compelling. I’ve visited times in your past that are in my future, in areas all over the planet, many of which I never knew existed. You can have any kind of life you want. Fight battles without dying. Explore worlds both real and imagined. I played a game that claims to be set in my time, with magic and fantastical creatures. It was difficult to do what I was supposed to because I hardly stopped laughing. I was killed several times. Jolly good fun.”

“I can imagine,” Yuuri said quietly.

“I’m still rather picked, as they say here, with your friends, I’m afraid. And these irritating guards. I have my pride and reputation to consider, and I want to be sure they understand that I’m aware of the fact that I’m essentially a prisoner. Between you and me, however, I’m not in any hurry to leave. It’s something of an adventure, being here.”

“I…I’m glad.”

“Which means you’d better win this duel with Sir Tyler Beaumont. Careless of you to have got tangled up with him. Your man Phichit mentioned it, just in case you snuffed it and I was pulled back to my own time. He thought I ought to have fair warning.”

“Hey, Yuuri,” came Phichit’s voice as if from a distance. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course you’ll win. I just thought I ought to tell him.”

“How long have you been skulking about over there?” Justin asked.

“I just came back. It’s been ten minutes. But I can go again if you want.”

“Please don’t bother,” Justin sighed. “I don’t believe there’s much else to be said. Unless Yuuri would like some tips on how to defeat Tyler. Are they offering you any training there? You’re their knight, after all.”

“They are, actually. Victor’s been working with me.”

Justin huffed a laugh. “Called a truce, have you?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, he’s a very accomplished knight, but that says nothing about what kind of trainer he’ll be. If you want any advice, you should return and speak to me. I ought to review these things myself before I forget them. It seems longsword fighting is an old and forgotten art here.”

“In many ways that’s not a bad thing,” Phichit hastened to say. He spoke with Justin for a moment longer, asking if there was anything else he needed, though he insisted he was fine. They all said their goodbyes, and Phichit kept Yuuri on the com as he walked out of the building. “Actually,” he said, “I heard the whole end of that conversation you were having. I had no idea he was starting to like it here that much.”

“Maybe he’s been trying to save face after everything that’s happened to him. He really enjoys spending time with Dr. Fay, from the sound of it. He mentioned a weapons expert at the living history museum, too. And I don’t think he envies the life I have here. I didn’t mention that I’ve got certain privileges now because of Victor, and he doesn’t know we’re in a relationship. He’d probably start his threats all over again if he found out.”

“I get that. It’s up to you what you tell him. I only told him about Tyler because…well, because – ”

“Because he needs to be prepared to come back if I’m killed. I know.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do to stop the duel from going ahead?”

“Tyler’s out for my blood, so he’s not going to change his mind. Victor said he’d fight the duel for me, but I can’t let that happen. If he lost, well…” He swallowed. “And if he won, I’d still be in disgrace, because he will have fought in my stead.”

“But you’ve got a gun now. Can’t you secretly stun him or something?”

“You’ve never used a gun, have you? There’s nothing you can secretly do with one; it makes a light and a noise no matter what. Phichit, Victor’s been training me for months. I’ve got to make it all work for me and…and kill Tyler.” His throat hitched.

“Shit, Yuuri.”

“It’s got me thinking, especially while Victor’s been away.” He decided his rear was getting sore from sitting on the floor, despite the cushioning of the rug, and went to pour himself a drink, then sat down in the easy chair near the fire.

“I’m just gonna walk home now and talk while I’m going. What’s the weather like there? It’s been warm here but not too bad. They wouldn’t let it get hot unless there was some massive heatwave trying to break through, anyway. But you’re outside all the time without climate control. It must take some getting used to.”

“Bit uncomfortable in armour when it’s hot, though it’s pouring out there right now. It got hard sometimes in the winter too, but it’s easier to warm up than cool down. There are a few lakes and pools that are good for swimming, though.” He took a long drink from his cup. “Phichit, when I said I’d been thinking…well, just how long are you prepared to make sure Justin is looked after there?”

After a pause, Phichit said, “As long as we need to. He’s obviously starting to calm down now. Why?”

Yuuri took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was planning to say. “Because, assuming for now that I survive the duel, I want to stay here. Permanently.”

A very long pause this time. Then, “You…_want _to stay there?”

“I might not have any choice in the matter anyway, if Ailis can’t repair the devices – ”

“So you’re saying that if she can, you still wouldn’t come back? Not even to bring her with you?” Phichit’s voice shot upward in alarm on the last few words.

“That’s right,” Yuuri said quietly, staring into the fire. “I’ll either find a way to send her back to the future on her own, or I’ll deal with her here somehow. And as far as the real Justin’s concerned…I don’t think he’d be too disappointed if he never came back here, from the sound of it. I can’t say it’s an ideal set of circumstances, but talking to him tonight was the last thing I needed to make my mind up.”

Another pause. “This is about Victor, isn’t it? You miss him because he’s been away all week. Maybe you should give yourself some time to think it over.”

“I _have _had time to think it over,” Yuuri said with conviction. “I’ve been thinking about it for months. This isn’t some desperate attempt at cheering myself up. If Justin’s all right to stay there, then I’m staying here.”

“Jesus, Yuuri, OK. Um, do you mind me seeing if I can get Celestino? I think he’d want to talk to you about this.”

“Sure,” Yuuri replied, knowing it was something he’d inevitably have to do anyway. He waited, listening to clicking sounds as Phichit moved pieces of kit around and then talked via a connection with Celestino. Once Yuuri could speak to him, he repeated what he’d told Phichit. The professor took a minute to digest it.

“You realise this will make things more complicated with both Ailis and Justin?” he eventually said.

“We’ve been assuming all this time that Ailis will have a way to get us back to our own time, which she’s said herself isn’t very likely,” Yuuri replied. “But in the event that she does – ”

“No one would be there to escort her. She might end up anywhere, and be free to start her experiments all over again somewhere else.”

“How do we know that two people, each with a separate time-travel sphere, will end up in the exact same place at the exact same time anyway? All we seem to have to work with are assumptions. I don’t think she’s invented a multi-person device yet; she was just testing the individual one to see if it worked when she came here.”

“In which case, I think you ought to seriously consider the possibility that it would be easier, and better all round, to shoot her.”

Yuuri’s breath caught. “You’re telling me to become an assassin.”

“You knew from the start it might come to that.”

“Maybe she can be rehabilitated.”

“Do you think so? And by you alone?”

“I don’t know.”

“I believe you’re being optimistic to the point of foolhardiness if you’re going to persist in that belief. I’m sorry to be blunt, Yuuri, but if this is your decision, then it’s important to examine the consequences.”

_Do you think I don’t realise that? _“Fine. And I also had an interesting conversation with Justin just now.” He quickly explained.

“Hm. Did he tell you in so many words that he wanted you to stay there?”

“No, but – ”

“It seems to me, Yuuri, that you’re attempting to twist the morality of these things to suit you. You’re unwilling to kill Ailis because it’s wrong, but you want to remain in Justin’s borrowed life in order to be with Victor.”

“Or maybe I’m just trying to see how this can all work,” Yuuri said with some heat. “I didn’t say I wasn’t willing to kill Ailis. I’m a knight, Professor. If I’m willing and able to kill someone with my sword, then I can do it with a laser gun – it’s just not something I take lightly. And all this time, I was struggling with the fact that I thought Justin was extremely unhappy there with you. But it turns out he quite likes it now, even if he’s still putting on a show of bluster. He’s not close to his family here, he has no friends, he hates the Nikiforovs. He was going to go off wandering anyway. He’s been introduced to tech he likes there, and he told me I shouldn’t be in any hurry to leave. Well, I’m not. I don’t see a problem.”

After a while, Celestino said, “Presumably you realise the dangers you face there; you and Victor, the knights and squires – you could all be killed in battle.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But Yuuri,” Phichit jumped in, “Victor’s due to die in your year. That means you’ve only got a maximum of about six months to be together, unless you can find some way to change it. If you can’t, then do you really, I mean seriously, want to spend the rest of your life in that place, for the sake of so short a time? Is anyone, no matter how wonderful they are, worth that?”

“Even if I can’t change his death date, then yes,” Yuuri answered without hesitation. He’d been completely honest; these thoughts _had _been rattling around in his head for months. _Carpe diem _– they weren’t idle words, but a philosophy. The love he felt for Victor would blaze now, and even if it could only exist for a short while, its afterglow would linger for a lifetime. Yes, he was prepared for that.

When he was met with silence, he added, “That’s all anyone can ever do, isn’t it – take what actions they think are best at the time, and make the most of what they have?”

“I wish there was some way I could persuade you to change your mind,” Celestino said. “Remember how Helen died. There are pathogens in your time that the nanobots won’t protect against. If you were injured or had an accident, there are no medi-bots to make you whole and well. A knight is likely to live a brutal life, even if the country isn’t at all-out war. If any of Ailis’s tech fails, and you can’t repair it, you’ll be cut off from us; you may no longer be able to take on Justin’s appearance – ”

“Professor, you’re not telling me anything I wasn’t already aware of.” He took a breath, willing himself to remain calm. “Could I have a private word with Phichit, please?”

Celestino obliged, and once he’d left the conversation, Phichit said, “It seems like a lot to sacrifice even for Victor. Jeez, Yuuri, I’d hate to think of you living the rest of your life there.”

“Other people do it. I’ll manage.”

“You must really love him.”

“With all my heart.” Yuuri’s voice wavered, and he blinked back a tear.

“I’m never going to see you again, am I? I mean I knew that was a possibility anyway, but…shit.”

“Yeah. But we can still talk. You’ve been juke.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri heard a sniff. “This is weird; it feels like you’re on your deathbed or something. Like you’re gone, but you’re not.”

“I think I know what you mean. You, Celestino, the university, my flat, all of it…” Yuuri bit his lip. That was no longer his time. His home was here. It would take some getting used to.

“We’ll hold your flat and your things for you for a while yet, though, OK? There’s no harm in it.”

“That’s fine.”

“Would you like me to arrange for you to talk to Mari? I’m sure Celestino would allow it under the circumstances. We’d just need to find a way to get her on a good clear connection over the com. I guess she’d be at her spa, wouldn’t she?”

_Mari. _With a deep stab of guilt, Yuuri realised he’d barely thought about her while he’d been here. “Could you look into that, Phichit? It’d mean a lot to me.”

“Of course. Just give me a little time and I’ll get back to you.”

It was later, when Yuuri’s eyelids were drooping while he was sitting at the table and trying to make sense of _The Lover’s Confession _by John Gower with his translator turned off, that his com informed him of a call.

“Hey, Yuuri,” Phichit said in the same sombre voice he’d been using earlier. “I thought you’d like to know that Celestino gave me permission to contact Mari. I got through to her, but I didn’t tell her anything much apart from that you wanted to talk, and that I could sort it. She, um, wanted to know why she hasn’t heard anything from you all this time in that case, but I said you were busy on your top-secret mission.”

Yuuri blew out a breath. “Jesus, Phichit, she’s going to think I’ve up and joined MI8 or something.”

“Well, she’s been worried, and – ”

“She should’ve been told the truth by now. I guess I should be saying that to Celestino, but…”

“Do you think she’d believe it?”

Yuuri rested his elbow on the table next to the book and rubbed his forehead. He’d been straining his eyes with all the text. What if he eventually no longer had perfect vision? No eye surgery in 1393, and did glasses even exist? Well, he’d have to get used to little anxious thoughts like that popping into his head, he supposed. “Let me talk to her.”

“How about, with your permission, Celestino explains the time-travel stuff to her first? Then she’ll know you’re not, um, losing your mind or anything.”

Yuuri considered this. It wasn’t a bad idea. Celestino would have some authority when he spoke to Mari; she was likely to take him more seriously. Even so, though, how would she react when she was told her brother was a time-traveller? If the tables had been turned, he felt sure he’d take some convincing himself.

He agreed to Phichit’s suggestion nevertheless, and they chatted for a while longer before saying good night. Pouring himself another drink, Yuuri listened to the quiet crackles from the dying flames in the fireplace. The room felt empty without Victor here. Somehow it felt emptier still, now that a distance had opened between himself and everyone he knew in 2121. Phichit, Mari…he’d never see either of them again, and his heart lurched at the thought. If only his sister could be here, and see this place, and meet Victor.

Why hadn’t he insisted she be told the truth from the start? He could’ve done it himself, Celestino’s opinion about it be damned. It would’ve saved her worrying all this time. Maybe Phichit would even have been able to put her through to talk with him now and then. Yuuri knew she wouldn’t have revealed confidential information to anyone.

_Because I thought I’d either catch Ailis or die a lot sooner than this, that’s why. Plus, Celestino’s too caught up with this “mission” nonsense. He has no clue what it’s like to live here and go through these things. And Mari’s the only family I have._

He thought about how Victor had lost Alexander. Mari was still alive, and Yuuri knew he was lucky to have her. They’d supported each other after _Okasan _and _Otousan _had died. She’d dealt with the shit he’d got up to when his Immersion problem was at its worst. Had listened sympathetically when he’d cried on her shoulder about how lonely he was, and how he was sure he’d never find a boyfriend. He felt ashamed, now, of having kept her in the dark about his whereabouts all this time.

_I wonder if you’ll even believe Celestino, _he thought as he closed _The Lover’s Confession _and blew out the candle. _And I’m sorry I never said a proper goodbye. You deserve better._

Did it count enough for a person to be added to a butsudan if you were only permanently separated from them? Maybe he ought to make one eventually, since he was going to be staying here, and symbolise his family on it somehow. Though if Mari knew, he could imagine what she’d say, and it made him huff a laugh. 

_I’m not dead, you little shit._


	101. Chapter 101

_Property law again. I should be an expert in this by now. So why have I read the same paragraph three times and not taken any meaning from it?_

Victor placed the quill in the ink pot and rubbed his eyes. The text was cramped and difficult to read by the light of a candle. Two full days of discussions had yielded few tangible results, but a great deal of paperwork. It wasn’t the main reason he was here, anyway; that was to give Crowood Castle a presence, solidifying friendships with allies in the northern lands and attempting to keep the king’s powers in check. Allies they might be, but Victor considered none of them to be true friends; they were too caught up in political games to dare to be genuine.

He sat back in his chair and picked up his goblet, took a sip, then cupped it between his hands, idly running a finger along the faceted jewels. This trinket was for show, too, as were so many other things here; he’d brought it with him to a late supper, then taken it back to his tent with him, still containing the remains of the dinner wine. _The might and wealth of the Nikiforovs. Court our allegiance if you believe you stand a chance. Challenge us at your peril. _That was the attitude his father had taught him to exude. Victor wasn’t confident he’d done well here in that respect, and he was weary with the effort.

Here in his tent, he was afforded more privacy than he might have had inside the castle. The spare rooms had been taken by the king and his senior advisers, as well as the greater nobles. As the son of a baron, Victor hadn’t qualified. The fact didn’t upset him, even if Matt had protested on his behalf. There were many other tents around them; it wasn’t as if they’d been singled out for pejorative treatment.

Deciding to take a rest from his reading, Victor reviewed his meetings over the course of the day. Some had been formally scheduled, while a few had been hastily arranged by Matt or himself. Then there were the seemingly informal conversations as he’d drifted between tables, tents and castle rooms while food and drink and entertainment were laid on. The premier event of the two days had been an audience with the king, attended by all of the nobles staying at the castle; but much had taken place besides.

Julia was an enthusiastic squire, remaining at his side throughout. But her place here was to perform the duties of a servant; and she was young. They had gone riding together today, for a moment’s peace and reflection, before the weather had taken a turn for the worse. And this, the evening before their departure, Victor had allowed her to spend in the tent of her father the Baron de Montfort and her brother Luke; she hadn’t seen them in over a year, and Victor knew she missed them.

The one person he himself missed like his life he’d had to leave behind at the castle. _Yuuri, I could have done with your support here, just like in York. I might even have enjoyed some of this moot in your presence. We’d sit here in the tent and go over our moves in the great game, laughing about our successes and deciding whether our failures were anything worth worrying about._

He shook his head, gripping the goblet and staring down at the mouthful of wine inside, black in the shadows of night. _Why am I even thinking such things? He’s a time-traveller with no interest in the petty English politics of so many years in his past._

_Or perhaps I’m doing him an injustice. He and Phichit must have conducted a great deal of stultifyingly dull research for the meeting with the duke and the archbishop._

Once, not long ago, this would have been his world – what he was born into and expecting to inherit, for better or for worse. All this thoughts and energies would have been bent to his tasks, not because he enjoyed the scheming but because he’d taken it on as his duty to his family, the castle and the estate. But Yuuri had opened whole new vistas for him –different ways of living, of being; places where peace and compassion existed in abundance –and offered the love of an extraordinary man who Victor had come to rely on and trust in ways he would never have thought possible.

_Perhaps I should have said to hell with my father’s orders and taken him along with me. But Andrei still has the ultimate authority, and openly defying him in such a way could make things difficult. Yuuri also needs to continue to train, albeit without me. That’s hard to bear. It feels like I’m letting him down._

“My lord,” Matt said as he entered through the tent flap, all crimson robes and official dignity, with scrolls tucked under his arm. 

“More?” Victor sighed, eyeing them. “Very well,” he said, shoving the property laws aside, “put them on the table.”

“These are most urgent, I’m afraid, and need a signature now. Then I’m to take them to the Earl of Lincoln in the castle. Matters about which the king was petitioned this afternoon, including – ”

“It’s all right,” Victor said, raising a hand, “I’m aware of what they are. Thank you.”

“I also have some personal correspondence you requested to be drafted today, which will need your seal as well as your signature.”

“Quick and efficient work by our clerks, then.”

“Yes, my lord, they’re very good.”

Victor unrolled the first scroll, wishing not for the first time that he felt it possible to take Matt more deeply into his confidence. Or to simply have a drink and a laugh with him. He was intelligent, responsible, capable…but hard to know. Whether it was because their personalities didn’t jibe, or their respective roles, Victor had never been sure.

He began to read. It was a series of concessions the nobles were attempting to force from the king regarding his military power in Cheshire. If he signed this, it might go ill with the king when he visited in such a short time, while if he didn’t, he risked offending his family’s allies.

There were enough signatures on it already for his own not to stand out, he decided as he signed and blew on the ink. Matt took the vellum back and carefully rolled it. “Sir, the Earl of Doncaster bade me tell you he’d like a word with you in private,” he said as Victor picked up the next scroll. The apologetic look on his face indicated that he understood how Victor felt about this, but was obliged to pass the message on.

“Absolutely not. Tell him I’m indisposed. A bit of indigestion. Anything.”

“If I may, I’d say that’s wise of you, my lord. You needn’t strive to avoid him much longer, as we’ll be leaving early tomorrow.”

Victor nodded as he perused the scroll. A petition for the king to cease military operations in Ireland. A signature here wasn’t a difficult decision to make; they were expensive and unpopular. But he took his time reading, as his thoughts were drawn by the earl’s unwelcome attentions.

As rushed as he’d been to leave the castle, it had only occurred to him on the ride here that the history between the two of them, as little as there was, might be a problem. They’d shared a bed a few times, years back, before Philip had become the earl. But he’d been married for five years now and had three children.

_I should’ve realised that wouldn’t stop him, especially since there are rumours of his mistresses; and if I cared to look into it more deeply, I’m sure male paramours would exist as well. _

It hadn’t taken long after Victor’s arrival at the moot for him to realise that the earl still desired him in that capacity, and he’d had to extract himself from a few precarious situations during this visit already. They’d required a great deal of tact, since it would be disastrous to make him an enemy. Fortunately, the worst comment Victor had received from him so far had been _Why Victor, anyone would think you were trying to avoid me. _And it had been said with a lighthearted air, because the fellow really couldn’t seem to comprehend why any man or woman wouldn’t fall at his feet in the hope of enjoying his favours.

_He’s pompous and selfish. What was I thinking all those years ago, sleeping with him in the first place? _Even Alex had been disdainful of it, and he’d been quite tolerant of Victor’s choices of partners on the whole. _Was I really so shallow as to be seduced by a pretty face? _

But no; he’d been lonely, that was the main thing. Lonely, and seeing an opportunity to avoid a quiet room and empty bed for yet another night. Plenty of people liked having friends stay with them; it had just got a little more physical sometimes in his case. As he’d been learning, however, there was often no _just _to it. Tyler, for example, and what his jealousy had led to. Now this situation with the earl. And besides, now that Victor knew what it was like to sleep with someone he truly loved, those other encounters were pale flames by comparison.

He signed the remaining scrolls, seeing no reason to withhold his signature from any of them, and then signed his personal letters, sealing them with a blob of dark red wax from Matt’s kit and pressing his signet ring in. “Does that conclude the business for the day?”

“I believe so, my lord,” Matt answered, gathering the scrolls back up. “I’ll give the earl a suitable excuse on your behalf, and then you should be able to enjoy – ”

But whatever Matt was wishing him the enjoyment of, it was going to be further delayed, Victor realised, as his mother’s head poked round the side of the tent flap.

“Victor, a word please.”

Matt bowed and bade them both good night, then left as Natalia stepped in. She was in full finery tonight, with a long ermine-trimmed blue gown scooped at the neck and tight in the bodice, covered with a matching ermine-trimmed decorative jacket, and a delicate livery collar of rounded jet and rubies at her throat. Her hair was plaited and coiled over each ear; a white net pinned in place with a silver circlet fell to her shoulders. Victor wondered why she was abroad at this hour, especially with no one escorting her; Ailis and the threat she posed were never far from his mind.

“Madam, shouldn’t your ladies be attending to you in your tent?”

“I’ve come to ask your permission to go to the dance in the great hall; it’s taking place right now, but I’ve only just heard. Hannah said I ought to see you about it first.”

Hannah was her chief lady’s maid. “She was right to say so. It would be considered unseemly for you to go without Andrei.” It would also be looked down upon that she was here at all while her husband was ailing at home, but that was her own business, he supposed. “I shared a tender farewell with your poor father, who I hope is on the mend, and came with his blessing,” she said, as if following his thoughts. “You can ask him yourself when we get back if you don’t believe me.”

Victor nodded. “Very well, but please mind how you conduct yourself, or word will get back to me; you know how people gossip.”

Her blue eyes glinted for a moment. “I haven’t lived the life of a noblewoman all these years without being aware of how to conduct myself. In fact, the only reason I’m here is presumably the same one as you – I’ve been making connections and strengthening ties with our allies. I was intending to do so during the dance; or did you think me such a ninny that all I wanted to do was flash my pretty jewels?”

Momentarily taken aback, Victor wondered how to respond. He’d never liked the role of being a woman’s keeper, which came about with his mother and other ladies of the castle on occasions when their husbands or fathers were absent. It was something Julia had admitted she was very glad to have avoided, though Victor had not pointed out to her that they nevertheless had a similar relationship as master and squire. His mother seemed to be determined to make the situation awkward tonight, even though he’d just given her permission to attend the dance.

“I don’t believe you’re lacking in intelligence, madam,” he replied. “But we both know Andrei is a more masterful politician than either of us, which makes it prudent to take care with these things, lest they unravel.”

To his surprise, she approached the table, her gaze intense. “What about you, Victor? The king is here – have you no interest in consorting with him? He’s almost your age. He plays favourites.” She paused and added more quietly, “With your looks, you could become one.”

Victor’s jaw dropped.

She gazed at him and then laughed. “Oh my word, you didn’t think I meant like _that_, did you?”

Slowly closing his mouth, Victor marshalled his thoughts. He’d never spoken with Natalia in a situation like this before, and realised he had no idea what to expect. She was known to possess a certain degree of cold calculation; it was suitable for her position. But he didn’t care for her insinuations, sexual or not.

“He could make you an earl or even a duke,” she pressed. “Does that not have a certain appeal?”

“Madam, I’m not yet a baron,” Victor replied, realising how much ambition she must have been harbouring over the years. It was even possible that she’d been the driving force behind his father’s desire to annex the lands of other nobles, using their son as the tool to do so. Suddenly Victor wanted nothing more than for her to depart from his tent.

“Don’t you think of the future sometimes?” she said. “The more powerful you became, the fewer enemies we’d have.”

He rested his head against his hands as he spoke, avoiding her stare. “You and Andrei both know why I avoid royalty. I could easily have joined competitions where the king or his relatives were in attendance, and most probably won. What then? The king insists I become one of his personal knights. I’d ride out into battles, and duel and joust for his amusement.”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s what knights do. Not slink about in a castle in the northern wastes, trying to avoid everyone.”

Victor’s heart missed a beat, and he looked across at her with a wrinkled brow. _I really was remiss in not trying harder to get to know her before now. Because I don’t like what I’m seeing at all, and that’s very disturbing. _

“If you’re suggesting I’m lacking in courage,” he said quietly, “you truly don’t know me. And I daresay my father prefers me to be alive so that I can continue to help him run the castle.”

“But you could be so much more. I think you know it, too.”

“That’s not my wish.”

“Promise me you’ll consider what I’ve said, at least. There’s the king’s visit yet to come. He’ll _expect _attention from you.”

Victor looked down. “Good night, madam.”

Silence fell, and then he heard the swish of robes and the soft hiss of canvas as the tent flap opened and closed. He obeyed a sudden instinctive desire to go to the flap and fasten a few of the ties, then went to sit down on the mattress on the floor, feeling his spirits sink.

_That was my mother. _The thought lingered in his mind, refusing to leave, like a bad smell in the air. But then, was his father any better? Victor _knew _him better, that was all. _Those are my parents, _he told himself instead. Irene, Alex and Yuuri seemed so very far away as he sat by himself in the quiet shadows.

_I carry them with me in my heart. They’ll never leave. _

He sat a while longer, listening to faint noises outside the tent. Voices calling to each other. Distant laughter. The clang of swords crossing. A horse snorting as it passed by. The wind was still up, even if the rain had ceased; it rippled against the canvas and made the candle on the table splutter.

_Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Victor. _

It took some courage to review the conversation he’d just had and digest the reality of it. He could hope that after the king’s visit, Natalia would finally be convinced that he harboured no ambitions himself, and so would never bring up the subject again. There was probably little she could do about it personally, though he’d noticed she seemed to have become friends with Queen Anne. During their stay here, he’d seen them embroidering together, and out riding. That was the best kind of ambition; the kind that harmed no one. But as for him becoming friends with the king – ? Victor was determined never to dive into such deep waters, most probably becoming entangled in Richard’s troubled relations with his uncle, John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster. Dukes were powerful people, best avoided in his opinion.

_I wonder how long my own views will be tolerated, though, before something is expected of me that conflicts with them. Again. _It was rather like being caught inside a vice, he thought, which might begin to close when he least expected it.

_I don’t want to live like this. And I don’t want it for Yuuri, either._

_What can I do?_

They’d spoken about it on numerous occasions, but no answers had presented themselves. For now, maybe he would simply have to keep the thought in his head and hope a fresh idea came to him. Though he knew if he wasn’t careful, a great deal of time could pass in that manner…until it was too late.

Standing, he went to the tent flap and untied it. One of the Crowood soldiers was keeping watch outside. “Hugh,” he said, “see if you can fetch me some hypocras, will you please?”

“Yes, my lord. I’m sure we brought some in our stores from the castle.” He hurried away, and Victor took his citole from its place on the floor near his chests, sitting back down in the chair near the desk with it on his lap. His fingers brushed idly against the strings, and then he plucked one and began to tune the instrument. It wasn’t long before Ingrid herself entered the tent, brown cloak wrapped around her, earthenware bottle in one hand. Remembering his words to Yuuri, Victor’s hand strayed to his purse, surreptitiously opening it in case he needed to withdraw the laser pen.

She smiled at him. “I always pack some of this for you, my lord,” she said, placing the bottle on the table and pulling the stopper. “Would you like me to pour?”

Victor nodded while he tuned another string. “Thank you, madam.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll be tracking your criminal down while you’re here,” she said with the hint of a laugh as she filled his goblet. “I’d like to say I hope it’s given you a rest from your labours, but no meeting like this provides that for anyone.”

“That’s very true.” 

“I’ve been busy sourcing good drink from this estate and its surroundings. There’s an order of Benedictines nearby who produce a most excellent brew – monks always make the best ale. This hypocras, however, is a gift for you from the butler’s own cellar here. He wishes you many happy returns.”

“If you see him again, please pass on my thanks.”

She bowed. “Enjoy, sir.” Then she exited the tent.

_Is she Ailis? She seems harmless._

Victor relaxed and took his hand away from his purse, picked up the goblet and sipped. A good, rich red wine with a variety of suitable spices, none of them overpowering. Just how he liked it. Swallowing and then taking another mouthful to savour, he finished tuning and then strummed, his thoughts straying back to his mother and father several times before he was able to steer them toward other matters.

_I wonder what Yuuri’s been doing. _

Being away from him like this, waking without him by his side on that narrow straw mattress, was nigh on unbearable. Victor felt his absence like a physical ache. Which was why he’d attempted to keep his mind on business. It was easier to achieve in the day than at night, however. But in the morning he’d begin the journey back to the castle, where his love would be waiting for him.

_If nothing’s happened to the real Justin in the future. If Ailis hasn’t caused more trouble while I’ve been away._

_Now who’s the one being anxious?_ he admonished himself. Neither of those things were likely…were they?

_I’m sure he’s been training hard all this time. Probably overdoing it despite the fact that I always tell him not to. Not eating enough._

Victor’s heart filled with warmth as he conjured the image of his love in his thoughts. The beauty and grace of him, his rosy cheeks, inviting lips; but most of all, his brown eyes filled with love. For him. Victor wanted to drown in them, right now. To hold him in his arms, wrapped up in him, listening to his breaths. He closed his eyes and imagined kissing him, then taking him to bed and making love to him. No submissiveness on his part this time; he’d show Yuuri how much he’d missed him, how precious he was, how loved and adored. Victor thought about it until his cheeks glowed, his blood raced, and his cock was tenting his braies. That would be easy to take care of, but he didn’t have the heart for it; he wanted to be with Yuuri in reality, not some shadowed reflection in his mind.

_I wish I had a com. Then we could talk any time, and I’d know he was safe._

_I’ll see you in two days, Yuuri my love._

He strummed at his citole, then plucked a tune and sang, taking a drop of comfort from the resonance of his voice as it floated and mingled with the music.

_Mon chéri, mon cuer en vous remaint,_  
_Comment que de vous me departe._  
_De fine amour qui en moy m’aint,_  
_Mon chéri, mon cuer en vous remaint._  
_Or pri Dieu que li vostres maint,_  
_Sans ce qu’en nulle autre amour parte._  
_Mon chéri, mon cuer en vous remaint,_  
_Comment que de vous me departe._

_Dearest, my heart remains in you_  
_However far I may be from you._  
_With true love which dwells in me,_  
_Dearest, my heart remains in you._  
_Now I pray God your heart may love me_  
_Without leaving me for any other love._  
_Dearest, my heart remains in you_  
_However far I may be from you._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor is playing “Dame, mon cuer vous remaint” on his citole, which sounds like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZhX4rBc7RA).
> 
> I’ve altered the lyrics so that they are about a man rather than a woman. You can find the original ones [ here](https://www.mtholyoke.edu/acad/medst/medieval_lyric/machaut/transcription.html).


	102. Chapter 102

“Back, foul creature of darkness!” Yuuri shouted, brandishing his sword and shield.

Wait – he didn’t use a shield. And were those the right words? They were supposed to be the beginning of a spell.

The black monster bared its yellow fangs at him; he beat them back with the flat of his sword.

_No, no, that’s not right either. I should be in a guard position, not just slashing at it. Window guard? Iron door? Shit, have I forgotten them? I’ve been practising them every day!_

The creature roared at him. He stabbed at it, but its hide was as thick as a leather breastplate.

_Victor would say that lacked finesse. What the hell’s happened to me? And what were the words to that bloody spell?_

_Lumos…fucking hell, that’s from a book. Um…_

A clawed paw slashed at him; he parried. Why was everything so hard to remember?

_Lux…lux in tenacious…tendere…tempest…_

“_Lux in tenebris!_” he shouted. A white light flashed and smote the creature, which collapsed to the ground in a ruined heap. Yuuri stared at it.

_“Arise, Sir Yuuri,” _came a ponderous voice from the sky, _“champion swordsman of England.” _

“Fuck,” he said, lowering his sword. “This is fucking _Swords and Sorcery. _But how –”

The body of the creature, which most certainly was dead – it had been flayed alive and incinerated – was moving; _that _wasn’t supposed to happen either. It stood and shed its skin like a wetsuit, and a human figure emerged.

A man in gleaming armour, levelling a sword at him. Tyler.

“Have at you,” Yuuri bit out, pointing his sword in return. _Guard, guard – get in a guard position!_

_What were they again – ?_

“Over my dead body,” Tyler said with a smirk. “Or, rather, over yours. How _nice _of you to attend your own slaughter today.”

He lunged at Yuuri, murder blazing in his eyes, sword aimed at the heart.

Yuuri looked down and realised he had no armour on. In fact, he had no clothes on at all.

It was the last thing he ever saw.

A beep sounded in his head.

He groaned, but it didn’t stop. Eventually he realised it was his com. Opening his eyes, he saw that the room was dark, apart from the candle he’d left alight on the table next to the bed.

“Yeah,” he said in a voice rough from sleep, answering the call. Then he realised it had saved him from a horrible nightmare. “Phichit, that you?”

“Hi, Yuuri, yeah. Sorry to wake you.”

“What time is it?” he asked, sitting up.

“Five past three.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Yuuri was instantly alert. “Has Justin – ”

“No, nothing like that. No emergencies. Uh, Mari wants to talk to you.”

Yuuri scratched his head and blinked. “She called you in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, she did. She said, ‘Get hold of that _baka _and tell him I want to talk to him _now_.’ So, um, I’ve got her ready to be put through if you want to – ”

“Yes, I do,” Yuuri replied straight away.

“OK. Here goes.”

“…Yuuri?” came the voice he knew well. It felt like he hadn’t heard it in years. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“Mari. Um, hi. God – ”

“Tell me – is it true? All those things Professor Celestino said? About…about time travel? Please tell me this is some prank. It _has _to be a prank.”

Yuuri paused to think.

“It isn’t? You’re fucking yanking my chain, bro.”

“He wasn’t lying,” Yuuri replied, wishing there had been a better way to start this conversation; it wasn’t the kind of reunion he’d been hoping for. “Did he explain why he wanted to keep my mission confidential?”

“He gave me some half-baked bullshit about the public not being ready to find out, yeah. But I’m your _sister_, Yuuri. You couldn’t even tell _me_?”

“You know what it’s like with agents. They can’t say anything to their families about what they’re doing.”

“What, so you’re a member of MI8 now, is that it?”

“I didn’t think I’d be gone this long. I thought…” He fell silent. Mari waited. “Well, I thought I’d either come back with Ailis, or…I’d be killed.”

“Bloody fucking Nora, Yuuri. Are you serious?”

“Celestino told you what Ailis has done, didn’t he? Someone has to try to stop her. Two people have already died. I’m the last chance they have.” He blinked the tears back again. “I’m risking my life here every day. It isn’t easy – ”

“And how easy do you think it is for me to suddenly hear about all this from some jack I’ve never met? It’s a lot to take in, you know? I’ve been thinking about it all night, and I couldn’t sleep, so finally I just decided fuck it, I’d give Phichit hell til he put me through to you – and you can have _that _on your conscience, because Phichit’s a nice jack, and you didn’t tell me you were going to fucking _travel in time _to the fucking _Middle Ages_. I still can’t believe I’m even fucking saying this.”

“I was almost killed the second I got here,” Yuuri jumped in to say. “Please, Mari…We didn’t want to worry you, either. There’s nothing you can do from where you are.”

“If my own little brother’s risking his life – if you could get killed, Yuuri – don’t you think I’d want to know about it?”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I should’ve insisted you were told.”

“Damn fucking right. That hurts, you know? That you just left me in the dark like that.”

Yuuri let out a shuddering breath. “Yeah. I really am sorry.” After a pause, he said, “I’m glad I’m talking to you now. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I had no idea where you were or what you were doing.”

“It takes some explaining. I hope Celestino did a good job. Do…you believe that I travelled in time?”

After a long silence, she replied quietly, “You’re telling me you did. In my book, that trumps all the technical crap the professor was spouting at me.”

Yuuri looked down, and tears fell onto the blanket. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Celestino said you’re a knight.”

“Yeah, would you believe it?”

“After all that Immersion stuff you did, then yeah, actually, I can.”

“Sometimes I wish this wasn’t any more real than that, apart from, well…” He sighed. “Can I start at the beginning?”

And so he did. Sitting with his back against the headboard, he mostly talked, and Mari mostly listened, until the sun had long risen and was shining through the window. He mentioned Victor’s part in everything as he went along, intending to say more about him after he’d given Mari a fuller explanation of what had been happening, but she was obviously impatient to hear more.

“Yuuri,” she interrupted, “just how keen are you on this jack, Victor?”

“Well, I love him.”

“Then why aren’t you properly telling me about him?”

Yuuri gave a little laugh and obliged. He described what Victor looked and sounded like. The things he could do with a sword. His responsibilities at the castle, and how he’d been acting as his trainer. The fact that he’d been away all week, and Yuuri was missing him like crazy. “He’s the most amazing person, Mari,” he said, knowing he was gushing now. “He’s kind, compassionate, intelligent, incredibly talented – ”

“You’re forgetting the most important thing – is he a good lay?” She gave a little snort.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he laughed, knowing she wasn’t being serious.

“What are the odds of you not even being around to introduce me to the man of your dreams when you meet him?” She paused. “Could I? Talk to him, sometime?”

“Sure, that’d be juke,” he said with a small smile, and then continued with his story. The plague. Everything they’ done so far to try to find Ailis. The king’s imminent arrival at the castle, and his certainty that Ailis was planning to make a move then.

“So this duel you’re supposed to fight – that’s for the king, is it?”

“Yeah, it’s um…part of the entertainment.”

“Fucking barbarians.”

“It’s what Victor’s been training me for. He did what he could to get it called off, but his father won’t do it, and Tyler won’t either, so…”

“It’s like a Christian in ancient Rome being fed to the fucking lions or something. I tell you, Yuuri, if I was there, I’d give this baron a piece of my mind. Then I’d ram Sir Bloody Tyler’s sword up his own arse. Are you allowed to do that in a duel?”

“I’d be happy to let you try,” he said with a little grin.

“I’d better be hearing from you in two weeks’ time, is all I can say. Because you’d better still be alive, you hear me?”

“Sure.” He paused, knowing there was one more important thing she needed to hear. She’d been bombarded with a great deal of information while they’d been talking, but it seemed better for her to find out now. “Mari, there’s something else I want to tell you. It’s the reason why Celestino agreed to let me talk with you and tell you all these things.”

A pause. “What?” she said quietly. “Jesus, Yuuri, as if this isn’t enough for me to try to wrap my head around for the next decade – what else is there?”

“I…” He bit his lip, then made himself say it. “I won’t be coming back. I’m sorry. It’s what I told Phichit and Celestino earlier.”

Another pause, and the quiet voice again. “What do you mean, you’re not coming back? What if Ailis can fix the time-travel devices you used?”

“Everyone seems to think that’s a realistic hope. I did too, for a while. I guess I didn’t want to face the possibility that I was trapped here. But the thing is, even if she _could _somehow repair the devices, I changed my mind. I’m staying here with Victor. I’m not leaving him.” He swallowed. “I could never do that.”

Mari fell silent. He waited for her to reply, but all he heard was a shuddering breath. “Mari…?” he ventured after a while; then he wondered if Phichit was there listening, too.

“God, Yuuri,” she said with a sob. “I don’t know how to handle all this right now. I find out you’ve travelled in time to bloody 1393, you’re chasing after this crazy scientist who wants to kill you, some other jack wants to kill you too, you’ve fallen in love, and you’d quite like to stay there forever with him? That – that’s it, in a nutshell?”

“Um…” She’d done a remarkably good job of summarising it all, he thought. “Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, his own tears threatening again. “If I’d known things were going to turn out like this, I swear I would’ve come to see you and explained it all and said a proper goodbye.” He sniffed. “I’m going to miss you. A-And Sharon. How is she – ”

“Christ, Yuuri, she’s fine. We run a fucking spa. What can I say.”

Silence stretched. Then he said, “We can talk like this. I’m sure Phichit can work out some kind of connection like he’s done tonight – this morning. I know it’s not the same – ”

“No, it’s not,” Mari said, and there were tears in her voice. “I can’t see you, I can’t touch you, give you a hug…”

“Mari – ”

“But you know what? It’s selfish of me. After all those times you told me you thought you’d never find someone, and how upset you were, you’ve got Victor now. He must be special if he’s got you wanting to…to stay there.”

“He is. But you’re not selfish. It’s me who should have said something to you at first, and I just went off on this mission, and I could’ve died and you wouldn’t have known until someone told you. I wish I could take it all back.”

More sniffles. “We’re a right bloody pair, then.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri whispered.

“Look, um…it’s really late, or early, whichever way you want to look at it. I take it that quarter to six in the morning in 2121 is quarter to six there in 1393?”

“I believe so, but I can make sure.” He got out of bed and padded into his room, where he checked his clock; he’d remembered to wind it twice every day so far. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“How do you know? Have you got a sundial in there or something? Or does this communication device tell the time?”

“I built a clock.”

“Built one?”

“Yeah. Kept me busy for a while.”

“My brother the tech genius,” she laughed, and then sniffed again.

“Hardly,” he said, climbing back into the warm bed.

“_Okasan _and _Otousan _would be proud of you.”

Yuuri rested a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes. Once he was able to compose himself, he said, “Maybe.”

“You’ve brave. I always thought so. No wonder you’re a knight.”

“It wasn’t brave of me to hide in Immersion.”

“You were young and scared. But you worked through it and ended up really trying, even though things were still hard for you. I knew they were, too, and I wished I could help more, but at the end of the day I’m just one person – ”

“You were amazing,” Yuuri said quietly. “You were taking care of me all that time, and there was no one to take care of you. I’m not sure I ever even said thank you.”

She sniffed again. “You didn’t need to. Family don’t need to say thanks. They just…they just love each other, you know?”

Yuuri’s face was wet with his own tears. “I’m saying it anyway.”

“OK.”

“We’ll stay in contact. I’ll make sure I get Victor on the com so you can meet him.”

“You’d better,” she said with a laugh. “I hope he’s treating you right. Showering you with gifts, you know, and taking you on dates – do they even have pubs and restaurants there?”

“They’re kind of built into the castle, I guess you could say. But yeah, he’s treating me right. He loves me.”

“Good. Right, well – Phichit, how does this bloody thing work, anyway? You there?”

“Um, yeah, I’m here. I was just across the room on the Cloud while you both…while you were talking.”

“Thanks, Phichit,” Yuuri said. “Mari, I’ll call you, or – ”

“I’ll call you, too. Phichit doesn’t mind being our grand central switchboard, do you?” she laughed. “Anyway, I can’t stay on all day. I’ve got a spa to run, remember?”

“Yeah. Bye, Mari. Talk soon.”

“_Mata ne_, bro.” There was a click.

“Yuuri, I promise I’ll put her through if she wants to talk,” Phichit said, “but I know you wanted to make sure it wasn’t likely to interrupt anything you were doing, in case it distracted you enough to give your identity away.”

“We’ll work it out.” He paused. “Thanks for doing that, Phichit.”

“I’m pretty sure I fell asleep for an hour there, so don’t worry about it. It sounds like she’s not as picked as she was.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I gave her a lot to think about.”

“I’m gonna try for another hour of sleep if it’s all the same to you. You OK?”

“Fine. Yeah, you do that. I’d better get up soon; they start the day early here at this time of year.”

“Cheers, then. Talk tonight.”

“Bye.”

Yuuri sat alone in the big bed, listening to the faint sound of cart wheels outside the window as deliveries were brought through the courtyard. “At least you’ll get to talk to Victor.” His voice sounded loud in the still of the morning. “I know he’ll like you.”

Why hadn’t he thought to bring anything with him from home? One or two items he could have slipped into his pocket. An aircam with photos saved. A piece of jewellery Mari had given him. Anything.

He had nothing to remember her by. Nothing at all. He could hear her voice, but her face would have to stay fixed in his mind somehow. It was already hard to imagine it exactly.

_And I just left like that, without a word. Like I hadn’t learned anything from what happened with _Okasan _and _Otousan_._ _It must feel to her like that’s what happens with everybody in the end._

_I hope it doesn’t happen to me, too._

Another tear slid down his cheek, and his heart was troubled as he fell into a doze. It was far too soon when Emil came knocking on the door to rouse him.


	103. Chapter 103

Apart from the lack of sleep, Yuuri found as the day went on that he felt better. He knew it was mainly because he’d spoken to Mari, even if it might take more conversations to smooth things over between them. She didn’t hold grudges. And there was so much to tell her about this place. About Victor.

Who would be home tomorrow, all being well. It would feel like the sun rising after a long night.

A night that had included more conversations in Russian with the baron during meals; Yuuri no longer had to instigate them, and wished at times that he hadn’t done so in the first place. Andrei, who had mostly recovered from his illness, seemed to have decided that Yuuri was a willing listener, even if he wasn’t much of one himself. When Yuuri mentioned he’d been to Rome, the baron told him all about his trip there, saying little about Victor or anyone else apart from the nobles he’d hobnobbed with. There were other stories about nobles as well – those he personally knew, what their castles were like in comparison to his own, how he’d outwitted or outmanoeuvred them.

When he did mention his son, instead of telling interesting or amusing stories about Victor’s past, he revealed disturbing things that Yuuri wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. The man seemed to think he’d be impressed by Victor’s prowess in duels. While he was describing how Victor had killed some of his foes, Yuuri wanted to clap his hands to his ears. It had been bad for the vanquished, losing their lives, of course, but he felt he had enough insight into Victor to know how those actions must have wounded him as well. Yet his own father could sit there and boast like that about what he’d made his son do.

_I’m going to have to do the same thing, though, aren’t I?_ he’d thought as he waited for the meal to end, no longer able to eat._ To Tyler._

On another occasion, the baron came closer than he’d done so far in acknowledging the relationship Yuuri had with his son. “At least you’re not a limp-wristed milksop like Stephen, the Baron of Taunton’s boy,” he’d said. “Why Victor wanted to take up with him, I’ll never know.” Yuuri’s only reply had been a blush.

And today at dinner, Andrei talked up the duel with Tyler, obviously assuming Yuuri was looking forward to it.

“I know you’ll do better this time than you did against Victor last year,” he said. “I’ve seen you on the training field. In fact, I’ve made certain that you’ve had plenty of time there this week; I told Abelard to limit your patrols around the castle. You seem to have some determination about you.” He gave Yuuri a solid clap on the back at this point. “Live or die like a true knight of Crowood, my good Stanebeck. Give the king a good show.”

Yuuri had meant well in trying to break the ice between the two of them, because the baron could still order him away from the castle, or at the very least back to the knights’ table for meals. Smooth relations with the parents of the man he loved didn’t hurt, either. But he felt sorry for Victor having to put up with this man at his side, meal after meal. They were usually only separated if noble guests were visiting.

Glad to leave the great hall when dinner was over, Yuuri went to spar with Abelard; Emil had been put on patrol, but with Roland this time. When Abelard called a halt to things – he said he had other fighting men he needed to work with, though Yuuri thought he didn’t much like being beaten six rounds to two, either – a good portion of the day still remained. He went on a run and returned with the idea of taking advantage of the absence of so many castle personnel, like he should’ve done before now, by exploring and seeing if he could uncover any clues to who Ailis was or what she was planning. He wasn’t certain _what _he was searching for exactly, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to look.

Returning to his room, he removed his armour and put on his hooded cloak; he’d be less recognisable like this, and less likely to attract attention.

_I wonder where Ailis might have set up a new lab._

She’d already cultured _Yersinia pestis_. Yuuri wanted to believe that meant she had no further need for a lab, but he doubted it. Perhaps she wanted to culture more, or do something else. She’d want a workshop, he felt sure, and possibly a place of her own to go for occasional privacy, if she wasn’t one of the lucky few at the castle who had a room to herself. He didn’t want to think of it as a hideout as such, because that made it seem ridiculously cloak-and-dagger. But in essence that was what it would be.

He decided to return to the stable to saddle up Blaze for a change, who he was aware had been rather neglected while he’d been focusing on swordfighting and allowing the jousting to fall to the wayside for now. It wasn’t the first time he’d ridden out to random areas around the castle, hoping he’d get lucky enough to spy something like the first cottage Ailis had brought him to, and he didn’t know if it would ever lead to anything. But it was worth trying, and it was a pleasant day for a ride around the countryside.

A warm breeze blew, and thick banks of white cloud obscured the sun as Yuuri found a small path into the woods that he was unfamiliar with. Guiding Blaze along it, they entered the shadows of the trees. Arising from the cover of leaves and vegetation from time to time were the crumbling husks of what must once have been small stone cottages. They might be from any era, as decayed as they were, but one thing Yuuri was certain of was that none of them were suitable for a lab.

On a hill overlooking more trees and distant fields, he discovered the ruins of a church, old even by the standards of this time. He supposed it must be Saxon in origin, though he didn’t know enough about architecture to be able to tell for sure. The crumbling walls, most of them standing no taller than himself, were of light grey lichen-covered stone, nondescript on the outside. One window remained – small and narrow, divided in two, with curved arches above each part; quite different from the large ones with points at the top that he was used to seeing in cathedrals.

Dismounting and stepping inside, Yuuri discovered that the floor had once been covered with ceramic tiles, many of them now cracked or buried, with tall weeds growing between them. A frieze ran along the side of one wall, though having been exposed to the elements, it was difficult to discern what it showed. Saints and strange fantastical creatures of the type that appeared in illuminated manuscripts, at a guess. Celtic knotwork crosses were easier to identify. The baptismal font was still here: a heavy-looking stone sculpture with weathered depictions on its sides that most resembled severed heads being pulled out of wells. _Strange ideas Christians had all those years back, _he thought, and wondered again just how old this place was. Archaeologists from 2121 would no doubt love to have a closer look at it. But to him it was just a curiosity, and an eerie one at that. Clearly no one had used this building, or what was left of it, for a long time.

Mounting Blaze again, he explored the woods a little further without discovering anything, and turned on the path to head back for supper at the castle. Somewhat disappointed, but knowing that stumbling across Ailis’s lab would be sheer serendipitous luck anyway, he tried to relax and enjoy the ride, listening to the scurrying of creatures of different sizes in the undergrowth, spotting a stag, tuning in to the different kinds of bird calls. The clouds thickened, and the shadows among the trees deepened; and Yuuri decided he’d be happy to come out in the clear near the castle.

“Hey, boy, I think we should be there soon,” he said aloud, giving Blaze’s neck a stroke. His voice seemed to fall softly on the quiet floor.

A movement to the side caught his eye. Yuuri turned his head, expecting to see another deer – and felt a stab of shock as he watched a Roman soldier walk through the woods some way off, holding a shortsword and a tall rectangular shield as if approaching an enemy in battle. There was no telling where he’d emerged from, or where he was so intent on going; there was nothing off in that direction that Yuuri could see, apart from more woods.

_What the fuck. _Yuuri’s lips formed the words, but no sound left him. The same was the case with the soldier; his sandalled feet ought to be shushing through the leaves, but the area was preternaturally quiet. 

Shaking himself out of his paralysis, Yuuri shouted, “Hey!” When the man made no acknowledgement that he’d heard, Yuuri called again, with the same result. He leapt off Blaze and jogged into the dense woods, the segmented plate armour and helmet of the soldier clearly visible. But before he got far, he halted. He could see the trees _through _the armour…and soon the vision had faded to nothing, and Yuuri was again alone in the gloom.

He ran to the spot where he’d last seen the man and looked around, but there was no indication anyone had been there, not even any footsteps or disruption in the cover on the ground. Returning to Blaze, he vaulted up and circled the area, eyes raking the surroundings for any indication of where the soldier had come from or what he’d been doing. But it was as if he’d never been there. Maybe he hadn’t.

_Did I just see a ghost?_

It wasn’t unheard of for people to report sightings, even communication, with the dead. But Romans…? Yuuri was familiar with the twentieth-century ghost story about the cellar of the Treasurer’s House in York, where a weary legion had been seen returning from a long march, apparently sunk into the ground up to their knees as they walked, though they were at the correct height for the length of old Roman road that ran underneath. However, most reports of ghost sightings tended to involve much more recent eras. The Romans had left Britain at a time distant even from this date, a thousand years earlier.

“I don’t know what the hell that was,” he said to Blaze. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been awake since three this morning.” Yuuri rubbed at his eyes and urged his horse along, and nothing else untoward occurred before he emerged from the woods about a quarter of a mile from the castle hill. 

He stabled Blaze and decided to continue searching for traces of Ailis at the fortress. A sizeable portion of the staff was gone, which meant there were fewer to notice and think it odd that he was poking around. But without knowing what he was searching for, he doubted he was likely to find anything.

The garrison could be omitted, since apart from Julia, all of the fighters were men. Yuuri was already fairly familiar with the servants’ quarters. There always seemed to be someone in the kitchen, even if it was the girls who slept there every night, which made it difficult to investigate, but also unlikely to serve any useful purpose for Ailis.

The chapel, then? It was always open. He went there now. With leaden grey light seeping through the window behind the altar instead of bright sun, the room was flat and dim, the colours in the murals subdued. Yuuri stepped further inside, feeling a chill pass through him as he viewed the marble effigies of dead knights clasping their swords; they seemed vaguely luminescent…ghostly.

Beating a hasty retreat to the courtyard, he was suddenly ashamed of himself. _I’m being a cowardly idiot. _He felt sure there was little of interest in the chapel for Ailis, anyway. However, the room next to it was the library, and Yuuri hadn’t been inside yet. Perhaps now was a good opportunity.

Everything here was fashioned of dark wood, he saw as he stepped in, with the heavy rafters overhead blending into shadows. Bookcases lined the walls; Yuuri would have examined these before, with the intention of selecting something to read, if he’d been allowed. The tomes were all hand-bound, of course, and they’d be hand-written, too. Which meant he was looking at an incredible treasure trove of art as well as literature. Upon closer inspection, he saw there were quite a few Bibles and volumes of religious tales. Books of song, many of them liturgical. Something labelled a Book of Hours, with lavish scenes of nobles eating and hunting, and contented peasants working in the fields, one for each month. One about Robin Hood and Little John. One about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. _Troilus and Criseyde _by Geoffrey Chaucer. All of them bright, crisp and new, unlike anything Yuuri had ever seen on the Cloud or in a museum.

_I wish I could show this to Dr. Fay._

But there were no hidden panels behind the books. No secret buttons to press. No hollowed-out tomes containing laser guns. Not that Yuuri expected there to be, in a room so easily accessible to anyone in the castle. In fact, he was constantly surprised at how many luxury items were left on display like this. He supposed they were already afforded protection within the fortress itself, and guessed there was some kind of honour system in which people were proud to work here and respected each other’s possessions, as few as there were for some. If he’d known it when he first arrived, he might have thought up some other story to explain the “disappearance” of Justin’s armour. Emil must have been shocked that he’d claimed it had been stolen, though his easygoing attitude had largely concealed the fact.

Stepping away from the books, Yuuri glanced around the rest of the room – and almost jumped when he saw a skull sitting on top of the table against the far wall, under two tall narrow windows. It was jawless, with a half-melted beeswax candle resting on top of it, just like the one Ailis had left for them to find in the future. He took a deep breath as he approached it.

_That vision of the Roman soldier got under my skin. _

_Easy, Yuuri. Whatever it was, it wasn’t real._

He ran a finger along the smooth, hardened drips of wax, and over the bone itself. The dark eyes stared vacantly back at him, and he wondered who would actually fancy a decoration like this. The same people, probably, who liked to watch men kill each other for sport.

He remembered looking upon the contents of that metal box in Celestino’s office, aged by 728 years of sitting behind a stone in the kitchen. What would happen if he went there now, found it, and removed it? What kind of paradox would that cause?

_It’d be stupid to try, no matter how curious I was._

He picked up the skull and looked underneath and inside, found nothing, and put it back down, then examined the rest of the room more carefully. Terracotta tiles with a golden trefoil motif covered the floor. In the far corner was a small table with spindly legs that contained a single drawer; the top of the table itself was bare. Yuuri went to it and pulled the drawer open. A metal box containing a firesteel, flint and tinder. Some rushlights. Pots of ink and two quills. Strips of leather that might be used as bookmarks. Nothing else.

Shutting the drawer, he glanced down at the large square mat underneath. It was made of woven straw-coloured rushes, and seemed both too large and strangely situated, with the table on top of it. Obeying a sudden instinct, Yuuri lifted the table and placed it to the side, then pulled up a corner of the mat and peeked underneath – revealing a square of wood set into the floor with an iron ring on top.

Heart leaping, he quickly shoved the mat aside, then pulled the ring. A gaping black hole appeared, with a flight of packed-earth steps reinforced with wooden slats leading down.

“Prang,” Yuuri breathed. Where did this go? He needed to find out, of course. What to use for light – ? For a moment, he considered pulling the candle off the skull and lighting it. _Fuck, no _was the quick answer to that. The laser gun had worked well the last time; he’d use it again now. It might be intermittent, but it was far brighter than a flame.

Pulling it out of his purse, he began firing it toward the ground as he made his way down the steps. This passageway, despite being under the castle instead of leading from a cottage, was more roughly hewn, narrower, and not tall enough for a person of average height; he was forced to walk with a stoop. There were occasional recesses in the walls, wide enough to stand in, though their purpose was anyone’s guess. 

How long was this passage, and where would he emerge? It was more or less straight, and the floor sloped gradually downward. The obvious answer seemed to be that this was a secret way to and from the castle, avoiding the gatehouse and closed portcullis. Perfect for someone who might want to slip away in the middle of the night – say, to a lab out in the woods. Surely, _surely _that was what Ailis had been doing. She’d taken a book from the library to put in the time capsule. The skull she’d included might even have been a companion to the one on the desk. And the fact that Yuuri had discovered it opened up all kinds of possibilities. There was a spring in his step as he imagined staking the library out at night and catching an unsuspecting Ailis on her way to some nocturnal excursion. A quick stun with the gun, and…

_And I’d still have to decide what to do with her. But capturing her would be a start. It’s the perfect way to do it. _Victor and Julia might even be able to help with the stakeouts, if she didn’t make an instant appearance.

_I’ve got you. I’ve got you at last._

And in that instant, Yuuri felt something blossom inside of him which had been absent for so long that he’d forgotten how wonderful it was – bright and warm, safe and reassuring, like Victor embracing him in the night and chasing the shadow of his fears away. 

Hope.

He forced himself to slow down and pay more attention to what the blue flashes of light might reveal. If Ailis had gone back and forth through here, perhaps she’d dropped something at some point. He’d start to scan the floor of the passageway from here on, and when he got to the end, he would backtrack and make sure he hadn’t missed anything. The screaming of the laser gun was unpleasant, but it helpfully bathed everything in an electric-blue glow.

And then he spotted it, black in one of the dark recesses. Even in the light from the gun, Yuuri almost missed it. Bending over and picking it up, he saw in the flashes of blue that it was a com. Pocketing it, he smiled to himself, hardly able to believe his luck in such a short space of time. After all these months. When had Ailis dropped this? It wasn’t her own, surely…?

He’d have a closer look once he’d exited the passageway. For now, he pressed forward, continuing to fire as he went – until it seemed he could hear something over the noise of the gun. Distant, groaning; intensifying. Yuuri stilled his finger and stood in the dark, listening.

It sounded like the thunder of an oncoming storm. Rumbling. _C__racking._ Yuuri fired the gun behind him, where the noise was loudest – and saw the wooden braces of the passage flexing, bowing, beginning to snap underneath the weight of earth they supported. 

With a yell, he spun around and ran forward down the unexplored length of the passageway, his shoulders permanently stooped; he could feel the vibrations in the earth now, shaking, threatening to entomb him here inside the hill.

Dirt showered around him as his feet flew. It swallowed the blue light, limiting its reach. Choking; smothering. Gasping and coughing, Yuuri surged on, the only thought in his mind a desperate determination to survive. _Not like this, I’m not going to let it end like this – I’m going to get out. _Even as the shower of earth turned into a cascade, and he had a vision of himself trapped and crushed by the imponderable mass above.

He cried out again, this time in shock and pain, as he suddenly crashed into a barrier. Flashing the gun, he made out a wooden door. With a trembling hand, the rumble becoming a roar in his ears, he reached for the latch and depressed it. Debris was filling the end of the passage here; it was over his ankles, reaching up to his calves. He shoved with his shoulders – and discovered, to his blessed relief, that the door opened outward.

Hurling himself through the opening, Yuuri crashed through a thicket of bushes to land on the ground, followed by a pile of dirt and rubble. He was half-submerged in it, but the onrush lessened and then came to a halt, followed by a quiet stillness.

Yuuri lay sprawled, trembling, breaths coming quick, tears streaming. For a long time, it seemed, he remained senseless, quivering at the terrible fate he’d so narrowly avoided. It must be worse than any duel, dying like that. Consumed by the earth, the life pressed out of you. He began to gasp, his throat constricting.

_You got out. You’re OK. There’s nothing to be anxious about. The danger’s past. _

He counted his breaths. In, out…one, two. Then lifted his head and opened his eyes, dirt falling from his hair into his face. He brushed it away.

Daylight. Blinking until he was used to the brightness, he saw he was near the base of the castle hill, not far from the stable.

_Of course. Anyone leaving the castle in secret would want a horse._

_Move, Yuuri, move. Someone will see you like this._

Slowly testing each limb, he stood, brushing himself off. No pain; nothing broken from the feel of it. He’d dropped the gun when he’d lunged out of the passageway, but after some frantic digging, he found it near where he’d landed. A quick check in his pocket revealed that the com was still there, too.

_Jesus. Did all that really just happen? _He began to walk, still somewhat dazed. Habit took him round to the front of the castle hill, but as he marshalled his thoughts, he realised the first thing he ought to do was see the carpenter, so instead he circled to the back and took the path up toward the craftsmen’s village. He was spotted by two men some distance away who were digging a ditch. Yuuri was sure he’d never seen them before, but they smiled and waved at him, then broke into jigs which gradually turned into laughter and more waves. He smiled uncertainly back, then carried on up the hill.

Once at the top, he visited the carpenter and told him about the collapsed passageway from the library, asking him to cover the entrance over with something so that no one else tried to go down. If anyone asked about it, he instructed the man to say that a servant at the castle had heard a rumbling noise, had gone to investigate, and discovered what had happened. Then he returned to Victor’s room, where he changed his clothes, splashed water over his head and face, and sat for a while sipping thin wine until he was certain he was no longer shaking.

“Fuck,” he huffed, putting his head in his hands as he realised that his chance of catching Ailis unawares had vanished with the existence of the passage. He thought it might make him feel better if he cried; he’d shed enough tears of relief after the terror of being trapped under the earth. But this time they wouldn’t come.

_Life goes on, Yuuri. _Strange how people said it, because it wasn’t a comforting thought. Just a truism.

He took the com he’d found out of his pocket and examined it. A duplicate of his own. Who was it in contact with? And did it contain a projection? If it was a woman, would it work on him? There was one way to find out.

Standing and removing his own com, he strapped the other one on and brought up the BCI. It said there was a projection stored, and he told it to run, watching in fascination as his arms suddenly became slender, covered by rolled-up dove-grey sleeves. With his heart in his throat, he went to stand in front of the mirror, and sucked in a breath.

_Holy shit, I’m Ethelfrith._

A young woman with blond hair in a long plait down her back, greyish-blue eyes, and a scattering of brown freckles, just as he remembered her. Even the washerwoman’s raw-looking thin red fingers. Her dress, of heavy rough cloth, hung just above her feet, which were clad in leather shoes. It seemed that while people of the same gender switched their timelines with each other as part of whatever compatibility Ailis’s tech chose for them, it didn’t prevent actual projections from being changed and swapped.

_This is Dr. Croft’s com. It must be._

In which case, it should be connected with Phichit’s. Yuuri made a call.

“H-Hello…?” came his tentative voice after a moment.

“Phichit, it’s me, Yuuri.”

An exhale sounded at the other end. “Jesus, Yuuri, my BCI told me I was getting a call from Dr. Croft’s com, and I thought…well, I didn’t know _what _to think. It even crossed my mind for a minute that _she _was sending me a message, but she – she’s…”

_More ghosts. _“It’s OK. I’m sorry I shook you up like that. I wanted to see if this thing would work.”

“How did you get it? Where was it?”

Yuuri settled back into a chair, turned off Ethelfrith’s projection, and told him about finding the secret passage and the com, then narrowly escaping with his life. Phichit took some time to process this.

“Shit, Yuuri. Were you lighting your way with the laser gun again?” he eventually asked.

“Yeah; best use for it, in my opinion.”

“I should’ve warned you to be more careful. They cause massive vibrations. I guess you don’t really notice because the beam’s so concentrated, but once it hits its target – and if there was a weakness in the tunnel design somewhere…”

“_Now _you tell me,” he sighed.

“You know, I don’t think Dr. Croft ever lost her com,” Phichit said quietly. “It must have come off somehow, after…you know, after she died.”

An image flashed into Yuuri’s mind of Ailis dragging the woman’s corpse through that passage and taking it God knew where to bury it. And that, on top of everything else he’d just experienced, brought him to a decision.

“I want to talk to her, Phichit. Ailis. Can you call her com and put me through?”

After a pause, Phichit replied hesitantly, “Do you really think that’s a good idea? What are you planning to say?”

“Maybe it’ll take her by surprise if I tell her the passage isn’t there anymore, and lead her to give something away. Or let her know I’m still on her trail. Whatever. I’m tired of running, and I’ve got something on her now.”

“Don’t you think it might, um, agitate her? Enough to carry out one of her threats?”

“We agreed she’s probably lying low til the king’s visit, didn’t we? I’ll take that chance. The last time I spoke to her, she made me get undressed and had a gun pointed at me. Things should be more even between us this time.”

“Um…OK. I can’t guarantee she’ll answer when I call, but I’ll try. Back with you in a bit; I’ll call you on your own com, OK?”

“Thanks, Phichit.”

Yuuri swapped his com with Dr. Croft’s, poured himself a cup of thin wine, then sipped it in the silence.

_What _are _you hoping to accomplish with this, Yuuri?_

He considered.

_I’m taking some initiative for once. Showing some backbone. Maybe trip her up in the process. I’m not frightened._

_Am I?_

A call came over the com. Yuuri answered, his grip on the cup tightening as he waited.

“Yuuri, I’ve got Ailis coming through my com. She’s agreed to talk to you. I’ll put the two devices right up against each other so the sound quality’s as good as possible.”

Loud clicks came over the connection. Yuuri thought he could hear very distant noises of casual conversation; it was difficult to tell. Then Ailis’s voice, barely above a whisper, sending a chill through him. He knew it was hers, of course, but it was different from the strident one he remembered; higher, and smoother somehow. Did she have her projector on?

“Yuuri,” she murmured. “I’m rather…indisposed at the moment, shall we say. Though don’t get the idea I’m going to compromise myself by revealing my identity. To what do I owe this unexpected – well, I can hardly call it a pleasure – ”

“Where are you?” he asked. “At the castle?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Where are _you_?”

“Who’s with you?”

“Who’s with _you_? Honestly, if this intellectually stimulating conversation was your purpose in calling me – ”

“I’m at the castle,” Yuuri conceded as an opening gambit, to see where it might lead. “What about you?”

After a pause, Ailis answered, barely audible, “I’m not.”

“Are you in the retinue?”

“…Possibly.”

“Do you work here at the castle?”

“…In a sense. Do you?”

“In a sense.”

“Well isn’t this delightful. I always liked guessing games when I was a little girl. What’s your favourite part about your holiday here in 1393, then?”

“The people,” Yuuri answered, unwilling to give particulars. “What about you?” His chest was tight, and he barely dared to breathe.

“The fact that I can do whatever I like in secret and no one suspects a thing.”

“Really? That doesn’t tell me much.”

“The food’s not bad, either, don’t you agree?”

“Do you eat your meals in the great hall?”

“Do you wear armour, Yuuri?”

“What colour is your bread?”

“Do you ride a destrier?”

“What’s your favourite drink?”

“Guinness,” Ailis answered with a soft snort. “With coffee, cream and sugar. I’m a philistine, I know. Do you miss coffee, Yuuri?”

“I miss electricity more.”

“You should’ve thought to bring some equipment with you, then.”

“I was going to. Your friend Ian burst in on us and shot up most of my stuff before he went on the run.”

“Did he?” Ailis reflected, raising her voice for a moment. “How resourceful of him. But he’s not my friend.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“If I did, do you think I’d tell you?”

“What are you doing with the equipment you brought here? Where is it?”

“Where you’ll never find it.” She paused. Yuuri could still hear conversations in the background. “I’m getting tired of this now. If there’s no other reason you wanted Phichit to put us in contact – ”

“There is, actually,” Yuuri answered quickly, before she decided to cut the call. “I discovered something very interesting here at the castle today. A couple of things, actually.”

After a short pause, she said flatly, “You did?”

“I thought I’d have a look round while the retinue was away. Turns out it was a good idea.”

“What did you bloody find,” she hissed, “or is this a wind-up? Because if it is – ”

“I discovered a passage underneath the castle. From the library, of all places.”

“…I see.”

“It’d be a handy way of going back and forth from the castle undetected. Wouldn’t you say?” When there was no answer, he continued, “No one’s going to be using it anymore, though.”

“Why?” The flat tone again. “What did you do?”

“It collapsed.”

“What? What did you _do_? Did you bring explosives here with you or something?”

_That’s getting a rise from her, _Yuuri thought. _I hope that’s a good thing. _Ignoring her questions, he continued, “Before it happened, though, I came across something very interesting down there.”

“Stop playing bloody games with me,” she snapped, “and tell me what it was.”

“Dr. Croft’s com. The scientist who got ill and died.” Yuuri heard a little intake of breath, and the anger and frustration that had been building in him the whole time he’d been here pushed him on, his fears receding in their wake. “You took her body through there, didn’t you? How did you manage it?”

“How do you think?” she spat. “It wasn’t exactly pleasant. Celestino can take the blame for what happened to her, though. I had nothing to do with it.”

“You didn’t, say, brew some other kind of pestilence to give her in her wine?”

“For your information, no, I did not. She simply paid the consequences for her action in coming here.” She paused. “So you have the com she was wearing.”

“That’s right. I suppose it must have come off when you were…what exactly did you do to transport her through there?” Yuuri asked, trying to keep his voice smooth but feeling sick inside.

“That’s my business.”

“Did you do the same with the other bodies? Dr. Quincey; Arthur? Did you drag them all away? How did you do it, Ailis?”

“Leave off, will you? It still gives me nightmares, if you insist on knowing. I didn’t _enjoy _doing these things. It was bloody gruesome.”

“Where did you bury the bodies?”

“I said _drop _it, time-cop. The whole bleeding subject, you hear me? And that com you found is rightfully mine. I was wondering where it had gone. I invented it; I made it with my own hands. You’re in possession of quite a bit of property that doesn’t belong to you. Is this your interpretation of the law? Because I thought stealing was a crime.”

This was always a sore spot with her. Yuuri tried to press home his advantage. “That com is no use to me,” he said. “I’ve a mind to destroy it with the gun.”

“What the _hell_,” she breathed. 

“What’s it worth to you? Would you give yourself up in order to get it back?”

“Are you serious? Of course not. But if you destroy it, I’ll make sure you end up feeling very sorry you did.”

“Why is it so important to you?” When no answer was forthcoming, he said, “Do you _have _working tech that’ll get us back? Have you fixed a sphere?”

“You live in hope, don’t you? How would it feel to have to accept that you’re stranded in this backward swamp of a country for the rest of your life? It’s the chance you took when you came here, Yuuri my lad, and no one deserves it more.”

Yuuri’s thoughts suddenly went in a completely different direction, and Ailis seemed to take this as an indication of his upset at what she’d said.

“Fine, well, if you think a dirt-filled passage is going to be any hindrance to me, go ahead and keep believing it. Your conversation is growing tiresome. I’ve only ever said that I want to live a peaceful life here – ”

“Killing two people and giving plague to the entire castle is your idea of peaceful?” Yuuri retorted.

“I told you, I was never going to kill them. You found the nanobots and got them to work, didn’t you? Tell me, lawman, how does it feel to have made so many people immune to disease? What kinds of ancestors do you think they’ll make, the ones who should’ve died? What will they do to the world?” She paused. “Do you know what you are, Yuuri? You’re nothing more than a bloody hypocrite.”

“I didn’t do that for the hell of it,” he said firmly. “I did it to stop them from dying of plague, which wouldn’t have been a threat if it hadn’t been for you. I was putting right what you did the best way I could.” Before she could reply, he added, “But I’m not going to argue the point any further. Why did you do it – risk all those lives? I don’t think the only reason was so that you could tempt me out. Was there someone else you were trying to target, too? Someone you poisoned but weren’t planning on curing with the nanobots?”

“If there was, why should I tell you? Thank you, though, for giving me such insight into the convoluted workings of your mind.”

“Did you arrange for the baron to be called away so that he wouldn’t be at the castle to catch the plague?”

“How do _you_ know what the baron gets up to? Close to his inner circle, are you?”

Yuuri’s thoughts raced. “Word gets around here.”

“Well, you seem to think I’m quite a powerful person, to be able to arrange that for the baron. I’m flattered.”

Another pause. Yuuri heard laughter in the distance, and he wished the voices were close enough for him to discern. Where was she, and what was she doing, that she could confidently speak to him like this with other people around? 

“How did you like what I did to the first stooge’s com?” came her voice, taking on a hint of amusement again. “I wrecked it thoroughly, didn’t I? My own tech. Was it a nice surprise to see it at the meal?”

“Were you watching?”

“No, I was out doing a spot of gardening,” she said with a little snicker. “But word gets around here, doesn’t it? _You _were at the meal, though, weren’t you? You as good as admitted it just now. Where were you sitting, I wonder?”

“Maybe I heard about it,” Yuuri answered smoothly, though his heart was hammering against his chest. “Maybe _I _was doing a spot of gardening.”

“I think you’re a fighter, Yuuri. You’re at the castle right now, or so you say. Who could you be…? There aren’t many options to choose from.”

“Who are you?” he countered. “You don’t have to work very hard, do you? You don’t scrub floors or do laundry from sunup til sundown. You’ve got time on your hands, and the energy to use it. It’ll be harder now, though, because how are you going to sneak out of the castle?”

She blew out a breath, and her words were clipped. “If you carry on like this, you smug _chutia_, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll fry the lady of the manor, her son – everyone in this ridiculous retinue. It’d be quick and easy with a laser gun – you see, I’m still armed. I’d like to see these hopeless soldiers try to stop me. Even Victor’s sword would be useless, as amazing as everyone thinks he is.”

Yuuri’s voice stuck in his throat, and he fought to make no sound, though he could feel himself shaking.

_You’re an idiot, Yuuri, you’re a complete and utter idiot for contacting her like this. Jesus Christ, poor Victor – and everyone else…_

_Think, _he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. _She said something similar to Phichit, too. That she’d shoot everyone in the castle. She won’t do it; she’s just trying to make us back off._

_But what if I’m wrong? Victor…_

He sipped some wine, knowing the long pause was all the evidence Ailis needed that she’d got to him. “Are you with them now?” he asked her.

She huffed a quiet laugh. “You and your friend Phichit are so much fun to tease – and it’s so _easy_. I hadn’t intended to harm them. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve done it before now. I don’t want to hurt _anyone_, though you never believe me, do you? What I want is for you and the crew at the university to leave me alone; the retinue will be back tomorrow. But if you get some stupid notion in your head that you want to ride out to intercept us, I’ll change my mind. Starting with the two nobles. Don’t you get tired of how they lord it over people just because of an accident of birth?” Her voice grew excited. “Here’s a thought. I kill each one of these ridiculous Nikiforovs, and we start the first collective ever to live at a castle. Everyone gets a vote, and so on – even the maids and the gongfermours. Brilliant, isn’t it? Almost as good as filling them all up with nanobots. But then again, _I _didn’t do that.”

Yuuri clenched his teeth, his eyes still squeezed shut. _She’s picked, and is trying to hit back at me. I know she’s waiting to do something when the king visits. She’s interested in power; she’s not going to extinguish it and start a commune._

Just thinking of it that way made the idea sound nonsensical, he realised. But it did seem likely that Ailis was riding in the retinue – and that meant Victor and his mother were already in danger; had been, in fact, from the moment they’d set off from the castle.

_If you so much as harm a hair on his head…_

“I didn’t scare you off, did I, Yuuri?” Ailis said with a little laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually want to protect these people.”

_I’m not going to ride out there. Just don’t hurt anyone,_ he almost said. But he knew it would be playing right into her hands. _Find your courage. It’s just a bluff._

“I’ve got a gun now too. Remember? Let’s both be sensible.”

“Would you shoot me if you could?”

Yuuri swallowed. “You were going to do the same to me.”

“Would you, though?”

“I’m sure we could come to some kind of arrangement. I don’t want to have to kill anyone.”

Another breath blew into the com. “Do you have any idea how _patronising _that sounds? What a bloody merciful stooge you are. You’d really quite like to spare me if I behaved, would you?” Her words were hissed out again. “Well I’ll tell you this. I’m going to find out who you are, Yuuri. I’m going to make you regret the day you were born. And then I’m going to take all my tech back from your cold, dead body.”

She cut the call, and Yuuri stared blankly at his com, willing himself to stop shaking.


	104. Chapter 104

_Maybe I shouldn’t have done that to my own squire._

“Are you all right?” Yuuri asked Emil, who’d fallen to the ground with a thud after he’d tripped him up. “I didn’t mean – ”

“I’m fine,” Emil said with a smile and a little laugh as he picked up his sword, stood, and brushed himself off. “I daresay though, sir, there must be a touch of the fay about you. How do you move so quickly?”

“I’m not sure I _was _that fast. But I held your attention with what I was doing with my sword, and got you to look far enough away that you didn’t see me hooking my leg around until it was too late. I’ve learned that swordfighting can be a lot more physical than I used to think. The body can be a powerful weapon, too, especially when you’re wearing armour. Which I am more than you, actually. Maybe that was rather unfair of me.”

“What you gain by protection, I gain in speed. Or ought to. But your footwork, sir – it’s very accomplished. Quite similar in style to Julius. How do you do it?”

“We’ve had a good trainer,” Yuuri said with a smile. “Victor’s big on footwork. I can show you some of what he showed me, but another time. I don’t think I could concentrate on it very well at the moment.”

Emil gave him a quick knowing grin. “You’ve been waiting for the retinue to return.”

“It’s getting late.” Yuuri looked up at the hazy sky; the day had been warm and humid, and he was still a little uncomfortable in his armour even though it was evening now.

“Anything can delay a travelling party, especially one of that size. It’s a full two-day journey for them as it is.”

Yuuri sheathed his sword. They’d agreed that this would be their last round of sparring for today; he’d wanted Emil to win it, but had to make sure he gave him a challenge as well. The role of a trainer was taking some getting used to; it was difficult to think of himself as anything other than a desperate and inexperienced trainee, even though that had ceased to be an accurate description months ago. “I suppose so,” he said, looking at the dirt road that stretched beyond the castle hill, dotted with occasional carts or horses; it was rarely deserted these days, with so many deliveries arriving during daylight hours.

“I fancy a drink in the garrison, sir, after all that. Would you care to accompany me? We’ll soon find out when the retinue arrives.”

“I know standing out here isn’t going to make it happen any faster,” Yuuri replied, “but I think I’ll stay a while longer, Emil, thanks just the same.”

“Very well, sir. God give you good evening, then.”

Yuuri said goodbye, then went to lean against the fence. By the position of the sun in the sky, it was about two and a half hours before sunset, which would make it seven p.m. at a guess. No one else was training in the field; most of them would be joining Emil in the main garrison room, though a few would be out on patrol.

_Maybe I should’ve gone there with him._

Because now that he had a quiet moment to himself, his worries were waiting to leap to the fore again. It had been like this since his conversation with Ailis the previous day, even though his rational mind kept telling him she was unlikely to carry out her threats. Often, but not always, they turned out to be empty – but it was the _not always _that bothered him. He’d briefly been panicked enough at one point to seriously consider riding out on Lady to intercept the retinue, though in actuality he knew it would have accomplished nothing other than giving his identity away.

Had it been a good idea to contact her? Yuuri was still undecided; but it was done now, and couldn’t be taken back. Phichit had been shaken by the whole conversation, and had told him afterward that he’d been brave, though in the end he couldn’t say either that they’d learned anything useful. Exhausted after a long day, they’d each declared their intention to have a nap, which for Yuuri had turned out to be the worst thing he could have done. As soon as he’d closed his eyes, he’d been haunted by visions of Ailis doing terrible things while travelling in the retinue; and the cave-in, the skull, the Roman soldier…no, sleep was out of the question. And the night had been fitful as well.

With the morning sunshine, however, and the remains of the food on the tray that Emil had brought for his supper the previous day and which he’d barely been able to touch at the time, Yuuri’s heart felt lighter. The retinue would be fine, and he’d see Victor when it arrived; they’d soon be in each other’s arms. A wave of warmth spread through him as he imagined it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted anything more in his life. 

As his eyes continued to idly scan the road, he decided they weren’t going to share their first hug in almost a week like a couple of armadillos. Victor might be wearing his armour, but Yuuri didn’t have to have his on. He went to the stable and entered Lady’s stall, stroking her mane and talking to her before removing his armour and placing it in the chest there, ready for tomorrow.

He’d just folded his gambeson and tucked it inside when he heard approaching hoofbeats. Standing and looking toward the exit to the training field, his heart leapt to see the Nikiforov standard-bearers arriving on their caparisoned white horses. The stable hands, realising the retinue was returning, scrambled out to the training field, which was soon full of milling horses, dismounting riders, and servants. Yuuri rushed into the throng – and spotted Victor in tunic, hose and black cloth cap, sitting quietly on Alyona as he scanned the area with a look of concern. Relief and joy flooding his chest, Yuuri raced toward him with a dopey smile on his face.

When Victor caught sight of him, his eyes sparkled, and his smile was radiant. He hopped off Alyona and held his arms out, and Yuuri rushed into them; they clasped each other tight amid snorts, stamping hoofs, pieces of conversation, and the continual bustle of servants. For Yuuri, there could be no more perfect thing anywhere else in the world than this.

“My love,” Victor whispered. “How I’ve missed you.”

Yuuri clasped him tighter still, exhaling and feeling tears prick at his eyes. “Missed you more,” he mumbled into Victor’s neck.

They stood motionless a while longer; then Victor said, “Come walk with me?”

He led them into the woods, where the shadows were long and the noises from the training field faded away behind them. “If we’d gone straight to the castle, I was bound to be accosted ten times or more before we got to our room,” he said. “No one will come looking for me here. You’re the only person I want to be with right now.” He stopped and turned to look at Yuuri, placing a hand on each arm. “Can I see the real you?”

Yuuri switched his projector off and ran a finger down Victor’s cheek, slow and gentle. Victor closed his eyes briefly, sighed, and leaned into it; then his gaze returned, unwavering. Surging forward, Yuuri caught his lips, wondering if they’d ever been so soft and sweet. He slipped a hand to the back of Victor’s neck, the other one continuing to linger near his cheek, stroking. The touch of Victor’s tongue sent a shiver through him, and he realised he was making quiet whimpers as his blood raced.

“Oh Yuuri,” Victor said as he pulled away slightly, somewhat out of breath. “I missed this too, so very much. But we can share more intimate things in our room later – I’ll lock the door and we can have the joy of each other in peace and comfort. What do you say?”

“I say that sounds wonderful.” Yuuri gave Victor’s chin a final caress. His smile faded, however, when the thoughts of what they needed to talk about cut through the euphoria that had engulfed him since he’d caught sight of the retinue.

“Victor,” he said quietly, “I spoke with Ailis. She said she was travelling with you.” A look of alarm crossed Victor’s face, but before he could speak, Yuuri continued, “It’s all right – I think. For now. It was me who contacted her. She made the usual angry threats, but I think what she really wants is to avoid any more attention until the king arrives. Did anything unusual happen while you were away?”

“No. But why did you contact her?”

Yuuri stepped back and made a gesture of invitation for Victor to walk with him further into the woods, which he did, falling into step beside him. “I’ll get to that in a minute. It happened yesterday, and I’ve been wondering who she could possibly be pretending to be – but a large part of the castle’s staff went with you, didn’t they?”

Victor nodded. “Ingrid and Alice were with us, too.”

“You took the butler?” Yuri echoed. “Why?”

“Fernand went as well. When my family travels to such a meeting, that’s how it is; it’s not a frugal enterprise. Do you still suspect either of them?”

Yuuri considered. “Alice? We haven’t had anything there apart from suspicions with no solid evidence. And Ingrid…I’ve asked around the castle about those drinks she claimed to have served in the great hall on different occasions, and while no one can remember them all like she says she does, it looks to me like she was telling the truth. Would Ailis have researched her role so well once she’d got here that it included that kind of information? I have to say I doubt it.” He shook his head. “As for why I asked Phichit to put me through to Ailis – I discovered a way she’d been sneaking out of the castle and back without being seen. There’s a trap door in the library floor that leads to – ”

“A passageway that goes to the stables.” When Yuuri looked at him in surprise, he added, “I know it; I’ve used it from time to time myself, mainly when I was younger.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened as he gazed at Victor. “You never mentioned it.”

“To be honest, I’d half forgotten it was there. It’s been years, Yuuri. I…I suppose I should have thought of it before. I assumed, since Ailis is in disguise already, that she’d just go in and out of the gatehouse like you and I do.”

“Who else knew the passage had been there?”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Had been?”

Yuuri explained about the collapse due to his use of the gun. Victor gasped, stopped, and placed a hand on his arm. “You could have been killed,” he breathed.

“I know. I didn’t realise it at the time. These guns are powerful. I can’t say it was my finest moment, but yeah, I got out. And I had the carpenter seal the entrance so no one else tries to go in.” He rested his hand on top of Victor’s. “But this could be important – who else knew the passage was there?”

Victor continued to stare in concern, as if digesting this news of Yuuri’s narrow escape; then he seemed to push his thoughts away with an effort. “Difficult to say. My family, high-ranking officials…but word of these things has a tendency to be passed around, and possibly quite a few people in the castle know. The servants who clean the library, for instance; they must have come across it. I wouldn’t be surprised if smugglers have used it before as well. It was originally designed as an emergency exit during a siege, but fortunately it’s never seen use in that capacity.”

“We never seem to get the breakthrough clue we need to go after her,” Yuuri said with a sigh. “But I did find something interesting in the passage, which proved she’d been using it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the com, then handed it over to Victor. Taking it, Victor glanced at Yuuri’s wrist. “I’m still wearing mine. This one belonged to Dr. Croft, the person Celestino sent here just before me, who swapped places with Ethelfrith.”

“How did it get in the passage?” Victor asked, examining the com.

“It, um, came off her wrist when Ailis was taking her body through there to bury it,” Yuuri said quietly.

“She did that?” Victor echoed, looking at him sharply. “God’s bones, the woman has a heart of steel.”

“It made me picked enough to contact her. But the com works, Victor – so why don’t you keep it? It’s connected with Phichit. And he can connect you to me.” He huffed a little laugh. “We could’ve used it this past week.”

“Indeed; I wish we’d had it then.” Victor put it on his wrist and held it up to examine.

“I’ll have to tell you how to use the BCI, but it’s easy. Maybe when we get back to the room, we can call Phichit. You don’t actually need to wear it; it just has to be close to you. If you _are _wearing it, though, make absolutely sure it stays hidden under your sleeve. If Ailis sees it – ”

“Of course. Does it have a projection, like yours has Justin?”

“Try,” Yuuri said with a smile. And while they stood there in the woods, he explained how to call it up on the menu. Shock was clearly written across Victor’s face as the screen flashed in his mind.

“Can you see these things, too?” he said in awe. “Does this device bring them into existence?”

“No. It’s a connection in your brain. No more physically real than your imagination or a dream.”

“It follows the instruction of my thoughts.”

“That’s right,” Yuuri said with a little grin. “Most of the tech in 2121 is like that. Makes things easier.”

“It’s astounding.” Yuuri gave a start when Ethelfrith suddenly appeared before him. She – Victor – gave a laugh of wonder and delight that sounded almost childlike, as he studied his arms and looked down at his body, running his hands along it. “I can feel these things, in a way. The rough cloth of the dress. It touches my ankles. But they’re more like impressions; my imagination. I can feel my real clothes, too.” He laughed again. “It’s most wondrously strange.”

“It works by low-level hypnosis. That’s kind of hard to explain, but it fools your mind. To me, you look like Ethelfrith. You even sound like her.”

“I do, don’t I?” Victor put his hands on his hips and smirked, then said silkily, “Who is this handsome knight standing before me? Dear sir, catch me in your arms before I swoon.”

“No,” Yuuri said firmly, though he was laughing too. “Just, no. Though actually, I have an idea about the com. Why didn’t I think of it before…? Can you give it back to me?”

Victor removed it, returning to his natural appearance, and handed it over.

“I ought to be able to change the projection,” Yuuri explained, calling up the BCI. “We could have anyone on here. Can you imagine how useful that’d be? The possibilities…” He searched through the menu. “I just need to delete Ethelfrith first. I doubt her projection will be much use, especially since Ailis knows we have it.” After a moment of trying, however, he wrinkled his brow. “What the hell.”

“Is something wrong?”

“It worked with my own com in Ailis’s lab before I came here. But now it’s like Ethelfrith is burned into this device or something. It doesn’t want to let me delete her or do anything else to change what’s there. It kind of reminds me of someone who’s stared at the sun and gets the back of their eye permanently damaged.”

“You said the time-travel sphere was damaged on the journey,” Victor said, watching him. “Perhaps this was, too? It’s possible, if Ailis was only trying these things out for the first time, that she didn’t understand a great deal about transporting them – ”

“Through the timestream.” Victor was catching on fast, it seemed. “Maybe I’m lucky any of them work at all. Shit.” Yuuri paused, fighting down his disappointment. “But at least the com part of it works. Mine didn’t even do that, at first.” He handed it back. “Keep this somewhere out of sight.”

Victor nodded, putting it inside his purse. “Shall we head back? By the time we get there, anyone who wanted to call on me will probably have realised I’m not in, though I fear they may come back later. I’ll do my best to get rid of them.”

He began walking back the way they’d come, and Yuuri followed alongside. “Don’t put important things aside just because of me,” he said. “I’m here. I can wait.”

Victor gave him a searching look. “You _are _important. And I put you aside for almost a week to attend to what should have been my father’s business. I want nothing more than to be with you.”

Yuuri was lost in his blue eyes. “That’s what I want, too.”

“I’m glad we’re agreed,” Victor said softly. He picked up his pace a little. “How did your training go while I was away?”

Yuuri told him what he’d been doing, and mentioned the sparring with Abelard, and teaching Emil.

“It’s good to hear that you feel able to give instruction to your squire,” Victor commented. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

“Thanks. I still don’t feel very qualified, though. He already knows most of the technical things that I do; he even taught me some of them. But explaining how I do certain things _well_ – that can be difficult, or impossible.”

“Now you know my secret,” Victor said, huffing a laugh. “I’m not sure I explain very well myself. More often, I end up hoping you’ll learn from example.”

“It’s working, though. I can beat anyone at the castle most of the time when we spar. I can hardly believe it myself. When I first came here – ”

Victor stopped and gazed at him solemnly. “Do you still not realise how good you are? Isn’t that proof enough?”

“I…I never thought – ”

“Think it now. Because you’ll need that confidence, and every ounce of skill you possess, to beat Tyler. You can do it, Yuuri. But it won’t be easy.” He turned and began to walk again. “We’ll get back to training as soon as I possibly can. Unfortunately – ”

“I know. You’re going to be busy for a while, now that you’re back. It’s OK.”

“No, it isn’t,” Victor murmured.

“Do you get the chance to train yourself when you’re away on these trips?”

Victor glanced at him, seemingly surprised at the question. “During the journey? No. But while I was in Doncaster, I took the opportunity to spar with some of the knights at the castle. It made a change.” He shrugged. “It never occurred to me to think of it as training, but I suppose that’s what it was.”

“How was it – your trip? You haven’t said much about it.”

“Compared to the week you had, I’d say it was positively dull. Though I know the excitement you had wasn’t the kind you want. If I’d known about you going down into that passage, and what happened to you there…” He bit his lip and shook his head. “Well. To answer your question, I attended meetings, did paperwork in my tent, caught up with a few old colleagues, avoided some others, did a bit of sparring, trained Julia when I got the time, and amused myself with my citole. The behaviour of my mother…well, it’s best not to go into that.”

“Is she safe?”

“Indeed. Most of all, though,” he added, slanting him a wistful look, “I missed you terribly.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered, unable to find any more words. All he wanted now was to get back to the room with him. _Their _room, he’d noticed Victor had called it.

Yuuri turned his projector on and they said little as they emerged from the woods and walked up the castle hill, though they exchanged fond glances with fleeting grins. It felt to him as if they were somehow still in each other’s arms, the warmth and want so tangible between them. Having passed through the gatehouse, they entered the garrison, where Victor was greeted and he and Yuuri were obliged to make conversation for a short while, before they carried on up the stairs. Once outside the room, Victor opened the door and Yuuri followed him in, turning his projector back off.

He barely had a chance to register their surroundings before Victor stepped in front of him and locked the door, effectively pinning him against the wood. Victor’s eyes burned into his, and he flung his cap off to land on the table. Yuuri stared back with parted lips, his heart beginning to pound. _Yes, _he thought, _whatever you want, yes, yes._

Then Victor was kissing the breath away from him, and their hands were everywhere: raking through hair, caressing faces and necks, running up and down thighs. They whispered and moaned each other’s names. Yuuri plundered Victor’s mouth and placed the flat of his boot against the door, which gave him more leverage to buck against him. Victor groaned and grinded back, licking a stripe up his neck.

“Vitya,” Yuuri said hoarsely, clutching at his back, “please…oh, God…”

“I want you so much I can hardly bear it,” Victor said into his hair, continuing to grind. Then he hooked the fingers of one hand into the top of Yuuri’s hose piece while with the other he fumbled at the buttons of Yuuri’s tunic.

Touched in so many places, with the rhythm they found together gathering pace, Yuuri felt the coil of tension in his groin tighten mercilessly. He could come like this, in his clothes. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but it didn’t matter. Victor was all around him, everywhere, and he was revelling in it. He wrapped his leg around him and urged him closer, tighter, moaning into a deep wet kiss.

Victor shoved a hand into his half-unbuttoned tunic, tweaking a nipple, and Yuuri gave a little cry. “You’re too much of everything,” Victor breathed against his cheek. “I should’ve known I wouldn’t last long after a week away from you. Is it all right if I – ”

“Yes, anything,” Yuuri gasped out. “Please…”

He gave a shuddering sigh as he felt Victor reach into his braies and draw his cock out. And join it with his own in one hand, beginning to stroke them both. Stilling him, Yuuri gazed up with hooded lids and whispered, “Together. I want to touch you, too.”

Victor let go and took just Yuuri this time, while Yuuri took him, and they both began to stroke. Victor gripped Yuuri’s shoulder with his free hand, face flushed, his eyes bright. “Oh yes,” he breathed, “that’s good. Oh…”

Yuuri clutched at the top of his tunic, spikes of pleasure jolting through him. Victor knew what he liked: fast and firm, with an occasional wicked twist, slicked by his precome. “Kiss me, baby…please…” he said near Victor’s lips. They touched their lips and parted and touched again, with a swipe of tongue, but were too distracted to achieve anything further and ended up nuzzling and panting against each other’s cheeks. Victor’s cock was rock hard in Yuuri’s fist, the head swollen. He wanted it inside of him; wanted to lave at it until it erupted; wanted to do so many things. But for now, he was hurtling toward the edge, Victor driving him on relentlessly.

“Vitya,” he choked out; and again, louder.

“Yuuri…I’m so close, I – ” Victor’s jaw suddenly went slack and he squeezed his eyes shut, groaning as he spurted over Yuuri’s fist. His hand faltered for a moment, but then picked up its former speed and rhythm. As Yuuri milked him through his final tremors, he felt himself rocketing toward his own release, crying out when he came, the pulses making his thighs tremble.

They stood motionless as their breaths slowed and the red haze that had blanketed Yuuri’s mind began to lift. And already he was hoping they’d have the chance to take their time and enjoy each other more thoroughly later. This had been wonderful, of course; short and sharp and needy, because he hadn’t come since the last time he and Victor had made love. The next time, though, would feel deeper and more sating. He wished, in fact, that they could do this all evening, gazing into each other’s eyes and bringing each other pleasure after pleasure. But he knew it was selfish of him.

Victor kissed into his hair and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to get you into bed later.”

Yuuri’s heart fluttered. “I love you,” he whispered, before capturing Victor’s lips once more.

* * *

_Honestly. I’ve only just returned, and he’s putting demands on me._

Ailis kicked her shoes off. It had been difficult to extricate herself from her “husband” tonight, though she’d managed in the end with the age-old excuse that she had a headache. So what if he was frustrated. She’d thought that married men of this time – well, of any time, really – commonly had mistresses. Swains, too, probably. Anything that moved, for some of them. But it was just her luck to end up here with one who seemed to be interested in nobody but her. Let it not be said that she wasn’t often obliging, and made it fun for them both. But not tonight, after that wretched two-day ride on horseback that had made her saddle-sore; she hadn’t even recovered from the ride out there, and it was time to come back. And then there was that flaming nuisance of a stooge Celestino had sent here, who seemed dogged in his determination to make her life difficult.

_Well, husband of mine, you’re a man. If your needs are bothering you, go have one off the wrist. I can’t be asked to put up with you tonight. I can’t be asked to deal with anyone, in fact. Let’s just say I’m not in a good mood._

She marched to the door and locked it, then went to the table and examined the drinks selection there. She’d procured some mead for herself, to hell with what anyone said about it; though when she’d got it back to her room and poured a proper measure, she’s decided it was too syrupy. Yet the only other option was thin wine. She grabbed a cup, poured some mead in, then some of the watery wine, sloshed the mixture around, took a sip, grimaced, then took another.

With a sigh, she sat down on her bed, nursing the concoction she’d just made. _At least the patriarchs here allowed me to go to Doncaster. Worth six days of a sore bum? I think so._

She’d got to see the king, after all. He was young, handsome and able, but had obvious weaknesses – he craved flattery, surrounded himself with sycophants, was extravagant in his spending, and not very politically astute or even very bright. It had been enlightening to soak up the atmosphere at the court, too. She had a better idea now of who was who, being able to put names to faces; what kinds of rivalries existed, and so on. All very convoluted, but then politics always had been, she supposed. She also had one distinct advantage over the lot of them: because they were notable personages in history, she knew how they were going to live and die. Some of them, anyway. Thank God she’d had Ian do some research on this time and place before he’d showed himself up as the traitorous pillock he was, because even back then she’d been forming vague notions about possibilities that presented themselves to her here.

_You won’t be so smug with an arrow sticking out of your chest, _she’d thought about one nob who’d rebuffed her. And another – _Fine face. It’ll look juke staring from a spike on London Bridge. Or are you the one who gets burned at the stake? Stake, spike, what’s the difference – you won’t like either one, laddie._

And all right, so the current king had a little under seven years left before he himself departed from this green and pleasant land. That could be worked with. Interesting things could be done. The time-cop wouldn’t like it, not at all. Well, fuck him. She had no intention of causing grief. Not to too many people; just a few.

First, she would remove the gormless Justin, who was a potentially troublesome obstacle to Victor’s co-operation in her venture. Victor himself wasn’t essential for its success, either, but he was a highly valuable piece in the game, and his usefulness shouldn’t be underestimated. He could be removed later, too, if it became expedient. Kings and queens were what mattered on the board, after all, with the knights serving to facilitate the checkmate. 

_Victor won’t like losing his lapdog. But he’ll get over it. _

A grin crossed her face as she recalled watching his attempts to avoid the amorous Earl of Doncaster. What would Justin have said? Maybe they all would have been treated to a duel – _he _would be the one to throw down the gauntlet this time, and then with luck he’d have been out of her hair even sooner. Pity that wasn’t how things had turned out.

Pity, as well, that she’d decided to answer the call from Phichit on the way back. For a long time, she’d been resolved to remain the one in charge; she spoke to them when she wanted to, not the other way round. But she kind of liked Phichit; he was a nice jack. And as much as she hated to admit it, she was worried about Yuuri, to the point where she’d been curious about what Team Celestino wanted to say to her. There had been a time when she’d behaved as if she were beyond reproach; untouchable. But it was worth eating a bit of humble pie in order to be practical.

_The one Fernand makes is very good, in fact, _she thought. _Honestly, Ailis, what’s wrong with you? This place is driving you round the twist._

That had to be the only reason why she’d actually answered the call, she thought as she sipped her mead-and-wine. It had been a bit of a risk to do so, with the riding party in such close proximity. They’d halted their journey for a while, to have a bite to eat and drink, and she’d disappeared into the woods to be able to talk; it had seemed interesting, even exciting, initially, though she’d had to keep a constant lookout for anyone coming to find the weak and feeble woman who was taking too much time to relieve herself and might have fallen down a hole or been eaten by a badger. But more fool her; Yuuri had only succeeded in winding her up, even if she’d given as good as she’d got. That _chutia _was determined to make life difficult for her in small but painful ways, like a cloud of biting gnats. She’d had him in her hands, right where she wanted him. She could’ve shot him. She chose to run her mouth off instead, and he got away. With her gun.

In her desperation to _do _something, she’d almost – almost – decided to try taking a hostage, one who was guaranteed to make him come running. The baron or his son, for instance. But while Andrei was feared, Victor was loved. Yes, she would have chosen him. Visited his room when he was alone and held a gun to his head, then had Phichit tell Yuuri to get the hell over there. Once he turned up, she’d take his gun and make him show her who he’d been parading himself around as, right before she shot him.

As much as she hated to admit it, however, that scenario would have unwanted repercussions, whether or not she killed the hostage afterward. _I’m also not a sociopath. I’ve killed two people in self-defence, that’s all. I didn’t enjoy it. I would’ve let that young man live if he hadn’t seen me. _Besides, she needed these toffs, at least for now.

She sipped her drink, grimacing again. Mead-and-wine was never going to be anyone’s tipple of choice, unless perhaps some fruit juice was added.

_I say I don’t enjoy killing. The truth is that there’s one person whose flame I’d love to snuff out. He deserves it ten times over. _He’d somehow managed not to give himself away when the broken com had been passed around at the meal; she’d taken a risk by letting it come to light. He was using her stolen equipment, including the lost com – though it wouldn’t do him much good unless he wanted to take on the guise of the washerwoman, and he’d know she was watching for that. But the worst thing he’d done so far – and the bastard _knew _it – was that he’d destroyed her only means of travelling to and from the castle at night. The way he was goading her about it yesterday, plus that stupid guessing game that had led nowhere, since there was no telling if he’d been truthful about any of it…it was burning her up.

She ripped her necklace off and threw it, the little glinting pieces clicking on the wooden floor and rolling everywhere. Then took several deep breaths.

_I’m being childish. My temper is dangerous – to me. I must learn to control it better before I do something reckless. These things can take time and patience._

What else could she do to get at him? This was war. But then, the king would arrive soon. It was imperative that he feel relaxed and safe. That was more important than Yuuri, she had to remember.

At least after the duel there would be one less person to trouble her, as Justin would be out of the picture. That factor wasn’t completely within her control, but it was within Tyler’s. Even that, however, was not without its snags, since to everyone’s surprise, Justin was turning out to be quite the swordsman.

_But Tyler can even beat Victor. Not many can boast about that. No, Ailis, it’s not a worry. It’ll be fine._

Besides, if Tyler didn’t kill him, she’d do it herself. And who knew – she might be killing two birds with one stone. Because on her list of possible candidates for the real identity of Celestino’s stooge, Justin was at the top.


	105. Chapter 105

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final scene in this chapter has quite a lot of Middle English in it, so you will find it duplicated at the end with the Middle English that Victor speaks translated into modern English :)

_He’ll like this. I don’t wear it often._

Yuuri took his shimmering blue samite shirt, with the long billowing sleeves and hem that barely covered his braies, from its shelf in his wardrobe and held it up. Smiling to himself, he imagined Victor’s reaction when he saw it on him. 

Only, Victor had gone out for now, and Yuuri wasn’t sure when he was likely to return. While they’d been drinking at the table, still warm and glowing from what they’d just done together, the steward and chamberlain had come knocking, each at different times, only to be sent away by Victor with a promise that he’d meet with them tomorrow. A blush had spilled across Yuuri’s cheeks as he thought about how thankful he was that they hadn’t chosen to visit when the two of them had been up against the door, and he could tell from Victor’s smirk that he knew what he was thinking. But then a messenger had arrived from the baron, who wanted to see Victor; he’d put his cap on and left with an apology, saying he’d arrange to meet with his father the next day for a longer spell, though as his son he ought to greet him after his travels and summarise what had occurred. Yuuri had told him that he understood and didn’t need to explain. He’d watched him go with a small smile, knowing he was unlikely to see much of him over the next few days while he got caught up with things at the castle.

_I’m in love with a VIP. That’s how it is. _Though he couldn’t help but wish they could spend a day getting caught up with each other.

He didn’t want to sit around the room in a pretty shirt waiting what could be hours for Victor’s return, however, and laid it on his bed, drawing his sword and returning to the main room, where there was more space for him to work. It never hurt to brush up his memory of fighting moves, so that they would come to him instinctively in the duel.

Holding his sword loosely in front of him, he concentrated on his breathing and movements. _Woman’s guard on the right. _He lifted the sword over his right shoulder – a bit like a baseball bat, but more elegant, hopefully. _High woman’s guard. _Elbows in the air, sword pointing downward along his back. _Drop in to make a full fendente cut. _He brought the sword over his shoulder to point forward at his invisible opponent, moving his right foot forward. The sword continued to sweep in an arc, pointing downward now; and shifting his weight to his left foot, he brought the blade back up to perch over his left shoulder. _Woman’s guard on the left. _When it all flowed smoothly, it felt like doing tai chi with a sword – slower than how it would occur in real combat, but priming his body to remember it and use it in an instant.

He was glad Victor had taught him these drills. As their familiarity took over, his thoughts ebbed away, and he might as well have been swimming or flying, the harmony of his movements bringing peace to his heart. For once, the irony of that as he wielded a deadly weapon didn’t intrude upon his mind.

He almost didn’t notice when Victor returned to the room, but the click of the door managed to belatedly catch his attention.

“Beautiful,” he said. “But you’re shifting your weight from your back leg a touch too early, which will take some force away from your cut.”

Yuuri smiled at him and sheathed his sword. “Thanks, trainer.”

“I’ll make sure we get out to the field to do this properly tomorrow,” Victor replied, tossing his cap onto the table. “That’s a solemn promise.”

“Good.” Yuuri added softly, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Andrei would’ve had me in conference with him all night over politics. I have other priorities, so I bade him good night.”

Heart fluttering already in anticipation, Yuuri said with a little sultry grin, “I’ll just go get changed into something more suitable.” He didn’t miss the hungry look that flashed in Victor’s eyes as he started toward his room.

Once there, Yuuri donned the shirt he’d left on his bed, then decided to do the whole thing properly, swapping his workaday tan hose for the sheer tight-fitting royal-blue ones, and quickly slicking his hair back with a little oil afterwards. Re-buckling his sword belt as he returned to the main room, his eyes widened and heat spread through him as he saw Victor leaning against the table, now wearing a linen night shirt, half unbuttoned, the curves of his neck and collarbones framed against the pale material. The smile he gave Yuuri was full of love and desire.

Yuuri was fighting the urge to walk up to him and rip the shirt off his body when a knock sounded at the door. Victor’s smile dropped.

“Master, it’s me,” came Julia’s voice. Yuuri could see the struggle on Victor’s face as he hesitated, but his own features softened and he nodded. Victor held his gaze for a moment longer with the ghost of a grin, then went to the door and opened it, and Julia entered with a tray of food and drink, which she placed on the table and began to organise.

“All we had to eat while we were travelling back here today was pork pies and ale,” she said. “These are some leavings from supper that I thought you might like, sir.”

“Thank you, my girl,” Victor said, examining what she’d brought. “And we should be thankful for small mercies, too. It didn’t rain yesterday or today.”

She rolled her eyes. “But the weather for the first several days – God’s bodkins. I’ll be drying my boots out for a week.”

“I think you exaggerate a trifle,” Victor commented, cutting a slice of bread and dipping it in an orange-hued pottage. “Would you like some, Yuuri?”

He joined them and scanned the items on the tray. “I ate supper, but I can always manage a honey pie.”

“I saw them and thought of you,” Julia said. “There’s plenty of hypocras here, too.”

“Help yourself to some of this if you’re hungry,” Victor invited her.

Pink spread across her cheeks. “To be honest, I um, ate a honey pie on the way here.”

Victor laughed and poured three cups of hypocras, taking a drink from one.

“Do you really not mind, sir, if I have this?” Julia asked, picking up a cup and staring at it.

“You serve it to me all the time. I don’t see why you can’t have some yourself once in a while.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip and considering it. “It’s very spicy.” She turned to Yuuri, who was holding his own cup. “What have you been doing all week, if you don’t mind my asking? Training? Or did Ailis cause trouble again? Do you know who she is yet?”

Yuuri sat down, and the others did the same. Over their hypocras and a little of the food, he told her the main points about the secret passageway, the cave-in, and discovering that Ailis had been with the retinue.

“She was with us the whole time?” Julia breathed with wide eyes.

Yuuri shrugged. “Most of the staff from the castle was with you, so it’s not much to go on.”

“But I wish I’d known. I’d have – ”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “You’d have what?”

She considered. “I can’t say I’m sure,” she eventually conceded. “But I had my bow with me. She’s no witch; an arrow will stick in her, right enough.”

“The problem with that is, she’s not going to give herself away so easily,” Yuuri replied, sipping more wine. “She’s not going to suddenly turn her projector off in front of you and say, ‘Hi I’m Ailis, fire away.’ ”

Julia snorted and Victor smiled. “It would be handy if she did, though,” he said.

“What do you think she’s doing now?” Julia asked, looking at Yuuri.

He shook his head. “Unpacking? Your guess is as good as mine. She won’t be sneaking through the passageway anymore, at least.”

“It’s a shame that’s gone. It was…” She saw Victor eyeing her, and her words trailed off.

“You knew about it?”

“I…well, it’s not so secret as all that.”

“Have you used it? At night?” When she didn’t answer straight away, he said, “We’ll have a talk about this, I think, another time.”

They all drank quietly for a moment, then Julia looked at Yuuri again. “Emil says you were training with him. And that you went on a patrol around all those new buildings.”

Yuuri hadn’t told Victor about the patrol, so he gave the details to them both. “The others were busier with that than me, though,” he concluded.

“This place is mad at the moment,” Julia said. “I can’t believe how much it’s changed just since we left.”

Yuuri took a bite of his honey pie. “It’s not that bad. In fact, I’d say it’s remarkably peaceful for all the extra people here.”

“I heard about how you got drunk with Emil and his cousin, too.”

Yuuri choked on his pie and Victor perked up. “Someone told you about that already?”

She smiled. “Justin Lightfoot, some of them are calling you.”

Yuuri groaned and put his head in his hands.

“It’s all right,” she said. “It’s well meant.”

Before Victor could say anything, Yuuri changed the subject, asking her what she’d done in Doncaster, and she told him about seeing her father and brother. As she finished, she drank the last of her wine and stood. “Thank you for allowing me to share your drink, sirs,” she said. “I’ll take your leave and see if any of the other squires are in the main garrison room.” They said their goodbyes, and then to Yuuri’s surprise, she gave him a quick wink before she bowed and left.

“Don’t – ” Yuuri began, seeing the glint in Victor’s eye, but he was not to be deterred.

“Justin Lightfoot, eh? What did you do?”

“I, um…I don’t remember. Emil told me something about…oh fuck.” He sank his head in his hands again. “Why do these things happen?”

“Because you drank a lot,” Victor laughed, sitting back in his chair and gazing at him fondly. “But come now, what did Emil say you’d done?”

After a pause, Yuuri replied in a small voice, “He said I got up on a table while I was wearing my armour and danced a jig with him.”

“Really? I’m jealous.”

“Don’t be. I probably looked ridiculous.”

“That’s not what Julia said. And ‘Lightfoot’ isn’t insulting.”

“He said I danced another jig on my own after that, and then people went a bit wild and started dancing on the tables themselves.”

“It sounds like you gave them a good time. You know, it was the same that night you first danced with me.”

Yuuri raked a hand through his hair. “I’m not like that when I’m sober. Whoever that man is who comes out when I’m smashed, he doesn’t seem to be me.”

“I beg to differ,” Victor said with a gentle smile. “You learned how to seduce me when you’re sober. Maybe in time you’ll find a way to feel more comfortable around friends when you’re sober, too. Drunk Yuuri is still Yuuri.”

Yuuri considered this, then smiled back at him. “Those are nice things to say.”

“You seem to have had an even more eventful week than I realised at first, and that’s saying something. Now I’m going to lock that door, and spend the rest of this night with you and you alone, even if the king himself suddenly comes knocking; and the first thing I’d like to hear is what else you got up to while I was away, because my curiosity’s been piqued. Tell me about your training. About whether my father sat next to you at meals. Anything you want.”

Yuuri blinked, watching him get up to lock the door. If Victor really wanted to know all those things, he was happy to tell him. But first he ushered him into his own bedroom, taking the hypocras and their cups, and showed him the completed clock; Victor said it was one of the most astonishing things he’d ever seen, and was curious about how it could automatically tell the time just by weights and the winding of gears. Yuuri explained as best he could, pointing out the components and what they did, then told him some details about his training and exercise regimes, though he figured they could discuss it in more depth tomorrow. He also mentioned the baron and how talkative he’d become at mealtimes.

“My father?” Victor said as they sat at the table next to the quietly ticking clock. “You must have made an admirable impression.”

“He seems to like having an audience.”

Victor huffed a little laugh. “That’s true. I hope he didn’t bore you.”

_That’s not the word I would use, no. _“He told me stories about his travels once I’d mentioned I’d been to Moscow.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “Have you?”

“No. I got Phichit to look things up on the Cloud.”

“Devious,” Victor chuckled.

“And there was one more thing. Um, Mari would like to meet you. Well, talk to you.”

“Your sister?” Wide eyes again. “I could do that?”

Yuuri told him how she’d been kept in the dark about his mission, and that he hadn’t spoken with her since he’d left, until recently. “It was an awful thing to do to her,” he said. “I should’ve insisted she was told a lot sooner. But we’ve made up, I think, pretty much. Phichit put us in touch. I told her about you, and then she said she wanted to meet you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why should I mind? She’s your sister. You said you were close.”

Yuuri rested the point of an elbow on the table and the sleeve of his shirt whispered down his arm. “We were. Are. Especially after my parents died. And for months, she thought I was on this trip for the university, and never heard from me. I guess that’s probably normal here when people travel far away; but in 2121, they’re connected across the world, and there’s hardly anywhere you can go where there isn’t Cloud cover.”

“Well, she can hear from us both, then. She sounds like a remarkable lady.”

“Yeah, she is,” Yuuri said with a small smile.

“Can you see if we can speak to her now?”

Yuuri glanced at the clock. “At half past nine?”

“Would she be abed?” Victor leaned forward and stared at the clock again. “_Bozhe_, that’s incredible. It makes my astrolabe seem like…like a pretty platter, nothing more.”

“The astrolabe can do a lot of things that this doesn’t. And no, she’s a night owl like me. I suppose I can try, if you’re sure you want to do this right now?”

“Why not?”

_Because I’ve been looking forward to having you back in my arms all evening? _But there were plenty of opportunities for that, and besides, Victor’s enthusiasm was touching. “OK, I’ll see what I can do. Though actually, do you want to use Dr. Croft’s com? Well, I suppose it’s yours now.”

Victor’s eyes lit up. “Are you certain it’s all right – ?”

“Of course. Phichit knows you.”

He drew the com out of his purse and grinned. “I’m nervous,” he laughed, sounding surprised.

“You don’t have to – ”

“I want to…please.” Yuuri nodded and gave him his translator, which he placed in his ear. Then Victor took a breath and closed his eyes, as if to better see the BCI. Yuuri guided him in making the call, and soon Phichit’s voice came from the com in Victor’s hand.

“Hey?” Victor said uncertainly. Yuuri smiled.

“Hey? Who’s this?”

“It’s Victor. Yuuri gave me this com to use and said I could call you.”

“Ting. Um, I mean, great. So what’s happening? Is Yuuri OK?”

“I’m here,” Yuuri called to him. “Victor was wondering if he could talk to Mari.”

“_I _was going to tell him that,” Victor said with a touch of petulance.

“Uh…well, I can see if I can get hold of her, and find out if she’s got a moment. You mean right now, right?”

“If it’s convenient,” Victor answered.

“Check this jack out, Yuuri. He’s so polite.”

Victor gave a little laugh. “Would you rather I was rude? I can do that, too.”

Yuuri felt a glow of pleasure at Victor using the com and talking with Phichit like this. He wasn’t entirely sure why; perhaps it brought him out of the trappings of this time for just a moment.

“I’ll get back to you soon and let you know,” Phichit was saying.

“Thank you,” Victor replied. There was a pause. “I heard a beep.”

“That means he cut the call,” Yuuri told him.

“So he can call Mari now – instantly?”

“We can call him ourselves instantly, can’t we? It’s normal.”

“It’s not,” Victor said, shaking his head and laughing. “Normal is giving a scroll to a messenger who rides out on horseback.”

“Normal is looking information up on the Cloud,” Yuuri said with a smile.

“I suppose here we’d have to look in a book, or consult a map or an expert.”

“Oh, you can do all kinds of things on the Cloud. Get instant news from around the world. View people and events. Call up directions for how to travel somewhere. Order goods to be delivered to your doorstep. Play games with anyone, anywhere in the world. Watch tutorials on just about anything you want to learn.” He paused. “Find out about swordfighting. Or how to build a clock.”

Victor’s jaw had dropped as he spoke. “It sounds miraculous. I can hardly imagine living like that. It must be very dull for you here, in comparison.”

“Do I look like I’m bored? I’d say there’s a fair bit going on in my life here, wouldn’t you?” Victor gave him a grin. “I haven’t even told you about holograms yet, have I? Those visions I mentioned, which seem real. You get them in Immersion, for example – ”

“I remember. You learned how to use a sword in that game. And how to dance. And…” He smiled. “…you had lovers.”

Yuuri felt his cheeks pink. “You can’t really call them that. They weren’t real.”

“Real enough for you to touch.”

“Well, yeah.”

“What were they like?” Victor asked softly, leaning his head against his hand and looking at him thoughtfully. “Did any of them make your thighs tremble?”

Yuuri felt the pink turning to red. Fortunately, he was saved from having to think of a reply when Victor’s eyes took on the universal blank look of the tech user; he was answering a call.

“Hey?” he said, and Yuuri heard Phichit snicker into the com. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Hey, Victor. It’s just that we don’t usually say ‘hey’ when we answer a call.”

“Yuuri says it all the time. You just did.”

“It’s…oh God, how can I explain…”

“Phichit, cut the crap and let me talk to him, will you?” came Mari’s voice.

“Mari, is that you?” Victor said.

“Hi. Yeah. Pleased to meet you, Victor. Am I all right to talk now, Phichit?”

“Sure.”

“Yuuri’s here, too,” Victor added.

“Hey, bro.”

“Hey, Mari,” Yuuri replied, realising they must be thoroughly confusing Victor now. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for putting Victor on like this. I still can’t believe you two are in bloody 1393. That’s just cracked.”

“And you’re in 2121,” Victor said. Yuuri thought he detected a bit of extra smoothness in his voice. “It’s beyond anything I could ever have imagined. But so was Yuuri coming here as he did.”

“I get that.”

“Might I ask where you are and what you’ve been doing? I’m curious.”

After a pause, Mari answered, “I’m in my living room, and I’ve been watching a holo-show about the first colony under the Pacific Ocean. And you?” Victor wrinkled his brow.

_He wouldn’t have understood any of that, _Yuuri thought. Was she deliberately trying to wrong-foot him? But then, she didn’t know him, and they couldn’t even see each other. Yuuri’s gut tensed as he listened, ready to intervene if necessary, hoping it wouldn’t be.

“Yuuri and I are sitting at the table in his room,” Victor answered. “He’s just shown me this remarkable clock he built. I wish you could see it.”

“Yeah, he told me he did that.”

“You should also see what he can do with a sword. He’s vastly improved since he first arrived. It’s extraordinary, Mari. He doesn’t wield a blade; he dances with it.”

Yuuri stared at Victor, who smiled back at him.

“If looking good could help him win that duel, that’d be juke. But I hope you’re giving him some proper training.”

Yuuri rubbed at his forehead and bit his lip.

“I’m doing my best. Nothing’s more important to me.”

Another pause. “I’m glad. Now, listen: you might be the most wonderful jack the world has ever produced – my brother certainly seems to think so – but before we say anything else, I just want you to know that Yuuri’s a pretty wonderful jack himself, so if you don’t treat him right, I’m going to find a way to join you there at that castle and cut your testicles off with your own sword. Got that?”

Victor raised his eyebrows, and Yuuri gave a silent groan. 

“You must love him very much.”

“I do. He’s my little brother.”

“I love him, too. And I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure he stays safe.”

“Good. I won’t be seeing him again, so he needs someone who will.”

Victor wrinkled his brow once more, and Yuuri swallowed. He was going to tell Victor, of course he was. But he hadn’t had a chance yet.

Mari’s tone lightened somewhat as she asked, “So what do you do there, exactly? Be a knight all day?”

Yuuri poured himself more hypocras. _You know the answer to that because I told you. _But then, maybe she was looking for a way to make conversation. This couldn’t be easy for her. He felt a sudden stab of grief at the thought that she’d never get to meet Victor in person, and he’d never get to meet her, either.

“I’m the baron’s son,” Victor replied.

“Really? Should I be calling you The Right Honourable Victor or something, then? I don’t know much about these things.”

“ ‘My lord’ is what people commonly say.”

“So you want me to call you My Lord Victor?”

Victor laughed. “No. ‘Victor’ is fine.

“That’s a relief. I’ve never met an aristo in my life. We, um, don’t really have them here anymore.”

Yuuri was cringing inside. But he noticed that some of the tension had eased. Somehow, he discovered, they were two distinct things.

“Yuuri’s told me a lot about your time,” Victor said. “It sounds idyllic in many ways. But we do our best here to look after our tenants on the estate. That’s much of what I do as the baron’s son. We ensure the land is worked, that taxes are paid, that there’s enough food for everyone, that our tenants are helped if they get into difficulties…”

“Sounds like you run your own mini-government there.”

Yuuri had never quite thought about it like that, but he realised it was a good description. Though feudalism was certainly no democracy.

“I suppose we do, yes. Can I ask what you do?”

“Yuuri hasn’t told you?”

“I haven’t explained to him what a spa is yet,” Yuuri spoke up.

“Spa?” Victor echoed, blinking. “There’s a town in Belgium with that name. People go there to bathe and drink the spring water; they believe it’s conducive to their health.”

“You see? He knows already,” Mari said. “My partner and I run a spa in the countryside. People come here to bathe, swim, sit in steam rooms, get massages, all sorts of things. We’ve kept it going for a few years now, but the facility has a long history…”

And she was away. This was a favourite subject of hers, naturally. Though she wasn’t the type to want to dominate a conversation, and she invited comments from Victor about what people did in his time, whether he’d ever been to places like Bath which were natural spas, and a few embarrassing things such as whether people used soap here. But he was pleasant and interested throughout, and didn’t seem to take offence at anything she said (“I’m partial to rose-scented soap myself,” he told her, “and so is Yuuri, so we share”; which meant Mari wasn’t the sole source of embarrassment in the conversation). In fact, Yuuri could imagine the two of them getting on quite well together. In the end, he and Victor both promised Mari they’d speak with her again soon; then they chatted with Phichit for a few minutes before Victor ended the call. The faint clinking of the embers in the fireplace and the ticking of the clock seemed lonely as the only sounds in the room once the voices were gone.

“She’s lovely,” Victor said, taking a draught of his neglected hypocras, which Yuuri had refilled for him. “She’s like a crab, I’d say. Tough on the outside and soft in the middle.”

Yuuri almost sprayed out his drink as he guffawed. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“Well, calling someone a crab, or saying they’re crabby, is an insult. It means they’re irritable; bad-tempered.”

“Really?” Victor said in surprise as he returned the com to his purse and sipped his wine. “The crab is a symbol of strength on a coat of arms. And the zodiac sign is associated with femininity, home and family.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “I have a feeling we’re not done finding out about the differences between our two times, and how a compliment in one can be an offence in the other.”

“I daresay you’re right,” Victor replied with a little grin, taking another drink. “I won’t call Mari a crab, then, when I speak with her again. I enjoyed it.”

“You didn’t sound nervous at all.”

“Ah. Well, you see, it’s the diplomat in me.”

“You’re wonderful,” Yuuri said quietly. “Thank you for doing that.”

Victor smiled. “It was hardly a chore. It’s an honour to meet your family, my sweet.” Then his expression sobered. “She seemed convinced she’d never see you again. Does she have no hope that you might return?”

Yuuri looked down at the table.

“What is it? Did the two of you have an argument?”

“No,” Yuuri answered, looking back up at him. “Nothing like that. Though she’s picked that she didn’t know where I was all this time, and hadn’t heard from me.” He paused. “Victor, I told her – and Phichit and Celestino – that I don’t intend to return to their time. Ever. Not even if the means became available.” He waited for the reaction he expected, and received it; Victor sat up in his chair, put his cup on the table and stared.

“Not even if Ailis were able to repair a time-travel sphere?”

Yuuri was surprised to discover that he felt like smiling, and he did. “Not even then,” he answered.

Victor huffed in amazement and shook his head slightly. “What about the real Justin? You said – ”

“I know, but I’ve spoken to him since then. This past week, actually. He’s started to like it where he is. Quite a lot, from the sound of it. Once he gave it a chance and stopped threatening everyone. He said…” He thought back to their conversation. “…that he’s having an adventure. With Immersion, the tech, and so on.” Victor still seemed lost for words, so he continued, “I know that if he died, I’d be pulled back – but he’s well looked after there, and I sort of got the impression that rather than being…distempered, he was just angry and disoriented, which you’d expect of anyone to some degree in that situation, I suppose.”

“But Yuuri,” Victor said with quiet gravity, his gaze holding his own, “that’s your _home_. Everything you’ve ever known. All those wonderful things you grew up with, which were part of your life. Using the Cloud and playing Immersion. Peace, compassionate laws, no poverty. Your family and friends. I couldn’t take you away from that, if you could have it again. If I truly loved you, that’s something I’d never do.”

Yuuri had expected him to say something of the kind, though he was touched by how heartfelt it was. “This is my decision,” he said. “I already knew that if I came on this mission, I might never return for one reason or another. Did you ever get the impression that I was happy there?”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “I…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head slightly again.

“My parents, who I loved, have been dead for years, Victor. Phichit’s my only friend; and there’s Mari. But that’s all. My job wasn’t inspiring, and probably didn’t have a future.” As he spoke, Yuuri recalled how these things had felt to him just before he’d left. Enough time had passed since then that it was something of a revelation; one that made his heart sink. “I spent years in Immersion, not knowing how to live.” He gave Victor a wistful grin. “But now I do. You taught me that. You made me see. You and this crazy, amazing place. It’s been like waking from a long sleep.” Tears began to prick at him, and he gave a little laugh. “I want to stay,” he continued as he gazed at those blue eyes. “I never want to leave you. I love you. And you needed an answer. I don’t want either of us to have to worry about this anymore.”

Victor searched his face, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Yuuri, my love, do you really mean it? I want you to be sure. This is…you’d be giving up so much.”

Yuuri smiled at him. “And gaining so much more. Of course I mean it, Vitya.” He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers down Victor’s wet cheek.

Victor took his hand and kissed his fingers firmly with his eyes shut, lips lingering. “I hardly know what to say,” he whispered against them. “Oh…”

He looked like someone whose prayer had been answered, Yuuri thought, filling with warmth from top to toe.

Squeezing his hand and releasing it, Victor gave him a shaky smile. “If you’re certain, then…this is the most precious gift anyone has ever given me.” He paused. “I have something in return for you; I’ve been thinking about it a while. It’s only an object, but it’s a family heirloom. I used to wear it myself.”

“Oh?”

Victor stood and went to the main room, Yuuri following. He stopped in front of his wardrobe, took a keyring from his purse, and unlocked a chest. From inside he removed a bundle of dark blue silken material, then turned to Yuuri and handed it to him. “Open it,” he said softly.

As Yuuri began to do so, Victor continued, “This was given to my great-grandfather, Kazimir Andreyevich Nikiforov, by Yuri Danilovich, Prince of Moscow. It’s not the only one of its kind in the family; you’ve seen my father and me wear others. But it’s suitable, is it not? From a Yuri to a Yuuri.”

Shimmering folds of blue fell from Yuuri’s hands, and he gasped at what he saw.

“It belongs to you now, my sweet. Think of me when you wear it?”

Yuuri went to place the material on the table and carefully straightened the clinking livery collar as he returned, holding it in front of him in awe. There were no jewels in it like Victor’s; instead, it was made of gleaming yellow symmetrical basket-weave links that resembled the letter “E” joined together. It was large enough that it would easily hang from the edge of each shoulder down to his chest. A lion rearing up on its hind legs dangled from the middle like a charm.

“It’s magnificent,” he said. Not that he’d ever had a fondness for expensive objects; but this was special as a gift from Victor, and the craftsmanship was exquisite even to his inexpert eyes. “But I don’t…I can’t – ”

“Please, do. I’d love to see it on you.” As Yuuri arranged it so that it rested neatly on top of his shirt, Victor said, “It’s almost pure gold, I believe.” Looking into Yuuri’s eyes, he added, “Beautiful.”

Momentarily lost in his gaze, Yuuri finally came to himself and fingered the charm. “This is the lion from your family’s coat of arms.”

“Indeed. Are you familiar with our motto?”

“No, I didn’t know you had one.”

“All noble families do. It’s part of our pomposity,” Victor added with a small smirk. “Ours is, ‘My family, my strength, my life’.”

“Oh,” was all Yuuri could say.

“Not very applicable, perhaps,” Victor said, reading his meaning. He placed a finger under Yuuri’s chin. “It’s better if I change it a little, I think. ‘My Yuuri, my strength, my life’.”

Yuuri stared. Lost for words, he tilted his head up and gave Victor a long, soft kiss. “I wish I could give you something in return,” he broke off to say. “I wasn’t able to bring much with me when I came here, and I don’t own anything valuable anyway; nothing like this.”

“You’ve already given me a great deal, my love. You’ll never be under any obligations from me.” Victor paused. “Actually, I have an idea. May I take a cutting of your hair?”

Yuuri looked at him quizzically. “My hair?”

“To put in a locket? I’ll get one made specially. Then I’ll have something of yours to keep with me.”

_Oh. _He smiled. “Sure.”

Victor fetched a pair of scissors from a drawer and carefully snipped a small brown lock, then wrapped it in a cloth he drew out of his purse. When he’d safely stowed it back inside and put the scissors away, he rejoined Yuuri, running a finger down the soft material of his shirt, pausing over the livery collar before continuing down his front. Yuuri guessed he was going to say something about the clothes; how distracting they were, maybe. But he didn’t care about that right now. He’d just told Victor he wanted to stay here with him, always. Victor had given him this amazing gift, and then taken some of his hair to put in a locket. It was all mixing into a dizzying, exhilarating jumble, and there was one quick way to show how he felt. All these thoughts raced through his mind in an instant; and in the next, he surged forward to kiss Victor passionately, clasping him tight.

Taken by surprise, Victor was nevertheless quick to respond, caressing Yuuri’s cheeks and neck, pressing against him, hungrily meeting his mouth. Heat pulsed through Yuuri’s veins as their tongues tangled, and he slid a hand inside Victor’s shirt, delighting in the warm, smooth planes and curves he found there. Having been teased all evening by the gapping material, he broke the kiss, pulled the collar further aside, and trailed his lips over Victor’s pale skin, down his neck and across his collarbone, the red marks where the blisters had been having disappeared completely by now. Victor tilted his head back and moaned his name, clutching at his shoulders. A small cry escaped Yuuri’s throat when Victor slipped a hand down between them and cupped it around his cock, giving it a squeeze.

“You’re so hard again,” he breathed, moving his hand in a slow rhythm and kneading Yuuri’s balls with the ends of his fingers; the touches sent jolts through him. “Maybe I should be flattered. But I seem to have the same problem.”

Yuuri took him in his own hand, eliciting a gasp, and mirrored his actions. “So you do,” he said, sultry, against his cheek.

Victor captured his lips, quickly deepening the kiss; Yuuri moaned, welcoming the penetration, and suddenly realising how much he wanted it elsewhere as well.

“I ached for you while I was away,” Victor said huskily, lips still close as his hand continued its movements. “During the journey here, all I could think about was seeing you again. Loving you. Being buried inside you. You buried inside me.”

A pulse of desire rocked through Yuuri. “Take me, then,” he said, yearning. Then an idea found its way into his distracted brain. “But…” Victor looked at him, questioning. “Well, we were quick before. Why don’t we try to slow down this time, and make it last.”

“I like how you say _try_,” Victor mumbled with a grin, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Yuuri smirked. “How about a dance?”

“Hmm.” More nuzzling, and a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. “I could possibly be persuaded.”

“We won’t bother Phichit again,” Yuuri said, lightly kissing him back. Victor’s jaw was slightly rough; he hadn’t shaved that morning. It made an interesting change. “Do you know a song you can sing for us?”

“A song?”

“I love your voice. It’s soothing, and makes me want to jump into bed with you at the same time.” Yuuri smiled against his skin.

“We could skip one and go to the other.”

“It’ll be more fun this way.”

“You tease,” Victor murmured.

“And afterward, I want you to fuck me senseless.”

“Oh.” Victor drew back, his eyes bright. “Well, in that case…” He stepped to the table, his gaze only leaving Yuuri’s for a moment while he removed the translator from his ear and put it down. Yuuri watched him curiously as he returned without it.

“The songe is in Frensh,” Victor said, placing his hands on Yuuri’s arms.

Yuuri took a moment to adjust to Victor’s speech. They’d done this a few times before out of lighthearted interest, and taught each other bits and pieces of their own versions of English and the other languages they spoke. But not while they’d had conversations that required deeper understanding.

“It semes mar plesant in that wees,” Victor added, giving him a reassuring smile. “Come, mee lohv. Dance with meh.”

Yuuri nodded and draped his arms over Victor’s shoulders, loosely clasping them behind his neck. Victor gripped his waist. “Saye som-thing. Ahnee-thing. Ee lohv to herr theh spehk as thoh did al thee leef err thoh com to meh.”

Yuuri realised he’d already been unconsciously withdrawing into that silent world of expressions and gestures which existed for when verbal communication wasn’t an option. “All right. Victor Nikiforov – Vitya – I missed you like hell for a week. And I’m glad we have this time together now. So sing to me. Dance with me. Make love with me.”

He smiled to see the bemusement on Victor’s face, but there seemed to be understanding too. “_Avec grand plaisir._” 

_Not fair, _Yuuri wanted to say. He wondered how often Victor sprinkled bits of French or Russian into his speech. It was clear that the translator, while a necessity here, also had the disadvantage of masking the nuances of how people expressed themselves.

They began to move. It required no artistry, this kind of dancing; it was more like an embrace. But it was just what Yuuri had wanted. As they stepped slowly around the middle of the room, Victor looked down at him and sang a beautiful, haunting song, his soft vibrato lilting over the flowing notes. _Mon chéri, mon cuer en vous remaint, _it began. Yuuri didn’t understand anything apart from the first two words, but wasn’t going to interrupt Victor to ask. He was weaving a spell between the two of them, and Yuuri was willingly ensnared by it as they gazed at each other. The breath seemed to have left his body while shivers of pleasure ran through him.

_I’m yours, _Yuuri thought as they danced and Victor sang. _I always will be. I found you here and I’m never letting you go. _They slowly drifted to a standstill, and Yuuri closed his eyes as the final words to the song hung in the air: _Comment que de vous me departe. _Victor’s breath was on his cheek.

“It is a songe aboht hoh lohv remaines in the singeris hert, hoh-so-ever fer apart fra his lover he be,” Victor said softly. “It was writen having meend apon a woman, bot it is noght hard forto mene it of a man.” Then there was a little laugh. “Understandestou what Ee saye?”

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered. “And it’s wonderful to hear it.”

“Ee plaied it on mee citole while Ee was awei,” Victor continued with a smile. “It semed mete. It leekid me ille to be apart from theh al that teem. It has ben a lang whil sith Ee returned herr swa gladli.”

Yuuri considered his words, taking a moment to extract their meaning. “We have the coms now. Phichit can put us in touch. But I hope he won’t need to.” He stroked Victor’s cheek and saw desire in his eyes, which he knew must be reflected in his own. They’d resolved to take this slowly, however; and so he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Victor’s, then did so again, feather-light. They shared kisses like this, barely touching, until Yuuri was quivering with anticipation.

It was Victor who gave in first, pressing his lips more firmly against Yuuri’s with a sigh while his hands fluttered up to either side of his neck. Yuuri unbuckled Victor’s belt and let it fall, caressing his abdomen underneath his shirt, a coil of want tightening inside of him. Neither of them were good at being patient like this, and Yuuri’s cock was demanding a touch, friction, anything. He tried to concentrate on Victor, opening his mouth for deep kisses while he gripped his waist, fingers digging in.

“I want you,” Yuuri breathed.

“Ee yerne to be within theh,” Victor said in the next moment. “This is the swetest heviness, bot it slayes me.” He stepped back and pulled his shirt off, letting it drop to the floor. Then he lifted the livery collar away; Yuuri took the cue and removed his own belt and shirt, tossing them on top of Victor’s. To his surprise, Victor replaced the collar, the heavy warm metal feeling strange against his skin without any material underneath it. He ran a finger along the links.

“Ee pray theh, lose it noght,” Victor said, laying a palm over the collar, pressing it lightly against his chest. “It is wonderli for to seh. Ee yerne to take theh right swa.”

_Do it now, _Yuuri wanted to say. But if they were going to drive each other to distraction with anticipation, he was going to enjoy the delicious torture. “Take your boots off,” he said as he went to fetch a chair. Victor’s eyes lit up as he kicked them away; he knew what this meant, and placed his foot on the dark wood.

Yuuri was tempted for a moment to slip into his dom persona; it was the perfect situation for it. But it wasn’t necessary, either, and tonight he felt a need for Victor to be mostly in charge. Perhaps it was a balance between them that he craved. Or the fact that he’d just announced that he wanted to stay here beside him and never leave. _Show me you want it, too. Make me yours, _he thought, even though he was in no doubt about it.

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Victor in front of him, his leg open to the side while his foot rested on the chair, the sculpted upper half of his body and his fair hair gleaming in the candlelight. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, stepping forward to stand in front of him. For an answer, Victor smiled, cupped his shoulders, and gave him a long kiss. Yuuri busied his hands meanwhile with untying the tops of Victor’s hose; he could do this without having to look now, and his fingertips teased at the material, plunging in occasionally to trace the outline a hard muscle.

“Ee pray theh,” Victor whispered.

Yuuri gave his bottom lip a lingering kiss, then dropped to his knees and began to slide the hosepiece down the leg elevated on the chair. Little by little he revealed pale skin, until the material was rucked at the knee. He kissed there, then trailed his lips along the inside of Victor’s thigh, caressing as he went. Victor gasped when Yuuri pushed the leg of his braies out of the way and laved at the sensitive hollow at the top, humming. Then he pulled the hosepiece off, and gave Victor room to shift and put his other leg on the chair.

_I’m getting so predictable, _Yuuri thought, sliding the second hosepiece down. _But maybe that’s not always a bad thing. _This time he pulled it off completely while he was still trailing kisses up Victor’s thigh, and didn’t stop when he got to the top, unable to resist the temptation to mouth at Victor’s cock through his braies. Victor sucked in a breath. Feeling him twitch and stiffen, and an answering response between his own thighs, Yuuri continued with enthusiasm, until Victor’s chest was heaving. He moaned Yuuri’s name, then lightly pushed him away.

“Whithir wille theh to go, mee lohv?” he asked hoarsely. “The bed? Thee bed? Somwher ellis? Other…right here?”

Yuuri’s thoughts ran sluggishly through his mind; it was an effort to force them to penetrate the entrancing lilt of Victor’s strange and wonderful speech, and find the meaning. Then he stood and walked to the sheepskin rug by the fire, remembering the times he’d sat here over the past week, missing Victor. “What do you say?” he turned to ask.

“Ee saye lie doun and Ee sal be there anon.”

Yuuri did, watching as Victor went to get the oil. While he didn’t understand everything Victor was saying, it was easier than he’d expected, he decided with a flutter of pleasure. He was glad the translator wasn’t coming between them for once, even if he knew he’d need to carry on using it most of the time until he got the proper hang of Middle English; it made this seem more real somehow.

He sprawled on his back, luxuriating in the soft, warm, thick rug underneath him. The gold adorning his chest gleamed, and he had the fleeting notion that he could be the most desirable lady of a harem, decorated expensively and waiting for his lover to wreck him.

When Victor returned with the earthenware bottle and a cloth, he was nude. Yuuri stared unabashedly as he knelt down, placing the items on the floor out of harm’s way. “Thoh er a delit, liyng here thus, Yuuri, mee lohv. Unethes wit Ee hou to bigin.”

Yuuri met his gaze. “Kiss me.”

Getting on all fours to his side, Victor leaned down and pressed their lips together, his eyes shining almost grey in the warm glow from the fire. The tips of his fringe tickled Yuuri’s forehead, and he smiled while licking into Victor’s mouth. They both made soft moans as their tongues touched; Yuuri savoured the feel, while wanting so much more. He wrapped his arms around Victor, a hand straying up to stroke his hair.

“Thee kises er leek hohnee,” Victor purred. “Hou sauours the other del of theh, pardeh?”

“Please,” Yuuri sighed, stretching his arms over his head.

“Ertou beseking me?”

“I need you,” he said, raising his hips off the rug.

“Hahv pacience, mee sweting. Is that noght what thoh asked of meh?”

“I…” Yuuri swallowed and fell silent.

Victor caught his lips in a quick soft kiss, then flashed him a mischievous grin and shifted further down, licking from a collarbone to a nipple, which he covered wetly and flicked with his tongue. Yuuri took a sharp breath, and caught a glance his way while Victor pleasured him. Kissing across Yuuri’s chest, skipping over the livery collar but lying a palm on it again, Victor paid the same attention to the other nipple, then worked his way down to Yuuri’s abdomen and untied the tops of his hose.

“Ee lohv when thoh weres thes. Theh er wel-ner al gode as thee arrai of eros.”

Yuuri made what he could of Victor’s words, the rest of them falling on his ears like music. He propped himself up on his elbows to see what he was doing.

Victor smoothly pulled one hosepiece off, skimming his fingers along the length of Yuuri’s leg as he did so. Then the other; but this time he kissed his way up the inside of Yuuri’s calf and thigh, and raised himself higher when he got to Yuuri’s braies. “It leekes theh to bihold what Ee do to theh, dos it noght?” he said with a little smile. When Yuuri nodded, he smirked and pulled his braies off, Yuuri lifting his feet for him and suddenly feeling like he was on show. No longer embarrassed by this, he took in the heat of Victor’s gaze and moved his hips gently, sinuously, in wait.

He wasn’t prepared for what happened next, however, as Victor gripped his cock by the base and licked a hard stripe to the tip. “Fuck,” Yuuri breathed, arching his back. With hooded eyes, and moaning almost obscenely as he continued to flick glances at him, Victor assailed him with his mouth and tongue. The feel and sight of it sent Yuuri racing to the edge, until he was tilting his head back and panting while clawing at the rug. “Victor…you need to stop…stop…”

Victor let go with a popping sound, giving his mouth a quick wipe. “Thoh sauour and smel likerous,” he said. Then he paused, sitting back with his shins underneath him. “What menes ‘fuck’?”

Yuuri stared, struggling to register this. “You – you don’t know?”

“I neuer bifore hahv herd the word.”

“I say it all the time with you. Well, especially when we’re…like this.”

“Thee latymer mot chaunge it, than.”

“Latymer” – that was what Victor called his translator. “What does it change it to?”

Victor gave him a grin that was equal parts sultry and amused. “Ee miht tel theh an Ee knau the sens.” He moved to Yuuri’s side and sat on his shins again. Yuuri’s gaze was drawn to his navel, where his cock protruded from a small thicket of almost white curls, lifting just above his thighs, a bead of moisture at the tip. Victor followed where his eyes went, and lowered his lids.

“Um.” Yuuri licked his lips. “ ‘Fuck’ is…well, it’s a catch-all word for a lot of things. A strong swear word. You can say it when you’re picked. Or when something catastrophic happens. Or something amazing, too.” Victor gave a soft laugh. “But most of all, it means to…make love.”

“ ‘Make love’? Thoh sayed that bifor. Menestou to wou a paramour?”

“No, that means…they both mean…” He made an open fist with his left hand and pumped the middle finger of his right in and out of it, before planting his elbows on the floor again.

Victor’s laugh was louder this time. “Sard,” he said. “Other…swyve.” He stretched the sound out. “Occupye. Dight.”

“Oh.” Yuuri considered. “I like _swyve_. It sounds like a kind of dance.”

“It is, is it noght?” Victor dropped his voice. “Sitting herr thus, swa ner…” He paused. “Monestou lat meh swyve thee mohth?”

Yuuri’s breath caught as he stared, imagining Victor fucking his mouth for his own pleasure, something they hadn’t done before. “Give it to me,” he said.

Victor shifted closer and slowly moved his hips forward. When the tip of his cock touched Yuuri’s lips, he swept his tongue over it and hummed, hearing a gasp. “You taste good, too, Vitya.” He opened his mouth, waiting.

“Bee God in heven, Yuuri,” Victor breathed as he gently pushed into him. “Thoh er lofsom for to fel.” He began to make short thrusts, gasping again, and reached a hand around to cradle the back of Yuuri’s head, threading his fingers through his hair.

Yuuri allowed Victor to set his own pace, laving at his cock and making sure his teeth were out of the way, slanting dark looks up at him, and feeling wonderfully lascivious while wearing nothing but the glimmering livery collar. Victor didn’t push too far in, and was clearly being cautious, though his thrusts gradually quickened. Yuuri’s only regret was that he couldn’t speak.

And then he did make a noise, a muffled broken one, because he felt Victor’s hand wrap around his cock and begin to stroke it. “Thoh hahv a feen yerd, mee lohv,” Victor said, quiet and breathy. “Ee wold souk theh al-long nighte. Ee hope thoh mones do this to meh som-teem.”

Yuuri’s cock pulsed in Victor’s hand, and he moaned around him. Victor wasn’t usually this vocal about what they were doing, and he loved it, even if he didn’t understand every single word.

“Som men clepes this an arwe,” Victor continued, glancing at what he was doing with his fist. “Other a launce. Ehven a swerd. And thoh sportes with it.” He gave Yuuri a shaky smile. “Never hahv I herd theh saye that. Never hahv I sayed it to theh. It is…It is mar than sport with theh. It is making love. I sal remembre that.”

Yuuri bucked his hips and moaned again. He was getting close. But he wasn’t going to stop what they were doing, either, entranced as he was with Victor’s words; with taking him in his mouth.

“Parfit,” Victor sighed, tilting his head back. “Bee God, Yuuri, iwis. Souk me…tak me…” Yuuri felt fingers raking his through his hair, and Victor made a litany of throaty sounds that sent stabs of desire through him, then pulled out on an exhale. Yuuri’s jaw ached somewhat, but he was barely aware of it; his body knew what it wanted, _now_.

“That was a ner rune,” Victor breathed. “But I yerne to be with theh a-riht, mee lohv.” He leaned down for a deep, sloppy kiss. Yuuri gripped his shoulder and responded hungrily, until they were both making whimpering noises.

“Vitya,” he broke away to say, his eyes burning into him, “fuck me.”

Victor smiled at the word. His pupils were blown wide, his face was flushed, hair mussed, Yuuri’s spit shining on his cock; a picture of gorgeous debauchery. He took the bottle of oil, unstoppered it, poured some into his hand, and slipped a finger in as Yuuri folded his legs back. “It semes me so that Ee never hahv desired theh mar,” he whispered.

“Please,” Yuuri moaned. Victor’s fingers, on top of everything else…he squeezed his eyes shut as he held himself back from coming while Victor added a second digit.

Then Yuuri felt the fingers slip out, to be replaced by the head of Victor’s cock pushing into him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever needed _this _more. A groan escaped his throat, and there was an answering one from Victor. When he was all the way in, he lowered himself so that his fringe was just brushing Yuuri’s forehead.

“A moment, Ee pray,” he said almost apologetically. “Ee am – ” 

“Me too,” Yuuri said quickly. They looked into each other’s eyes as their breaths calmed a little. “My Vitya.” He framed Victor’s face with his hands.

“Ee lohv theh swa dere. Oh, mee swete Yuuri.” Victor kissed him tenderly, and Yuuri felt him twitch inside him. He ran his hands over Victor’s back, savouring the slow softness of their touches. But he also felt the need to return to the peak he’d almost crested. Knowing neither of them was likely to last long, he brushed his lips over Victor’s cheek, choosing a word and wondering how he’d react.

“Dight me,” he said, looking into startled eyes that soon glinted with lust. The first thrust was almost instant, pulling a cry from him. And just like that, his struggle not to come too soon was ended; he gave himself over to pleasure like the tide rushing in, as Victor pushed into his tight, willing heat again and again while they clung to each other. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yuuri wondered if he was turning the tables on their dom/sub relationship, experiencing what it was like to trust completely; being guided and cared for. It made him recall how when they’d first had sex, Victor had led him when he’d needed it, too. Letting go, while safe in the hands of someone he loved, was sublime. He was free.

Victor was breathing his name against his neck, his thrusts short, quick and sharp. Yuuri grinded, undulating his hips to the rhythm, more cries spilling from his lips, mixed with _yes _and _more _and _deeper. _His heightened senses were aware of the glow of heat from the fire, the cushioning rug, the gold collar pinned between them; but most of all, his love – on top of him, inside him, surrounding him.

“Ee sal spend an Ee do as theh askes,” Victor panted. “Ee am ner.”

“Then let it happen. I want it.”

Victor let out a shaky breath, kissing Yuuri’s neck and along his jaw. As he lengthened his strokes, beginning to pound into him, he looked into Yuuri’s eyes, lips parted, a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Yuuri was lost in the rhythm, lost in Victor, his body straining for release even as Victor drove him toward it. “I’m going to come,” he said, barely able to form the words. “Oh God, Victor…”

“Saye it. Ee pray theh…saye it.”

There was only one thing he could mean. “I love you, Vitya. My angel…my shining angel,” Yuuri breathed before his mouth stretched wide as the waves of his orgasm overtook him. Somehow he continued to look into Victor’s eyes through it, while Victor’s gaze in turn was a mixture of lust and amazement. With one final hard thrust and a cry, Victor’s jaw dropped as an expression of bliss spread across his features, and Yuuri gasped at the beauty of it. Their shuddering breaths filled the room as their motions stilled.

Yuuri drifted on a warm cloud. He didn’t know it was possible to do what they’d just done; most people closed their eyes as pleasure overtook them, didn’t they? But here they were, each smiling blearily at each other, having shared that moment. Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever felt closer to anyone. He reached a hand up to gently stroke Victor’s cheek.

“Ee lohv theh,” he whispered. He could say that much.

“Ee lohv theh,” Victor repeated. He huffed a little laugh, and a tear spilled down his cheek. Yuuri wiped it away with a finger, gazing at him in concern. “Ee wepe noght fra sorwe, mee dereling; Ee wepe fra gladnes. Ee am ful overcom.” He bit his lip. “Hou folich Ee am.”

“No. I…I feel the same, I think.” Yuuri carried on stroking his cheek, whispering his name with love.

Victor kissed him softly, then pulled away and reached for the cloth, cleaning them both with care before lying down on his side; Yuuri draped an arm over him. “Er thoh warm enogh?”

“Mmmm.”

Victor ran a finger along the livery collar. “This herted theh noght…?”

“Vitya.” Yuuri smiled at him. “I’m fine.” When he received a vaguely amused grin and a slightly wrinkled brow for a reply, he said, “I’m good. It’s all right.”

“Ee nolde ever hert theh.”

Yuuri took a moment to work out his meaning, then blinked at this man, his trainer, who regularly attacked him with a sword and threw him to the ground, and felt his heart swell with fondness and love. “You didn’t. It was wonderful.”

“Gode,” Victor said quietly, running his finger under Yuuri’s chin. “Ee lohv to herr thee neue speech. I wol knauw it mar.”

“I want to learn yours, too.”

“We muste practise.”

“Definitely.”

Victor leaned over and kissed him, slow and lingering. “Yuuri, welcom home. Ee sal do mee dever to mak theh happi herr, mee sweting.”

Yuuri smiled at him. “I already am.”

And in that moment, it was completely, perfectly true. 

* * *

_Translation of the last scene into modern English:_

“Do you know a song you can sing for us?”

“A song?”

“I love your voice. It’s soothing, and makes me want to jump into bed with you at the same time.” Yuuri smiled against his skin.

“We could skip one and go to the other.”

“It’ll be more fun this way.”

“You tease,” Victor murmured.

“And afterward, I want you to fuck me senseless.”

“Oh.” Victor drew back, his eyes bright. “Well, in that case…” He stepped to the table, his gaze only leaving Yuuri’s for a moment while he removed the translator from his ear and put it down. Yuuri watched him curiously as he returned without it.

“The song is in French,” Victor said, placing his hands on Yuuri’s arms.

Yuuri took a moment to adjust to Victor’s speech. They’d done this a few times before out of lighthearted interest, and taught each other bits and pieces of their own versions of English, and the other languages they spoke. But not while they’d had conversations that required deeper understanding.

“It sounds prettier that way,” Victor added, giving him a reassuring smile. “Come, my love. Dance with me.”

Yuuri nodded and draped his arms over Victor’s shoulders, loosely clasping them behind his neck. Victor gripped his waist. “Say something. Anything. I love to hear you talk the way you did all your life before you came to me.”

Yuuri realised he’d already been unconsciously withdrawing into that silent world of expressions and gestures which existed for when verbal communication wasn’t an option. “All right. Victor Nikiforov – Vitya – I missed you like hell for a week. And I’m glad we have this time together now. So sing to me. Dance with me. Make love with me.”

He smiled to see the bemusement on Victor’s face, but there seemed to be understanding too. “_Avec grand plaisir._” 

_Not fair, _Yuuri wanted to say. He wondered how often Victor sprinkled bits of French or Russian into his speech. It was clear that the translator, while a necessity here, also had the disadvantage of masking the nuances of how people expressed themselves.

They began to move. It required no artistry, this kind of dancing; it was more like an embrace. But it was just what Yuuri had wanted. As they stepped slowly around the middle of the room, Victor looked down at him and sang a beautiful, haunting song, his soft vibrato lilting over the flowing notes. _Mon chéri, mon cuer en vous remaint, _it began. Yuuri didn’t understand anything apart from the first two words, but wasn’t going to interrupt Victor to ask. He was weaving a spell between the two of them, and Yuuri was willingly ensnared by it as they gazed at each other. The breath seemed to have left his body while shivers of pleasure ran through him.

_I’m yours, _Yuuri thought as they danced and Victor sang. _I always will be. I found you here and I’m never letting you go. _They slowly drifted to a standstill, and Yuuri closed his eyes as the final words to the song hung in the air: _Comment que de vous me departe. _Victor’s breath was on his cheek.

“It’s a song about how love remains in the singer’s heart, however far apart from his beloved he is,” Victor said softly. “It was written with a woman in mind, but it’s not hard to address it to a man.” Then there was a little laugh. “Can you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered. “And it’s wonderful to hear it.”

“I was playing it on my citole while I was away; it seemed appropriate. I didn’t like being apart from you all that time. It’s been a long while since it’s felt this good to return here.”

Yuuri considered his words, taking a moment to extract their meaning. “We have the coms now. Phichit can put us in touch. But I hope he won’t need to.” He stroked Victor’s cheek and saw desire in his eyes, which he knew must be reflected in his own. They’d resolved to take this slowly, however; and so he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Victor’s, then did so again, feather-light. They shared kisses like this, barely touching, until Yuuri was quivering with anticipation.

It was Victor who gave in first, pressing his lips more firmly against Yuuri’s with a sigh while his hands fluttered up to either side of his neck. Yuuri unbuckled Victor’s belt and let it fall, caressing his abdomen underneath his shirt, a coil of want tightening inside of him. Neither of them were good at being patient like this, and Yuuri’s cock was demanding a touch, friction, anything. He tried to concentrate on Victor, opening his mouth for deep kisses while he gripped his waist, fingers digging in.

“I want you,” Yuuri breathed.

“I want to be inside you,” Victor said in the next moment. “This is the sweetest tension, but it’s killing me.” He stepped back and pulled his shirt off, letting it drop to the floor. Then he lifted the livery collar away; Yuuri took the cue and removed his own belt and shirt, tossing them on top of Victor’s. To his surprise, Victor replaced the collar, the heavy warm metal feeling strange against his skin without any material underneath it. He ran a finger along the links.

“Please don’t remove it,” Victor said, laying a palm over the collar, pressing it lightly against his chest. “It looks incredible. I want to take you just like that.”

_Do it now, _Yuuri wanted to say. But if they were going to drive each other to distraction with anticipation, he was going to enjoy the delicious torture. “Take your boots off,” he said as he went to fetch a chair. Victor’s eyes lit up as he kicked them away; he knew what this meant, and placed his foot on the dark wood.

Yuuri was tempted for a moment to slip into his dom persona; it was the perfect situation for it. But it wasn’t necessary, either; and tonight he felt a need for Victor to be mostly in charge. Perhaps it was a balance between them that he craved. Or the fact that he’d just announced that he wanted to stay here beside him and never leave. _Show me you want it, too. Make me yours, _he thought, even though he was in no doubt about it.

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Victor in front of him, his leg open to the side while his foot rested on the chair, the sculpted upper half of his body and his fair hair gleaming in the candlelight. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, stepping forward to stand in front of him. For an answer, Victor smiled, cupped his shoulders, and gave him a long kiss. Yuuri busied his hands meanwhile with untying the tops of Victor’s hose; he could do this without having to look now, and his fingertips teased at the material, plunging in occasionally to trace the outline a hard muscle.

“Please,” Victor whispered.

Yuuri gave his bottom lip a lingering kiss, then dropped to his knees and began to slide the hosepiece down the leg elevated on the chair. Little by little he revealed pale skin, until the material was rucked at the knee. He kissed there, then trailed his lips along the inside of Victor’s thigh, caressing as he went. Victor gasped when Yuuri pushed the leg of his braies out of the way and laved at the sensitive hollow at the top, humming. Then he pulled the hosepiece off, and gave Victor room to shift and put his other leg on the chair.

_I’m getting so predictable, _Yuuri thought, sliding the second hosepiece down. _But maybe that’s not always a bad thing. _This time he pulled it off completely while he was still trailing kisses up Victor’s thigh, and didn’t stop when he got to the top, unable to resist the temptation to mouth at Victor’s cock through his braies. Victor sucked in a breath. Feeling him twitch and stiffen, and an answering response between his own thighs, Yuuri continued with enthusiasm, until Victor’s chest was heaving. He moaned Yuuri’s name, then lightly pushed him away.

“Where would you like to go, my love?” he asked hoarsely. “The bed? Your bed? Someplace else? Or…right here?”

Yuuri’s thoughts ran sluggishly through his mind; it was an effort to force them to penetrate the entrancing lilt of Victor’s strange and wonderful speech, and find the meaning. Then he stood and walked to the sheepskin rug by the fire, remembering the times he’d sat here over the past week, missing Victor. “What do you say?” he turned to ask.

“I say lie down and I’ll be there in a moment.”

Yuuri did, watching as Victor went to get the oil. While he didn’t understand everything Victor was saying, it was easier than he’d expected, he decided with a flutter of pleasure. He was glad the translator wasn’t coming between them for once, even if he knew he’d need to carry on using it most of the time until he got the proper hang of Middle English; it made this seem more real somehow.

He sprawled on his back, luxuriating in the soft, warm, thick rug underneath him. The gold adorning his chest gleamed, and he had the fleeting notion that he could be the most desirable lady of a harem, decorated expensively and waiting for his lover to wreck him.

When Victor returned with the earthenware bottle and a cloth, he was nude. Yuuri stared unabashedly as he knelt down, placing the items on the floor out of harm’s way. “You’re a delight, lying here like this, Yuuri my love. I hardly know where to begin.”

Yuuri met his gaze. “Kiss me.”

Getting on all fours to his side, Victor leaned down and pressed their lips together, his eyes shining almost grey in the warm glow from the fire. The tips of his fringe tickled Yuuri’s forehead, and he smiled while licking into Victor’s mouth. They both made soft moans as their tongues touched; Yuuri savoured the feel, while wanting so much more. He wrapped his arms around Victor, a hand straying up to stroke his hair.

“Your kisses are like honey,” Victor purred. “I wonder what the rest of you tastes like.”

“Please,” Yuuri sighed, stretching his arms over his head.

“Please, what?”

“I need you,” he said, raising his hips off the rug.

“Patience, my sweeting. Is that not what you asked of me?”

“I…” Yuuri swallowed and fell silent.

Victor caught his lips in a quick soft kiss, then flashed him a mischievous grin and shifted further down, licking from a collarbone to a nipple, which he covered wetly and flicked with his tongue. Yuuri took a sharp breath, and caught a glance his way while Victor pleasured him. Kissing across Yuuri’s chest, skipping over the livery collar but lying a palm on it again, Victor paid the same attention to the other nipple, then worked his way down to Yuuri’s abdomen and untied the tops of his hose.

“I love it when you wear these. They’re almost as good as your eros costume.”

Yuuri made what he could of Victor’s words, the rest of them falling on his ears like music. He propped himself up on his elbows to see what he was doing.

Victor smoothly pulled one hosepiece off, skimming his fingers along the length of Yuuri’s leg as he did so. Then the other; but this time he kissed his way up the inside of Yuuri’s calf and thigh, and raised himself higher when he got to Yuuri’s braies. “You like watching what I’m doing to you, don’t you?” he said with a little smile. When Yuuri nodded, he smirked and pulled his braies off, Yuuri lifting his feet for him and suddenly feeling like he was on show. No longer embarrassed by this, he took in the heat of Victor’s gaze and moved his hips gently, sinuously, in wait.

He wasn’t prepared for what happened next, however, as Victor gripped his cock by the base and licked a hard stripe to the tip. “Fuck,” Yuuri breathed, arching his back. With hooded eyes, and moaning almost obscenely as he continued to flick glances at him, Victor assailed him with his mouth and tongue. The feel and sight of it sent Yuuri racing to the edge, until he was tilting his head back and panting while clawing at the rug. “Victor…you need to stop…stop…”

Victor let go with a popping sound, giving his mouth a quick wipe. “You taste and smell divine,” he said. Then he paused, sitting back with his shins underneath him. “What does ‘fuck’ mean?”

Yuuri stared, struggling to register this. “You – you don’t know?”

“I’ve never heard the word before.”

“I say it all the time with you. Well, especially when we’re…like this.”

“Your translator must change it, then.”

“Latymer” – that was what Victor called his translator. “What does it change it to?”

Victor gave him a grin that was equal parts sultry and amused. “I could tell you if I knew what it meant.” He moved to Yuuri’s side and sat on his shins again. Yuuri’s gaze was drawn to his navel, where his cock protruded from a small thicket of almost white curls, lifting just above his thighs, a bead of moisture at the tip. Victor followed where his eyes went, and lowered his lids.

“Um.” Yuuri licked his lips. “ ‘Fuck’ is…well, it’s a catch-all word for a lot of things. A strong swear word. You can say it when you’re picked. Or when something catastrophic happens. Or something amazing, too.” Victor gave a soft laugh. “But most of all, it means to…make love.”

“ ‘Make love’? You said that earlier. You mean to woo a paramour?”

“No, that means…they both mean…” He made an open fist with his left hand and pumped the middle finger of his right in and out of it, before planting his elbows on the floor again.

Victor’s laugh was louder this time. “Sard,” he said. “Or…swyve.” He stretched the sound out. “Occupye. Dight.”

“Oh.” Yuuri considered. “I like _swyve_. It sounds like a kind of dance.”

“It is, is it not?” Victor dropped his voice. “Sitting here like this, so close to…” He paused. “Will you let me fuck your mouth?”

Yuuri’s breath caught as he stared, imagining Victor fucking his mouth for his own pleasure, something they hadn’t done before. “Give it to me,” he said.

Victor shifted closer and slowly moved his hips forward. When the tip of his cock touched Yuuri’s lips, he swept his tongue over it and hummed, hearing a gasp. “You taste good too, Vitya.” He opened his mouth, waiting.

“God in heaven, Yuuri,” Victor breathed as he gently pushed into him. “You feel incredible.” He began to make short thrusts, gasping again, and reached a hand around to cradle the back of Yuuri’s head, threading his fingers through his hair.

Yuuri allowed Victor to set his own pace, laving at his cock and making sure his teeth were out of the way, slanting dark looks up at him, and feeling wonderfully lascivious while wearing nothing but the glimmering livery collar. Victor didn’t push too far in, and was clearly being cautious, though his thrusts gradually quickened. Yuuri’s only regret was that he couldn’t speak.

And then he did make a noise, a muffled broken one, because he felt Victor’s hand wrap around his cock and begin to stroke it. “You have a fine yard, my love,” Victor said, quiet and breathy. “I could suckle you all night. I hope you’ll do this to me sometime.”

Yuuri’s cock pulsed in Victor’s hand, and he moaned around him. Victor wasn’t usually this vocal about what they were doing, and he loved it, even if he didn’t understand every single word.

“Some people call this an arrow,” Victor continued, glancing at what he was doing with his fist. “Or a lance. Even a sword. And you sport with it.” He gave Yuuri a shaky smile. “I’ve never heard you say that. I’ve never said it to you. It’s…it’s more than sport with you. It’s making love. I shall remember that.”

Yuuri bucked his hips and moaned again. He was getting close. But he wasn’t going to stop what they were doing, either, entranced as he was with Victor’s words; with taking him in his mouth.

“Perfect,” Victor sighed, tilting his head back. “God, Yuuri, yes. Suck me…take me…” Yuuri felt fingers raking his through his hair, and Victor made a litany of throaty sounds that sent stabs of desire through him, then pulled out on an exhale. Yuuri’s jaw ached somewhat, but he was barely aware of it; his body knew what it wanted, _now_.

“That was close,” Victor breathed. “But I want to be with you properly, my love.” He leaned down for a deep, sloppy kiss. Yuuri gripped his shoulder and responded hungrily, until they were both making whimpering noises.

“Vitya,” he broke away to say, his eyes burning into him, “fuck me.”

Victor smiled at the word. His pupils were blown wide, his face was flushed, hair mussed, Yuuri’s spit shining on his cock; a picture of gorgeous debauchery. He took the bottle of oil, unstoppered it, poured some into his hand, and slipped a finger in as Yuuri folded his legs back. “I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted you more,” he whispered.

“Please,” Yuuri moaned. Victor’s fingers, on top of everything else…he squeezed his eyes shut as he held himself back from coming while Victor added a second digit.

Then Yuuri felt the fingers slip out, to be replaced by the head of Victor’s cock pushing into him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever needed _this _more. A groan escaped his throat, and there was an answering one from Victor. When he was all the way in, he lowered himself so that his fringe was just brushing Yuuri’s forehead.

“I need a moment,” he said almost apologetically. “I’m – ” 

“Me too,” Yuuri said quickly. They looked into each other’s eyes as their breaths calmed a little. “My Vitya.” He framed Victor’s face with his hands.

“I love you so much. Oh, my sweet Yuuri.” Victor kissed him tenderly, and Yuuri felt him twitch inside him. He ran his hands over Victor’s back, savouring the slow softness of their touches. But he also felt the need to return to the peak he’d almost crested. Knowing neither of them was likely to last long, he brushed his lips over Victor’s cheek, choosing a word and wondering how he’d react.

“Dight me,” he said, looking into startled eyes that soon glinted with lust. The first thrust was almost instant, pulling a cry from him. And just like that, his struggle not to come too soon was ended; he gave himself over to pleasure like the tide rushing in, as Victor pushed into his tight willing heat again and again while they clung to each other. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yuuri wondered if he was turning the tables on their dom/sub relationship, experiencing what it was like to trust completely; being guided and cared for. It made him recall how when they’d first had sex, Victor had led him when he’d needed it, too. Letting go, while safe in the hands of someone he loved, was sublime. He was free.

Victor was breathing his name against his neck, his thrusts short, quick and sharp. Yuuri grinded, undulating his hips to the rhythm, more cries spilling from his lips, mixed with _yes _and _more _and _deeper. _His heightened senses were aware of the glow of heat from the fire, the cushioning rug, the gold collar pinned between them; but most of all, his love – on top of him, inside him, surrounding him.

“I’ll come if I do as you ask,” Victor panted. “I’m close.”

“Then let it happen. I want it.”

Victor let out a shaky breath, kissing Yuuri’s neck and along his jaw. As he lengthened his strokes, beginning to pound into him, he looked into Yuuri’s eyes, lips parted, a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Yuuri was lost in the rhythm, lost in Victor, his body straining for release even as Victor drove him toward it. “I’m going to come,” he said, barely able to form the words. “Oh God, Victor…”

“Say it. Please…say it.”

There was only one thing he could mean. “I love you, Vitya. My angel…my shining angel,” Yuuri breathed before his mouth stretched wide as the waves of his orgasm overtook him. Somehow he continued to look into Victor’s eyes through it, while Victor’s gaze in turn was a mixture of lust and amazement. With one final hard thrust and a cry, Victor’s jaw dropped as an expression of bliss spread across his features, and Yuuri gasped at the beauty of it. Their shuddering breaths filled the room as their motions stilled.

Yuuri drifted on a warm cloud. He didn’t know it was possible to do what they’d just done; most people closed their eyes as pleasure overtook them, didn’t they? But here they were, each smiling blearily at each other, having shared that moment. Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever felt closer to anyone. He reached a hand up to gently stroke Victor’s cheek.

“Ee lohv theh,” he whispered. He could say that much.

“Ee lohv theh,” Victor repeated. He huffed a little laugh, and a tear spilled down his cheek. Yuuri wiped it away with a finger, gazing at him in concern. “I’m not weeping from sadness, my darling; I’m weeping from joy. I’m quite overcome.” He bit his lip. “Silly of me.”

“No. I…I feel the same, I think.” Yuuri carried on stroking his cheek, whispering his name with love.

Victor kissed him softly, then pulled away and reached for the cloth, cleaning them both with care before lying down on his side; Yuuri draped an arm over him. “Are you warm enough?”

“Mmmm.”

Victor ran a finger along the livery collar. “This didn’t hurt you…?”

“Vitya.” Yuuri smiled at him. “I’m fine.” When he received a vaguely amused grin and a slightly wrinkled brow for a reply, he said, “I’m good. It’s all right.”

“I’d never want to hurt you.”

Yuuri took a moment to work out his meaning, then blinked at this man, his trainer, who regularly attacked him with a sword and threw him to the ground, and felt his heart swell with fondness and love. “You didn’t. It was wonderful.”

“Good,” Victor said quietly, running his finger under Yuuri’s chin. “I love hearing your modern speech. I want to know it better.”

“I want to learn yours, too.”

“We’ll have to practise.”

“Definitely.”

Victor leaned over and kissed him, slow and lingering. “Yuuri, welcome home. I’ll do my best to make you happy here, my sweeting.”

Yuuri smiled at him. “I already am.”

And in that moment, it was completely, perfectly true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to visit Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html). She’s outdone herself in this chapter!


	106. The Angel and the Devil (Part 14)

“What deliveries are expected today?” John de Lacey asked in a dry business-like tone. He, Matthew Everard, and several clerks were meeting at a table in the great hall between meals, the warm sun shining through the large window, painting colours at intervals across the floor. Victor sat at the head, poring over the paperwork in front of him.

A rotund clerk in a thick black coif replied, “A hundredweight of melons from Stephen Harborough in York, who also said he would send extra carrots, leeks, and lentils, as we decided we were short. Ralf the Younger is driving five flocks of geese from his farm; he insists they meet our standard for fattening now and are of an acceptable weight.”

“God save the king from scrawny geese,” another clerk muttered, and the others laughed, apart from Victor.

John continued his questioning. “Are those hogsheads of wine from the Blackfriars due to arrive before the year is out, let alone by next week?”

“Mistress Shaw is seeing to it. She told me she sent a messenger yesterday.”

“Hm. Hardly satisfactory at this stage, but so be it. And the barrels of cream the Bostocks said they would provide?”

“Half a dozen on their way, sir, so I’m informed.”

“Matthew, are we still concerned about running short of wood?”

“The situation is eased since the repairs were made to the Harrogate road, and supplies are coming apace from the west,” the steward answered readily. “My own chief concern at this time is that we’re well provided here at the castle itself, particularly for the king and his advisers. It’s been my belief for some time that Fernand will be very hard pressed, and so I’ve asked Mistress Delacroix to procure extra hands of good repute. More ovens are being built outside of the kitchen, and Peter has his men forging equipment and fittings…”

Victor folded his hands in front of him and leaned against them in silence as the conversation flowed. Bushels of apples, tons of wood…It was important, of course it was. But not as much as other things he could name. So many supplies and provisions for a week’s visit. Accommodation, schedules, performances. He hated that Yuuri’s duel was meant to be the finale of the king’s entertainment on his second day at the castle, just before a parade of horses rounded it off. They’d asked Victor to joust as well. He’d informed his father in no uncertain terms that he would not do anything in the arena that day apart from preparing Yuuri for his task. Andrei had not been well pleased. Victor cared not a jot.

There had hardly been a moment in which to pause and organise his thoughts since he’d returned from Doncaster the previous evening. He’d gone on a run with Yuuri and then trained with him first thing that morning, with Emil and Julia as an audience. Apart from attending dinner, he’d been in these meetings ever since. And yet there had been so much to take in. Yuuri’s confrontation with Ailis over his com. The fact that he’d almost died in that passageway.

A fire had kindled in Victor’s heart when he’d spotted Yuuri running toward him from the direction of the stable, banishing the nagging fear that he’d seen him for the last time when he’d ridden out on his journey. His sweet kisses in greeting, once they were away from prying eyes. Meeting his sister, Mari. A sibling you loved was a precious thing. She was vivacious and strong, testing him initially as he would have expected her to. It seemed Ailis was that way as well, darkly. Were all the women of 2121 so confident and outspoken? That would take some getting used to, but Victor decided it would make quite an acceptable change.

And Yuuri telling him he intended to stay, even if he could go back to his own time…Victor still felt a twinge of concern when he thought about it. It seemed like such a loss. But Yuuri had been clear that it was what he wanted. For the love of him.

Victor wanted nothing more than for them to be together. In the event that Ailis re-enabled time travel, however, this would require more consideration. He was not so selfish that he would condemn his love to a life that was far inferior to the one he’d left behind. It might never be an issue; but then again, it might.

His thoughts strayed to later in the night, when he’d given Yuuri the livery collar and they’d danced. It had looked princely on him – especially when he’d been wearing nothing else. Victor wished he’d been able to commission an artist to paint his love as he’d lain there on the rug, glowing by the firelight, the gold like a pretty bow on the gift of his body. But it would have been a portrait for private eyes only, because he’d also been ready and willing for Victor to do as he pleased. His throat hitched and desire pulsed through him at the memory. The way he’d…and then…and…_oh. _The excitement heightened by their different versions of the language. Victor was sure he’d babbled inanely. Yuuri could make him come undone in the most wonderful ways.

_I’m so very blessed to have him in my life._

But for how much longer? Tyler would be arriving next week.

_Yuuri needs me. I made him a promise. What the hell am I doing here, listening to these people discuss the price of eggs?_

He blinked and looked around the table, realising how lost he’d been in his thoughts as they clattered back down to earth. Everyone’s eyes were upon him.

Matt cleared his throat. “So, ah, what’s your opinion on the matter, my lord?” he asked.

Victor paused, wondering how to save face, because he had no idea what the question had been. Then he realised it wasn’t necessary anyway. Slapping a palm decisively onto the tabletop, he said, “I’ll leave this in your capable hands, Matt. You have most excellent judgement. I’m afraid I have other business to attend to for now.” He stood, amid expressions of surprise and confusion. “And talk to the reeves, will you? We still have an estate with people who depend on us for their survival, regardless of what the king does.”

And with a “God give you good day” to the gathering, he left for the training field.

* * *

Over the next several days, Victor contributed as much as he could to Yuuri’s preparations. His love had a good instinct for what to work on, and how to follow a regimen that was varied and demanding, but not overly so. Victor knew that his own support and instruction were a vital part of it, and that he was the only fighting man at the castle who consistently offered Yuuri a challenge, though he still seemed to be unaware of the true extent of his own abilities. That would have to be put right.

Occasionally, they trained on the wheel. Its purpose as a prop and a spectacle were laid aside for now, and Victor had the squires turn it as fast as Yuuri could handle while they concentrated on his footwork. A grim determination had begun to settle on his features as they practised and sparred, both on the wheel and on the ground, and Victor hoped it boded ill for Tyler.

He encouraged him to continue to work with Emil as well, and while Yuuri was doing that, or exercising, or sparring with someone else, Victor spent time with Julia or attended to castle business. He handed over as many of the preparations for the king’s visit as he could to the officials, though some of it inevitably spilled over to him; he was also beholden to ensure that the estate was still running smoothly while there were so many factors vying for his father’s attention as well as his own.

This meant that his time with Yuuri was confined now to training, meals, and the night, unless by happenstance they met in the room between busy tasks. It wasn’t a schedule Victor liked. But it would all change soon, once the duel was over.

Sometimes when Victor thought about that, an image flashed in his mind of Yuuri’s broken body in the arena, and it sickened him with dread. But more often, he made himself visualise the strong, capable man he knew Yuuri to be, quickly and neatly dispatching Tyler. It would mean he would have to take a life, but he’d proved himself willing to do so in the skirmish on the bridge. It might be required with Ailis as well.

Victor had killed before, of course. It didn’t mean he wanted to do it again, and it blackened his heart every time it was necessary. But he would be there for Yuuri afterward. Because there would _be _an afterward. And they would be together.

His spirits lightened one afternoon when the day’s business was completed early for once, and he returned to the room to find Yuuri there. His original intention had been to seek him out and spend the afternoon training; but since the messenger had placed the small package in his hands, he’d been hoping he could find a suitable opportunity to show his love what it contained. 

“Victor, hi,” Yuuri greeted him, tossing a pair of muddy hose into the laundry basket.

“Is it that bad out there?”

Yuuri shrugged. “Weather’s OK now, but it rained for a while. I’ve been having a wash in the bucket in my room.”

Victor laughed. “I don’t know how you can do that. It’s so cramped.”

“I don’t try to sit down in it,” Yuuri said, walking over and giving his lips a quick kiss. “Good to see you. You look tired.”

“I’ve been meeting with my father and Matt. More king’s business. It can’t always be escaped.”

“I know,” Yuuri said, crossing the room to grab a towel. “Ugh, my hair’s dripping down my back.”

Victor opened his mouth to reply, fingering his purse in which he’d placed the package, when there was a knock at the door.

“My lord, it’s me.”

_Me _sounded like John. Victor groaned inwardly. He’d get rid of him, he thought as he watched Yuuri take on the appearance of Justin without a pause while he towelled his hair dry.

He opened the door a crack. The chamberlain stood in the hall, wearing his usual flowing garments, deep blue today, with a livery collar consisting of large gold loops and a medallion with the Nikiforov lion rampant embossed on it. The white coif was ever present, it was rumoured, to hide his bald spot; and his salt-and-pepper beard seemed to quiver with importance. But for all the stuffiness and ostentation, he was loyal, clever and assiduous, which meant he was excellent at his job. However, Victor had other priorities just now.

“John. I’m afraid I’m occupied at the moment, but if this is regarding the king’s visit, then I shall be happy to confer with you in the morning. As it is – ”

“With all due respect, my lord, it is not. There’s an issue I’d value your opinion on. His lordship the baron is out on his horse and is therefore unavailable for consultation, and besides, I believe this is something you’ve dealt with yourself in the manorial court.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“May I…?” He peered around Victor into the room. “It’ll take but a moment.”

“Of course.” Victor stepped aside and allowed him in, closing the door behind them. They approached the table, the chamberlain’s robes swishing like a waterfall, while matching pointed toes emerged from underneath the heavy folds. He took a chair, looking idly over at Yuuri, who was quietly walking toward his own room.

“Justin, don’t leave on our account,” Victor said. “You’re welcome to stay. This is your room too, and I value your advice.”

Yuuri stared in surprise.

“Please, join us here at the table. Hypocras?” He picked up the jug.

Hesitantly, Yuuri nodded and came, taking a chair to Victor’s left. The chamberlain, who was on his right, gave a cough behind his hand, looking distinctly uncomfortable. _Get used to it, _Victor thought. He poured three cups of hypocras and resumed his seat, looking at John expectantly.

“Well, sir, you told us to speak to the reeves, and the matter of the Farraday tenants has arisen again. No relatives can be found. They’re the most isolated pair I’ve ever seen.”

“Farraday,” Yuuri echoed. “I’m sure I’ve heard the name before.”

“The first manorial court you came to watch,” Victor said. “The widow and her son, who – ”

Yuuri’s eyes lit up. “That’s right. He was caught stealing tankards from the inn. I remember now.”

John looked as if he’d swallowed something unpleasant. “Yes,” he said, his voice clipped. “We may have to give their holding to a neighbouring family. The son, Thomas, has disappeared; it’s thought he might have run away to the city. As you know, if he’s able to remain there for a year and a day, he’ll become a freeman, though he’ll lose any claim to the holding on the estate, and that will just leave the mother. There’s a search on for him now.”

Victor sipped his wine thoughtfully. “I’m honestly not that keen for him to be found, John,” he said at length. “He’s proved himself to be untrustworthy several times over.”

“The mother refuses to remarry, so we have little choice left in the matter. And with our attention being turned to the king’s visit, I can’t say I for one am willing to spend too much of my time ruminating about something which would seem to have a simple solution. And yet I thought it prudent that I should ask you – ”

“You thought correctly,” Victor said, his voice taking on an edge. “It may seem a petty irritation to us, but it isn’t to those involved. Even an execution order takes but a word, though the lives of the condemned and his family hang in the balance.”

“Quite,” John replied after taking a deep breath. “However, your father would no doubt order the woman in question to remarry. I was wondering if you had in mind a villein who would make a suitable husband, since there appear to be no relatives, either of the deceased man’s or her own, to take on the responsibility.”

Yuuri leaned forward, and John eyed him as if he’d forgotten he was there until he’d moved. “Can’t the manor support her while she does what she can to earn money, the way Henry Jago made shoes and cooked?”

John huffed a laugh and said to Victor, “This fellow doesn’t know the first thing about lordship and tenancies.”

Schooling himself in patience before he responded, Victor was surprised to hear Yuuri speak up. “I beg your pardon, Master de Lacey, but I do have some knowledge. I assisted Victor with a case of subinfeudation in York recently, where we met with the duke and the archbishop. You recall the one, Victor?”

Yes, he most definitely did, and had to force himself not to smile. “Indeed,” he replied. “Your support was of the utmost importance.”

“I see. Well.” John gave a quick wave of his hands.

“Mistress Farraday wouldn’t be able to make enough money from the sorts of things you suggested,” Victor explained to Yuuri before the chamberlain could carry on. “Henry Jago had his daughter and her husband to support him. And someone needs to work the fields; she can’t do much on her own, however capable she might be.”

“Roger Bostock is the reeve for the area,” John said. “If you won’t compel her to choose a new husband, sir, then he’ll ensure she’s forcibly removed from the land, and new tenants will be found. I hear she really is the most frightfully stupid, stubborn woman – ”

“You can’t just kick people off their land when they have nowhere else to go, can you?” Yuuri interjected. He turned to look at Victor with wide eyes.

John told him with some irritation, “She knows full well it’s a possibility. Which is why if the silly old bird had any sense, she’d simply remarry, and it would be an end to the problem.” He sipped his wine distractedly. “Besides, it’s not her land, it’s ours.”

This was bringing out an ugly side to John that Victor didn’t care for. “It isn’t ours either,” he corrected him. “We hold it, as does everyone, as vassals in the king’s service.”

“A technical point. Anyway, with your permission, I’ll send word to Roger.”

“Couldn’t you find someone willing to move into the house or cottage with her?” Yuuri asked him. “Not necessarily to marry, but just someone she got on well with?”

John slanted an exasperated glance at Victor and replied, “Who would do that? It’s not exactly a prestigious gain. The woman would still have the tenancy rights, and they’d do all the hard work of farming for both her and the lord.” He shook his head. “Best to remove her.”

Victor met his gaze firmly. “I like Justin’s idea.”

“Tell me where we can find such a person, then.”

Yuuri said, “York is full of people without jobs. As soon as you walk through the gate, they’re begging, and offering to find you accommodation – ”

“Are you suggesting we pull a ragamuffin off the streets and deposit them in the house of a stranger, one of our tenants?” John’s eyes glinted. “They’re likely to rob her blind, if not murder her in her sleep. No better than her loutish son.”

“Not if Roger chooses well,” Victor said. “Not everyone leading a rough life on the streets is a villain.”

“It just seems to me,” Yuuri added, “that almost anything must be better than living like that. Maybe you’d be able to find someone who was willing and able, and trustworthy.”

“Among the gutter scrapings of the city?” Another huff. “I admire your optimism.”

Victor gave him a look that brooked no argument. “Send Roger to interview candidates in York. Perhaps he could find a pair of siblings. Tell him not to rule out women, who might also be quite capable, and good company for the widow. Once they’re installed in the cottage, have him keep an eye out to ensure everything is going smoothly; and if it isn’t, the agreement should be terminated and someone else more suitable found.”

John’s glance went from him to Yuuri and back. He seemed to be considering an argument in response, then thought better of it. “As you wish, my lord,” he said quietly, downing the remainder of his hypocras as Victor stood.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, John. Update me, will you, when there’s any progress in this case, whether it’s with the widow or her recalcitrant son.”

The chancellor nodded and stood, they said their goodbyes, and Victor ushered him from the room. He turned to see Yuuri, his projector off again, sitting at the table sipping from his cup and looking steadily at him. Victor returned to his chair and gave him a small smile.

“You’re full of good ideas, my love,” he said, taking a draught of his own wine and gazing back at him warmly. “This one is unconventional, which is why John would not have thought of it, but I can’t see why it shouldn’t work. If the mistress rejects even this, however, then I’ll have to consent to other more forceful methods being employed.”

“At least you’re giving her a chance. I wouldn’t want to be forced to marry someone I didn’t know and might not even like.”

Victor sat back in his chair, nursing his cup. “Arranged marriages are common, Yuuri. Not just for villeins. But yes, I agree – I would only want to marry for love. He just happens to be a man,” he added with a small grin; and Yuuri gave him a radiant smile in return. “A clever and compassionate one, at that.”

Yuuri’s eyes were bright as he stared at him across the rim of his cup. Victor’s heart filled with love for him, and he wondered how best to reveal what was in the package. He could do it here, as he’d originally purposed. But on second thought, a grander gesture might be fun.

“I’m weary after these meetings,” he said. “Exercise is often a good remedy for that. Come to the training field with me? I think we ought to see if we can fit in some jousting practice as well. It’s been far too long for you, unless you were working on it while I was away.”

“No, I wasn’t. But I won’t be jousting anytime soon, will I? I’ve got the duel to fight.”

“You’ll survive that encounter, my sweet,” Victor said quietly. “And go on to joust against someone else. Perhaps even while the king is here, for his amusement. I’d be willing to be your opponent.”

Yuuri blinked. “I’m not sure which I dread more, now. I’m rubbish at jousting.”

“That’s it, then – you’re coming to practise with me. You need to remember what an ecranche and a grapper are, and how to use them. And ensure your destrier still knows who you are.”

“I still ride him,” Yuuri insisted.

“Not the same,” Victor replied with a smirk. “Drills and sparring, then five rounds of jousting. Trainer’s orders. See if you can beat me.”

* * *

Yuuri’s confidence with his sword was steadily growing, and he made Victor work hard, achieving well-deserved wins in two rounds out of ten. On a very good day, Victor was beginning to suspect Yuuri might stand a chance of beating him in a full tournament, just possibly – though he was so in love with this man, and so determined for him to prevail against Tyler, that he wondered if his speculation was a touch premature. He kept it to himself, however, so it mattered little; and the undeniable fact was that his love was blossoming under his watchful eye.

The jousting was more of a trial, though Victor hadn’t expected miracles, since Yuuri had spent much less time training in those skills and had neglected them completely of late. His judgement as a trainer had perhaps been somewhat lacking in moving to that after the swordfighting today, however, as Yuuri had clearly been discouraged by his performance. Victor realised he’d forgotten, with Yuuri’s successes in other endeavours, how hard his protégé could be on himself when the only issue was that he simply needed more practice.

“You could easily have unhorsed me,” Yuuri grumbled as they led their destriers back to the stable.

“What would be the point in that?”

“Authenticity.”

Victor shook his head. “One step at a time.”

“All right, then,” Yuuri said flatly, looking away. “When you start unhorsing me again, I’ll know I’m moving up in the world.”

“You have all the patience of a flea at times,” Victor laughed.

Yuuri raised an eyebrow but was silent.

“I tell you what. Let’s stable these big fellows, then we can go for a walk, if you like. The rose garden should be in bloom by now. Have you ever seen it?”

Yuuri shook his head, and Victor smiled.

The gardens were to the east of the stables, within view of the castle. Victor carried his sword to use as a walking stick, and also for sweeping stray boughs out of the way as they went along; the head gardener, who had been with them for years, preferred a more wild and natural look to the traditional manicured style. It was good for losing yourself in, as Victor had discovered when he was young. But there was never much to see in this part of the garden between December and late spring, unless one wanted to admire the plump red rosehips on which the birds feasted in the winter. The flowers should be on proud show by now, however.

Yuuri walked with his helmet tucked under one arm. Victor couldn’t help but feel some amusement at how awkward he seemed to find that particular piece of his armour. They rarely wore them when swordfighting, because they were not training for battle, thank God; and Yuuri complained about how much it limited his vision when he jousted, though of course he realised it was essential protection then. He would take it back to their room, he said, and store it in his chest; which meant, Victor knew, that it wouldn’t be to hand in the stable if he had a sudden need for it – a passable excuse for turning down an invitation to joust.

They fell into step on a narrow path of moist dark soil surrounded by holly bushes and turned a corner; and Yuuri gasped at the view revealed before them. Roses stretched low over the ground, bordered by curving terracotta bricks; bushes clustered in arcs and spilled over small grey stone walls boxing in their roots; and taller conical trees rose above the foliage in curving peaks.

“It looks like faeries came in the night,” Yuuri said, staring ahead of him in wonder, “and covered everything in their breath.”

Victor gazed at the white and pink roses, so dense throughout the garden that they were like an ethereal blanket covering the dark leaves, though some deep red ones adorned the bushes as well. “They were wounded, too, and left their blood,” he said quietly. Yuuri looked at him with wide eyes, brown and his own, though he wore Justin’s face. Victor led them onward amid the lush foliage dripping with warm colour, pushing it aside with his sword where it reached over the path. They passed under an arch bearing a heavy harvest of bright pink blooms, and Yuuri paused to admire it.

“It’s amazing here. I never thought to explore this place since the winter, when I wandered in once. It’s burst into life since then.”

“The colour is reflected in your face,” Victor murmured with a soft smile, stepping closer and looking down at him. “You’re fairly aglow with it.”

“So are you.” Yuuri brushed a hand down his cheek. He barely had time to suck in a small gasp of surprise however, before Victor’s lips were upon his own, hard and firm.

Victor’s heart surged, and heat rushed to his groin as their tongues curled together. This was supposed to be soft and romantic, but his body had a habit of igniting at his love’s proximity; his touch. The longer they were together, and the deeper they fell, the more Victor seemed to want him. These were uncharted waters; and if he risked drowning in them occasionally, the experience was so sweet that he hardly minded.

The fact that he was holding something in both hands – his sword in his right, and the item from the package in his left – meant he was unable to fan the flame between them with ease, though Yuuri’s own hand stroking his face was sending shivers of delight through him. Eventually, however, he mastered himself and pulled away, flushing. Yuuri’s eyes were dark, his own cheeks stained red.

_This man will be the death of me. And I’ll only beg for more while it happens._

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered, seemingly as swept away as he was himself. Then he blinked, apparently returning to his senses, and took a small step back. Looking over Victor’s shoulder, he reached out to gently finger a round succulent bloom. “The roses here are strange,” he commented.

“Are they?” Victor turned his head to view the mass of pink folds cupped in Yuuri’s hand.

“Most of them have loose petals. I wouldn’t have recognised them as roses at all.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Why – what kinds of roses are you used to?”

“Um…” Yuuri considered. “The petals are long and kind of pointed, and they wrap around one central bud. Elegant, I suppose you’d call them. And you can get just about any colour – yellow, orange, purple, black, blue, striped…”

“Striped?”

“Sure.”

“All those colours?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Astounding.” As Yuuri pulled his hand away from the bloom, Victor rested his sword against the bush and cupped the flower himself with a smile. “This has plenty of petals.”

“It does. That kind are considered old-fashioned, I think, where I come from, though I’m no expert.”

“This is a damask rose. It’s what they use here at the castle to make scented oil, and it’s the source of the petals they put in the water you wash your hands with at meals.”

Yuuri stood with his nose over it for a moment. “Wow, that’s strong,” he said, drawing back. “But it’s lovely.”

Victor hooded his eyes and turned the corner of his mouth up. “If you notice the intricate pattern of all the petals, you’ll see why we call the most intimate part of a man his rose.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said quietly, staring at the bloom, then at him, and blushing again.

_It’s far too much fun to tease a fluster out of you, my sweet. _Victor took up his sword again. “Come – there’s a bench just yonder. I have something I’d like to show you.” As Yuuri continued to stare, he chuckled. “Nothing like that. It’s a trifle too public here, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would,” Yuuri laughed. He followed Victor to a long, low grey stone bench flanked by bushes sporting delicate crimson roses, with a superb view of the castle on its hill in the distance. The steady stream of supplies up the path continued apace, and the blue and gold pennants of the Nikiforovs fluttered against the glow of an azure sky.

They sat down, the metal cuisses on their thighs clinking lightly as they touched, Yuuri resting his helmet on his leg. Victor angled his sword point down to the ground, his hand on the hilt, as he raised his fist. “I wanted to show you this,” he said, slowly opening it.

Yuuri gazed at the gold oval of metal on its chain as it was revealed. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Is…is it – ”

“After I took the cutting of your hair, I travelled to the village as soon as I had the time. My intention was to ask the jeweller to make a locket for me, but then she showed me one she’d mostly completed for another client before the lady withdrew her order and left her with it to try and sell. I thought it was the perfect thing. She put the finishing touches on it for me, and it arrived today.”

“Can I have a look?”

“Of course.” Victor held out his hand and Yuuri picked up the locket, its fine chain hanging down. It was decorated with delicate enamel vines and leaves, and flowers shaped like lilies and roses; the gold shone in the sunlight, the myriad colours seeming to glow with their own inner fire. Yuuri undid the hasp and opened the lid to reveal the lock of his hair inside, tied into a neat bundle with gold thread.

“Will you put it on me, my love?”

Yuuri shut the lid carefully, then opened the clasp and brought his hands round to the back of Victor’s neck, fastening it there. With their faces inches apart, he smiled and closed his eyes, tilting his head up. Victor felt a tingle of anticipation as he closed his own, and soon he felt the warm touch of Yuuri’s lips. Circling his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, he shared a kiss that made him hum in pleasure. God, he could spend the rest of his life doing this.

“I love you, Vitya,” Yuuri whispered. Then he sat back, cradling his helmet again, and gave him the most beautiful soft smile.

“I love you, Yuuri.” No endearments this time; nothing but the plain honest truth. It almost felt like a pledge. So he decided to add, “I always will.”

Yuuri’s eyes were bright with moisture, and he worked his mouth for a moment, before seeming to give up on speech. With a sudden determined expression, he surged forward again…and they were in each other’s arms, under the blue June sky and the smiling sun. 


	107. Chapter 107

Yuuri scooted back in bed and pulled himself up to lean against the headboard. Having given up on dropping off to sleep again, he’d decided to try to make himself comfortable.

It hadn’t been a nightmare this time, he didn’t think. He’d awakened for some other reason, and his worries had come back to him in a rush, along with a surge of adrenaline. None of it conducive to sleep. He was as bloody wide awake as it was possible to be, though the sun wasn’t up yet, and his level of fatigue told him it was still the middle of the night.

He looked to his right; Victor was facing the opposite direction, the blanket pulled up to his neck. Yuuri could see a glimmer of fair hair in the shadows, the only light in the room spilling softly from the little oil lamp on the table next to the bed. Why did this happen to him when he otherwise felt so safe and loved? That beautiful rose garden yesterday. Victor’s locket, containing the cutting from his hair, like a talisman; it lay on the table next to the lamp, gleaming in the glow from the lone flame.

Yuuri picked it up now, tracing his finger over the cover. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and from someone virtually next door in the village – a woman, which was uncommon. The enamel shone; and when he looked carefully, he saw that the design of vines and flowers had been inscribed into the metal, the translucent colours appearing deeper and darker where they’d pooled more thickly, to outline and shade contours. Opening the hasp, he gazed again at the lock of hair inside, touching it lightly before closing the lid and replacing the locket on the table.

_I’m loved. I have absolutely no doubt of that. It’s the most incredible feeling._

Earlier that night, they’d got into bed together after a bath. Victor had let Yuuri take him while they were spooning; even though it was difficult to see his face from that angle, Yuuri had delighted in wrapping his arms around him, moulding himself to him, tangling their legs. It had been a blissful end to a wonderful day. Maybe he’d even accomplished something worthwhile with his suggestions about what could be done for Mistress Farraday.

_Why am I awake like this, then?_

The answer, however, was easy. Because while he might sleep, his anxiety never did.

Victor had told him to wake him when this happened. Yuuri had done so on several occasions, but he couldn’t always do it; it wasn’t fair on Victor.

There was so little time left before the duel – that was one thing. Yuuri knew he wasn’t going to make vast improvements in his technique in just a few days. He thought about holo-shows he’d watched, the Immersion games he’d played. When the deaths weren’t real, it was difficult to get a sense of how being in those situations would truly feel. Action heroes went up against the villains with little fear for their own lives, and little compunction about taking those of others. But when Yuuri imagined himself in that arena again, surrounded by a crowd baying for blood as Tyler brandished a weapon with a rather darker purpose than sparring, his throat constricted and he had to work to fight the anxiety back down. He hadn’t had an attack in some time. But it was there, simmering, in the background.

And Ailis. What was she up to? What was her plan for the king? Who _was _she? He couldn’t do much about the duel apart from train. But this…? She was a constant danger to everyone here, including Victor and himself. He _had _to make more headway with finding her, duel or no duel. But what could he do? Was there anyone he could speak to who might be able to help, but who wouldn’t spread word that Justin was asking questions?

_Ethelfrith. _She hadn’t said much the last time he’d questioned her. Maybe he could find a way to persuade her to be more open with him.

And actually, there _was _a possible way in with her, he suddenly realised – if he took a different approach entirely. 

* * *

Under cool grey midday skies, two cloaked and hooded figures walked side by side through the courtyard along the wall of the servants’ quarters. Vehicles ranging in size from handcarts to massive canvas-covered wagons, laden with food and drink, were almost constantly on the move back and forth through the gatehouse; two more travellers passing quietly were nothing worth taking note of.

So Yuuri hoped as he and Victor approached the ground-floor room of the southwest tower. The well was here, and buckets stacked high, many more than he’d seen before; they partially blocked the already meagre light and provided ideal pockets for cover.

He stepped into the recess between several stacks and the wall, and Victor followed, his face concealed behind the delicate features of a woman with blond hair, grey-blue eyes and a sprinkling of brown freckles. But Yuuri’s own face was not the normal one he presented at the castle, either; the features under his hood were his real ones. It wouldn’t do for anyone to tell Ailis that Justin was speaking with Ethelfrith again; if he continued to single her out, even under the pretence of another clothing emergency, it could look suspicious. Knights didn’t tend to confer with laundresses at all, or enter the servants’ wing. The plan, then, was to do so as a stranger, with his eyes concealed under his hood, and to explain once he and Ethelfrith found a private place to talk. She needed to see him as Yuuri rather than Justin, anyway.

“I don’t think there should be any danger,” he whispered. “We know Ethelfrith isn’t Ailis.”

“All the same,” Victor replied quietly in Ethelfrith’s high voice; Yuuri was still struggling to get used to it, “I can help, and it doesn’t hurt to be safe. I even have an effective disguise, do I not? Just don’t take the real Ethelfrith past here, where she can see me; I expect it would give her something of a shock.”

“You don’t say.” Yuuri touched his arm briefly and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Good luck go with you.”

Yuuri exited through the archway into the servants’ quarters, and before long he was outside the open door to the laundry room. Acerbic steam assailed his nostrils, and the noises of conversation and hoarse laughter drifted out with it, along with fervent sloshing and splashing. He edged closer and peered around the doorway, seeing three groups of women circling large buckets of hot water, scrubbing and talking. Ethelfrith, in a long linen-coloured dress with the sleeves rolled up, was working along with a handful of other young women at one bucket. 

This was it, then. Time to announce himself.

“God give you good day, ladies,” he said pleasantly. “Ethelfrith – ” Her head shot up, a startled expression crossing her face at the mention of her name, while the other women stared. “ – can you spare a few minutes of your time? I have a message for you from Angie and Simon.” The names were from Phichit; he’d discovered after a brief investigation that they were the two people who had spent the most time with her at the living history museum. Her astonishment at his mention of them was plain to see, while the other two women looked at them both in confusion.

“Who are they?” one of the young women asked.

“Do you remember?” Yuuri went on, his attention still on Ethelfrith. “Angie got you Mexican food because you liked it.”

He’d wondered at first whether this conversation might be repeated to others. But the names wouldn’t be known to them, and he doubted they’d even remember the word “Mexican”. Though this was as much as he dared to say while anyone else was listening.

Ethelfrith gazed at him with wide eyes; the colour had drained from her face. “Are you real?” she said in a small voice. 

Yuuri nodded. “I just need to speak with you for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

She exited the laundry room, the other women whispering behind her, and followed him, her leather shoes barely making a sound over the flagstones. Then she was at his side, and he could feel her eyes on him. “Where – ” he began, but he cut himself off as he felt a pinch at the cloak over his arm, like the light peck of a beak. Stopping, he looked down at her. “Yes, I’m real,” he said with a little smile. “Where can we talk privately?”

She gave the hem of his sleeve a tug and nodded toward the corridor, leading him further down to an empty communal bedroom. Victor should still be positioned at the other end in the tower; he’d be able to see if anyone approached. Feeling reassured, though he hadn’t expected any trouble in the first place, Yuuri followed Ethelfrith inside, then shut the door and locked it, quickly moving away from it and further into the room before she could be alarmed that he was trying to block her exit.

“That’s a precaution in case anyone tries to follow me,” he explained. “But you’re closer to the door than I am, and I won’t stop you from unlocking it if that’s what you want to do.”

She remained still, however. “Who _are _you?” she breathed. “How do you know about Angie and Simon, and the Mexican food? And why are you concealing yourself?”

Taking a step forward, he replied, “My name is Yuuri Katsuki. I’m from 2120 – well, it’s the next year now. I’d like to take my cloak off so you can see me properly, but you might be surprised at how I look.” He kept his voice gentle and even. “You were only in the future for two weeks, weren’t you? I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen a Japanese person before, but I imagine you saw people with different ethnic origins and colours of skin.”

“And face paint,” she said softly.

“That, too.”

“I…don’t know about the country of which you speak, but yes, I remember.” Her voice had a kind of dreamy quality to it, as if she still believed she were talking to a vision rather than an actual person.

Yuuri pulled his hood down, which elicited a gasp from Ethelfrith when his face was revealed; then he removed his cloak and draped it over the bed near him. He’d dressed for the occasion: black athletic wear; black coat which it was too warm for, but which added to the effect; and white trainers, though he’d had to conceal those on the way here with the projector. Ethelfrith let out a breath as he stood looking at her placidly.

“That’s how some of them dressed there,” she said, reaching a hand up to grip her arm. “Only, they convinced me it wasn’t real. A fevered dream, they said. They told me I’d been ill; that I almost died. But it was so detailed. They said I’d lose – ”

“Your position if you kept talking about it?” Yuuri supplied for her, remembering what she’d said the last time they’d spoken.

“Yes, sir,” she replied almost inaudibly. “But who are you? I mean, why are you here? Have you come to take me back?” The words spilled from her without a pause for Yuuri to respond, and she suddenly rushed forward to stand in front of him. “I liked it there, at the museum. I didn’t have to scrub clothes all day. They were such lovely people. Please, tell me I can go back.”

“I…I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” It was hard to say, and her disappointment was palpable. “But you might be able to help me.”

She blinked up at him.

* * *

_Damn it. How am I supposed to adjust the retro-propagation of the plasma coefficient with a bloody laser pen? Let alone actually repair the temporal ground-state orthogonal processor? You’ve had a big lesson in humility, Ailis. And it might well have cost you dearly._

She strained to see by the watery grey light of the bedroom window, only marginally superior to that produced by a candelabra. What she needed was a suite of digitally controlled instruments, not this pathetic little toolkit she’d halfheartedly stowed in the bag she’d brought here “just in case”. If she could meet her past-future self, she’d slap her. Maybe one day it would yet be possible, and she could explore the paradoxes involved. But the chances were slim.

It would be easier to concentrate in her lab, of course; she’d have no fear of interruption there. A spike of rage shot through her every time she thought about how difficult it was to do that now. Thank God she’d completed the trickiest work with developing the _Yersinia pestis _at the cottage, before Yuuri had ruined that for her; there was no way she could possibly set up lab apparatus at the castle. But she still needed to get out there to work occasionally. And it had been her own special place, where she could escape the ridiculousness here at the castle from time to time. The bloody bastard had robbed her of all of that.

_Careful, Ailis. You don’t want to end up throwing and breaking this equipment like you did with your necklace. _

She hadn’t realised it had been an expensive gift from her husband. When he’d seen the stones on the floor, he hadn’t been well pleased. Not that she cared.

_Right, _she thought, forcing herself to concentrate again, _if I can mend this juncture, then component A will start talking to component B again. And while it won’t solve all my problems, it’ll be a start. _She pressed the button on the laser pen, the blue glow turning her skin spectrally pale.

A soft knock sounded at the door. _Flaming hell, I can’t get anything done here. _She swept up the components and tools and hurriedly stashed them in their little wooden chest, which she padlocked and pushed under the bed. “Who is it?” she called as she stood and went to the door.

“Flora, madam.”

Flora? She was a laundress; what was _she _doing here? Unless she’d come begging for some extra work, there should only be one reason.

Opening the door, Ailis glared at the girl, who curtseyed. “Well?”

“You bade me inform you if Ethelfrith had any strange visitors, madam.”

“And?”

“There’s one with her right now. A man. He appeared in the doorway of the laundry room, wearing a hooded cloak; I weren’t able to see his face too well.”

Ailis considered this. Such clothes weren’t unusual here. But someone dressed like that showing up at the laundry room – ?

“He told Ethelfrith he had a message for her from Angie and Simon,” Flora continued, “and could she come out and speak with him.”

Ailis’s heart skipped a beat. “Did he say who Angie and Simon were, or who he was? Did he give a name?”

“No, madam. But then he said…” She paused as if trying to remember. “Angie had got her Mex-kin food, and she’d liked it. So Ethelfrith, she looks at the man like he’s a proper vision from heaven and says, ‘Are you real?’ ”

She studied the girl’s whey face. Honest, if vacant. “Might he have said ‘Mexican’?”

“That’s possibly what he said, madam, but I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Where did they go?”

“Down the corridor in the servants’ quarters. Madam, I – ”

But Ailis had slammed the door shut on the girl, her thoughts flying, and hurriedly threw off her medieval clothes, pulling her modern ones from their hiding place and donning them. She would have preferred to wear these most of the time in case of situations like this, but they were a flaming nuisance to wash.

Having changed in record time, she ensured she was projecting the same clothes she’d been wearing a moment ago and threw the door open, surprised to find that Flora hadn’t moved. A confused expression seemed permanently painted on her face. “Why are you still standing there?” Ailis snapped. “Go back to the laundry room. I’ll give you your reward later.” With that, she locked the door behind her and dashed away down the hall.

And then slowed down. She had to show some decorum, or people would wonder what her hurry was and ask.

He was _there, _Yuuri was there _now_, talking to that silly slip of a laundress. It was one of the reasons Ailis had let her live, just in case he tried something like this. She’d have to be quick, though, if she wanted to catch him.

But which direction should she approach from? In order to avoid the kitchen, she’d have to go out into the courtyard, so that was no good. No, the garrison end would be best. Passing through the castle as quickly as she could without attracting attention to herself, she slowed again when she arrived there. The main room was empty. Turning her projector off, she sneaked down the corridor and into the servants’ quarters. Only one door here was closed, and through it she could hear muffled voices. It was mainly a woman who was talking, but there was also a man. She couldn’t make out their words.

Nipping into the empty room opposite, she lingered in the doorway, waiting. If anyone turned up wanting to enter either room, she’d just have to stun them. And when Yuuri emerged from that doorway, either as himself or his projection, she’d kill him.

It was perfect. She was going to win this time. 

Ailis smiled to herself as she fingered her gun, counting the seconds.

* * *

Yuuri watched Ethelfrith as they sat on beds opposite each other. The wide-eyed look never left her, and she fidgeted with her hands, thin pink fingers interweaving.

He had to try to keep this brief; any minute someone might attempt to come in. This room was probably the best place for such a conversation, however; private areas in which to talk were few at the castle, and he couldn’t take Ethelfrith back to his and Victor’s rooms or she’d know they were involved.

“You can think of me as a kind of sheriff from the future,” he said. “I was sent by Professor Celestino to find a criminal from my time who’s been responsible for some…unusual occurrences here, including the disappearance of the body you saw – there _was _one, wasn’t there?”

She nodded fervently. “But they didn’t believe me; they said it weren’t there when they went to look. Oh sir,” she gushed, “you’re the only person I’ve met here who thinks I’m telling the truth. The only proof I seem to have that anything unusual happened to me is my sudden miraculous recovery. Before they told me I should stop raving like I was mad or possessed, I’d been claiming that I hadn’t even been ill in the first place. Well you know, sir, I don’t believe I was. I didn’t even get ill when that horrible plague-like sickness struck the castle.”

Yuuri nodded. “I’d like you to think back to just before you disappeared from the future and arrived here. Can you take me through what happened?”

She folded her hands in her lap and thought. “I was giving a demonstration to visitors at the living history museum, sir. You see, I had a kind of cottage to stay in – I ain’t never had that before, sir – and people would come just to see what my day-to-day life was like. It weren’t nothing out of the ordinary for me, apart from the fact that I had to set Simon and Angie right on, well, on quite a number of things, actually. For example, the flour we use here for bread – ”

“I’d enjoy hearing about that; but for now, can we focus when you disappeared?” Yuuri said, his voice still gentle.

“Well, like I said, I was giving a demonstration. Specifically, on how to tend to candles. The sort of thing you don’t think nothing about, it’s that ingrained a habit. Or maybe not with you, sir, but anyway. I was right in the middle of talking to a lady with pink and white swirls painted on her face when the whole world took a funny turn, just like the first time when I disappeared from the castle, and I discovered I were standing on me own in a part of the servants’ quarters that’s sometimes used as a sick room. And with a woman lying dead in the bed next to me.” She leaned forward, her nervousness having gradually evaporated until she hardly seemed able to get her words out fast enough. “But the queerest thing was that she looked _exactly _like me, sir. And when I say _exactly_ – ”

“She was a copy of you in every way,” Yuuri supplied for her.

“_Yes_, sir. Like she were a changeling or something. The queerest thing it was, I tell you.”

Yuuri nodded. “I don’t have time to explain right now, but you’ll have to trust me when I say that makes sense. In fact, I’d be surprised if she hadn’t been there. So what did you do?”

“As you can imagine, sir, I were that distraught, I ran right out into the courtyard. If you’d even asked me what me own name were, I’d have looked at you like you were mad. I don’t recall how long I stood there in a panic, not daring to go back to that room. It were far worse than when I’d arrived in the future, because those lovely folk were waiting there to tell me what had happened, and to look after me.”

“Professor Celestino and Phichit.”

“That’s right, sir. So I were that disorientated, and after a fortnight of strange things too, that I started screaming. ‘Where am I? What happened?’ You know, that kind of thing. I’m certain I was insensible for quite some time. I might even have said things about the future, I’m not sure, though it was probably what made people here go on about how I was out of my tree.”

“And what happened then?”

She thought for a moment. “Other servants came; women and men from the direction of the great hall. I must’ve made them understand eventually that I’d seen this woman’s body, and they asked me where it was, and two men went to check. But when they came back, they said there weren’t nothing there. Well then there was that much of a to-do that the lord and lady came from their chambers to find out what was the matter, and the lady with her retinue said she’d stay with me awhile in the sick room. It were the last place I wanted to go, and as I said, I hadn’t even been ill, though at that moment I guess you could say I wasn’t in the most sensible state of mind. However, almost as soon as we went inside, I was overcome by a fainting spell.”

Yuuri sat up at this. “A fainting spell?”

“That’s what it must have been, sir, I reckon. Delayed reaction from it all.”

Or a useful move on Ailis’s part, Yuuri thought, to drug her and add to the impression that she’d lost her mind, while at the same time silencing her. Though as Ethelfrith had said, a simple fainting spell was certainly plausible. “Was there anything to drink in the room, do you remember?”

She looked at him strangely. “Yes, sir. There was a pitcher of thin wine, and I was given a cup of it. Unfortunately it didn’t help, because I fell down in a swoon not long afterward.”

Something else that Mistress Ramsay the herbalist specialised in, Yuuri thought. Dwale. “What happened when you woke up?” he asked.

“There still weren’t no body, sir. And the most uncommonly peculiar thing was that all the items I’d brought back with me from the future had disappeared.”

Then she _had _been drugged, Yuuri decided. For that reason as well as others. “What items were those?”

“That little translator they gave me to put in my ear. You know the device I mean?”

“I’m using one now. Anything else?”

“Why, the very clothes and shoes I’d been wearing. Can you believe? I mean, they _looked _like clothes from this time, but they weren’t made from material we have here. They had tags with writing on the inside about where they’d been made in the world, and of what. There was also a design the laundry robots read so they’d know how to wash them.” She suddenly brightened. “I’ve never seen the like, sir. All that laundry done without the aid of human hands. It made me feel queenly, it did, to have my own done for me – even if I still had to show people how to do it the usual way at the museum. I was seen as something of an expert, if I do say so myself.”

Yuuri’s thoughts drifted briefly to Victor, waiting in the shadows. The people at the museum had fondly described Ethelfrith as a chatterbox. He could understand why she had a lot to say, but now wasn’t the ideal time to listen to it all.

“Everyone here naturally agreed that I’d had visions of fantastical things brought on by my malady,” she continued. “I didn’t even try to tell them about the robots. Or the flying cars. Have you ever been in one of them, sir?” Before he could respond, she said, “Course you have, everyone rides in them. But I’m afraid there ain’t much more I can tell you about events here. I didn’t want anyone to think I were too barmy to carry out my duties. Truth be told, I was beginning to think perhaps I _had _imagined it all.” She paused. “I’m so glad you’ve come and put me right. Do you not miss that place, sir?”

But Yuuri’s brain was working on the information she’d given him. Somehow Ailis must have heard her screams, worked out what had happened, and instantly acted to move the body. She would’ve been seen doing it in the daytime, which meant she must have stowed it somewhere until she could sneak back and dispose of it. And, of course, drugging Ethelfrith meant the laundress wouldn’t wake during the process, or when her translator was removed and her clothes swapped. Ailis could simply have shot her – but then, keeping her alive and convincing her that she’d been dreaming or hallucinating would make it more likely that those around her would be convinced as well. And another death would have meant another corpse to deal with.

It was macabre to consider, and Yuuri was getting the impression that the clinical detachment this detective work seemed to require didn’t come naturally to him; he could feel his stomach turning. But this was also the first interview he’d had with anyone that had produced results, however meagre, and he was determined to pursue it.

“Is it possible, do you think,” he said, disregarding her question, “that the body might have been temporarily concealed under a bed, so that when the servants came to investigate, they didn’t find anything?”

An expression of disgust crossed her face. “I suppose so, sir. There was also a wardrobe in the room, but I’d rather not think about that.”

“Was anyone particularly insistent that you shouldn’t talk about this – the body, or the place in the future where you’d been?”

“No, sir, not that I recall.”

Yuuri nodded, thinking. “This pitcher of drink. Was it already in the room, or did someone bring it in?”

“It were already there.”

“Did you see anyone do anything odd with your cup once it was poured? As if they were adding something to it, maybe?”

She looked at him as if she’d never considered this before. “Well no, sir, but I were that distraught, I don’t suppose I would have noticed. Do you think that was what happened?”

“It’s possible. No one else in the room fainted?”

“No, sir.”

“Did anyone else come in before it happened?”

“I can’t say I’m certain, but I think other servants might have been going to and fro. I were that distraught, you see…”

Yuuri rubbed his chin. _Or Ailis might have injected her with something. There’s no proof there was anything in the wine. _“Just before you fainted, did you feel any pain anywhere, like a pinprick?”

Her brow wrinkled. “No, sir. Why should I have felt that?”

_She knows how to cover her tracks, _Yuuri thought, ignoring the question. _Every step of the way. And they send me, someone who has no experience in detective work, to try to track down a genius. _A wave of despair washed through him, but he forced it back. 

He asked for the names of the two servants who had gone to look for the body; since they were male, they could be quietly questioned without fear that either of them was Ailis. Then he took a moment to reassure Ethelfrith that he believed her, and said he was glad she’d been well looked after during the time she’d spent in the future.

As he stood, he said, “It’s imperative that you don’t tell anyone I was here – anyone at all. If someone asks who came to see you in the laundry room, just say I was a visitor who was checking on a colleague’s laundry, and was given your name as the person in charge of it.”

“Very well, sir,” she replied, standing also. Then she grabbed his arm before he could pick up his cloak. “When you get back to 2121,” she said, her words practically tripping over themselves, “won’t you speak to someone about returning me there? They said I was doing a brilliant job. I dearly loved it, sir, and they treated me like a lady instead of a servant. I had good food, a comfortable bed, pretty clothes, and I was making friends. They’ll remember me. They – ”

“I know,” Yuuri interrupted, voice soothing as he briefly patted her hand, wondering what else he could say. If he could send her back to the museum, where she’d obviously been so happy, he would. She was an innocent person caught up in it all who’d been given a glimpse of a better life, only to have it snatched away and left doubting her reason. “Our tech must seem like it can do anything. But the criminal I’m tracking down is the person who invented the time-travel devices, and they were damaged on the way here; this is the first time they’ve been used, and they didn’t quite work the way they should.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice, looking crestfallen. “But does that mean you can’t go back either?”

“I don’t know.” There was no need to tell her he didn’t intend to, regardless. “I’ve got to go right now, but I appreciate your help. Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Oh…of course. Yes.” She gave him a watery smile. “That was a juke time I had.”

He grinned at the word and nodded, then went to the door, unlocked it, depressed the latch and pulled.

“_Yuuri, get back inside!_” a commanding version of Ethelfrith’s voice shouted from the far end of the corridor.

It was followed by the unmistakable screams of laser-gun fire. 


	108. Chapter 108

Victor stood as far back amid the stacks of buckets as he could while still being able to keep an eye on the servants’ corridor. When anyone from the kitchen approached to use the well, he melted further into the shadows until they’d gone.

Yuuri was probably right, though, and all this caution was unnecessary. At least if anyone found him here, they would think he was Ethelfrith, and he could claim he’d come here to fetch some supplies; a bucket of water, perhaps.

Someone else was coming from the direction of the kitchen, and he slipped out of sight again. But he hadn’t counted on this person being rather more wary by habit than a servant seeking water.

“How, now.” It was Emil, and he’d drawn his sword. “Why are you skulking about back here? Who are you?”

Victor had no intention of stunning him with the gun; he had to find a way to get him to leave. Pulling his hood off, he said, “It’s just me, sir. Ethelfrith. I came here to – ”

“What are you holding, and why are you dressed like that?”

Trying for a meek voice, Victor replied, “I’ve just returned to the castle from my travels, sir, and was using my knife to – ”

“Show it to me.”

_Emil, this is no time for gallant soldiery. Please go. _“Sir, I – ”

“Show me what you’re holding.”

Victor held the gun out but didn’t hand it over. If only Yuuri had told Emil his real identity by now, they could have been working together rather than becoming entangled in this awkward situation.

“This is no knife,” Emil said, eyes flashing. “I’ve never seen its like before. Let me have it.”

“Emil, it’s me, Sir Victor,” he whispered, instinct taking over from intellect, because he was _not _going to give Emil the gun. As the squire looked at him in utter incomprehension, Victor called up the BCI for his com and switched the projector off.

Emil gasped and jumped back, holding his sword high. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph preserve us,” he breathed.

“I’m not some devil or sorcerer,” Victor said hurriedly. “I disguised myself as Ethelfrith because I’m helping…Justin, and I don’t wish to be seen as myself.”

After a pause, Emil whispered, his sword still raised, “If what you say is true, how came you to take on her appearance?”

Victor raised his wrist. “This device. I can turn it off and on.”

Emil’s sword wavered. He didn’t seem to know what to do with it. “Is…is it really you, sir?”

“You came to my room this morning,” Victor replied, dropping his hand back down. “You said you were going to joust with Abelard and then make a trip into the village for supplies.” Then he moved the folds of his cloak aside at his waist to reveal the hilt and scabbard of his sword; Emil knew them well.

“I confess I’m most amazed, sir. But how has this come about? How – ”

“I don’t have time to explain,” Victor said quickly. He didn’t fear that Yuuri was in any danger, but he’d been stationed here as a safeguard nevertheless, and while Emil spoke with him he was not fulfilling that role. “To make short of the matter for now, Justin and I have been working together for some time to try to catch a criminal, and the person he’s interviewing at present may know something about her.”

“Her? Begging your pardon, sir, but may I ask why I haven’t been informed? I could have been of service, perhaps. And this device on your wrist – whence comes it? I’ve never…”

His voice trailed off as Victor jostled to the side, having caught a flash of movement down the corridor. Short dark hair, dark clothes, trousers under a tunic. There was only one person here who dressed like that. She paused in the corridor before disappearing into the room opposite the one Yuuri and Ethelfrith had entered. It was difficult to see exactly what she’d been doing, because Emil had been in the way.

“Yuuri’s in danger – I’ve got to go,” Victor said distractedly, turning his projector back on.

“Who is Yuuri?”

Victor stared as he realised what he’d just done. _Forgive me, my love. I’m making a mess of this. _“Yuuri is Justin. He has a disguise too, just like me.”

“He’s disguised as…Yuuri?”

“No, the other way round.”

“What?”

“Emil, I need to get past and try to approach by stealth. She – Ailis, the criminal – went into the room down the corridor while we’ve been talking. Stay here and keep back. She’s got a weapon like mine that kills over a distance.”

“Is that what you’re holding? It looks like a shiny stone.”

“I assure you, it’s rather more than that. I’ll explain once this is over. Or Yuuri will. If you see any flashes of blue light, stay well away.” 

“But – ”

Victor put a finger to his lips, his gaze intent. Then he moved silently into the servants’ quarters, checking around the corner to satisfy himself that no one was watching, before he began to make his way slowly down the corridor with his back against the wall. If anyone approached, he would quickly take up a purposeful stride as if he belonged here and was simply travelling from one part of the castle to another.

As he gradually neared the door to the room where Yuuri and Ethelfrith were, to his alarm it began to open with a clink. Ailis was just visible in the doorway opposite, aiming her gun. Shoot at her and risk missing, or warn Yuuri first and notify her of his presence? There was no time to think.

“_Yuuri, get back inside!_” Victor shouted in Ethelfrith’s high voice as he took cover in a small alcove. Simultaneous gunfire erupted from them both; she was aiming at him now instead of the door. Each leapt out of the way, and an explosion blasted a chunk of stone out of the wall near Victor. He attempted to fire his gun again instantly, but to his dismay, the device wouldn’t respond. Another beam lanced inches away from him, and as he fiddled with his gun, it suddenly shot a beam at the ceiling, where it blossomed and disappeared. Footfalls sounded down the hall – Ailis had emerged from the room and was running toward the garrison.

_Please, God, don’t let anyone get in her way._

There must be a delay between firings, Victor decided as he emerged from the alcove and raced down the corridor. Like an archer reloading arrows or a swordsman coming in for another cut. The damage Ailis’s weapon wrought would also seem to indicate she was firing to kill, whereas he was not. That was expected, however. Victor had every intention of pursuing her – but one hit from her beam would ensure he’d never see another dawn or his Yuuri again, so it would be necessary to exercise great caution.

These thoughts rushed through his head in seconds as he passed the door, which was now shut again. There was no sense in pausing to talk; Yuuri would be able to do little without a gun, and must be hoping he was pursuing their quarry.

Victor listened for Ailis’s footfalls and heard the door to the main garrison room open and close. In moments he was in the room himself, pulling the door open and darting quickly to the side. The expected gunfire did not arrive, however; and when Victor peered around the doorway, his heart in his throat, he saw the woman running past a cart laden with bags of grain, causing a furore among the sizeable gathering of merchants and servants, most of whom were looking about in alarm.

_I have to make sure somehow that no one gets killed._

The most sensible way would be to allow her to escape. However, that would leave her free to endanger everyone in the castle again at a later time.

Victor aimed and fired – but Ailis had turned and spotted him, and his shot went wide as he dodged to avoid a beam that streaked past him and hit the far wall with another small explosion. As she turned to run, Victor sprinted into the courtyard, trying again for a clear shot, ensuring he remained near the cover of the carts and wagons. He wanted to shout at her to stop, but what good would that do? And if he told these people to grab her, she’d kill them.

Near the middle of the courtyard, he stopped behind a cart piled high with yellow and green melons and took aim. Ailis whirled to fire, while Victor shot and missed her narrowly. Melons exploded into the air in a cloud of steam. Screams arose from all directions. The horse at the front of the cart neighed in distress, and the vehicle juddered into movement. Victor gasped as he realised he’d been exposed to Ailis’s direct line of fire, and shot wildly at her as he dived to the side to remain within the cover of the cart. Her own shot sent more fragments of melons flying. The horse reared and the cart tipped, balancing precariously on a wheel for the tiniest moment.

Victor spun on his heel to dash madly out of the way – too late.

* * *

Yuuri’s body responded to Victor’s command before his brain had even registered it, and he pulled the door shut and hopped out of the way, taking a screaming Ethelfrith along with him. Gunfire shrieked outside in the corridor.

_Victor._

Making a shushing noise to Ethelfrith, he glanced around the room. The windows were high in the wall and contained small diamond-shaped leaded panes. Just the one door. No other way out, then. Yuuri counted four shots in total, then running footsteps. One set heading out to the garrison, another set following close behind. Did that mean Victor was alive, and chasing after Ailis?

_Jesus. I need to know what’s happening. _

_I have to help if I can. But I don’t have a gun._

_I can’t just stand here._

Yuuri resolved to open the door and step out into the corridor. But as soon as he moved, it swung inward. He instinctively reached for his sword before remembering it wasn’t part of his outfit from the future, and wondered why he’d been so stupid as to come here completely unarmed.

_Because I didn’t expect any of this to happen. Neither of us did._

“Sir, it’s Emil. Are you there?”

_Wait – shit – he can’t see me like this. _

But he already had. Emil stared at him with wide eyes, sword held loosely at his side. Then he looked at Ethelfrith with the same astonished expression.

Two shots fired in rapid succession near the garrison, and screams erupted from the courtyard. “Stay here until you’re certain it’s safe to come out,” Yuuri said firmly to a quaking Ethelfrith. Then he dashed to the door.

“Is that you, sir?” Emil said tentatively, following as they both exited the room. “Nothing is as it seems today. Sir Victor was in disguise as the very woman I just saw. He said you were in disguise too, but I didn’t quite understand – ”

“I’m Justin,” Yuuri said as he trotted down the corridor, keeping a wary eye out in the event of surprises, his black coat fanning out behind him.

“Holy mother…Well, sir, the lord and that woman were firing blue light at each other.”

“And they ran this way?”

“Yes.”

“Emil, stay away from – ”

“The blue light. Yes, I know.”

“I’ve got to see if I can help Victor, but I don’t have one of those guns.” They were almost at the garrison now, and the exit to the courtyard. Yuuri heard shrieks and crashes.

“Can I be of assistance, sir?”

“I’m not sure. Let’s find out what’s happening. If she’s shot Victor…” Nausea swept through his gut as he reached the garrison door and cautiously opened it – just in time to see an explosion of melons and a cart falling onto Victor.

“Jesus Christ,” Yuuri breathed, tearing across the courtyard to where Victor lay half submerged, amid screams and running people and animals. He knelt down, and could have fainted with relief when Victor stirred with a groan, while Emil began to busy himself with clearing the broken remains of the wooden cart and piles of melons off of him. Victor hadn’t been shot, and he still looked like Ethelfrith.

“I love you,” Yuuri whispered, taking the gun which was loosely clutched in one hand. “I have to go after her.” He looked at Emil. “Get him away from here before he attracts more attention, and check that he’s all right.” Then he leapt to his feet and dashed to the nearest wagon, peering around the side.

Ailis had lingered briefly to stare at the devastation where Victor must have stood only seconds before. Yuuri took careful aim – but she saw him, and with shock on her face, fired at the same time as he did. Her blast ripped a hole through the canvas covering the wagon, filling the air with the pungent aroma of lemons. Yuuri’s shot was true, but Ailis had dodged out of the way before he fired, and the beam dissipated against a cart behind her. They each took several more shots from behind cover, but they appeared to be at a stalemate, and Yuuri was aware of the furore around them. Any of these people could be killed in the crossfire, though he’d made sure his own gun was set to stun.

Seeming to come to the same decision, Ailis disappeared completely behind the wagon where she’d taken cover, and Yuuri felt he had no choice but to come out into the open briefly to follow her. He soon spotted her making a dash for the archway that led to the great hall and the kitchen – but she had anticipated his move, and turned to fire. He leapt to the side, firing at the same time, and missed. Falling into a roll across the ground, he came to his feet behind the same wagon that had been protecting Ailis a moment ago, the owner peering at him in terror from the other side. “I’m going to stop her,” Yuuri said to him.

“God save you,” the man replied in a quivering voice.

Yuuri risked a peek around the side of the wagon in time to see the back of Ailis disappearing through the archway. He fired, but she’d blended into the shadows.

_Fuck. I can’t lose her. _There was no sense wasting more time hiding behind vehicles when she was attempting to escape into the castle – and he had to prevent her from hurting anyone else here again, with her gun or with the plague or in any other way. He ran to the archway, almost tripping over a flock of squawking chickens as he went, and halted once he’d passed inside, looking around.

_The buttery._

To his right, a black-clad figure was darting down the aisle between stacks of barrels. Yuuri aimed – and she dived behind one of the stacks with a cry. Then gave a push, sending the barrels crashing down to the floor. Making her way along, she toppled more stacks, shooting the barrels as they dropped and rolled. Staves splintered and flew, and purple and amber liquid sprayed into the air, blocking Yuuri’s view. In the middle of the room now, however, he persevered, shooting blindly through the fizzing, cracking chaos, dodging rolling barrels and splashing through puddles that sent befuddling fumes into the air.

Amazingly, he was catching up with her – but they were headed for the kitchen. She ran straight in, and Yuuri struggled to get a clear aim amid the milling, screaming cooks and servants. “Get out of the way – she’s dangerous!” he shouted.

As if in reply, Ailis glanced over her shoulder and sent a shot in his direction, which incinerated several loaves of bread on the counter in front of a horrified baker and sent shards of charcoal flying through the air.

“You can’t do this through the castle!” Yuuri called to her as she darted into the dark turret room containing the well and buckets.

“Then stand still and let me shoot you, Yuuri my lad!” she shouted back.

Before his eyes adjusted to the dark, buckets were falling to the floor with an almighty clatter – and a flash of blue was accompanied by a searing pain in his right hand. Ducking down, Yuuri forced himself to keep hold of the gun; but white sparks issued from it, and he heard a buzzing noise. Quickly he tried shooting it against the wall, but nothing happened. The setting – he could try that. Moved it further forward. Still nothing. Forward again, to maximum intensity – and a beam of blue light sent chunks of stone flying from the wall.

Ailis had exited into the courtyard; he peered carefully around the archway, aimed – and paused.

_I’d have to kill her._

It was a different situation from the soldiers on the bridge. She was a genius from the future. She’d been planning something here. She was different from those soldiers hacking at him with swords. She _was_ – wasn’t she?

_But she’s trying to kill me. She tried to kill Victor, and is endangering all these people. _

He set his lips firmly and continued to aim.

_I have no choice._

A woman in a turban ran across his view. Most everyone at the castle seemed to be panicking; they’d created utter mayhem.

_Move, damn it. I just need a clear shot._

Yuuri flexed his gun hand. The skin was an angry red where he held the metal, but it wasn’t anything that would disable him. The sparks that continued to occasionally fly out of the end, though, and that buzzing noise…it could turn out to be more of a danger to him than to anyone else. But it was the only weapon he had.

He ran out to stand behind a cartload of apples, angling for the shot he needed – and fired as Ailis disappeared into the archway again. No cry, no sound; not from Ailis, though more noises erupted from the people in the courtyard, who by now had mostly realised that it was safest to take cover inside or behind the wagons and carts, or within the castle.

Had he hit her? Yuuri peeked out from behind the apples, gun at the ready.

A neon-blue beam screamed into the sky from the passageway, and Ailis emerged – pinning a boy to her front with one arm while she held her gun to his head.

_Holy shit. _

Yuuri’s mind went blank and his heart hammered as he took in the scene.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” she called out. “I have a hostage.” The boy squirmed and she yanked at him, firming her hold and causing him to give a cry before he stilled. “If you don’t want me to fry this little lad in front of all these people, come out where I can see you and drop your gun.”

Yuuri swallowed in a dry mouth. If he’d stopped to think, he would have realised this was a likely outcome of the dogged chase he’d been giving her. But he couldn’t have just stood by and allowed her to escape.

There seemed no other option now, however, but to do as she said. He couldn’t let her shoot the boy, who he thought she was unlikely to harm if he showed himself. And he couldn’t get a good shot at her while she was holding a hostage.

_I’m going to die._

The realisation hit Yuuri with an odd clarity, as if all doubt and fear had drained from him to be replaced with that one fact. Some part of himself had always known his mission would end this way, and now it had reached its inevitable conclusion.

_No. That’s not how it has to be. Victor and I have a future. We have – _

“This is your last warning, Katsuki!” Ailis shouted more loudly this time. “Scream,” she ordered the boy. He let out a high-pitched yell.

_We have a future here. I am not prepared to lose him. Or anything else that I’ve gained in my new life here._

_New life. _

_But it looks like it’s going to be a short one, after all._

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri stepped away from the wagon and faced Ailis.

“Further,” she said sharply, nodding her head to her right. Yuuri took several more steps. There was nothing between them apart from the green grass of the courtyard. He heard gasps and choked sobs from different directions as the hidden people watched.

Any moment now, any moment, she’d shoot. He recognised the boy as one of the pages, an eight-year-old named Jehan. The last time Yuuri had seen him, he’d been playing tag in the training field. His eyes were bulging now, his mouth hanging open, as he met Yuuri’s gaze, silently pleading.

“Toss the gun away,” Ailis commanded.

He did as he was told, and she destroyed it in a shrill flash of blue that drew more screams from the onlookers. There was barely a blackened husk left in the grass to emit a wisp of smoke. 

“Let him go,” Yuuri said to her. “I’m here, and I’m unarmed now.”

Ailis looked all around her, yanking the boy as she turned to see if there was anyone in the corridor behind. “Stay back, all of you!” she shouted, firing at a stone gargoyle jutting out from the battlements at the top of the castle. It shattered, and fragments rained down, provoking more terrified noises from the onlookers. Aiming the gun at Yuuri again, she snapped, “Take off your com and toss it away. I’m not destroying another one.”

As Yuuri complied, he discovered he was holding his breath, as if he were facing a firing squad. _Victor, I’m sorry…_

“Now remove your tran – ”

But before she could say anything else, a flight of arrows whistled down from behind. With a startled cry, Ailis shoved the page away from her; he took two arrows as he fell to the ground, one in an arm and one in a shoulder, as she fled through the archway behind her.

Yuuri knew he could attempt to pursue her. But there would be no archers inside the castle itself, where she could take more hostages – and end his own life, as she’d meant to here.

The courtyard was becoming animated around him, with a host of people flocking to the aid of the page. Yuuri spun around and looked up to see a small group of soldiers with bows and arrows behind the ramparts at the top of the garrison tower.

_Don’t shoot at me, too. _But they seemed to have no intention of doing so. If they changed their minds, however, or decided to come down here with their swords and take him prisoner…

_They’ll recognise Justin, though, and leave him alone. _He grabbed the com off the ground amid the growing crowd of people emerging from their hiding places, eyeing him as if he were a supernatural vision, and ran across the courtyard to the room where the buckets were, half of them having been tipped across the floor. A moment in the shadows was all he needed before he took on Justin’s appearance; and then he ran through the servants’ wing, having no desire to face the courtyard crowd again or give them the opportunity to link his two identities together. The door to the room where he’d interviewed Ethelfrith was open and no one was around, he noticed as he passed. Hopefully she was somewhere safe.

And where had Emil gone with Victor? There’d been no sign of them in the courtyard. Yuuri would try the garrison, and then he’d check their rooms. Was Victor all right? What on earth must Emil be thinking?

Passing his old room and nearing the ground floor of the garrison, he caught sight of them with a flutter of relief in his chest. Victor, looking like himself again, was facing outward on a bench at a table while Emil and Julia attended to him. Fighting men came and went behind them; one soldier paused to speak to Victor before hurrying out the door.

As Yuuri joined them, Emil stared at him in confusion. He was holding the cloak Yuuri realised he’d left in the servants’ room, and was fingering it as if it were a kind of unconscious comforter. Before today, Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever seen any real degree of agitation in him.

“I’ll explain everything soon,” he said, and Emil managed a small nod. 

“Sir,” Julia began, “did you really – ” But a quick glance from him encouraged her silence, and then he met Victor’s somewhat bewildered gaze. Neither spoke a word while Victor stood and they wrapped their arms around each other in a tight hug. Yuuri breathed in his scent, tears springing to his eyes. He’d been certain he’d never experience this again.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered quietly in his ear. “Thank God you’re safe. Emil and Julia told me what happened. I…I failed, and you could’ve died.”

Yuuri pulled back to look at him. “No. It was brave of you to go after her. You could’ve died, too. How are you?”

“I think I’ll be a little bruised, and my head hurts, but otherwise – ”

They were interrupted by Chris coming through the door and approaching Victor. “You might want to come outside,” he said, eyes bright with excitement. “I can’t say I understand what I saw out there myself, but now everyone seems to be going mad. And those who aren’t are nicking what they can from the vehicles while they’re left unattended.”

“What?” Victor exclaimed. “That’s unacceptable. Find however many guards you can to restore order, and give them some assistance yourself. Along with Charles, wherever he is. Send someone to check on the state of affairs outside the castle as well.”

Chris nodded and left; Victor handed his cloak to Julia, and the four of them went out into the courtyard.

It looked as if all the residents of the castle had gathered here, amid the jumble of vehicles. Yuuri heard more screams, though when he looked around to find their source, he could see no apparent danger; nothing but distressed people, some of them running like ants whose nest had been disturbed, some leaning into the comforting arms of companions. Moaning, weeping, chattering conversation. Merchants shouting that they needed to move their goods. To the left, Father Maynard emerged from the chapel with the gold crucifix from the altar in his hand and a bible tucked under his arm, followed by perhaps two dozen people wringing their hands and crying out prayers. Once the chaplain spotted Victor, he strode quickly toward him, robes billowing. A small crowd began to gather around them.

“My lord, I’m informed that a battle has taken place here, between the forces of good and evil.”

This seemed to stir several conversations at once.

“It were a witch and a wizard.”

“No – an angel and a devil.”

“But they were both dressed in black. Angels don’t wear black.”

“He was trying to save the boy.”

“He said, ‘I’m going to stop her.’ ” Yuuri recognised the merchant whose wagon he’d briefly hidden behind.

“But he didn’t, did he? She was going to kill him.”

“It were our own archers who saved the day.”

“Where did they go?”

“Back to the spirit realm whence they came.”

Abelard muscled through the throng and addressed Victor. “I’m gathering up all the fighting men to assist with restoring order, sir. I’ve told several of them to search the castle and the grounds for these mysterious intruders.”

“You might have more success in banishing them permanently with prayer,” Father Maynard said, eyeing him.

“Though I believe,” Victor put in, “it’s just as well to check in the physical world. Abelard, tell them to take the utmost care, and to arm themselves with bows and arrows so as not to approach too close; those strange weapons which shoot light appear to be highly dangerous.”

“I will, sir,” Abelard replied with a nod, departing through the growing crowd.

“Father,” called a young woman in a white coif who Yuuri recognised as one of the kitchen staff, “this ain’t the first time something unnatural has happened here.”

“What do you mean, my child?”

“Well, me sister and I were returning from the village not a week ago, following a path through the woods, when we were struck by a powerful strange vision. In fact, at the time, we thought we’d crossed into a spirit realm. I ain’t never seen anything like it. It went all dark, like twilight, of a sudden; and there were these flickering lights and explosions – ”

“Like these beams people saw here at the castle?” the chaplain asked.

“No, they were more like…well, the whole thing were like the worst thunder and lightning storm, only the light was different colours – and round, like suns that flashed and died. The lights showed men running along in a row, in silhouette. They all had metal hats, I think, but it were that hard to see…”

“Helmets?”

“I don’t rightly know. The trees seemed to have disappeared too, and there were mud everywhere. But when we ran off the path a ways and turned to look back, funny thing is, it had all vanished. The lights, the noise, the running men. It were all just normal again.”

“How much had you had to drink?” someone called.

Her face went pink. “Well I never. That’s an utter insult. I never touched a drop.”

“That sounds like what _I _saw.” Roger, one of the reeves Yuuri remembered from the meal where the busted com had been taken around, spoke up as he made his way to the front of the gathering. “I’ve been saying those woods are haunted, but no one would believe me.”

“Dear me,” Father Maynard mused. Then he turned to Victor. “It’s my belief, my lord, that we should summon the monks from the priory to come and help me bless this castle and its lands, and expel these nefarious influences.”

Before Victor could reply, however, the baron and his wife made their way to the front of the crowd. “Stand up, all of you, and stop this superstitious nonsense,” Natalia announced in a loud voice. Wondering what she meant, Yuuri took another look around and saw that quite a few people had fallen to their knees or were even lying on their stomachs, praying loudly and beseeching God to save them from “the fiend”. But when Natalia repeated her command, they gradually did as they were told.

“The castle and grounds are being checked for intruders,” Andrei announced to the gathering. “No one has yet been found, and it’s likely they’re no longer here. In the meantime, you are to return to your duties – I hope I make myself clear. Make way, also, for our suppliers and their vehicles to depart through the courtyard and the gatehouse.” He paused and looked around. “Well? Go on. If I see anyone else panicking like a headless goose, they’ll be in danger of losing their position. Show some dignity and keep your wits about you. That is all.”

“Victor, are you aware of what happened out here?” Natalia asked. “I’ve heard the most fantastical stories about angels and devils.”

“No, madam; by the time I arrived here from my room, I was told these mysterious visions which shot beams of light had disappeared.”

“They couldn’t merely be visions if one of them took a page hostage,” the baron said. “It would seem they posed some danger as well.” He turned to the chaplain. “I heard your recommendation for the blessing. Make it so, as soon as possible. The last thing I bloody need right now is his royal majesty cancelling his visit because he thinks the castle is bewitched.”

As Andrei and Natalia conferred with the chaplain, and a pair of soldiers approached from the garrison to speak with Victor, Yuuri watched the crowd begin to disperse. Some people went back inside the castle, while others flocked around the merchants, assisting them with their broken vehicles and collecting spilled produce. The melon cart had been righted, though small white and brown chunks littered the surrounding grass like an unseasonable dirty snowfall.

How could he have known that an interview with Ethelfrith would result in this? They’d lost more than they’d gained. Their only viable weapon against Ailis. Their very lives, almost.

“Justin,” Victor said, coming to his side, “I shall need to stay here a while, I think, to help calm things down.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll make sure the fighting men make a good show of searching before I call them back.”

Yuuri nodded. “And I’ll go back to the room,” he whispered, “and explain everything to Emil. Maybe Julia can help, if you don’t need her with you.”

“Certainly, if it’ll make the task easier.” Yuuri had to strain to hear. “I’m truly sorry; it seemed necessary to tell him.”

“It’s OK, Victor. I trust him, and I trust your judgement. Anyway, you go; I’ll see you later.”

Victor nodded and held his gaze for a moment before rejoining his parents. Yuuri turned to the two squires, who had been lingering a short distance away.

“We need to talk.”


	109. Chapter 109

“Let him go. I’m here, and I’m unarmed now.”

Thank God. The man was tenacious, but Ailis had managed to re-establish control of the situation.

She’d never had any intention of taking a hostage. Certainly not a little boy. She never actually shoot him, either, but they weren’t to know that. He was easy to restrain with one hand, and would hopefully play on Yuuri’s emotional strings. Hell, even she had to concede that the moppet was cute.

Taking advantage of a moment when a gun wasn’t being aimed at her, she scanned her surroundings. No one was approaching in the courtyard. She held the boy close as she turned partially round – and saw a couple of men duck back into the great hall.

“Stay back, all of you!” she shouted, firing up at a gargoyle. The audience responded in kind, several of them running and screaming as stones rained down.

Now to dispatch Celestino’s stooge once and for all. “Take your com off and toss it away. I’m not destroying another one.”

He followed her instruction, and she could see the fear in his eyes. How satisfying.

“Now remove your tran – ”

A flight of arrows whistled through the sky at her. With a cry, she shoved the boy away and leapt back, then turned and ran. Why the hell hadn’t she seen the archers? Because she, a genius, hadn’t thought to look in that direction.

All she needed was to escape to someplace quiet, where she could turn her projector on and then pretend to be as shocked by the proceedings as everyone else. That had been all she’d wanted from the moment in the servants’ quarters when she’d realised Yuuri’s accomplice was not only present but shooting at her. And it was what Yuuri had mercilessly been denying her as soon as he’d appeared in the courtyard. Again, she’d been foolish, pausing to debate whether or not it was safe to go and examine the fake Ethelfrith under the melons and discover the person’s real identity. 

But now – now she was no longer hindered by a hostage, and she had a gun. She was home free, she thought in relief as she raced into the great hall. There was a corridor beyond, leading to the wing that contained the nobles’ quarters. She might be in danger of meeting officials there, but if she could just duck into a niche, a garderobe, anything –

A woman in a thick white veil stepped out of the terrified crowd gathered at the window, bearing a colourful bundle in her arms. Silently she glided across the floor, stopping to stand in front of Ailis.

The young page. Marble-skinned and bleeding. Out of his mouth, out of his wounds. He’d been peppered with arrows like St. Sebastian. And he was quite clearly dead.

“No,” Ailis breathed. This wasn’t right; the boy had been shot by only two arrows. And he wasn’t dead – he was expected to make a full, if slow, recovery. Though how she knew that in this moment, or how it had come undone to produce this result instead, she wasn’t sure.

_This is your fault,_ the veiled woman said. _The child’s blood is on your hands._

“M-Mum?” Ailis said in bewilderment. She hadn’t had any contact with her mother since she’d left that benighted place halfway across the world years ago.

_Is this what I raised you to do? You want to kill the man outside. You’re planning to kill other important people. If you think there will be a place for you in the kingdom of heaven when you’re through with all this, when your soul is liberated from your body, then think again._

Ailis wasn’t religious, but her mother was. She wouldn’t stand up to their slave-driver employers in that house, though she’d tried to instil the fear of God in her daughter. But it hadn’t worked, not then, not now.

“I didn’t mean for the boy to die,” she insisted. “And you’re not going to stop me from what I want to do. If it works, if everything goes the way it should, then I’ll end up being one of the most famous people in history. The things I’ll be able to do – ”

_You don’t think of anyone but yourself, and you don’t care who you hurt in the process._

“That’s not true. I’ve shown mercy – ”

The veil dissolved, and Ailis was looking upon Grace Marr’s cold white face and thin red lips, her dark eyes boring into her own, accusing. The other people in the room had faded into the background like ghosts.

_Murderer. Three times over. And here comes your executioner._

Ailis gasped and spun around to see Yuuri standing in the archway like a dark avenging angel, black-clad and aiming a gun at her.

“I destroyed that,” she breathed.

_I always have another one to hand. Just like you do._

“Let me go.”

_I think not_

Ailis’s heart raced. “It’s only been a bit of fun. If you could travel in time, wouldn’t you want to leave your mark where you went if you could?”

_No._

“Please – give me another chance. Take me back to the future. I’ll invent things people can use.”

_Have you repaired a time-travel sphere?_

“I – I’m trying. I want to, but I don’t know if it’s possible yet. I should know soon. It depends on – ”

_More pathetic lies. Do you ever tell the truth?_

“I was telling you the truth when I said I didn’t want to kill those people with plague. I intended to cure them.”

_I’m sure they would’ve thanked you for everything._ He waved the gun. _Your mother’s right. You’re selfish and immoral. You’ve been treating everyone here like blobs under your microscope. For the greater good, I sentence you to death._

“You can’t do that. No one’s allowed to do that.”

_I just did._

Ailis took flight past her mother. A brilliant beam of blue shot over her shoulder, singeing her tunic. Another one ripped at her trousers, searing a stripe of red pain up her leg. She looked back and raised her hand to fire in retaliation – only to discover that her gun had vanished.

With a cry of dismay, she sprinted into the corridor. The incessant shriek of laser-gun fire sounded just behind her, turning her clothing to rags and her skin to an exposed mass of angry burns. But somehow, miraculously, she still lived – and the gunfire began to die away behind her as she gained ground on her pursuer.

But where was she? This wasn’t the posh wing of the castle, where she remembered finding a niche in which to turn her projector on. It stretched out before her, a long white corridor, with nothing visible ahead – or behind, she saw. Yuuri had disappeared. She slowed her pace, gasping for breath, tears welling in her eyes at how close she’d come to death, and the pain of her wounds. Surely, if she kept moving, she’d come across something; some way out.

And then it was there – a door containing a series of iron bars. She reached out and threw it open, running into the dim interior, the metal clanging to behind her. When she spun back around, there was no longer any sign of the white corridor. She was in her lab.

“Calm down, Ailis,” she told herself, catching her breath. “You’re safe now.”

_Good evening, my dear,_ came a voice she hadn’t heard in years, as the candles in the room all suddenly flared to life. _That’s a nice trick. How did you do it?_

“I didn’t.” She was staring into the sandy-haired bearded face of Brian, her late husband. But he appeared to be about her own age, and he ought to be almost fifty by now if he’d lived. “What are you doing here? This is my lab.”

_You used to visit mine all the time._

“That was different.”

_Oh? How so? I especially liked it when you came for non-scientific purposes._ He waggled an eyebrow.

“You disgust me. Get out.”

_I like your new look,_ he said, his gaze raking her up and down. She crossed her arms over the tatters of clothing left on her chest. _Is this some kind of new bondage game?_

“No, I was honestly attacked, and I’m honestly telling you to get the fuck out,” she spat, glaring at him.

_You know,_ he said, turning away, _you never did behave like the servant I thought I’d married. A seventeen-year-old British girl trapped in Surga, and a pretty one too. I could hardly believe my luck. Until your real personality began to bleed through. But we worked on that, didn’t we?_

Ailis began to sidle over to the cabinet. If she could get there in time, she’d be able to fetch out another gun.

But she’d hardly moved before somehow Brian was right there beside her, grabbing hold of the remains of her tunic and using it to propel her toward a cell. He shoved her against the wall inside; bars on either side of her. She wanted to knee him, to claw at him, but her movements were sluggish, as if she were trying to swim through quicksand. Brian did not seem to be having the same problem.

_I noticed when I arrived earlier that you had an interesting, if very basic, experiment on the boil. _Yersinia pestis._ You really are a girl after my own heart._

“Get off and let me go.”

_I’ve had a few more years than you to refine these techniques. Would you like to see what I did? Perhaps you’d be willing to be the first test subject._

“No,” Ailis said, panic bubbling in her chest.

_I distilled the pathogen until it was many times its ordinary concentration. I do believe you’re now in possession of the most potent form the world has ever seen._

“Fine. Thank you. Now get out.”

_The thing is, when an agent is this concentrated, it quite overwhelms the usual nanobots floating in the system, as well as the body’s natural defences. It multiplies out of control before anything can be done to stop it. The symptoms are…incredible to behold._

Ailis whimpered, struggling to get free. Her muscles seemed to have been sapped of all their strength.

_Since you won’t play nicely – you never did – I thought you might benefit from a little discipline. Open wide, my dear, and take your medicine._

Brian lifted a flask full of cloudy, foaming yellow liquid in the air. Then with a smile, he brought it forward and down. Ailis squirmed but was barely able to move. She watched in horror as the flask was guided toward her face, toward her lips, tilted…

She screamed; and as she opened her mouth, the bitter, deadly soup poured in.

* * *

Ailis gasped and choked as she jolted up.

She swiped a hand across a clammy brow, heart racing. One lone candle dripped from a candelabra, its flame just enough to see by. She was in her room. No Brian. No Yuuri. Or her mother holding a dead child riddled with arrows. Just the lump under the covers next to her where her “husband” lay sleeping.

_It wasn’t real. It’s gone, it’s gone._

_Nerves, that’s all it was._

She hadn’t taken Yuuri’s confederate, the archer, into account. That must be who was using the Ethelfrith projection. She’d paid for that error. But it didn’t explain all those other horrific visions her brain had thrown at her in the dream. She knew that was all it had been, but she was still trembling.

_Jesus, why Brian? He’s long gone. Or he should be._

That horrific potion he’d forced down her throat – even now it seized up as she thought about it, and her stomach turned.

_They’re trying to reflect my own black heart at me. If I hadn’t grabbed that boy, if I hadn’t cultured the plague virus…_

_Bless me, Father, for I have done terrible things. And I’ve been planning more._

She remembered the old confessional booth in the little rundown church her mother used to drag her to when she was young. The distant male stranger who sat on the other side of the screen like a ghost. It used to frighten her. A creaking relic from a bygone age that continued to limp onward into the future, preserved by those who thought tradition was good simply because it was long and enduring.

She didn’t believe in heaven, so the threats her mother had issued in the dream meant nothing in themselves, apart from serving to underline how callous the woman had always been. No matter what kind of shit happened in your life, no matter what you’d done, wasn’t your mother supposed to be the one person you could count on to stand by you?

Before she’d come to this time and place, she’d never done anything unlawful apart from breaking and entering, or stealing a bit of lab equipment – or buying some guns. Yes, she’d brought those, but coming prepared like that was very different from using them.

_I haven’t killed anyone unless it was necessary._

She doubted Yuuri and the law of their time would see it that way, though_. _

_Maybe I really am better off in this time, with these people who live such a basic, physical existence. The creators of laws here are often murderers themselves, though they probably don’t even see it that way. Is it murder if you kill in battle or in a duel? Sentence someone to death from the position of your glorified high office? Does it count if they’re a peasant or a beggar?_

She shuddered, scooting back so that she was propped against the headboard, and pulled the covers up to her chest. It was quiet, and dark, and she was alone with this in the middle of the night. But then, she was used to it. And it had only been a dream.

Her gaze strayed to the shape in the bed next to her. You wouldn’t have thought it, as brutish a man as he could be, but he was a quiet sleeper. She considered waking him, telling him she’d had a bad dream, and letting him put his arms around her, because he could also be nice like that sometimes. God knew he had plenty of faults, but he wasn’t like Brian. Could she derive any comfort from it, though, if he believed he was holding his real wife? Neither of them genuinely loved each other.

_I’m being weak, _she thought as she stared into the room. _I can’t pay attention to silly dreams, or fears in the night. I’m better than that._

She had autonomy now, and power. Surely no one could blame her for wanting to use them. She was intelligent; she could make good decisions. If she had to endure the occasional nightmare or twinge of guilt, she’d survive it. The more she could detach herself from those feelings, however, the better. She’d charted her course and had been steering it for months, and she hadn’t wavered. Now was not the time to start. The man lying next to her would have to die – unfortunate, but necessary. She doubted many people would grieve for him. And she _had _to get out to her lab to see to the _Yersinia pestis_. If she could even bear to look at it after that dream. But she’d need it again before long.

_Be strong, Ailis. Don’t let yourself be intimidated by doubts, or those who want to stop you. Rise above it all – and be who you were born to be._

* * *

“So he’s hiding here in wait, hoping to capture this witch and – ” Julia was saying to Emil; then she paused and looked at Yuuri. “What did you say you were going to do to her, sir?”

“I didn’t.” He glanced across the table at Emil, who was staring at him again but quickly looked down. Yuuri couldn’t blame him for being curious about his real appearance; and he’d absorbed what he’d been told about time travel, the future, and Ailis with a kind of mystified yet avid acceptance that he couldn’t help but admire. “I haven’t decided that yet. I…tried to kill her earlier, but that was because my gun was busted and I couldn’t use the stun setting, and she was endangering – ”

“You don’t need to explain that to _me_, future boy. If I had a weapon like that, I’d burn her back to hell.”

“Julius,” Emil said with a frown, “we don’t give the masters names like that.”

“Well, if she were my prisoner, it would be a difficult decision,” Yuuri said to her.

“I would’ve thought it was simple. Either shoot her, or take her back to where you both came from.” Julia rested her chin in her hand and gazed at him. “I can’t understand why it’s so hard.”

“I’ve eliminated one of those options. I’ve told Victor I won’t be going back to my time, no matter what. I want to stay here.”

Her eyes went wide. “Honest to God?”

“Honest to God,” Yuuri echoed with a grin, feeling warm inside. “And before either of you ask why I’d do that when there are flying cars and the Cloud and world travel in 2121, I’ll have you know that the company I keep is more important than any of those things.”

“You just don’t want to leave the master,” Julia said with a little snort.

“That’s true.” Yuuri sat back in his chair and looked at them – Emil to his right, and Julia across the table. “But while I’ve been here, I’ve gained a sense of belonging, I guess you could say. From Victor and others at the castle, but certainly from both of you, too. Emil started helping me as soon as I arrived. The two of you have taught me about loyalty, courage and honour. And about my role as a knight of Crowood. That’s what I am, and I’m proud to say so.”

Julia and Emil gazed at him with soft expressions, and looking up, Yuuri saw Victor standing in the doorway with a tray in his hands, grinning at him. “I didn’t hear you over there,” he laughed.

“Far be it from me to interrupt such a beautiful speech,” Victor said, placing the tray on the table and distributing a jug and several silver cups.

“Master, I could have done that,” Julia told him.

“I don’t doubt it.” Victor paused and lightly kissed the top of Yuuri’s head, then briefly brushed a hand over his shoulder. A pleasant tingle shivered down Yuuri’s spine. “But I’m capable of procuring a drink myself every so often, and I thought we could all do with one.” He poured a cup for each of them, then sat down between Yuuri and Julia and took a sip.

“Hypocras,” Julia breathed after trying hers. “This is very kind of you, sir.”

“Enjoy it.” He turned to Yuuri. “There wasn’t much else I could do about things downstairs, so I left it all in my father’s hands. No one will find anything untoward, and we’ll be receiving a visit from the monks in the coming days, I believe. If only chanting and incense could bring about the end of Ailis.”

“That would solve a few problems,” Yuuri said, sipping his own drink.

“I also visited Jehan in the sick room. Poor lad, getting caught up in everything like that. He’s shown some courage.”

“How is he?”

“It’ll take him a while to recover, but he’s not in danger of losing his life.”

Yuuri stared into his drink. “I can’t believe the archers did that.”

Julia’s voice answered, and he looked up at her. “How else would they have stopped that madwoman? She could’ve killed anyone. She was going to kill _you. _I saw from the top of the garrison; I was trying to borrow a bow because mine was at the stable. But I was too late to help.” Her eyes flashed. “I would’ve shot her, make no mistake.”

“And what if the boy had been killed?” Yuuri asked.

She looked at him, then at Victor, who gazed back sternly. “It would’ve been a tragic accident. But if it had meant the woman would no longer be able to harm anyone…”

“I’m not sure a boy’s life is worth that,” Yuuri said quietly.

Julia opened her mouth to argue when Victor jumped in. “Justice is a little different in Yuuri’s time, my lad. A human life is greatly valued.” He paused. “It’s what led him to release you from the pillory in York, while most others would have assumed you’d done something to deserve that punishment. I think you’d do well to listen to him.”

“Maybe,” she said, eyeing Yuuri. “And maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here right now if it hadn’t been for our archers.”

They all sipped their drinks, lost in thought, and then Victor turned to Emil. “I imagine much of this has come as rather a shock. How are you faring?”

“To be honest, sir, I’ve been trying to take it all in. As fantastic as it sounds, I’ve seen for myself what these devices of the master’s can do, and much makes sense now besides. Might I ask when you yourself first learned these things?”

“After our initial encounter with Ailis,” he replied, staring into his cup as he swirled his wine. “And I daresay both of you have reacted with more grace than I did.”

“That’s past now,” Yuuri said quietly.

Victor gazed at him for a moment, then nodded and went on to explain what had happened that day in the woods. Julia hadn’t been aware that this was the reason for the rupture in his and Yuuri’s relationship, and why they both had spent days feeling miserable. But making up had been the sweetest experience, Yuuri decided, and that made the pain easier to recall. It hadn’t even been so long ago, but somehow that period when Victor had only known him as Justin seemed to belong to another life. And now the squires knew who he really was, too. He realised, grinning to himself, that he didn’t feel anything other than glad.

Emil seemed to be coming to terms with it as well, his expression slowly becoming one of pleasant surprise. When Victor finished, the squire took a long drink of his wine, then shook his head and laughed softly.

“I’ve learned a lifetime’s worth of incredible things today,” he said, looking at Yuuri. “Time travel, fancy that. And you from the future. Jolly good show.” Yuuri laughed. “So would someone be so good as to tell me what actually happened today? I must confess that when I came across Ethelfrith hiding among the shadows in the tower, and she had one of those guns, and then she turned into Sir Victor, I doubted my senses.”

Yuuri told him why he’d spoken to Ethelfrith, and Victor related the details of his encounter with Ailis in the servants’ corridor, which was news to all of them. “But how came you to resemble the laundress?” Emil asked him.

“The same way Yuuri takes on Justin’s appearance – with the device that was strapped to my wrist. Yuuri’s predecessor was a woman who swapped places in time with Ethelfrith, and she passed here in that disguise until she died of an illness, at which time the real Ethelfrith was pulled back to her life here. But the body remained, and when Ailis disposed of it, the device was lost. Yuuri was lucky enough to find it while I was in Doncaster.”

“You have another com?” Julia said in excitement. “Can I see you as Ethelfrith?”

Yuuri remembered how he’d entertained her while Victor had been ill by making his projection grow long hair and a beard, and smirked.

“Somehow I don’t feel like putting her on display just now,” Victor answered.

“Can I borrow your wristband, then, and try it myself?”

“No. It’s not a toy, Julius. The com is how Yuuri’s been able to live here at the castle and search for Ailis, and it’s also his connection to Phichit.”

Julia turned to Emil. “Oh, you _must _meet him. He’s Yuuri’s mate in the future. If you ask sweetly, he’ll play the most astounding music you’ve ever heard.”

“You can converse with people from your own time?” Emil said in surprise. “Surely this must all be some kind of wonderful magic?”

“It’s what we’re all inclined to believe at first,” Victor said. “But think back to the days before humans understood what eclipses are. Before they were able to forge things from metal. Perhaps they would have come to the same conclusion.”

“It’s difficult to fathom.” Emil finished his wine and Victor poured him more. “Thank you, sir.” He looked at Yuuri. “Are there knights in the future, master? Where did you learn your craft?”

“I, um…played a game,” Yuuri replied sheepishly.

Julia eyed him. “You said you’d done sparring. What game is this?”

He briefly explained about Immersion. Julia and Emil listened with stunned expressions. “I never thought I’d be doing those things in real life,” he finished. “It was just something I did for…for fun when I was younger. It wasn’t even that good a game; it was rather silly.”

“It seems to have prepared you for life as a knight,” Emil observed.

“He said he’d never even ridden a horse before he came here, though,” Julia informed him.

Emil blinked. “Ah. The riding lessons.”

“They’ve been absolutely invaluable,” Yuuri said, glad now that he could thank him properly; that Emil was finally in a position to understand just how much he’d done for him. “I apologise for not telling you any of this before. I didn’t want to tell anyone at first, not even Victor; I was afraid to trust anyone with my secret. But I feel bad about that now, and it would’ve helped me to have said something sooner on a number of occasions, including today.” He glanced at Victor, who gave him a small understanding grin. That was past them, too, he seemed to be saying. “But Ailis can’t suspect you know anything. You’ll have to be careful.”

Emil considered his words, then replied, “Master, as always, I shall be pleased to remain your squire. It will be my pleasure to continue to serve you, and to learn whatever you wish to teach me.”

Yuuri gave him a fond smile. “Thank you.”

“May I ask when Julius discovered the truth?”

“I wouldn’t say he discovered it. I told him. I knew how good he is with a bow, and I needed his help.” He explained what had happened with Ailis and the plague, though he omitted mentioning the nanobots for fear the conversation would drag on all afternoon; he could already see Emil’s expression beginning to glaze over with all the information. But he continued to listen, and congratulated Julia and Yuuri for their parts in facing Ailis and curing the plague.

“But I swear to you, sir,” he said, “I would have kept your confidence. There was no need to tell me you had amnesia. I’ll take your secret with me to the grave.”

“I know that now. And I very much hope it won’t come to that.”

There was a pause as everyone sipped their drinks. Then Emil said, “I hope you’ll be willing to tell me more about the future, sir. There are many things I’d like to know. Not even your distant one, but our own – ”

“I can’t say too much about that, Emil. It’s one of the first things I told Victor; I don’t want to risk influencing events more than I already have.”

Julia blurted, “What happens five hundred years from now, then? Just a random date, but if you’re willing…”

“Oh, blimey,” Yuuri sighed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and concentrating. It was surprisingly jarring to shift his thoughts between time periods like this. “If you’re just looking at this part of the world, Queen Victoria was on the throne – ”

“Another queen?” Victor interrupted.

“Yeah. Problem with that?”

“Of course not.”

“What do you mean, another?” Julia asked.

“Just what I said. She presided over an empire that spanned a large part of the world, a source of great wealth at the expense of bringing misery and genocide to a lot of indigenous peoples – though this country wasn’t alone in that…”

He found himself in the unexpected position of talking for some time about the empire and its legacy. Concerned that the three people with him would focus on the word “empire”, he made sure he illustrated some of the depredations it had wrought on entire cultures; the country had taken long enough as it was to accept the unvarnished truth of it and stop looking back on a supposedly glorious past.

Eventually deciding that their thoughts must surely have been turned toward death enough for one day, however, Yuuri moved on to the tech he could recall from the time. Cameras had been around for a while; cars and radio transmissions were newer. But since there was no real understanding of electricity in medieval England, let alone the electromagnetic spectrum, he realised he would have a lot of explaining to do, and concentrated instead on the device that could capture an image of the world which could be printed on paper. All three of them were amazed, which surprised him in turn, because he’d told them about the Cloud, on which images were digitised. However, cameras and physical photos were a more concrete and accessible idea to them, it seemed.

“If you’d brought one of these cameras with you,” Emil said, “it would have been wondrous to behold.”

“I would’ve put it in my backpack, and it would’ve been fried by a laser gun, along with everything else I owned. But all you need to do is look in the mirror.” Though he knew it wasn’t the same.

“I have something to add,” Julia announced, and three pairs of eyes turned her way. “In the interests of fairness and comradeship. Sir Justin’s – Yuuri’s – secret is known to us all now, so mine will be, too.” She looked at Emil. “I’m really a girl. My name is Julia de Montfort.”

Emil appeared pleasantly stunned, studying her quietly for a long moment. Then he huffed a little laugh. “Really – ? Jolly good show.” And downed the rest of his hypocras. 


	110. Chapter 110

When the squires left and Victor locked the door after them, Yuuri leaned against the table. “That was interesting, and…good. I feel like I might be able to relax a bit more now.” He paused, recalling the chase through the castle, Ailis with Jehan, thinking he was going to die, watching the arrows bury themselves in the boy’s body. “Then again, I’m not sure. It’s…I…” He let out a breath.

“To be honest, I’m not at my best either, after the day we’ve had.” Victor gave him a small wistful grin. “Come sit on the bed with me?”

Yuuri nodded. It was at times like this that he wished sofas existed here; he couldn’t sit on the window seat without either closing the shutters or putting his projector on. But the bed was comfortable and spacious, and it would do.

Once they’d removed their boots and climbed on, they settled into an easy embrace with Victor leaning back against Yuuri, resting his head against his shoulder. Yuuri resisted the urge, always there when they were close, to caress him and seek his lips, and simply hugged Victor to him, nuzzling at his hair. Victor closed his eyes and gave a quiet hum.

“I thought I was going to lose you today, my love,” he whispered. “Just after you said you’d never leave.”

“I know.” Yuuri stroked Victor’s fringe. “I was afraid for you, too. When I heard the gunfire in the corridor…”

“It seems danger finds us even outside of our knightly pursuits.”

“That’s my fault.”

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Victor sighed. After a moment, the sigh turned into a lingering kiss to Yuuri’s neck. And then another, working his way up as he shifted in Yuuri’s arms, breathing his name and mouthing softly at his skin. Yuuri’s chest tightened with a sudden rush of want that surprised him with its intensity, and he tilted his head back and exhaled. Victor sat up straighter, his lips on Yuuri’s temple, cheek, nose, his eyes bright and shining, pleading almost. Then he found Yuuri’s mouth and kissed him wetly, drawing out a throaty noise in response.

A voice in Yuuri’s head asked how they’d got to this so quickly when he’d originally only envisioned a hug. But it didn’t matter, and he ignored it. Their tongues entwined and Victor moaned, clutching at his back. Yuuri began to unbutton Victor’s tunic, and Victor did the same for him, their fingers soon frantic as they shared deep, urgent kisses.

When he’d freed the final button, Yuuri shoved his hands under the material, caressing, kneading, as he stared at the gleaming gold locket. Victor shuddered and mirrored his actions. His lips were slick, his tongue soft and insistent; his hands lit a trail of fire across Yuuri’s abdomen. With a groan of pure aching need, Yuuri slid his own hand down Victor’s front and didn’t stop until he was squeezing and sliding it over his cock through his braies. Victor broke off their kiss to gasp, eyes hooded, pupils blown wide.

Yuuri swooped in for another kiss, his hand still working. Both of them moaned. “Want you,” he breathed against Victor’s lips.

“Yes. Please,” Victor said hoarsely.

“Lie down, baby.”

Victor quickly complied while Yuuri grabbed the bottle of oil from the bedside table and placed it nearby on the covers. Then he lowered himself onto Victor, balancing on an elbow and skating his other hand down to Victor’s thigh, where he began to untie his braies from a hosepiece. At the same time, he angled for another kiss, Victor lifting his head to return it eagerly, sighs and whimpers spilling from his lips. The noises were driving Yuuri to distraction; his fingers fumbled at the strings in their haste, while instinct took over and he began to make small thrusts, grinding them together.

Victor cried out and tossed his head on the pillow, murmuring Yuuri’s name as he gripped his waist under his open tunic. Yuuri had rarely seen him swept up so quickly, and it sent his blood racing and his thoughts tumbling away. His cock twitched and throbbed as he continued to thrust, slow but firm. One side of the braies done. Now for the other.

“Hurry,” Victor breathed. “I need you.”

One tie released. A second. Yuuri nipped and tongued at Victor’s earlobe, then licked hot kisses down his neck. “Vitya,” he whispered, “what you’re doing to me…”

“Finished – let me take them off,” Victor said when the final tie was free. Yuuri raised himself to his knees as Victor lifted his hips and tugged his braies down and off, tossing them away. Then he reached for the oil.

“Let me do that, my love,” Yuuri said, trying the expression out as he gently stilled Victor’s hand. Victor’s eyes were full of wonder and lust as Yuuri poured some oil into his palm; and when he slipped a finger inside him, Victor bucked his hips and moaned. He was sinfully gorgeous, with his hair mussed, the open tunic framing his chiselled chest and the locket against his pale skin, hosepieces clinging to the hard contours of his legs, and his long cock standing out bare and proud, begging to be touched. Yuuri slicked his other hand and wrapped it around him, beginning to pump while he slipped a second finger in, his own cock heavy and hard and aching.

Victor arched his back as he cried out again, fisting his pillow. “Yuuri, fuck me, please, please – _now._” He opened his legs wide, fingers still gripping the plush white mound under his head.

Consumed by a wave of desire, Yuuri yanked his braies down over his hose to mid-thigh and slicked his cock, then positioned himself at Victor’s entrance and pushed. He hung his head, closed his eyes and moaned at the contact, hearing an answering noise from Victor. Once he was all the way in, he lowered himself onto Victor again, pinning his cock between them, and kissed him. Victor’s hands flew up to press against either side of his neck – and in that moment Yuuri understood that _this _was what he’d needed, and perhaps what Victor did, too; the intimacy, the union, closer and deeper than the hugs they’d been sharing. His head whirled with the warmth and comfort and _rightness _of it.

“I love you,” he moaned as his hips demanded to be moved; he began to make short, sharp thrusts.

Victor wrapped his legs tightly around Yuuri’s waist and threaded his arms around his back under the tunic. “Yuuri…I love you too. Take me hard and fast. I’m already close.”

Needing no further encouragement, Yuuri lengthened his thrusts, quickly picking up his pace, the force of it sending rhythmic slapping noises into the room. He was always concerned about Victor’s pleasure when he did this, trying to hold himself back until he’d come first or was almost there. Now, though, he’d been given permission to indulge completely. He drove into Victor again and again, the tension in his groin quickly tightening. Victor writhed underneath him; he could feel his fingers digging into his skin, and his heels near the small of his back, urging him on. As Yuuri’s body surged toward release, he lost himself to sensation, grunting and thrusting as sweat beaded on his brow, drinking in his love’s throaty cries; Victor’s eyes were closed, his head thrown back, and his hips bucked in answering thrusts. There was only one need Yuuri was aware of now, and that was to bring them together as close as he could; to come deep inside Victor, fill him up, make him his.

Every sinew in Victor’s body seemed to flex and strain. He called out Yuuri’s name, bucking hard before wet warmth jetted between them. Yuuri gripped the top of one of Victor’s hosepieces and thrust several more times, then came with a series of cries, his body shaking with the force of it.

When the final spasm was done, he remained motionless, body spent and mind blank. Neither of them spoke; their panting breaths filled the room, gradually slowing.

_Move. I…I should move, and let him breathe, _Yuuri thought vaguely, rolling off and lying on his back in a daze. 

“That…” Victor said in a soft sluggish voice, “…that was – ”

“That _was_.”

A laugh floated up beside Yuuri, and his own joined it.

A moment later, he felt Victor shift and sit up, reaching for his braies. “No, don’t do that. Here, let me.” Yuuri got off the bed, put the bottle of oil back on the table, and went to the pitcher and basin, where he took a cloth off the stack and wiped himself off before pulling his braies up. Then he returned to the bed and lay on his side, returning the syrupy smile that Victor was giving him while he tenderly cleaned him up. Tossing the cloth aside, he gathered Victor in his arms, and Victor clung to him, tangling their legs together.

“Oh yes,” Victor said quietly into the crook of Yuuri’s neck. “I needed this.”

“I did, too,” Yuuri murmured, holding him tight.

“I mean, being close to you. After…”

“I know.”

“I hope that’s all right.”

“Did it look to you like I minded?” Yuuri said with a grin. Victor chuckled and snuggled closer.

They lay silent for some time, neither of them moving, caught up in each other while the world passed by.

Eventually Victor sat up and reached for his braies. “Time to take some dignity back,” he said with a little laugh.

“You never lost any,” Yuuri said with a small smile, making no secret of his admiration. “You look beautiful like that. Sexy. With the locket and your clothes, and…where they’re missing.”

Victor smiled in return, his eyes sparkling. Then he pulled his braies on and lay back down, and they wrapped each other in a loose, warm, lazy embrace. “The word ‘sexy’ was invented for you,” Victor murmured.

Yuuri stifled a guffaw, and it came out as more of a snort. That _wasn’t _sexy. But before he could reply, Victor continued, “I mean it.” He ran a finger down Yuuri’s cheek. “I think sometimes you’re afraid to let yourself go – because you’re very sweetly worried about me. I don’t think that was the case this time, was it?”

“No. You said you were close, so…”

“It was incredibly arousing.” He added quietly, “I love the way our desires feed into each other. Seeing you like that…” His cheeks pinked as he let out a little breath. “It fair drove me out of my mind.”

Yuuri felt his own desire pool inside of him again, even though he was spent. He swallowed. “What about you, though? It’d be selfish of me to not think about that. I want you to…well, I want to be able to bring you pleasure, too.”

“You do, my love. But that’s not your responsibility alone. And we can’t always have perfect timing; no one can achieve that. I don’t see it as a problem; there are many ways to find enjoyment and release, are there not? It’s been so wonderful to explore them with you.”

Yuuri cupped his cheek and kissed him softly. “You say the loveliest things.” He traced a finger over the locket, warm on Victor’s chest. “I was afraid I might…” He huffed a little laugh. “Um, accidentally snap this off or something. In my mad passion.”

“I’ll make sure I remove it next time,” Victor chuckled. “I’d hate for that to stop you.”

“I’d like to wear that beautiful livery collar more often, but it’s not the kind of thing you can tuck under your tunic.”

Victor smiled. “No, it isn’t. It’s meant for special occasions. You look royal when you wear it to meals. And it’s enough for me to know that it’s in your possession.” He added, “I also won’t complain on the occasions when you wear that and nothing else.”

“You’re impossible,” Yuuri laughed, kissing him again.

“So are you,” Victor muttered with bright eyes. “My impossible man from the future.”

The word _future _finally pulled Yuuri down from the blissful cloud he’d been riding and reminded him that thanks to Ailis, they’d both had a harrowing experience, and hadn’t even discussed it properly yet.

“What is it?” Victor said, noticing the change in him.

“I was just thinking about what happened this afternoon,” Yuuri replied, propping himself up on an elbow. “I still can’t believe those archers shot at Ailis while she had Jehan in front of her.”

“I wouldn’t have given them such a command. Though I fear Julia is right, and if they hadn’t done it, you…” His voice trailed off.

“I’d probably be dead. I know. But it still doesn’t justify shooting a boy. That’s not how hostage situations are dealt with in the time I come from. If the police – sheriffs – behaved that way, they’d be in trouble for it.”

“People in this time think differently.”

“Not all of them.” Yuuri gave his chin a caress.

Victor blinked. “We lost our gun.”

“Yeah.” The frustration of it sat in Yuuri’s gut like a rock.

“Our means of attack and defence. I was even still hoping you’d change your mind about taking it with you into the duel.”

Yuuri saw an open door into an argument, the same one they’d had before about Victor’s faith in him, and what would be possible or expedient to do in front of an audience in the arena. But he knew Victor’s motivation was the desire to see him alive at the end, and he wasn’t going to fault that. “The thing with the gun couldn’t be helped,” he said. “I couldn’t let her kill Jehan.”

“Of course.”

“She shot it while it was in my hand before that anyway, and it malfunctioned. At some point it might’ve blown up and taken me with it, so…” He held out his right hand and showed Victor the blisters along the sides of his forefinger and thumb.

“Jesus, Yuuri, how did I not notice?” Victor said, taking his hand and examining it.

“You were focused on other things,” he replied with a smirk. “I’ll be all right.”

“Alice Ramsay might have something to put on burns. If – ”

“Not on your life,” Yuuri said quickly, pulling his hand away. “She could be Ailis. Probably give me acid or arsenic or something.”

Victor studied his face. “Do you believe she’ll go back to her projected identity?”

“She has no reason not to. We still don’t know who she is.” He considered for a moment. “If she could project herself as anyone, I feel sure she’d have left by now. She doesn’t like the fact that I’m here, and that I got rid of the passage under the castle, even though that was an accident. But she’s stuck with the one projection she’s using; and if she went around as herself, she’d have to start all over again somewhere else. People would be suspicious of her, and you can’t exactly walk into positions of power here; you’re basically born into them. She’s got a place at this castle, and a plan, and she’s going to be determined to follow it up.”

Victor took this in. “You seem to have an admirable understanding of the way she thinks.”

“I’m not sure about that. They just strike me as logical conclusions. If I understood her that well, I’d have caught her by now.”

“Did Ethelfrith tell you anything helpful?”

Yuuri bit his lip.

“No?”

“I’d say the information wasn’t worth what we went through to get it.” He summarised the details of his conversation with her while Victor paid careful attention. “I’ve been wondering,” he concluded, “if Ailis might have put dwale in the drink she was given; something to make it look like she’d had a fainting spell. Mistress Ramsay had a bottle of that in her workshop.”

“Dwale?” Victor raised an eyebrow. “Hm, perhaps. Though with the resourcefulness Ailis seems to possess, she might have got hold of that any number of ways.”

“She knows you used Ethelfrith’s projection, too. We’d better not use it again unless it’s an emergency, or she might end up killing the real Ethelfrith just to eliminate confusion. Actually,” Yuuri added with a sick feeling, “we’re probably lucky she hasn’t done that already. All because I wanted to see if there was anything more she could tell me.”

“You couldn’t know what was going to happen. I’m glad I was there with you; it seems my assistance was needed after all.”

Yuuri stroked his cheek. “You saved my life.”

Victor gave him a small grin. “We seem to have a habit of doing that for each other.”

“We do.” Yuuri gave him a lingering kiss, then sat up and began tying his hose back to his braies. “I wonder how Ailis found out I was speaking to Ethelfrith,” he mused.

“You say she knew Ethelfrith had switched places with your Dr. Croft,” Victor said, lifting a leg and doing up his own ties. “Perhaps she was watching her, or had someone else watching her, who told her when you went to the laundry room. Did you say anything that might have given your purpose away?”

Yuuri paused. “I wasn’t as cautious as I should’ve been, come to think of it. Going there as myself instead of Justin, I wanted to tell her something that’d immediately let her know I had knowledge of where she’d been in the future, without saying as much, while there were other people in the room.” He explained about Angie and Simon and the Mexican food.

“Angie?”

“Short form of Angela.”

“What’s Mexican?”

“Mexico is south of California and Texas…um, it’s on the other side of the world, and hot there. They speak Spanish, and eat tomatoes, potatoes, rice, corn, jalapenos – and drink tequila.”

“Why do they speak Spanish halfway around the world, when Spain is in Europe?”

“For the same reason most of the world can speak English in 2121. They had an empire. Anyway, I fucked that up; I shouldn’t have mentioned the Mexican food. I just thought it’d get her to come with me quickly, without asking too many questions.”

“Who else was in the laundry room?”

“Every laundress in the castle, just about.”

“Hm. It might not even have been them. Perhaps Ailis herself saw a cloaked figure walking with Ethelfrith and became suspicious. Or she saw me and guessed I wasn’t the real Ethelfrith, though I did my best to conceal myself.”

Yuuri sighed as he did up the last tie. “There must be something to follow up on from this. Maybe it’d be worth talking to these two jacks who went looking for the body and finding out if they saw anything.” 

“Do you know who they were?”

“Big Jake and Roger the Stout. Apparently.”

* * *

Big Jake was one of the cooks; Yuuri found him in the kitchen after supper adding vegetables to a large cauldron of liquid suspended by an iron chain near one of the massive fireplaces. The flames had died down for the day and the coals were glowing orange under a shroud of ash. Yuuri had to crane his neck to look up at the burly man; he had short hair under a coif and wore a kind of linen-coloured smock with an apron stained with flour and gravy and less identifiable things. He thought they were used to him visiting Bridget here, but he supposed his presence in the kitchen was still enough of a breach of etiquette to cause a stir. Even so, Big Jake was working on his own near the fire, and there was plenty of clatter from other areas of the room, so they were unlikely to be overheard if they spoke quietly.

“Sir?” Jake said as he picked up a chopping board and used a large flat knife to slide a mass of diced onions into the cauldron. The air was pungent with them; Yuuri could taste it.

“God give you good evening.”

“And you,” Jake replied, continuing to work; he began pulling heads of garlic apart with thick, strong fingers.

“You know,” Yuuri said conversationally, “I had the most extraordinary conversation with my laundress the other day when she came to fetch my clothes. I was curious whether you could shed any light on some of the things she said.”

Jake gave a rumbling laugh. “More extraordinary than the visitation we had here today? I can hardly credit it.”

“Well – ”

“I seed it meself,” he said, waving his knife. “The beings from the otherworld – they tore right through here. The male one were shouting at everyone to get out of the way, and he had these…” He touched his eye. “…these eyes. And the woman, she were scrambling like mad to get away. Queerest clothes they were both wearing, too, especially him. I had a good look. Them white shoes – I ain’t never seen the like before. _My _theory – ” He began crushing the garlic cloves with the flat of the knife, and the aroma quickly overpowered that of the onions. “ – is that we got a glimpse of divine beings, as if their world crossed into ours for a time. Like them stories from the ancient Greeks. You get punished if you get too close. It’s the Feast of St. Willibald of Wessex today, so that must be significant somehow, though I can’t say as I know anything about it.”

Yuuri held back a puerile snort at the mention of the name. At least the topic had quickly broken the ice and got Jake talking. “So does that mean you believed what Ethelfrith said that day she ran screaming from the sick room in the castle?”

“Huh?” He glanced at Yuuri, then began chopping carrots. “She’d been ill, sir. Hadn’t been expected to live to see the next day. I guess you could say there must have been divine intervention in her case, because she were suddenly scurrying about, though her brain were sorely distempered. None of us in the kitchen were ill today, though; we all saw what we saw, sure as eggs is eggs.”

Yuuri wrapped his fingers around the giant wooden spoon in the cauldron and began to stir. Gentle steam arose, laden with the aromas of beef and the vegetables Jake had been adding. “I understand you and Roger the Stout went to check out Ethelfrith’s claim about finding a dead body.”

“We didn’t find aught, sir. I didn’t expect to. Poor lady were out of her head.”

“Did you check around?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Did you spend time looking – under the beds, in the wardrobe?”

Big Jake laughed as he approached and slid the carrots into the cauldron. He’d clearly been working in the hot kitchen all day, judging from the fug of stale sweat that enveloped him. Then he returned to the counter to chop fennel, and aniseed wove its way into the tapestry of smells in the air. “Why should we have done that? If there’d been a body, it weren’t gonna crawl somewhere and hide.”

“Did you see anyone around when you went to look?”

“In the servants’ quarters? No, sir. They’d all be working that time of day, or they’d come out to see what was the matter with the lady.”

“What actually happened with Ethelfrith?” Yuuri asked, continuing to stir. “Did you see her run out into the courtyard?”

“Well, I heard her screaming, and it’s but a moment to nip out. We thought someone were trying to murder her or summat. Let me think back now.” He paused and looked up. “She’d flung herself on the ground and were calling for help.” Nodding, he chopped another bulb of fennel. “We couldn’t make heads nor tails of the nonsense she were spouting, apart from ‘Where am I’ and ‘How did I get here’.” He thought some more. “Something about a professor, which were right daft because you’d have to go to the city to find one. And a muse-ee-um, and a cloud.” Shaking his head, he returned to the fire to scrape the chopped fennel into the cauldron. “She were _in _a cloud, poor thing. Calling for some bloke called Simon, and I think someone called An-jee, though I ain’t never heard the names before; no one like that works here at the castle.”

_Shit, _Yuuri thought, stilling the spoon. “Um, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Big Jake grabbed a gnarled hunk of gingerroot and began pulling off the protruding knobs. “C’mon, ya little bleeder,” he muttered as he gave his huge hand a twist.

* * *

When Yuuri returned to the bedroom, Victor was already there, stirring the fire. After adding a log, he approached with a smile. “Yuuri. Any luck?”

“No,” Yuuri replied, sinking into a chair. “I mean, not really. Just that I think it’s likely Ailis would’ve recognised the names Simon and Angie, because Ethelfrith probably screamed them loud enough for the whole castle to hear. Big Jake only seems to have had a glance around the sick room and servants’ quarters; he never expected to find a body in the first place.”

“I heard the same story from Roger the Stout; he’s a stable hand who was making a delivery to the kitchen at the time,” Victor said, taking a chair next to Yuuri. “It was worth a try, my love. It was all worth a try today.”

“Not if we almost get killed in the process,” Yuuri mumbled, resting his head in a hand. “I stopped to see Ethelfrith on the way back here, too. I had to. But I made sure she was already alone before I appeared as myself again, and took her aside for a quick word. She’s been through enough without just being left like that today, while people were shooting laser guns around her. She said another servant came into the room a while after Emil and I left, and she knew it was safe to go with her. She…” He sighed, scratching his head. Victor waited quietly for him to continue. “She was happy at the living history museum. She keeps telling me she hopes I’ll find a way to get her back there.”

“I suppose that stands to reason,” Victor said sombrely. 

“I wish I could tell her I could make it happen.”

“I know, my love. But at least she had that brief time to enjoy.”

Yuuri looked at him and nodded. “I’d better let Phichit know what happened.” He moved his wrist near his mouth. When the BCI told him his call had been answered, he spoke first.

“Hey. I hope you’re sitting comfortably.” He huffed a small laugh. “Victor and I have got one or two things you might want to hear about.”

Victor gave him a tired smile. 


	111. Chapter 111

The chase with Ailis had shaken them both, Victor knew; and in the days following it still intruded on his thoughts. For his part, it was difficult to stomach the frustration of having been caught unawares and knocked senseless by that cart and its contents; Yuuri shouldn’t have had to take the gun from him and risk his life like that. If Victor had known what was happening in the courtyard while he was groaning in the garrison like a weak child…

_I couldn’t have done anything to help._

He’d gone over it several times in his head. There had been no time to sneak from one end of the castle to the other and come at Ailis from behind. The laser pen was functional but useless in such a situation; it couldn’t shoot like the guns. And if he’d been in any state to simply stand, he would have done. Emil said he’d had to hold him in place on the bench at one point, so agitated was he to get up and do something. But he had no recollection of it.

Thank God the whole ordeal had been over quickly, and he’d soon recovered enough to ensure that Yuuri was safe, then to see to arrangements for the ridiculous ritual of the monks and the pointless search for the “angel and devil”. Despite what his love had just been through, he’d been willing to take the time straight away to look after his bewildered squire – and there were those beautiful words Victor had heard as he’d entered their room. _The two of you have taught me about loyalty, courage and honour. And about my role as a knight of Crowood. That’s what I am, and I’m proud to say so. _Victor was sure he’d been smiling like a lovesick fool.

He hadn’t intended to seduce Yuuri when they were alone later, but the need that had surged inside of him when they’d embraced on the bed had given him other ideas. It wasn’t as if Victor lacked the discipline to keep his yard to himself; rather, the fact that he might well have lost Yuuri that afternoon seemed to have spurred him on, as if the very idea of having cheated Death was arousing. _This isn’t the time for the Reaper to touch either of us, with laser gun or sword. _Sex as an amulet against evil; sex as a prayer. And always, above all, a celebration of the love they shared and the life they had together.

So where would his comfort be if Tyler prevailed on the day? How could he weather such a storm? He didn’t want to consider the possibility, but knew he must; and for a while he forced himself to visualise living in the days afterward, just to reassure himself that it was possible. He and Yuuri had both coped with the deaths of loved ones. Yuuri had never discussed it in detail, but it was clear that the loss of his parents had been a struggle for him; one in which he’d still been actively engaged, in some ways, before he’d come to this time. Victor thought he could understand something of the essence of it, as Yuuri had understood him and helped him bring his grief and love for his brother back into the light, where they belonged.

But, oh…if losing Yuuri didn’t wreck him completely, it would be a sore trial, and one that would leave him a changed man. He feared it would not be a change for the better.

From that point onward, however, he turned his heart and mind toward Yuuri’s victory, and strove to push all thoughts to the contrary out of his head.

The rest of the castle was, of course, abuzz with the imminent arrival of the royal progress, and he had to make an assiduous effort to avoid being pulled into last-minute preparations. Deliveries of goods, prices and payments, entertainments and schedules were not worth his time. Even the investigation of incidents while the wooden village surrounding the castle was completed could be left to the officials, though he was called upon to make judgements regarding the welfare of the workers and suitable punishments for overseers who were callous or negligent. He visited those who had been involved in accidents, offered compensation and sympathy on behalf of his family their employers, and also ensured that the most urgent business of the estate was not neglected. But anything else he did not deem absolutely essential for himself to see to personally he left to his father, Matt, John, the clerks and the reeves. Percy wanted to visit with him and Yuuri to discuss what they would wear during the king’s visit, but Victor had to disappoint him on this occasion, as neither of them cared a fig.

They attempted to relax in the evenings when the sun had gone down, but Victor was occasionally called away for meetings or to make visits, and he could see that his love was fighting an increasingly uphill battle against his anxiety. His shoulder muscles were knotted when they danced; Victor massaged them. Phichit had played them a Sherlock Holmes story as they sat together on the sheepskin rug, but Yuuri’s face was turned to the fire, his eyes distant and haunted. Victor had fallen into a dark fugue of his own, then took Yuuri in his arms and kissed him; and by the time the story had ended, he realised with vague amusement that he neither knew nor cared what the solution to the mystery was.

He rarely had difficulty falling asleep even when worries were preying on him, though he knew Yuuri was rather different in that respect, and that sleep was increasingly difficult for him to find. He seemed to think he could hide it at times by lying with his back to Victor and pretending to have nodded off, but Victor knew the sound of his breaths when he was awake and asleep, and could almost feel the tension radiating from him. Sex often seemed to be a good remedy for this, and it became a prelude to falling asleep in each other’s arms. Yuuri told him he would struggle to take on his dom role right now, but Victor didn’t mind; he didn’t expect it, and said they could simply take care of each other in whichever way seemed best. He wished the heat and passion, the light caresses and pet names could take away the nightmares that visited Yuuri. They didn’t seem to have the power to do so, but Victor felt sure they were both deriving comfort and strength from the intimacy. He was glad, because he needed it, too.

Late one night, he awoke to discover that Yuuri was sitting with his back against the headboard, lost in thought, the shadows across his face deepening the circles under his eyes. Victor didn’t need to ask him what was wrong. “Yuuri, my love,” he said sleepily, draping an arm to rest on the blanket over his abdomen. _Don’t tell me to go back to sleep and leave you like this, because I won’t. Don’t say it’s nothing I ought to hear about, because if you need to say it, I’ll listen. You know I’m here for you._

Yuuri stroked his arm and looked down at him. There was no pain in his eyes; no anxiety. He didn’t appear to have been crying. He was…tired, Victor thought. Tired and sleepless. As his trainer, he wanted to tell him how important it was to relax and rest. But Yuuri knew that already.

“I’ll start dreaming while I’m awake at this rate,” he said with a small huff. “I’m sorry, Victor; did I wake you?”

“Vitya.”

“Hm?”

“You don’t call me Vitya very much anymore. Why is that?”

“Oh, I didn’t realise.” He thought. “Maybe it’s because nicknames are what you say when you feel happy. Not that I’m not. I mean – ”

“I know.” Victor grinned and gently caressed his abdomen. “It’s all right.”

After a long silent pause in which their fingers continued to slowly, lightly glide, Yuuri said, “I did actually nod off a few times, I think. Sometimes it really is hard to separate dreaming from waking. While you were in Doncaster, I was in the deep dark woods, and…I thought I saw something. I still don’t know if it was real. It makes me feel as superstitious as all those people falling to the ground and praying because they thought an angel and a devil had chased each other through the castle.”

“I like how they decided you were an angel,” Victor said, snuggling closer.

Yuuri gave him a small grin. “Then we both were. Because if you hadn’t had my back, there in the corridor – ”

Victor made a shushing noise. “Don’t dwell on it, my sweet. It’s done with.”

Yuuri nodded. “Victor, I thought…I thought I saw a Roman solider. You know, from the time when they were here in England.”

“Really?” Victor looked up at him.

“He didn’t make any noise, though. He didn’t seem to see me. And he just disappeared.”

Victor’s brow furrowed. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Maybe I was just seeing things, I don’t know. But yeah, I think I do, in some circumstances. I was just wondering if…well, if those other people who said they saw things in the woods…really did.”

“The lady spoke of explosions,” Victor said, “and men with metal hats.”

“And the reeve at the meal mentioned men dressed in brown, with metal sticks and helmets. And light and thunder.” Yuuri paused. “Were any battles ever fought near here, do you know?”

“Between the Vikings and the Saxons, I imagine so; but I don’t have knowledge of specific ones apart from Stamford Bridge, and that isn’t really local. Battles from other times – who can say? No one knows much about what the Romans did here, it was so long ago.”

“But the reeve and the servant said they were visions,” Yuuri mused. “They weren’t real. And there haven’t been any battles here in recent times.”

“Perhaps the woods truly are haunted.” Victor paused. “You recall what I told you about pagan rituals and the worship of Cernunnos, the carving of the Green Man in the tree trunk? People have been telling stories about those woods for years. Maybe you’ve had a glimpse of something extraordinary.” Yuuri sat in silent thought, and Victor had an idea. “Or – could it have something to do with Ailis?”

Now Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “What, conjuring ghosts? Even she can’t do that. They’d have to be…” His eyes widened further. “They’d have to be holograms,” he breathed. Then the sudden excitement seemed to leave him. “But that’s impossible.”

“Why would she conjure holograms?”

“You don’t conjure them, you project them. I can’t see why she’d want to do that, either – but anyway, it’d require some pretty sophisticated tech. Even if she managed to bring that kind of thing here with her, it’d take a lot of work and skill to adapt it so that people thought they were seeing real soldiers, or whatever they were.”

“She has an extraordinary mind.”

Yuuri nodded. “But like you said, why would she do that? Was she testing something, I wonder? Something she wanted to use for the king’s visit? But why?” He gave a quick sigh.

“Or it might not have anything to do with Ailis at all. You believed at first you might have been dreaming, or seeing a ghost.”

“That was before I thought about holograms. And I’m so goddamn anxious about this duel that it’s hard to straighten my thoughts out. Plus I’m tired.” He gave Victor’s arm a squeeze. “If the king’s listening to musicians in the arena, and it’s suddenly invaded by angry Romans, I suppose we’ll understand how, if not why.”

“Perhaps she wants to impress the king. Or…” Victor’s breath caught. “Could she make herself an army that way? You said you interacted with holograms in the Immersion games you played.”

Yuuri thought about this, and after a moment he shook his head. “You could recreate a war setting, for example, and make it seem to people like they’re there. But that’s different from having an intelligent army under your command. The tech is also very limited in its physical range. And it’s all an illusion anyway. If she had dreams of being a modern-day Boudicca or something, it wouldn’t work.” 

After another pause, Victor said, “The king will be here for a week. The duel is on the second day. I think we should use the time remaining to us to prepare for that, and afterward we’ll search those woods on our palfreys and see if we can’t track down a Roman soldier or two.”

“You do have faith in me,” Yuuri said with a weary smile.

“Of course I do, my love.”

“We should make sure we keep an eye on your mother, too, if Ailis is planning a move against her.”

“I’ve already asked Julia and Emil to do that when they have the opportunity. They can’t dog her steps in the castle, but when she’s outside in the wooden village or arena, they can follow without being noticed.”

Yuuri brightened. “You think of everything.”

“Mm, I have another good idea, too.” Victor pulled the blanket down and pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s abdomen, and was answered with a gasp. Taking the cue, he trailed more kisses along with a hint of tongue and a smile.

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “You don’t have to do that – ”

“I want to.”

“ – just because I can’t sleep.”

“It’ll help, won’t it?”

“So would knocking me out with the crossguard of my sword.”

Victor chuckled. “But this is more fun.” He could almost see the thoughts flashing through those brown eyes, uncertainty mixed with awakening desire.

“A-As long as you don’t mind,” Yuuri eventually shuddered out as Victor wrapped his arms around his waist and worked his way down.

“Believe me,” Victor sighed, nudging the blanket further out of the way, “it’ll be my pleasure.”

* * *

In the little time that remained before the duel, Victor worked with Yuuri in the training field all the hours he could spare, including evenings after supper until the sun went down. Julia accepted that her master would not be training her again until the duel was over, and sometimes sat on the fence with Emil to watch. The exercising they did together was mostly accomplished in silence, and their sparring was grim, lacking the lighthearted moments and occasional sparks of joy they normally shared.

The morning before the king was due to arrive, Victor had planned what he considered to be an important lesson, but knew he needed to discuss it with Yuuri first rather than springing it on him as a surprise. It was possible that he might refuse to take part, which would be his right. Perhaps he would even think less of Victor for suggesting it. As deeply as Victor felt he was coming to know Yuuri, the part of him that was rooted in the culture, attitudes and beliefs of his future world could be difficult to predict or understand at times. Those times were few, but when they occurred, it was like Yuuri and everything that was essentially _him _had been hidden behind a veil; mysterious, otherworldly. This might turn out to be one of them, but Victor needed to try.

“You should get some bites of food in you,” he said quietly as he watched Yuuri buckle on his sword belt. “The sop Julia brought is good, and you’ll need your strength.”

“I can’t,” he replied, adjusting the belt over his red tunic. “I’m sorry.”

“Yuuri.”

He stilled his fidgeting to look at him.

“I have a request for this morning. Something I think might help you be more prepared for the duel.” As Yuuri stood quietly, waiting, he continued, “It’s a kind of drill, or a series of drills. With a prop.”

When he paused again, Yuuri echoed, “A prop?”

“Yes, it’s…” Victor broke off and went to stand in front of him. “It goes against everything in my heart to give this counsel. But at the same time, I want you to live, my sweet.” His voice quietened. “You have to know how to kill someone. Properly. I…I thought you knew these things already when you fought next to me on the bridge. But you don’t. I want to teach you, if you’ll let me.”

The colour drained from Yuuri’s face. “What kind of prop?”

“Sparring doesn’t give you an idea of what it feels like to attack someone for real – to follow through with your cuts and thrusts, rather than halting for a touch. Or how to get around a knight’s armour to injure him. I propose a session this morning where I explain some strategies, and then you have a go with a boar’s carcase.”

Yuuri blinked, and his nose wrinkled, as he took this in. “A…boar’s carcase.”

“It’s been skinned; it’s just a cut of meat. You’ll be able to sink your sword into it and discover how it feels; how much force you need to put behind your attacks, and how long it takes to recover from each one, if it’s necessary after a well-placed stab.”

Yuuri considered for a long moment, then looked at him with hard eyes and a determined expression. “If I can’t stick my sword into a dead animal, I don’t know how I’ll be able to do it to…to a man. I can try.”

Victor nodded. “We should wrap your hand so your gauntlet doesn’t chafe your burns.”

“Thanks, but I think it’ll be fine now.” He rested his palm on the hilt of his sword. “Let’s do this.”

Once at the training field, they put their armour on and were soon joined by Julia and Emil. Victor gave them the unenviable task of fetching the carcase from the kitchen while he worked with Yuuri, who couldn’t help but glance occasionally when the red lump of flesh was removed from its cart and roped to a tree branch. Deciding they’d be better off without an audience on this occasion, Victor sent the squires to spar with Philip and Roland when they’d accomplished their task.

Abelard walked past, patting Yuuri on the back. “Butchering your own meat for dinner, are you?” With a raucous laugh, he waved a hand and went to join the pages and squires across the field.

Yuuri was still unnaturally pale. “Don’t mind him,” Victor said. “Now, we’ve talked about attacking exposed areas where there’s no armour, and ways of getting your opponent into positions that make it easier to do. What we really need to look at now, I think, is half-swording. I know you’re good at that.”

Yuuri nodded. “Grabbing the blade with one or both hands, with the hilt in either direction, gives you extra control and leverage. It’s one of the few things I had a clue about before I got here.”

“You had more than a clue,” Victor said, a flicker of a grin crossing his face. “Now, as you’re aware, you can wield the hilt and the crossguard as a blunt instrument. Tyler won’t be wearing a helmet, so it’s a strategy you could aim to use.” He noticed Yuuri blench, though he tried to conceal it.

“I’m allowed to bludgeon him to death in a duel?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Yuuri muttered, pulling a hand across his face. 

Victor’s instinct told him to put his arms around his love and comfort him, rather than be the one to stir up his anxiety by training him in the art of how to slaughter someone. It was wrong. For them both. But Tyler had determined this course for them.

“It’s nothing more than what Tyler might try to do to you. How would you defend against it?”

“I’d grab my sword near the point and use it as a bar to parry his attack,” Yuuri answered.

“Good. And you’ll want to go on the attack yourself as soon as you can. That position is an ideal one to be in, because you can make quick stabs at your opponent, trying to get at an unprotected spot or underneath his armour. I can’t show you these things very well when we spar, but…” Victor stepped forward and demonstrated, levering and jabbing his sword at a speed that ought to intimidate the best swordfighter, while Yuuri stared and flinched several times.

“That’s almost too fast to be able to concentrate on,” he said when Victor was done. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”

“It’s not the best way to win when you’re sparring. But it’s very useful for confusing a real opponent and penetrating his mental and physical defences. If you’re lucky enough to get your sword under a piece of his armour, you can thrust your blade up and in, as if you were trying to open a shellfish.”

Yuuri wrinkled his nose again; Victor thought he probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it. “Show me one more time.”

Victor obliged, and sweat leapt out on his brow; the day was warm, and this style of fighting required sustained bursts of energy. Then Yuuri had a go, and they spent some time honing his technique. He took to it quickly, Victor was pleased to see; and soon he deemed it time for Yuuri to practise on the boar’s carcase.

Yuuri eyed it as they approached; the body was intact apart from the head, and it had been skinned as Victor had requested. The rope which suspended it from the branch had been tied at either end to the animal’s hind legs.

“It’s well prepared,” Victor observed, prodding the marbled red and white flesh with his sword.

Yuuri stood several paces away. “I know I eat this most weeks, but looking at it hanging there like that…” His words trailed off.

“Have you never been hunting before?”

“No.”

Victor looked at him. “Most everyone here does, if not for sport, then for their own survival. I occasionally ride out on Alyona and shoot the fastest game I can with my bow to give me a challenge, then bring it back to the kitchen. Julia is very accomplished at it herself, as you might imagine.”

Yuuri stared, and Victor realised they’d never discussed this before, despite the fact that Yuuri had seen the fighting men practise and knew Victor occasionally took Julia out to hunt. He didn’t care for the pageantry of formal hunts, and nor did his father, though he was obliged to hold them when they had noble visitors. But one family tradition Victor hadn’t minded being passed down to him was that of hunting with a bow on horseback, as their ancestors must have done for centuries.

Then it occurred to him that this might seem quite a barbaric practice to someone from Yuuri’s time, and he felt a dart of shame that prompted him to fall silent and look down.

“You, using a bow while you’re riding Alyona?” Yuuri echoed quietly.

Victor raised his eyes to him. “Well, yes.”

“That’s an incredible image in my mind. Can I see sometime?”

A surprised smile stole across Victor’s face. “Of course. I…I’d like that.”

“So you know how to…prepare a carcase yourself?” Yuuri moved closer to the boar.

“You have to when you’re in the field, if you want the meat to stay fresh.”

“I don’t think I’d want to see that part. But I’d watch the rest.”

“Maybe we’ll even get you firing a bow from Lady’s back one day.”

Yuuri cast him a sidelong glance and then guffawed. “I can’t even shoot the damn thing properly when I’m on the ground.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to practise.” Victor was glowing inside at Yuuri’s reaction; perhaps he’d fallen into the habit of making too many cautious assumptions about him. However, Yuuri was not comfortable with the idea of stabbing the carcase hanging before him, that much was obvious.

“This is what I have to practise right now,” he mumbled, poking at the meat with the point of his sword. “The blade’s sharp.”

“Emil would be remiss as your squire if he didn’t hone it for you once in a while.”

“Somehow I never really think about it as a big long knife. I just use it for sparring.”

“You’ll perhaps feel differently once you’ve fought – once you’ve killed Tyler,” Victor concluded, forcing himself to say the word. “How about trying now, with the meat.”

“What do I do?”

“Whatever feels natural. Attack it as if it were your foe. Strike it with different degrees of force, from different directions. Practise what you learned just now.”

Yuuri considered, and nodded. Victor moved to stand well behind him and to the side, giving him space to move freely without the distraction of eyes constantly trained on him. The way he slipped into a state of focused, intense concentration so quickly and easily was one of his strengths; it was as if every muscle in his body co-ordinated and harmonised at his command, always beautiful to see. But it took him a long time to touch the meat with his sword, and when he did, it was nothing more injurious than a series of pinpricks.

“I can see you’re doing well with the half-swording techniques we worked on,” Victor said when Yuuri stepped away to take a brief rest. “But while the carcase is in front of you, you should run your sword into it. Do what you think it would take to kill a man.”

“I…I’ll try,” Yuuri panted, wiping his brow with the cloth palm of his gauntlet.

Concentrating again, he began another drill, eventually dropping his sword into the long tail guard and thrusting up. His sword sank a few inches into the meat, and he pulled it out. In a real duel, it would be a wound that required stitches, but nothing more. Victor figured Yuuri was working up to using his full strength, and waited and watched quietly.

Another drill, this time a fendente cut downward. The sword scored the meat shallowly. Yuuri tried again, his movements quickening and losing their grace and co-ordination, as if he were attempting to make up for other faults by unleashing a flurry of unfocused energy. Sweat springing to his brow, he eventually ceased the drills altogether and experimented with sticking his sword into the meat in various ways; it was what Victor had suggested he do, but none of his attempts approached the necessary ferocity of a death blow. Finally he screwed his face up and stabbed the meat once more, then removed his sword with an exaggerated yank and a cry, storming away so that his back was to Victor.

Concerned, Victor approached. When he came to stand in front of Yuuri, he saw a pink blotch over each cheek and a tear spilling down.

“I can’t do it, Victor,” he said, waving his sword in angry, distracted cuts as he paced around. “I can’t fucking do it.”

“Of course you can,” Victor replied, hoping all he needed was some reassurance. “You just have to – ”

“I know I _can_.” Yuuri’s eyes flashed. “I can’t make myself _want _to.”

Victor took a moment to try to work out what he meant. He didn’t seem to have a problem with taking the prop seriously, so that wasn’t the issue. Determination wasn’t, either; he had plenty of that. He did not lack courage.

_The answer is obvious, and you know it, Victor, but you don’t want to face it. _

Yuuri couldn’t find the willpower to slay an opponent. Which ordinarily would be an admirable quality; but if he struggled with that in the duel, the consequences would be catastrophic. There would be no room for mistakes with Tyler.

“Are you listening?” Yuuri said, raising his voice; and Victor quickly met his gaze. “How do you do it? How…how did you?” Seeming to take Victor’s pause as confusion, he added, “How did you make yourself kill people?”

Victor felt for a moment as if Yuuri’s sword were pricking at _him_ rather than the meat, because this was something he realised he’d been purposefully avoiding as well. He’d been talking about sword positions and techniques, and strategies, and hunting and the carcase as if it were all a matter of course; things that didn’t involve too much emotion. _You may have been fooling yourself, _he thought, _but you weren’t fooling Yuuri. You were doing him a disservice. _He raked his fringe back with his gauntlet. _You have to be honest, for his sake, or there’s no point in being here._

Yuuri stood waiting for an answer. His breaths, though slowing, were still somewhat laboured, and Victor suspected it was due to more than just the exercise. He wondered where to start; what he could say that would help. Standing his sword point downward on the ground and resting his hands on the crossguard, he forced himself to think back to the times when he’d become the hand of fate – including the first, when he and Alex had set out for home after visiting with the Percys in Alnwick, and had come across a contingent of Scots who fancied their chances against a couple of young English nobles and their travelling party. Outnumbered, Victor and his brother and colleagues had fought for their lives; but their foes hadn’t counted on the prowess of the men of Crowood, and they’d eventually given up and fled – after a dozen of their comrades lay with their lifeblood soaking into the earth.

Some said you never forgot the first man you killed. Victor remembered each one, but his first was branded into his mind. He himself had been sixteen, not yet a knight, and his attacker was perhaps a few years older, with a mane of flying golden hair and limbs like tree trunks. What he had in brawn, however, he lacked in finesse. Dispatching him had been easy. During the melee, with no chance of taking prisoners, Victor had sunk his blade through the man’s throat and shoved his body to the side, instantly seeking his next opponent. But the dead Scotsman’s final look of terror had haunted his dreams a long while.

“Yuuri, I…” Victor bit his lip. “It’s a difficult question to answer. When you look into someone’s eyes, even when they’re coming at you with a sword, there’s a moment…” He paused. Yuuri’s gaze was on him, but its intensity spoke of curiosity rather than anger now. And possibly sympathy as well. “There’s a moment when you see the human being there. And you wonder how you could possibly do something like that to them; what gives you the right.”

Yuuri was leaning forward a little now, hanging on his words. After a moment, he said, “And?”

Victor shook his head. “You carry on, even though it grieves you. Because once you’ve made the decision that this is the course you must take, you have to ensure you can follow it through. Or the death that occurs could very well be your own.”

“How do you do that?” Yuuri asked quietly.

_Oh, Yuuri. You question without mercy. _“Find something that will make you strong, in purpose and in limb. Your own will to live. To…to see the people you love again, and be with them.” He continued to look into Yuuri’s eyes, and thought he saw something undefinable shift there – his lips pressed together firmly, his jaw set. Strange, Victor thought, that he’d never consciously realised how warm Yuuri’s habitual expression was, whether he was showing his own face or Justin’s. Open and soft, inviting confidence…and love. Yes, that had been one of the things that had drawn Victor to him from the first. And it was noticeable in this moment by its absence.

_I’m looking at a fighter, _he thought, and felt a shiver pass through him. _But that’s exactly what I wanted. What we both need him to be. _

_Yuuri, I’m so sorry._

“Fight for everything you believe in,” he made himself continue. “Because Tyler wants to take that away. He made the challenge; he knows the risks. Your conscience will be clear.”

Yuuri continued to gaze at him. He raised his sword high. “No, it won’t,” he said flatly. Then he turned and rammed the blade halfway into the carcase with a thunk.


	112. Chapter 112

“I could be fitting in some last-minute practice,” Yuuri muttered, kicking at the grassy ground as he paced slowly in a circle. A stiff breeze blew at the ties of his blue chaperon draped over his shoulder. “Couldn’t we all just go back to the castle, and Alfric could let us know when the king gets here?”

“Have patience, my sweet,” Victor, at his side, said softly with a chuckle. “The king keeps his own time and everyone waits on him. Our messengers are reliable; they said the royal progress would be here within the hour. And as for waiting in the castle – do you think the king of England would be happy with being greeted by a porter at the gatehouse?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Yuuri flashed him a quick little grin and looked again down the road toward the woods. Most of the castle personnel had been standing here at the bottom of the hill for what must be about half an hour, long enough for them to split into small chatting groups. They were still assembled by status, however, with Victor’s parents, the steward and chamberlain at the front, Victor and Yuuri far enough behind so that they could talk quietly without being overheard, Julia and Emil further back with the other knights and squires, Abelard and various officials and clerks behind them, and so on down the line.

Everyone had donned their finest clothing for the occasion. Victor had on his blue houppelande with his black chaperon, though in place of his livery collar his locket was on display; it made Yuuri feel warm inside to see it. He himself wore a dark grey tunic and his blue hose with the pointy toes, while the livery collar Victor had given him sat heavy and secure on his shoulders; Yuuri had caught him staring a few times. It reminded him of the night Victor had returned from Doncaster, when they’d made love to the strange and beautiful sounds of each other’s versions of the language, and he’d been nude apart from the gleaming gold lying against his skin. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about such things, however. Now was…a frustrating crawl of minute after minute as they all waited. Four pages in the vanguard of the assembly were sitting atop white palfreys covered in caparisons, each holding a fluttering pennant in one hand and a long golden trumpet in the other; Yuuri assumed they’d sound their instruments when they finally caught sight of the king.

He felt…decorative. That was fine in Victor’s company. But it was a waste of time here, when he had a duel to fight the following day. He also couldn’t help wondering what Ailis was planning, half-expecting to see blue light lancing out from the crowd and striking the king in the heart as soon as he arrived. Though Yuuri knew that wasn’t how she operated. The worries still lingered at the back of his mind, however, and he fidgeted with the hems of his sleeves. 

“Would you like some advice on how to comport yourself in the king’s company?” Victor asked as their gazes lingered down the road. It was like waiting for a late train, Yuuri decided.

“That’s probably a good idea. I’m sure I won’t go too far wrong, but…” _As long as I don’t call him “nice”, or do anything else that gets me into trouble because I don’t understand medieval manners. So, actually, some advice might just help me stay alive._

“All right,” Victor replied. “Remove your hat if you’re indoors with him. Kneel in the middle of the room and wait for him to beckon you forward. Don’t speak first; wait until you’re spoken to. When that happens, look at him directly, so that he feels you’re dealing honestly with him. Never turn your back on him. This particular king prefers to be called ‘your royal majesty’. And it’s rumoured that he sometimes sits on his throne for hours without speaking, and anyone on whom his eyes fall must bow to him, though I can’t vouch for the truth of that.”

Yuuri stared. “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.” But Victor simply raised an eyebrow. “Fucking hell, this is going to be a long week.” Victor laughed, and Yuuri added silently, _If I make it past tomorrow._

A quintet of musicians was also standing in wait, and Yuuri watched the hurdy-gurdy player approach the baron to ask if they were allowed to play to amuse themselves and the rest of the gathering.

“Of course not. What frivolous nonsense,” he fumed. But his wife took his arm.

“Oh, now, let them,” she said in a soothing voice. “It might make this dull wait more bearable.” Eventually Andrei grumbled an assent.

Yuuri couldn’t help but let the ghost of a smile cross his face as he listened to the music.

“Is that to your liking?” Victor asked him.

“I think the hurdy-gurdy might be my favourite instrument of this time,” he answered. “After the citole, of course.”

Victor grinned, and their hands brushed together surreptitiously as they listened.

Not long afterward, a trumpet blast sounded in the distance, and the musicians fell silent. All eyes turned toward the road where it led into the woods. Soon a line of white horses emerged, on which rode standard bearers whose flags bore blue and red shields with gold lions and fleur-de-lis, and white harts. Coming into view behind them were people in colourful finery and elaborate hats and headdresses, both horsed and on foot, while many others streamed in their wake, along with carts and wagons. Yuuri couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at witnessing a moment of history; and with the size of the royal progress, which continued to flow unabated down the road, he could see why the wooden village that had sprung up around the castle was needed.

When the procession drew near, the Nikiforovs’ pages raised their trumpets and blew on them while Yuuri and the others watched. The standard bearers in the royal party moved aside, and the nobles behind them guided their horses to step forward. It was obvious who the king and queen were. Richard, in his mid-twenties, wore long red robes trimmed in ermine and a large gold crown with leaflike designs at the top that reminded Yuuri of the stone adornments on the towers of York Minster. Large blue eyes peered from a round, delicate face with a rosebud mouth and a wisp of a moustache and beard, while his light brown hair hung in thick short waves over his ears. His appearance was more like that of a fairytale king, Yuuri thought, than of the warrior-nobles he’d seen here.

Queen Anne rode by his side, in flowing grey robes trimmed with ermine and richly embroidered with gold thread. A white wimple and delicate gold crown concealed most of her brown hair, which was plaited and twisted around her ears; and her dark eyes surveyed the welcoming party placidly. Both of them seemed to be silently waiting for something. 

Everyone around Yuuri dropped down on one knee, and he quickly followed suit. When the king gestured for them to stand, they did so; and Matthew Everard stepped forward, scarlet robes billowing, then unrolled a scroll and held it up to read.

“To his royal majesty King Richard the Second, sovereign of all England, as appointed by God; and to his queen, and most esteemed company: on behalf of the Nikiforov family, I bid you welcome. May the sun shine upon you and God bless you and yours while you dwell within these walls, and always.” He carried on for some time with more flowery language in his loud voice; and when he finished, he rolled his scroll up and tucked it under his arm, then bowed low.

The king’s gaze fell upon Andrei. “To our fair host the baron and his household, we thank you for your hospitality. Let us now remove to a place of rest, for we are weary after a long journey and much desire comfort and refreshment, if they are on offer.”

“Indeed, your royal majesty,” Andrei replied. “Please accompany us to the great hall, where all your needs will be attended to.”

“We hope so,” the king said with a nod. “And will your men see to the housing of our footsore attendants?”

“As it pleases you, it’s ready and waiting, your royal majesty.”

“Lead on, then, fair coz. We have heard tell of choice game to be had in your woods. Is there truth in these rumours?”

Andrei agreed and continued the conversation, taking the reins of the king’s horse and leading it up the path toward the castle, while everyone in the vicinity moved to either side to allow them to pass. Natalia fell into step next to the queen, and Victor walked far enough away, with Yuuri next to him, that no one else was likely to attempt to engage him in conversation.

Yuuri scrutinised the other nobles in the royal party; it seemed a reasonable assumption that it was the most important ones who were horsed. To his surprise, he recognised one – Edward, the Duke of York’s son. He and the man next to him, who looked old enough to be his father, wore shining plate mail and bright particoloured tabards emblazoned with coats of arms. 

“You’ll remember Edward,” Victor said in Yuuri’s ear, following his gaze. “That’s John of Gaunt with him, if you were wondering. Rather grim, is he not? I wasn’t sure if he’d be accompanying the king. He’s his uncle and chief adviser, but he also has many fingers in many pies, not just in this country. I’ve seen him on a number of occasions but have never spoken with him. It would’ve been easy to do so, but…”

“But?”

After a pause, Victor replied, “I avoid these people when I can. Would you like to see me chosen as the king’s champion?”

Yuuri was aware that most people of this time would consider it a great honour. But the thought horrified him, and he knew Victor’s feelings were similar to his own.

Victor seemed to read his expression, and fell silent for a moment. Then he said, looking again at the royal procession, “The queen has quite a few ladies-in-waiting. The other nobles here will be friends of the king or part of his court, itinerants who come and go, as well as permanent members who travel with him everywhere.”

“Will we have to stand around with them in the castle?” Yuuri asked in sudden concern. “Are we obliged to – ”

“No, my love,” Victor said with a little laugh. “You’re not obliged to do anything. The fact that you’re a nobleman, a knight, and my consort means that you’re entitled to be at my side when you so desire. But you and the Courtenays aren’t involved in the politics of the realm. I wish my own family weren’t either, truth be told. But nothing will stop you from training for tomorrow, and I’ll be with you every moment I…” His voice trailed off as he looked past Yuuri, who turned to see with a start that John of Gaunt had dismounted and was coming to join them, leaving the reins of his horse with a servant.

“Might I be speaking to Sir Victor Nikiforov?” he said, falling into step next to Victor. He resembled Andrei somewhat, with dark hair and eyes, though his moustache and beard weren’t as full.

“You are, my lord,” Victor replied with a touch of wariness.

“I thought to have met you before now,” John said lightly. “I know your father the baron. Why is it that you and I have never exchanged words, I wonder?”

“Business matters are usually more my father’s concern. But if I’ve caused offence – ”

“No, no, nothing like that.” He stared at Victor keenly as they walked. “You have something of a reputation, it seems. Though it’s kept under wraps. If your star shines as brightly as I’ve heard, you ought to be gracing the playing fields of the finest castles in the country, not veiling it quietly here.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Victor replied with a little laugh.

“You recently won both the jousting and swordfighting titles at the Stamford Bridge tournament, did you not?”

“It’s only a backwater compared to the prestigious national tournaments,” Victor said with undue humility that would have made Yuuri smile in other circumstances. His shoulders were tense, and there was uneasy restraint in his voice, though none of it would be obvious to someone who didn’t know him well.

“What game are you playing, sir?” John asked him curiously. “With such abilities, I’d want you fighting beside me in battle.”

“Battles don’t concern me, my lord.”

John looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’d best not let my nephew hear you speak so. Such talk could be construed as treasonous. Or cowardly.” He paused, his gaze lingering on Victor. “You don’t strike me as a coward.”

“I’m not a coward, my lord. I simply prefer to busy myself with my own interests. If the king were to call upon my services as his vassal…” His voice tightened. “…I wouldn’t refuse, of course.”

Yuuri had been wondering if he ought to say something to try to help Victor, but after wracking his brain, he drew a blank. Talking up Victor’s bravery and skill would only make it worse, as would saying anything else about how Victor preferred to avoid politics and fighting, since they appeared to be this man’s forte.

“Well,” John continued, “I for one would be keen to test your mettle, my good fellow. Will you spar with me while I’m here?” Victor looked at him in surprise. “I’m not as young as I used to be, but by God, I still know how to wield a blade. Nothing formal. You must have a playing field?”

After a pause, Victor said, “We do, my lord. I’d be honoured. Would the day after tomorrow, or later, suit you? Just now, I have – ”

“Responsibilities for looking after the king while he’s here; I understand. By all means. I shall look forward to it.” He gave Victor a pat on his shoulder, then went to speak to Edward.

Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief, and saw Victor’s shoulders slump. They approached the gatehouse, filing through in a queue, and Yuuri wondered what would happen when Victor sparred with John of Gaunt. If the man got beaten, how would he take it? Would it attract the king’s interest?

Realising they were likely to enter the great hall shortly, where there would continue to be no privacy, he tilted his head toward one of the numerous white-canvas tents that had been erected in the courtyard for keeping extra provisions to hand, and ducked inside. This one, it turned out, contained buckets full of apples, carrots, swedes, and other vegetables. Victor followed him, as did their squires.

“Hey,” Yuuri laughed, “won’t all of us be missed?”

“The more, the merrier, sir,” Julia answered, looking around. “Why did you suddenly disappear into one of these tents? Were you peckish?”

“_You _were full of curiosity,” Victor said to her.

Yuuri looked at the squires in exasperation. “I wasn’t planning on having a party or anything. I’ve got Phichit on my com – ” He lifted his wrist. “ – and wanted a quick word. He’s been listening in.” He lowered his voice and spoke into it. “It’s all right to talk for now.”

“Hey, thanks, Yuuri,” came Phichit’s voice. “I skipped my nano-optics lab this afternoon to do this. It’s been ting.”

“And Sharon’s taken my turn with planning next month’s menus so I could sit in the office and listen to some nob say ‘We are not amused’ or whatever the hell it was.”

“Mari!” Yuuri exclaimed with a smile, making sure he kept his voice down. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Who’s that, sir?” Julia asked.

“My sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Nor did I,” Emil said.

“Who are these people, Yuuri,” she asked, “and why haven’t you told them about me? I’m almost offended.”

“Our squires are here, Julia and Emil. Can you understand what they’re saying?”

“I sent her a translator,” Phichit told him.

“Good thing he did, too,” Mari said. “I listened to a bit of Victor talking to that bloke just now with it turned off, and I’d swear it wasn’t English if I didn’t know better.”

“It’s because they pronounce it differently, too. If you saw it in print, it wouldn’t be so hard to work out.”

“Listen to the expert here.”

“I wish we could’ve seen it all,” Phichit said. “Who came with the king, Yuuri? And where are you right now?”

“I’m in a tent. It’s full of fruit and vegetables.” He watched Victor pick up an apple and toss it to Julia, then do the same for Emil, before he got one for himself and took a bite. “It kind of smells of cider in here. Anyway – ”

“Sir, can we tell him?” Julia asked Yuuri as she chewed. “Begging your pardon, but I’m sure I know many more in the king’s party by sight than you do.”

Yuuri held out his arm so the squires could comfortably talk into his com, and he listened to Julia, with a bit of input from Emil, give a list of names and titles, debating at different points about who they thought they’d recognised. Eventually Victor came forward and eyed her.

“You’re going to put them to sleep with all that, my girl. I daresay their interest in the nobility of 1393 is not at the same level as yours.” 

“Are you still there?” Yuuri said into his com. Phichit and Mari both answered in the affirmative.

“And wow, Yuuri, I got to hear a real king talk,” Phichit said. “Is that juke or what? I recorded it in case Celestino wanted to hear.”

“I’m worried about his safety while he’s here, and the queen’s.” Yuuri knew the remark would sober the mood, but well, it was true. 

“Tell me about it. I wonder if Ailis is planning on putting the plague bacteria in the wine again. It’d affect them because they don’t have nanobots in their system.”

“What are those?” Julia asked as she finished her apple and tossed the core into a corner of the tent.

“They’re the cure we put into the wine when Ailis spread the plague here,” Yuuri answered.

“You could inject them, couldn’t you?” Victor suggested. “As a precaution.”

Phichit hummed in thought. “I can see why it’d be tempting. But the royals and their court – they’re the people who make history. I wouldn’t advise it, because it could possibly change the course of their lives and have massive knock-on effects.”

“Maybe it’s best to wait and see what happens,” Yuuri said, “and I can have an injection ready if anyone comes down with symptoms.”

“It’s not even as simple as that, though. The queen actually dies of plague in 1394, Yuuri.” Everyone in the tent paused to stare at each other. “Sorry, but I thought I’d better tell you, because that means you can’t make her immune to it. She’s too important a historical figure for – ”

“I know,” Yuuri said. “Though it feels awful to stand here and say so.”

“And no one’s sure how the king died, which means if there’s a chance he had an illness too…”

“Yeah.” He glanced at Victor, and then the squires; their expressions were troubled.

“I’m going to be thinking about that every time I look at her now,” Julia murmured. “That’s horrible.”

“The reason I came here was to prevent Ailis changing history,” Yuuri said. “I have to make sure I don’t do it myself.” _With one or two exceptions._

“I can’t believe the lives of the king and queen of England are in my brother’s hands,” Mari said with some awe. Yuuri paled, and she seemed to realise the potential for an anxiety trigger. “Shit. I meant I was proud of you, bro. You can handle it; I know you can.”

“Mari, I have a duel tomorrow that I might not even survive,” he said quietly.

Victor rested a hand on his arm and gave him a warm, steady look. Then he said into the com, “You can rest assured that we’re supporting Yuuri in everything he’s doing.”

After a moment, Mari said, “You’re a real gentleman, Victor. Thank you.” A bright smile lit up his face.

“We ought to go before someone starts looking for us,” Yuuri told them. “Mari, Phichit, I’m going to cut the call for now.”

“I’d better hear from you before you do what you need to do tomorrow,” Mari said. “Got that?”

“You will, I promise.”

They all said goodbye, and Yuuri looked at the squires. “It’d help if the king and his court were served vodka or strong wine at meals, because there’s enough alcohol in those to kill plague bacteria.”

“Phichit used that word,” Emil said. “What’s bacteria?”

“When we have time, Victor and I can explain it all to you. You’ll just have to take my word for it now – bacteria are the bad guys and nanobots are the good guys.” They all looked at him, and he gave them a sheepish grin. “Anyway, you could say it’s because the baron wants them to have only the best the castle has to offer, or something like that.”

“I’ll have a word with Ingrid,” Victor offered. “There shouldn’t be any harm in it, and maybe it’ll help.”

Emil chuckled. “It would seem we’ll also be trying to ensure they make rather merry while they’re here.”

“I can think of worse things to do to them,” Victor said. “I also need you both to continue to keep an eye on my mother, for her own safety.”

“Of course,” Julia replied.

They left the tent, and Yuuri felt a flutter in his chest when he thought about how these three wanted to help him with his mission. It was like being a proper part of a team.

The courtyard was astir with people, most of them servants. Yuuri assumed the nobles had all gone to the great hall with Andrei and the king. Finishing his apple and then gently pulling him aside, Victor said in his ear, “I confess I feel rather torn, my love. I understand the need to be vigilant here at the castle, but I fully intend to continue to help you train. Tell me where your priorities lie, and I’ll abide by your decision.”

Yuuri paused for thought. Victor was right; it was a difficult situation. If it weren’t for Tyler’s challenge, he felt sure he’d recommend they shadow the nobles, even if it meant standing in a silent room for hours and waiting for his turn to bow. But the duel was tomorrow, and afterward – assuming there _was _an afterward – the rest of the week remained for that. Was Ailis likely to strike so soon? Or would she be too interested in the experience of witnessing a historical event at first?

That helped him make up his mind. “I’m willing to gamble that she won’t act today or tomorrow,” he replied. “And do whatever it takes to be prepared for the duel.”

“To be honest, I was hoping that would be your answer. There’ll be many formalities in the great hall right now, which could stretch on until supper. Our squires can watch what unfolds while we train for a while. What do you say?”

Yuuri nodded, suddenly looking forward to it in the midst of the crowd.


	113. Chapter 113

The first time Yuuri had seen the lake, the fields in the distance had been straw-coloured, the trees barren. Now everything was in a full flush of bloom. The rippling blue water was fringed with wreaths of deep green, and wildflowers nodded near the rocky shores. 

He and Victor had changed out of their formal clothes, put their armour on and gone for a run as a warm-up for sparring. On any other day, Yuuri would have suggested a swim, or a chat on the rocks near the shore, or something more private if they could find a place where they were unlikely to be disturbed. But the part of him that had been able to push thoughts of the duel aside and delight in Victor’s company on beautiful days like this had been muted as the event neared. Yuuri didn’t want his final moments to be like this, yet it was impossible to find peace within himself.

Victor jogged to the edge of the lake and came to a standstill, raking his fringe back. “The breeze feels good across the water, what do you think?”

“I think I’m glad places like this exist,” Yuuri said, bending down to pick up a pebble and skim it; it bounced once, then the waves swallowed it up. “They last. No matter what happens tomorrow, this water, these rocks, all of it…it doesn’t know, and it doesn’t care. It’ll still be here afterward.”

“Yuuri.” Victor came to his side and slipped an armoured arm around his waist. “It’s always been good, being here with you. We’ll keep coming back.” He paused; they looked out across the waters, to the distant fields and church spire as the clouds raced. “Do you remember when I showed you how to sharpen your knife here? It wasn’t so very long ago.”

Yuuri thought back to it, then smiled and laughed. “You told me about hiding from Irene and raiding the sambocade.”

“You said if you won the competition against Julia, you wanted your reward to be eating a meal at the high table with me.”

“You told me I was talented, and encouraged me,” Yuuri said as they turned to face each other. Victor’s arm was still around his waist, while his own hands came to rest on the metal shell encasing his arms.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to kiss you.”

Yuuri felt his fears falling away in the moment, as he was lost in those blue eyes. Victor dipped his head down slowly, and his kiss was gentle, soft and warm, like the waves lapping on the shore. _I love you, _it said, _and it’s going to be all right. _

Victor pulled away slightly, stroking his cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’ve brought such a change to my life, Yuuri. I’m so happy you came here, and that I met you.”

A tear escaped Yuuri’s eye; Victor brushed it away with this thumb. “We’ll have plenty of good times to come,” Yuuri said in a softly wavering voice. “Won’t we. We will. I’m saying it, so it must be true.” He gave a small laugh.

“Of course we will, my love.” Victor smiled.

Yuuri angled up for another kiss, caressing Victor’s cheek, warmth radiating through him. Then he stepped back, finally able to smile himself.

“Race you back,” he said with a challenge in his voice.

Victor’s eyes sparkled, and he broke into a sprint.

* * *

The little competition was effectively forgotten, however, as they neared the stable and slowed when they saw how many fighting men were in the training field. Abelard and several of the soldiers were setting up the quintain and rings, and two jousting lanes had been roped off. Yuuri counted five pairs sparring. Plate and chain armour flashed, and horses were being ridden or led around the field by men who were presumably squires, some of whom also carried lances.

“Bloody hell,” Yuuri breathed as he and Victor approached the fence.

“If you were the king and queen,” Victor said, “travelling across the open countryside, would you not want to ensure you were well protected?”

“I suppose so.”

“These visitors will make a refreshing change for our own fighters, I daresay. The highest-ranking ones will still be up at the great hall though, I expect.”

Yuuri wondered if he was thinking about John of Gaunt and the wish he’d expressed to spar with him.

“Master! My lord!” Yuuri turned his head and saw Emil trotting toward them from the middle of the field with a grin. “Extraordinary, is it not?” he said when he reached the fence. “This must be ten times our usual cohort. I thought you might be here, so I came to wait, though Julia remained in the great hall, watching proceedings. I was there with her for a short while, but I don’t have a great deal to relate, truth be told. Formal greetings, introductions, exchanges of gifts…”

“That’s all to be expected,” Victor said. “Silly of me, though, to have forgotten they’d send their fighting men over here. It’s not ideal for sparring.”

Yuuri turned to him. “We can do that anywhere; no reason it has to be here.”

“That’s true. Perhaps we ought to have stayed to do it at the lake.”

“You should also know, my lord,” Emil said, “that master Everard was looking for you.”

“Hm. Did he give a reason?”

“No.”

“Did he appear agitated or otherwise distempered?”

Emil thought for a moment. “No, not that I noticed.”

“Then let him look; I’ll speak to him later. All the more reason to find somewhere else to go.” A spark leapt into his eye. “And actually, I know just the place.”

* * *

“Fuck,” Yuuri spat as he clattered backward onto a spoke. He quickly threw both hands out to grip the wood before he fell, and his sword thudded to the ground underneath the turning wheel. Victor had shoved an elbow at his breastplate with a clang, putting his weight behind it while remaining balanced. Despite their tender moment at the lake, and the playful enthusiasm he’d expressed for racing back to the stable and then coming to the hilltop to spar on the wheel, he was a fearsome opponent, giving no quarter. Not that he ever did. But there was something determined and aggressive about it, Yuuri thought, in a way there hadn’t been since that day they’d first kissed in the training field.

The wheel slowed as Emil let go of the rim and ducked underneath to fetch Yuuri’s sword, which he handed to him. Yuuri thanked him, then eyed Victor. “What’s up with all this today?”

“What’s up…?” Victor said in bemusement, tilting his head to look at the sky.

“I _mean_,” Yuuri replied, trying not to glare at him too hard, “you seem to be trying to convince me that you want to chop me to pieces.”

Victor met his gaze. “Pretend I am. What are you going to do about it?”

Yuuri beat down the frustration simmering inside of him, reminding himself that Victor was doing what he thought would help. “All right,” he said, nodding briefly at Emil, who began to turn the wheel again. It made small creaks as it gained speed.

They went another round. This one lasted longer. Yuuri split his concentration between balance, footwork, and the movements of their bodies and swords; it was far more demanding than sparring on the ground, and refined and honed those skills for that reason. Victor was devastating when he fought anyone this way. This time he hooked his foot around Yuuri’s ankle and tripped him up, so that he clattered down once more and found himself partially lodged in the space between spokes; he braced himself to stop his fall before he went through to the ground.

A flame of anger leapt in his chest. Victor extended a hand to help him up, but Yuuri yanked his own away and pulled himself back up, eyes flashing. He took the woman’s guard position, determined to retaliate.

“Don’t attack me because you’re angry,” Victor told him, his expression sombre. “You’ll make mistakes. Attack me because you want to kill me before I kill you.”

The words hit Yuuri like a physical blow. “You know that’s not what I want.”

“That’s the problem.”

“What?”

“Yuuri, that’s always been the problem. I’ve told you many times before – _fight _me. Pretend I’m Tyler, and trust that I can look after myself. Unleash the fighter inside of you.”

Yuuri stared at him as the wheel took them slowly around, trees and fields flowing smoothly past. Maybe it was because he seemed to be able to reach into a deep well of trust now. Maybe it was because, after all this time, the duel was finally upon him. But something inside of him eased, as if it had been given permission to exist and be itself.

_Fight to see the people you love again, and be with them. For everything you believe in, because Tyler wants to take that away. _There was no better motivation.

Yuuri switched to the window guard, sword poised at head height and aiming straight at his opponent. “Have at you,” he said.

They clashed. Yuuri didn’t try to imagine Victor as Tyler; that was impossible to do. But he didn’t have to. Victor wanted him to give this everything he’d got, and it was time to stop being afraid. He felt a fluidity enter into his movements that he usually only experienced when he was practising slow drills on the ground. Victor tried several times to get under his guard, and to distract him so that he could aim a body blow. But Yuuri anticipated it almost instinctively. And this time, while Victor was fending off an attack, Yuuri’s foot darted out and aimed for his ankle. Victor was quick, but not quick enough; Yuuri had unbalanced him, and he was forced to jump off the wheel. Landing neatly on the ground, he stood, looking both stunned and pleased, as Emil stilled the wheel. Yuuri gazed back, feeling a flutter of triumph.

Victor vaulted back up and smiled. “Again,” he said, taking the woman’s guard.

The round was longer this time. They hopped across the spokes, cut and thrust, parried, entered and broke binds. Yuuri dodged Victor’s attempts to kick him off his feet again. Sweat trickled down their foreheads despite the breeze. The clang of steel and the ring of armour sounded across the hilltop. After it all, however, Victor slid in a quick, almost gentle touch on Yuuri’s side.

“Again,” Yuuri said with hardly a pause, determined not to be discouraged. Victor blinked, and cut upward with his sword; Yuuri half-sworded and blocked, then made a grab for Victor’s own blade. Victor whirled away, dodging with the grace that came naturally to him.

A fire surged through Yuuri, and he attacked before Victor could fully get his bearings, channelling the energy into strength and precision in his movements. Victor parried; and with a sudden quick jerk, Yuuri circled his sword with his own and forced it flying from his hand – then crashed against him, pushing him over so that he clattered onto the spoke and had to grab it to prevent himself from falling to the ground. Yuuri towered over him, the tip of his sword near Victor’s chin. It was, without question, the most decisive victory he’d ever achieved against him.

The surprise melted from Victor’s face, and he beamed up at Yuuri, who smiled back with a rush of warmth as he held out his gauntleted hand. Victor grabbed it and hoisted himself to his feet as the wheel came to a stop, then grabbed and sheathed his sword; Yuuri did the same.

“That was amazing,” Victor gushed. Unable to step forward, as they each faced each other on spokes, he leaned in for a hug, and Yuuri met him halfway. “You’re the best pupil, Yuuri.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said against his neck, feeling somewhat bewildered by the different waves of emotions he’d felt in such a short time. “You’re a pretty damn good trainer yourself.” Victor laughed.

Yuuri caught a flash of silver amid the trees and pulled away to get a better look. Victor turned to follow his line of sight, and so did Emil. Plate mail, thick ash-brown hair; the man’s back was turned to them as he disappeared down the hill. It could’ve been a curious knight from the royal company, having seen them on the wheel from near the stable and come to investigate. But Yuuri felt sure he’d recognised him.

“Tyler,” Victor murmured. He hopped to the ground, and Yuuri followed.

“Do you think he saw us sparring?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“I didn’t know he was here.”

“He must have arrived after the king. He does, after all, have a duel to fight tomorrow.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got my projector on,” Yuuri mused. “But…shit, what was he doing up here?”

“Spying on the opposition?” Victor suggested as the three of them began to walk. “In which case, you will have given him something to think about.”

Yuuri flashed him a quick smile. But the flush of victory from moments before had gone, and his stomach began to churn. 

* * *

The last thing Yuuri wanted was to have to sit through a meal, but Victor had advised him to attend so that people didn’t think he was hiding from Tyler. If it were up to him, Victor said, he would ban Tyler from the great hall altogether. However, if the duke’s son had reasonable grounds to complain that he’d been slighted, it could start a feud between the Nikiforovs and the Beaumonts. Wanting nothing of the kind, of course, Yuuri had been quick to agree to put up with whatever was required of him.

The king and queen were escorted into the great hall by Andrei and Natalia and a flock of servants. Once the four of them were seated at the middle of the high table, everyone else was ushered inside, giving the king a low bow before taking their own seats. Yuuri and Victor, still in their armour, were told to sit in their usual places, and John of Gaunt was shown to his seat on Victor’s left. Victor gave him a polite greeting while Yuuri looked around the room. It was full of nobles, advisers and officials, he observed, while the others who ordinarily ate in the great hall would have been sent to the wooden one that Dmitrei had helped build.

Victor began to explain to him who various people were, though he paused as Tyler emerged from the crowd near the archway, heading for the far end of the high table. His face soured as he spotted Yuuri, who stared back with as much of a poker face as he could muster; then Tyler vanished behind the line of people already seated at the table. Yuuri had a sudden urge to speak to Phichit and tell him who he’d just seen; he was listening in over the com again while he sat in his office at the university. But being on display in front of everyone in the room as he was, he didn’t dare to even rest his head behind his arm and mutter.

“Harry,” Victor said, standing to greet a knight who had just been shown to the high table by the steward. They briefly clasped arms. The man appeared to be about Victor’s age, with sandy hair in a bowl style similar to Justin’s, clear grey eyes, moustache and pointy beard, and a bright tabard with ketchup and mustard colours featuring blue lions and silver fish.

“Victor, good to see you. Has it only been a few weeks since Doncaster? It feels longer.”

“Elizabeth isn’t with you?”

“She’s still recovering from the birth, though she expects to be well enough to travel soon.”

“How is little Henry, then?”

The man Victor had addressed as Harry laughed. “You’d think he owned the castle, the way he’s already got everyone at his command – including my father and myself.”

“Ah. A future leader.” Victor turned to Yuuri. “Justin, this is Sir Henry Percy of Alnwick, otherwise known as Hotspur. The Percys are friends of my family. And Harry, this is Sir Justin Courtenay of Stanebeck, otherwise known as Justin la Rose. He’s a recent addition to our fighting contingent, and a very welcome one.”

Yuuri and Henry exchanged greetings while Victor sat down; he slanted Yuuri a fond look before turning to John. Julia and Emil had appeared behind them and began pouring dark red wine into golden goblets. They seemed a little star-struck, Yuuri thought with a touch of amusement. He could just make out the voices of the baron and his wife in conversation with the king and queen; Natalia was asking them how they’d found the castle and their accommodation so far. Between them and John sat Edward, the Duke of York’s son, looking bored.

Servants rushed up to the table with the first course, a variety of colour co-ordinated dishes: meat and fowl in bright yellow saffron sauce, green vegetables served in golden bowls, eggs with herbs. Yuuri sipped at his wine – strong, as he’d hoped it would be for the guests at the high table – and wondered what if anything he might be able to stomach, while he listened to Victor’s conversation with John. Victor seemed to be doing his best to steer it clear of himself, asking his neighbour about his ventures in Castile and the Aquitaine. John spent little time on these, however, and went on to enquire about Victor’s training regimen. When he expressed his admiration for Boucicaut, John nodded sagely and said he knew of him.

“In fact,” he continued, “when he announced that he and his champions would joust against all comers for the glory of France – what was it, three years ago now? – I wrote to him on my son’s behalf and asked if he’d joust with him and teach him some of his masterly arts. He agreed, and I sent a contingent of thirty men, including Harry.” He nodded in the direction of Yuuri’s neighbour, who gestured back while he cut a slice of bread.

“They were all defeated, were they not?” Victor said, sipping from his goblet.

“Indeed. But there’s no shame in being beaten by such a one, or his comrades.” He huffed a laugh. “Though I daresay we’d give them a harder time in battle. Were you not tempted to go yourself?”

“I was quite keen, yes, but unfortunately I was ill at the time. I’d like to meet the man someday, though. Do you practise any of his exercises?”

Yuuri could see that Victor was relieved to have diverted the conversation to this topic, and he listened to them discuss their experiences while he wondered what to do with the food in front of him that he had no appetite for. Henry offered to cut him a piece of bread, but he declined. Even when he succeeded in forcing the duel from his conscious thoughts, the tension in his body and ache in his stomach remained.

Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed the meal as a curiosity. A large group of talented minstrels had joined the ones from the castle, and he wondered what Phichit was making of it. They might be described as a small medieval orchestra, though the accompanying voices singing in harmony were just as beautiful. There were also jugglers, a magician, and poetry readings – obsequious stuff praising the king and the monarchy to the skies. Yuuri drank more wine than was probably good for him on an empty stomach and fought in vain to allow himself to be distracted by the entertainment. Victor gently encouraged him to eat at various times, telling him about different dishes they’d been served which were fancy even for Fernand. Yuuri sampled them, but they tasted like ashes in his mouth. 

“No appetite today?” Henry commented, looking at the uneaten food on Yuuri’s plate.

“Um, not really, no.”

“I’ll take a morsel of that lamprey if you don’t want it.” Yuuri nodded, and Henry speared it off the plate with his knife, popping it into his mouth.

“You know Victor, then?” Yuuri said, trying to be polite.

“I’ve known him for years, my good man. And his late brother, God rest his soul. Our families don’t get together as often as we’d like, unfortunately. So much to do.”

He went on to talk about his castle in Northumbria and his family. It was taking a while to get an idea of the sort of person he was, but he seemed nice enough. Yuuri asked him how he’d got his nickname, Hotspur.

Henry’s face lit up. “Ten years ago. I accompanied the king on a campaign in Scotland. The Scots themselves gave me the name, in tribute to my speed and readiness to attack.”

Yuuri’s heart sank. He should’ve guessed something like this. What followed was a conversation very like the ones he used to have with Charles at meals, only it wasn’t really a conversation; more a list of glorious conquests. This man had a lot of them, apparently. In Ireland, Prussia, and France.

“When I’m done here,” he said, “John is sending me on a diplomatic mission to Cyprus. My hope is that it’ll be the Aquitaine afterward. If all goes well, perhaps I’ll be given a title, since John is the duke of the land.”

Yuuri had been hoping that as he met more knights and nobles, he might come across one whose sensibilities were closer to Victor’s and his own. He would have guessed they were rare, though, and it appeared he was correct. Henry “Hotspur” seemed a typical man of his class, more interested in military victories and gaining power than in enjoying visits to lands that must seem very exotic to people of this time, let alone in making peace. And why the hell was the English king’s uncle a duke of a southwestern French province, anyway? But then he reminded himself that the two countries were locked in the on-again, off-again Hundred Years’ War, as Phichit had told him, and invading France was probably on the list of things to do before breakfast much of the time. The wry thought was shoved back down, however, when he realised that he and Victor could easily be called upon to assist.

“The wine we drink this evening comes from the fertile vineyards of that place,” Henry said with a smile, sipping more of his own. “The butler has been given a recipe for making hypocras with it. Divine stuff, my good fellow; wait til you taste it.”

Yuuri continued to listen, but eventually began to tune him out in favour of the minstrels; Victor and John were still discussing training strategies. Soon a large trolley covered in bright blue and gold cloth was wheeled into the great hall by Fernand and two pastry chefs; upon it sat an enormous pie. Fernand and the chefs bowed theatrically to the king, then asked him to come cut the pastry.

“It’s a subtlety,” Victor said, seeming to have sensed Yuuri’s mystification.

Of course. He wouldn’t have seen one like this amid the wonders in Joan Delacroix’s workshop, as it would have to be freshly baked. But what could be in such a confection? It looked like there was enough to feed everyone in the great hall.

The king was given a long knife, and he made a slice in the pie. It wasn’t an ooze of sweet apple or cherry filling that emerged, however – it was a flock of blackbirds. Once the first saw daylight, they exploded out from the hole the king had cut in the crust, followed by perhaps two dozen more, wings flapping madly while they flew to the ceiling, their cries filling the air as shards of pastry scattered across the tiled floor.

A delighted smile lit the king’s face. Andrei clapped his hands and chuckled, while the queen cried, “God in heaven!”, her hands flying up to her face. Natalia, John and Edward appeared unamused.

“Ah, well, that’s capital,” Henry said vaguely, waving for more wine. “What a shame you can’t eat it.” 


	114. Chapter 114

Victor wasn’t sure there was much to be gained by returning to the training field to spar. True, it ought to be quiet at this time of night, as even the fighting men of the royal progress would want to be amusing themselves with a draught of beer and some sport after a three-hour feast. But he’d thought it might be best for Yuuri’s confidence to have ended the day’s preparations on the glorious high note of his well-earned victory in their last round on the wheel. Yuuri, however, had other ideas, and seemed to believe that the more practice he fitted in, the better he was likely to perform the next day. Ultimately, Victor trusted Yuuri’s knowledge of how his own heart and mind worked, and if this was what he wanted to do, it was what they’d do.

They were walking through the courtyard now, past servants going to and fro between the supply tents and the kitchen, and visitors streaming in both directions through the gatehouse. Yuuri, with Justin’s face of course, looked quietly ahead. Victor suspected he hadn’t been very well entertained by Harry. He was a likeable enough fellow, but also conventional in every way. Unfortunately, John of Gaunt was not the sort of neighbour one could ignore, and Victor had spent most of his time making small talk with him. He’d sensed Yuuri’s growing boredom and frustration – mirrored in himself, to an extent – and had been relieved when the feast concluded. That was when Yuuri had asked him to go to the training field with him.

Victor wondered what he was thinking as they passed side by side through the gatehouse – how worried he was, how confident. Whether the anxiety was currently a factor. Perhaps sparring would get rid of any pent-up troublesome feelings for now.

His thoughts on the past day jumbled together as they walked. John of Gaunt wanting to spar with him. Victor knew he could beat him. Whether it was wise to do so was another matter, however. The situation would have to be skilfully handled. But he had other things to be concerned about.

What had Tyler seen earlier? Victor had been hoping the fact that Yuuri was fighting so well would take him by surprise in the duel, but they’d lost that advantage now. And what of Ailis – would she continue to wait to act until after the duel? If he came across something that might be a hologram, Victor planned to tell Yuuri straight away. But would he even know one if he saw one?

As they veered off the main path in the direction of the stables and training field, there was no one nearby, and Yuuri smiled at Victor before speaking into his com; he’d forgotten Phichit had been listening in again.

“What did you think?” Yuuri asked him.

“Prang, Yuuri, I’m quaked! There was so much going on. I could even hear the entertainment. The music was incredible. But the poetry was rubbish, don’t you think?”

Yuuri laughed, and a chuckle escaped Victor as well. “The king liked it. They want to keep him happy here.”

“Who were all the people I overheard?”

Yuuri gave him a short list, including his neighbour for the night, Sir Henry Percy. “Victor introduced us, if you remember.”

“Oh yeah, that jack. Sir Harry Hotspur, right?”

“Yeah, to his friends, I guess.”

Victor nodded. A rather rakish, boyish moniker, he thought, more suited to the man he’d been ten years ago than now. But he was obviously fond of the nickname and had kept it. If he lived to eighty, he would probably still hope to be addressed thus, from what Victor knew of him.

“A significant captain during the Anglo-Scottish wars,” Phichit said as if he were reading the information out. “He later led successive rebellions against Henry the Fourth and was slain at the Battle of Shrewsbury in 1403 at the height of his career.”

Victor’s heart missed a beat and his eyes opened wide as he took this in.

Yuuri began to respond, glancing at Victor and looking agitated, but Phichit continued, “Shit, this is really gruesome. When rumours circulated that he was still alive, the king had the corpse exhumed and displayed it, propped upright between two millstones, in the marketplace at Shrewsbury. His head was sent to York, where it was impaled on a spike on Micklegate Bar, and his limbs were sent to four different cities. Wow, I can’t believe you were just sitting there talking with this jack.”

Victor’s jaw had dropped progressively lower while Phichit spoke, and he stopped and stared at the com. _No, _he thought. _No._

“You do know Victor’s with me, right?” Yuuri said heatedly, his eyes flashing at Victor in apology.

There was a pause. Then Phichit said quietly, “No. Oh my God, no I didn’t.”

“Didn’t you hear me talking with him when we left the great hall?”

“Well, no. There were a lot of voices. Plus I got up to fetch a drink at one point. Shit, I’m sorry, I really am.”

“All right. Look, I’ll talk later.” Yuuri dropped his wrist and gazed at Victor, who felt like he’d suddenly stepped into a nightmare.

“He just described – ”

“This is why – ”

“ – the violent death of a longtime family friend.”

“ – I didn’t want to tell you things like this.”

They stared at each other in silence. Finally Victor said, “How can you look at someone who’s alive and well now, knowing that’s going to happen to them?”

“I’ve got used to it. Phichit kept telling me about pieces of history from this time until I told him to stop.”

“A rebellion against Henry the Fourth in 1403,” Victor said, thinking about what he’d just heard. “Ten years from now. That’s the next king – Henry Bolingbroke, isn’t it? John of Gaunt’s son? I never thought John would turn traitor to Richard; he’s supported him all these years. What happens to him – the king we have now?”

“Victor, you don’t have the whole picture,” Yuuri replied quickly. “I – I can’t – ”

“Please. I know some of it; won’t you tell me the rest? How could there be any harm in it?” Victor felt his stomach sink. He was aware that he was pressing Yuuri to give him information which he was reluctant to share, but he was curious; and, if he were honest, rather frustrated with the absolute ban Yuuri had put in place on discussing things that were going to happen in this time. But hadn’t he just been given a good reason why? The knowledge of Harry’s death, and the terrible way it was destined to come about, would haunt him from now on.

Yuuri raked a hand through his hair and glanced up at the sky, then answered, “Richard never has any children. He exiles Henry Bolingbroke and confiscates his lands, and Henry returns with support from nobles here and takes the throne. I don’t know why Harry Hotspur rebels against Henry the Fourth; I’d never even heard of him til today.” He paused, his expression earnest. “But Victor, if you tell him – ”

“He’d never believe me. Why should he think I had the power to predict the future?” The images Phichit had planted in his mind of what would happen to Harry’s corpse rose vividly again. “But not to tell him means – ”

“Letting history take its course.”

_How can you be so callous as to say something like that? _Victor wondered. But then, _was _it callous? Yuuri had come here to prevent someone from making changes that would alter the future. Even well-meant actions might have unforeseen negative consequences. But if you knew someone had caught the plague, and you had a plentiful supply of those wonderful nanobots, would your conscience allow you to stand by and watch them die that way?

Yuuri’s hadn’t. True, Ailis had released the plague at the castle in the first place; an alteration of original history that she’d made herself. But Yuuri knew the nanobots would make people immune for life to more than just the plague – and he’d still acted.

This was another heavy responsibility that he carried on his shoulders, Victor realised. Deciding what to do based on his knowledge of the future. It was bound to cause him pain _because _he cared, and yet would no doubt conclude that in most instances, the only action he could ultimately take was none at all. 

But what, exactly, had he chosen to do or not to do that he’d never said anything about? What secret thoughts had been going through his head? Did he really feel it ought to be his decision alone regarding what to reveal, as if even Victor himself couldn’t handle it? Or was it Yuuri’s belief that he was protecting everyone from dangerous knowledge? And well, _was _he?

Had Victor really wanted to find out about Harry’s demise?

_If I’d known Alex was going to die of plague, and I had the means to prevent it, nothing – _nothing – _would have stopped me from doing so._

_I loved Alex._

_Who does Yuuri love?_

Victor realised Yuuri was staring at him with increasing concern. The two of them here on this grassy hillside, unexpectedly contemplating this thorny issue because of a slip of the tongue from Phichit. There seemed to be no way to avoid being pricked by it.

“Is that what you’ve done the whole time you’ve been here?” Victor asked him quietly. “Let history take its course? Or are there things you’ve tried to change?” He waited for an answer, but Yuuri seemed to be struggling to decide what to say. “One rule for you, one for the rest of us – is that how it is?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “It’s not like that.”

“Whose history have you tried to change? What events have you tried to influence?”

“Victor –”

“Is it anything to do with me?”

“Victor, stop!” Yuuri cried out, his eyes filling with tears.

It felt like a slap to the face; one that had been well deserved. How could he have hurt Yuuri like this – and just when he needed his support? Victor’s heart lurched, and he gasped. “I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands awkwardly as Yuuri wiped his eyes. “That…that was awful of me.” Trying to calm his voice, though his blood was racing, he continued, “Not knowing is…hard. I wonder what there _is _to know. What you and Phichit know. And then, what he said about Harry – ”

“This is why I haven’t said anything.” Yuuri’s tone was firm. “I’m doing my best, Victor. I always have done, since the day I arrived here. I – I need you to trust me.”

“I do. I wish you could trust me, too.”

“I do.” Yuuri paused. “Are you going to tell Henry Percy?”

Victor thought about this. “No,” he answered; and the wrench he felt at this was palpable. Somehow he felt responsible to Harry’s wife and son as well as Harry himself, and any future offspring. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t counsel him against making such a move when the time comes. That’s the least I can do, and I’m sure it’s what I would have done anyway.”

Yuuri nodded, appearing satisfied with this.

“When does Henry Bolingbroke become king?”

“1399.”

“Richard has six years.”

“That’s right.”

“I wonder what he’d make of that.”

“They’re relatively peaceful. It’s not so bad.”

“No battles threatening our doorstep?”

“No.”

Victor gave him a little grin. “That’s not so bad.”

Yuuri lingered uncertainly, toeing at the ground with his sabaton.

“I really am sorry,” Victor said, coming nearer. “Yuuri…this is difficult for us both, I think. I appreciate what you’ve told me.” He lifted his chin with a finger. “We were on our way to the training field. Is that still where you wish to go?”

Yuuri met his gaze, then nodded. “I still want to practise, yeah. If you do.”

“Of course.”

As they resumed their walk down the hill, Victor placed a hand on Yuuri’s back. Covered in armour as he was, it was still hopefully a comforting gesture. And after a moment, Yuuri did the same, with a glance and a small smile.

_Maybe I was the one more in need of comforting, _Victor thought, feeling warm inside again. But nothing had really changed, either. Yuuri still had secrets, though he was willing to share them – to an extent.

_But you didn’t answer my questions when they were directed at you personally. You’re not going to, are you? _

The training field came into view on the other side of the stable.

_We both said we trust each other…and that will have to be enough._

“I hope you’re ready for this,” Victor said as they reached the bottom of the hill. “I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

“Good,” Yuuri replied with a smirk. 

* * *

Yuuri won three out of ten rounds against him, both of them as grim of purpose as they’d been earlier on the wheel, though Victor congratulated him effusively on all three wins. He was good. He was outstanding. But would it be enough for tomorrow?

The conversation they’d had on the hill seemed to have been put behind them, for the most part; but if they were a little more polite to each other while they discussed their sparring session and then made their way back to the castle, well, it was perhaps only natural. Victor felt terrible about pressuring Yuuri the way he had, and the haunting information about Harry’s death was still difficult to put out of his mind. Maybe it was best, after all, that he remained ignorant of such things.

One other issue continued to bother him, and that was Yuuri’s reaction when he’d been asked if there were things he’d tried to change; the silence while he’d searched for words. Victor suspected there was one person in particular for whom he’d be willing to bend his rules. Something had always told him that Yuuri might know more than he’d claimed about the fates of the Nikiforovs.

_Do I trust him, or not? Am I going to back up my assertion with actions this time? But these are silly questions. I love him, and that makes the answers easy._

They shared a bath in their room. Victor luxuriated in Yuuri’s tender care as he washed his hair and lathered rose-scented soap over him with soothing strokes. The candles flickered and the fire leapt in the grate. Victor occasionally leaned forward to sip his wine; he’d put the wooden board across the tub and placed on top of it hypocras, bread, olive oil and vinegar for dipping, apples, and crystallised ginger, which the squires had fetched earlier. His hope had been that any of these items might tempt Yuuri, though so far he’d only had the drink. Floating languidly in the warm water, Victor reached out for an olive and lifted it to Yuuri’s lips, but he shook his head. With a tiny stab of disappointment, Victor slid it into his own mouth instead.

“You’ll need your strength for tomorrow, my sweet. I know I’ve said before. But it’s true.”

“I…I’ll eat something in the morning,” Yuuri answered, slicking his hair back with water cupped in his hands. “I might be able to then.” 

“Well, you’ve washed me. Now it’s my turn.” Victor raised his eyebrows and Yuuri grinned, then sank deeper into the water while Victor angled behind and under him. He kissed Yuuri’s temple and cheek as his hands worked the soap over him. While he washed Yuuri’s hair, he pressed more gentle kisses to his forehead. His muscles were stiff and knotted again, and Victor massaged his shoulders, arms, chest and back. Yuuri closed his eyes, and the expression on his face was serene. And yet the tension stubbornly refused to completely shift; Victor could still feel it there under his fingertips.

“Vitya, that’s so nice,” Yuuri sighed as Victor kneaded into his shoulders again, more as a gesture of affection than an attempt to force the resisting muscles to relax. “I love you.”

Victor made a little hum against his hair and planted a kiss there.

“I’m sorry I haven’t really been myself lately. I…I just can’t seem to unwind. It’s probably not much fun to be around me right now. I – ”

“What’s this nonsense?” Victor said, looking down at him. “I heard ‘I love you.’ I liked that.”

“It’s not nonsense.” Yuuri opened an eye.

“Of course it is. Yuuri, after this duel was announced, you got drunk, had an anxiety attack, and ran away to York. In some ways, I find myself thinking it all worked out in the end – particularly the part about getting drunk, because then you danced with me.” Victor smiled. “But it’s the night before, now, and you haven’t done any of those things. Yet you’re apologising for being a little out of sorts.” He gave Yuuri’s nose a playful tweak. “Sometimes I don’t know whether to laugh or be cross with you.”

“Neither,” Yuuri said, closing his eye again. “Will you sing to me?”

After a flutter of surprise at the request, Victor thought. Then, draping his arms over Yuuri’s shoulders and down his chest, he contentedly obliged. 

_Can you hear my heartbeat? _  
_Tired of feeling never enough_  
_I close my eyes and tell myself_  
_That my dreams will come true_

_There’ll be no more darkness _  
_When you believe in yourself, you are unstoppable_  
_Where your destiny lies, dancing with the blade_  
_You set my heart on fire_

_Don’t stop us now, the moment of truth_  
_We were born to make history_  
_We’ll make it happen, we’ll turn it around_  
_Yes, we were born to make history_

Yuuri smiled and took Victor’s hands in his own. When he finished the song, Yuuri craned his neck around to look at him. “That was beautiful. You changed the line from ‘Dancing through the years’ to ‘Dancing with the blade’.”

“It seemed appropriate.”

“But I only sang that to you once, three months ago. How did you remember it?”

Victor gave him a mysterious grin. “Perhaps I have a good memory. I did say I wanted to learn it for my citole.”

“Really?”

“Well. I might have had some help from Phichit. I’ve contacted him on the com you gave me a few times, to see if I could, and I asked him if he’d play me some music. I’m quite partial to Fourth World, The Ravens, and Michael Jackson.”

Yuuri laughed. “That’s a real mix.”

“You can dance to them all. I want to go back to ballet, too. Those songs aren’t so good for that.”

“Phichit never said he’d heard from you.”

“I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Yuuri squeezed his hands.

After a pause, Victor said, “Can I tempt you with any of this lovely food yet, now that you’re rested?”

Yuuri thought. Then he replied, “I know I need to eat. I know it’s important. But I still feel sick. I promise I’ll have something in the morning.”

“Hm, make sure you do. Trainer’s orders.”

“Emil is washing and polishing my armour and sharpening my sword, though it doesn’t need it.”

“Best to be prepared, my sweet. That’s his job, after all.” Victor paused again. “Would it help to talk about tomorrow? We could go over strategy – ”

“No,” Yuuri said quickly, dropping his hands into the water. “I…we…can do that in the morning. If I’m going to stand any chance of sleeping, I just need to try to forget about it for now.”

“Tell me what you’ll do after it’s over, then?” Victor ran a palm lazily over Yuuri’s chest, making tiny splashes. “You’ll be the toast of the garrison. Everyone will want to share a drink with you and offer you their congratulations. The king might even – ”

“No. I’ll need you,” Yuuri said quietly. “Because if I win, that means I will have just killed a person. Not even cleanly with a laser gun; I – I will have slaughtered him.” He choked on the last words. “I won’t want anything but to go somewhere private afterward, and be with you.” He looked up imploringly. “Will you do that?”

“Yes,” Victor said without hesitation. “Even if the king told me to attend to him, I would go with you.” He felt Yuuri relax a little under his hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“I don’t believe I’m doing very well with helping you forget.” Victor brushed his fingers over a nipple. “But there are other ways.” He nuzzled Yuuri’s cheek and then pressed kisses there as his hands travelled, caressing. Usually it was enough to prompt Yuuri to turn his head and angle up for a kiss. Victor skated a finger over his collarbone and up his neck, gently cupping a cheek, trying to guide him to move enough so that he could seek his lips. “Come to bed, Yuuri my love,” he said in a soft, cajoling voice. “Let me help you relax. I’ll pleasure every part of you.”

Victor was not used to being rejected, and certainly not by Yuuri. But he stiffened and covered his face with a hand. Was he…crying? For a moment, Victor was lost for words.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said in a wavering voice, his shoulders shaking.

“Don’t be.” Victor draped his arms around him again, tentative at first in case Yuuri didn’t want this either, but he didn’t object. Eventually he removed his hand from his face. His cheeks were splotched pink, his face wet. “Yuuri, never feel like you’re under any obligation to me. I…didn’t realise this wasn’t what you wanted. I’m sorry – ”

“It _is _what I wanted.” The frustration in Yuuri’s voice was clear. “I just can’t fucking relax. This might be our last night together – ”

“Don’t talk that way,” Victor said quietly. How selfish of him, to have felt a prickle of offended pride the first time this had happened. If they couldn’t say an honest “no” to each other when they needed to, it would surely be a poor relationship.

“Please, Victor, just…just hold me?” Large brown eyes looked up at him. If only he could wash the pain away, too.

“I’d love to. Come here.” Victor clasped Yuuri to him, kissing into his hair, and daring the heavens themselves to make him let go.

* * *

Yuuri wasn’t sure what dragged him out of the half-dreams punctuated by spells of vague awareness. Perhaps he’d done it himself, fighting his way out of the fog, knowing if he could only regain full consciousness that the shadows of a man assailing him with a sword, or a black-clad woman aiming a laser gun at him, would finally lift. For a while. Another in a line of broken nights; he doubted he’d got much actual sleep, and felt like he’d had none. And it had to be the middle of the night still; there was no light coming through the window, though the sun rose early these days.

_Only monks are up at this time of night, _he thought as he sat up in bed, listening to Victor’s soft rhythmic breaths; he was lying on his back without a care on his beautiful face, his fringe flopping onto the pillow. _Monks and people with duels to fight._

_You’re just going to have to get this over with, and it’ll be one outcome or the other. No amount of worrying or feeling sorry for yourself is going to help, Yuuri Katsuki. _But these thoughts weren’t going to lull him back to sleep. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be lulled, if the dreams he’d been having were waiting to resume.

_I wonder what _Okasan_ and _Otousan_ would think. If they’re watching me now. Will…will I be joining them soon? Leaving Mari on her own? But I’ve already done that. _He fought the impulse to cry; he’d done enough of it the past day. Including when Victor had tried to make love to him. How embarrassing; how horrible. But Victor had been good about it. He’d been so supportive all this time. And if he died, it would break Victor’s heart.

A tear insisted on sliding down a cheek. He wiped it away with a finger, sniffed, and tried to fill his head with the pageantry he’d witnessed surrounding the king. His fairytale-style ermine robes, and those of his queen. The colourful clothes and gleaming armour of his court, and the ridiculous way everyone fawned over him. The entertainers at the meal, the fancy dishes – and live blackbirds in a pie? The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals would have had something to say about that.

When his thoughts moved from there to the argument he and Victor had had on the hill, his heart fluttered and he felt sick. And yet maybe it had served a purpose, in a way. He’d been picked at Phichit for inadvertently telling Victor about the death of Henry Percy. Though it had also given him a taste of what it was like to know these things about not one but many people, and to have to stop yourself from trying to prevent their fates; not knowing what it would do to the timestream, to how the future was meant to unravel. And then dedicating your heart to doing the opposite thing anyway for that one person you loved so much that you no longer gave a damn about time or rules or whatever the hell else might stand in the way. Only to find you _couldn’t _change his fate, though you never lost hope and stopped trying. Well, Victor wasn’t aware of that part of it, but he seemed to suspect.

Yuuri looked down at his sleeping form. _What did you expect me to say to you? Do you want to find out that you’re supposed to die in a few months, or tomorrow? Wasn’t it bad enough learning what’s going to happen to your friend, Harry Hotspur?_

They both said they trusted each other. But it appeared that the knowledge Yuuri had, or had access to via Phichit, was turning out to be more of a problem between them than he’d realised.

_I’ll get through today. Then I’ll see how I feel about all this. But I can’t just sit here the rest of the night. I’m not waking Victor up again for more comfort, either. I’ve been giving him enough to deal with as it is._

He stood, padded over to the table in his braies and nightshirt, took a candle, and lit it from the embers in the grate. The tiles were cool under his feet, the rugs soft, and the floorboards made little creaks as he went into his own room and checked the time on his clock.

_Ten past three. Why is it always three in the morning when these things happen? _

He sat down in a chair at the table, placing the candle in front of him and listening to the quiet tick-tocks as he called Phichit over his com.

“Yuuri,” he answered in a sleepy voice. “Is everything OK?”

“No,” Yuuri answered, his voice breaking the stillness of the room as he watched the dancing flame. “I have to fight a duel to the death in about twelve hours. I…couldn’t sleep.”

“Is there some way you could knobble this jack beforehand? I don’t know, make him sick, have a dog run off with his armour?”

“I’m gonna have to fight him, Phichit. It’s what Victor’s been preparing me for; it’s what I have to do. I just…” He paused, feeling the tears threaten again. Phichit waited for him to carry on. “I just wanted to say goodbye. In case…you know. I mean, I’ll still leave my com on for you tomorrow when the king’s around, if you want. But while I’ve got the chance to talk to you like this now…”

“Sure. Look, do you want me to see if I can get hold of Mari?”

Yuuri thought, then replied, “No, there’s no need. I guess…” He took a shuddering breath. “I guess I just needed to say these things. I, um, I’m sorry it’s the middle of the night.”

“No problem, Yuuri,” Phichit said in a quiet voice. “I wish I could help.”

“You already have. All this time, everything you’ve done. It’s been above and beyond being an assistant on my mission.” A tear fell onto the table. “You’ve been a real friend, Phichit.”

After a pause, Phichit said, “Hey, thanks. And anyway, I expect to be hearing from you past three p.m. today. And lots of times afterward. I’ll still be here after you’ve kicked Ailis’s arse, too. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“OK.” Yuuri gave a little laugh through his tears. “I…I’d better let you get some sleep. Good night.”

“Night, Yuuri. You try to sleep too, OK?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri cut the call.

A pale shape approached the doorway and remained there. Yuuri turned to see Victor, clad in night clothes like himself, blinking with heavy lids, though his gaze was steady.

“Victor. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t – I woke up and noticed you were gone.” He came forward and stood next to Yuuri, resting a hand on his shoulder. “And I’m your Vitya. Always.”

Yuuri looked down at the table, running his finger along a shallow scratch. “I…I know.”

“Come to bed, my love. Phichit’s advice was good – you need to sleep.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Let me hold you?”

Yuuri sat silently for a moment. Then eventually he nodded and stood – and was quickly in Victor’s arms again. Warm, solid. Yuuri rested his head in the crook of his neck, and his thoughts fell away.

It was only when he had to resist the urge to fall asleep where he was standing that he felt Victor guide him to move; and his feet shuffled over the wood, the rugs, the tiles, and back to bed, where he knew no more.


	115. Your Future, Your Future I Would Tell to You (Part 15)

Victor blinked into the dim room, lit by cracks of sunlight around the shutters. He’d awoken once with the dawn, but nodded off for another hour or so before deciding it was time to wake Yuuri. His love had only slept for a short while, and he surely needed the rest, but Victor could imagine the consequences of allowing him a late start to the morning, the anxiety flashing into those brown eyes when Yuuri realised he didn’t have the time he expected to prepare for the duel.

And those feelings could be contagious. Victor had been marshalling his thoughts along a narrow track – that Yuuri was going to display his skill and courage today for everyone to see, and dispatch the shadows of worry that had been hanging over him for months. Any other outcome was unthinkable…though Victor’s imagination still slipped in that direction from time to time, and was tempted to do so again now.

_He’s going to fight, and live._

Victor himself, on the day of a duel, would go about his normal business, rest if he could, eat a hearty meal, and engage his mind with other things. But Yuuri had insisted he wanted to spar this morning before Victor went to attend to the king. He must know his body would make no further improvements today, apart from being fed, though mental and emotional preparation would continue until the moment the duel began.

Victor stroked Yuuri’s arm gently over the material of his shirt, recalling the endearing way his love had sagged in his arms in the night and allowed himself to be led back to bed, where he’d finally dropped into a solid doze. Feeling a bit like a watchful mother bird, Victor had nevertheless been keen to satisfy himself that Yuuri was all right before he drifted back off himself. He wished he didn’t have to wake him now.

“Yuuri, my sweet, it’s time to get up,” he said, and was answered by slow stirrings and a groan. He shook Yuuri’s shoulder lightly, then more firmly, and finally met the bleary gaze of a brown eye peeking open.

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmured with a small smile. And Victor knew the instant Yuuri remembered what today was and what he had to do, because both eyes widened and he quickly sat up. “Shit,” he breathed.

“Easy, my love.” Victor kissed into his hair and stroked a cheek. “Let me take care of you this morning.” He got up and went to the door; Julia had left them a tray of food and drink in the hall as Victor had requested, which he brought inside and put on the table. Yuuri pulled himself from under the covers, raking his hair with a hand, and sat down in a chair with a distant look.

“Eat what you can,” Victor said gently. “You’ll need your strength.”

Yuuri took this in, then nodded. After draining a cup full of thin beer, he had a sop, though he was obviously struggling to force it down. While he did this, Victor shaved.

“Would you like me to shave you?” he asked when he was content with what he saw in the mirror.

Yuuri finished his drink and seemed to consider this, then nodded again, joining him by the pitcher and basin and looking at him quietly. Victor gave him a fond grin as he rubbed the rose-scented oil onto Yuuri’s stubbled face. Then he wiped his hands and began slow, smooth strokes with the razor. “Tilt your head up, my love, so I can get at your chin.”

“You’re good at that,” Yuuri commented.

“How do people shave in the future, then?” Victor asked as he worked, rinsing the razor in the water in the basin and wiping it with a cloth.

“All sorts of ways. You get special shaving foam. The razors can be blades on a handle, or electric; there are even robotic ones that’ll move over your face while you’re sitting or lying still.”

“If I didn’t know you as I do, I’d insist you were teasing me,” Victor laughed. “I can hardly imagine such a thing.”

“What _I _couldn’t imagine when I first got here was how to do what you’re doing now, with that blade. Emil had to show me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I kept cutting myself until I got the hang of it – which to be honest, I’m still not sure I have. Fortunately, with my projector on, nobody saw.”

Victor stared at him. “You mean underneath Justin’s face, there was your own wounded one?” When Yuuri nodded, he huffed a laugh. “Incredible. And I never knew. I wish I had. Oh Yuuri, I wish I’d known all about you from the moment you arrived.”

“What would you have done, if you knew who I really was but didn’t…didn’t know _me_?”

Victor thought about this as he resumed shaving. “I suppose we would’ve got to know each other by a different route. But the outcome would’ve been the same.”

Yuuri’s eyes brightened. “You think so?”

“I do. I’d fall in love with you in any time, anywhere. I very much doubt I could resist.”

Yuuri stood quietly while Victor finished shaving him, then wiped the cloth over his face with care and placed it next to the basin – and the next thing he knew, Yuuri’s lips were pressing against his own. Fingers caressed his cheeks and ran gently through his hair. It was soft, warm, deep, lingering; like glowing coals rather than a fickle flame. Victor’s arms circled around Yuuri’s waist. If only they could do this forever. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri said, giving him an earnest look. “Whatever happens today, I love you. So much. I – I’m grateful every day for the time we’ve had together.” His hand on Victor’s cheek faltered. “I – ”

Victor raised a finger to Yuuri’s lips. “I love you too, my dearest. And there will be plenty of time to come.”

Yuuri stared, then took Victor’s hand and kissed the tops of his fingers tenderly, sending a shiver up his arm. A silent statement of resolve before facing the day – or a goodbye? Or both? The moment hung between them, and Victor allowed it to do so, knowing that if they shared their feelings more openly, they might both struggle to find their courage.

“You expressed a wish to spar this morning,” he said eventually.

“Yes. If you can spare the time – ”

“Always, for you. And I have an idea. Let’s get dressed, and then I’ll show you.”

Victor decided he was not going to continually change his clothes just to appear in front of the king. Ordinary brown hose and boots, with a red tunic embroidered in gold, would be suitable underneath his armour. If that was acceptable for John of Gaunt, Henry, Edward and the others, it would be acceptable for him. Yuuri donned similar attire, though he chose the blue cotehardie that hugged his figure. Victor loved peeling it off of him.

_Tonight. I’ll look forward to that. If he can stay awake, that is. What a terrible choice, making passionate love with him or encouraging him to catch up on his sleep. Though one could always follow the other._

On their way out of the castle, Victor envisioned a relaxed, unrestrained Yuuri fresh from victory, no longer with this confounded duel before them, all to himself. But before he got too excited by this, he brought his thoughts back down to earth. Yuuri had told him what he needed – comfort and understanding after he dispatched Tyler. He’d never killed before. Victor knew it didn’t get easier, either, not in one’s heart. Yes, he’d make sure his love felt secure and rested; that was the most important thing. Other pleasures would have their place when he was ready.

Once at the bottom of the castle hill, Victor took them toward the arena. Yuuri obviously realised where they were headed, but said nothing. When they arrived, it was as Victor had expected: the flags and banners were flying, the stands gleaming with fresh white paint, while several tents stood along the inside of the circular barrier. Preparations for today’s activities here must have been well underway the day before, but no one had yet arrived to continue them. They would have the place to themselves, along with their squires – who, Victor was pleased to note, were leaning against the barrier waiting for them, stacks of armour at the ready. 

“I thought we’d spar here this morning,” he said as they approached the wooden gate. “So you’ll hopefully feel more familiar with it when you return later. You’ll have to imagine the stands filled with people. They’ll boo and cheer because they’ll view a duel as entertainment.”

“I remember,” Yuuri said quietly.

Of course he did. Presumably the last time he’d been here, it had been to compete against Julia. But right now, Victor suspected he was thinking back to the moment he’d arrived and been confronted by a baying crowd and a knight trying to kill him. It seemed impossible to imagine a time when Victor had looked upon Yuuri in his disguise as Justin with anything other than love.

They went inside and greeted their squires. Victor allowed Julia to dress him in his armour, and Yuuri let himself be dressed by his squire for once as well.

“Emil and I were permitted to serve in the lord’s chambers last night,” Julia said as she worked. “I told him that as you didn’t require our services, you were keen to lend two talented and diligent men for his assistance and his majesty’s.”

“Did you?” Victor raised an eyebrow. “That was a rather brazen thing to announce, even if it’s true.”

“She phrased it rather more artfully,” Emil said with a smile as he tied Yuuri’s breastplate in place. “But it did enable us to keep watch, as you requested.”

“It was well done, and thank you. So were there any results?”

“Only in the sense that nothing happened which we felt we needed to report,” Julia replied as she tied a rerebrace to his upper arm. “I mainly watched the lady. She and her majesty the queen were embroidering along with their ladies-in-waiting. Who, I would add, have the most appallingly superior attitude – ”

“Julia,” Emil said, “I’m not sure the masters desire to hear about such things. The women’s positions are privileged, after all, as they attend to their charges.”

Victor couldn’t help a brief grin as her expression darkened for a moment. She continued, “Anyway, there was much talk about the week’s entertainments. I think just about every troupe in the three ridings of the county, and many from further afield, will be performing. Master Everard has outdone himself with planning for it all, I have to say. Did you know we’re even going to have _fireworks_ the night before the king departs? I’ve never seen them before – ”

“And I take it my mother is safe and well?” Victor asked.

“Yes, master. I checked on her this morning also.”

“Don’t be obvious about it.”

“I’m not, sir. I helped to bring food after I brought yours.”

“And I served the lord and his majesty,” Emil added. “I felt honoured to do so. Many esteemed personages came and went. There was no sign of anything awry.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Victor said. “I think you can relax in your duties the rest of the day, since I’ll be in the company of my family and the king much of the time.” As Julia buckled on his sword belt, he said to Yuuri, “Ready, then?” He nodded. It didn’t sit well with Victor, this grim silence of his; it wasn’t like him. But perhaps it was what he needed in order to remain calm and focused. He was certain he saw a flinty determination in his eyes.

What could he could do for Yuuri now? They’d come to the arena to prepare him for this particular setting, and he considered advice and strategies he might share, then began to do so. Spoke about the state of the ground – no worries about slipping on the short dry grass, which had obviously been scythed recently, so Yuuri should be able to rely on his footholds. It was quite warm today, with sunny spells. “Don’t allow yourself to be blinded if the sun emerges from behind a cloud,” he said. “Remember where it is, no matter which direction you’re facing.” He reminded Yuuri to wipe the sweat away from his forehead when he got the chance, before it ran into his eyes and stung. Perhaps he’d said similar things during their training sessions before; it was difficult to remember. But there was no harm in reinforcing them.

When they sparred, Victor encouraged Yuuri to imagine his surroundings in several hours’ time – the people, the noises; it was vital for him to filter it all out and concentrate on his foe. Yuuri won two more rounds, though Victor wasn’t counting how many they fought. Then they discussed strategy; fortunately, as Victor had sparred with Tyler on numerous occasions, he was able to give advice about the strengths and weaknesses he remembered. Half-swording, which stood out as Yuuri’s best technique so far, ought to serve very well against him, so he should seek to use it at every opportunity. Tyler was also quick to fly into a temper, as he’d already demonstrated to everyone at the castle. Victor knew Yuuri didn’t enjoy hurling insults, but a well-placed word at the right time might be all that was needed to goad Tyler into making a mistake. The man was strong, however, and his mastery of Fiore’s system was admirable; he also knew something of Liechtenauer, so there were likely to be no surprises in relying on that.

“Use your balance and agility,” Victor advised. “Find the flow you have when you perform your drills, like when you fought me on the wheel yesterday. Be fierce, but wary, and take the chances he gives you, for they will be few.”

Yuuri was attentive despite the lack of sleep, and Victor was pleased with his sparring. They spoke and behaved as if the outcome of the duel had already been determined in their favour – the best way, Victor thought, for both of them to pass the remaining time. And Yuuri had the expression and bearing of a formidable opponent.

After a couple of hours, Victor called an end to their practice and sheathed his sword. “I wish I could stay longer,” he said, closing the distance between them. “I must attend to the royal visitors and my father in the great hall. But you’re in good form, and I don’t say that lightly. Eat what you can at dinner; I’ll be there with you. You won’t have to fight on a full stomach, as we’ll be obliged to sit in the stands and watch the afternoon’s entertainment before the duel.” He briefly cupped Yuuri’s cheek. “I don’t want to go, my love, but I must. There’s no reason for you to stop training, though I’d advise you to take it gently and save your strength for later.”

Yuuri nodded. “I’ll work with Emil a while, I think, if he’s willing. It’ll keep my mind off things.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right. Now that the day’s here, it’s like the waiting was the hardest part. It’ll be over in a few hours.” He added with a hard glint in his eyes, “And I’m going to win. Don’t worry about me.”

_If only it were that easy. _Victor kissed his forehead. “Godspeed, my sweet. I’ll see you again soon.” He turned toward the gate, to see Julia scurrying toward him.

“Master,” she said, gasping for breath, “his majesty requests your presence upon pain of death.”

Yuuri’s jaw fell open, and Victor frowned at her. “What’s this?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, sir, that the king was not happy to have seen no sign of you yesterday apart from in greeting and at supper. He said if you didn’t want him to suspect you were shunning him, you must attend his court this morning. I was only just informed, but if he’s made to wait any longer…”

“Jesus,” Yuuri breathed.

Victor clasped his arm briefly. “Just the flighty temperament of a man who’s used to his every whim being granted immediately,” he reassured him, hoping he was indeed correct. “I’ll sort it out, and I’ll see you at dinner.” He gave Yuuri a quick kiss on the cheek, though the concern in those brown eyes was plain to see.

Once they were out of earshot, Victor scowled at Julia as they walked. “Why did you say that in front of Yuuri?”

“It’s not a secret, master. I heard his majesty and the lord discussing it last night, and everyone in the room heard. I explained that you were training one of the participants in today’s duel, and you wanted to ensure it would be a pleasing spectacle to watch.”

“Well, thank you for that. But not for giving Yuuri something else to worry about. My head won’t be rolling down the castle hill just yet; I shall be as attentive as the king desires when we arrive at the great hall, and offer apologies for my neglect of his royal person.”

Julia smiled. “I did hear one thing last night that might be of aid to you, master. He admired the houppelande you were wearing yesterday, and was asking his advisers what they thought such volumes of vibrant blue material would cost.”

“A small fortune would be the answer, I imagine,” Victor replied as they passed through the gate. “Camlet dyed with indigo, imported from Baghdad. It was a gift from my father upon being knighted, and as he anticipated, it doesn’t fail to impress.”

“Perhaps we could find Master Steggles and see if he has any rich material you could present to his majesty as a gift. That might sweeten his mood.”

Victor looked at her. “You have a shrewd mind, squire mine. That’s a capital idea.”

Before they made their way down the hill, Victor turned to take a last glance at the arena, and saw Yuuri leaving with Emil. His heart went out to him. That was where he himself needed to be, not pandering to the vanity of a man who meant nothing to him. However, that man also had the power to end his life if he felt offended enough, or at the very least to make things difficult for his family.

_Godspeed, my love._

“So,” he said lightly to Julia, “I hope your feet can cope with standing in the great hall all morning.”

“I hope yours can, sir; for I’ll be given tasks and won’t be idle.”

“Cheeky monkey,” Victor said with a smirk as they walked down the path.

* * *

“Black sauce, Victor? Galantyne? Puree of peas? They’re all very tasty over the goose. Your cook must be one of the finest in the land; take care the king doesn’t decide to poach him from you.”

Victor gestured to the bowl of tart, spicy galantyne, marking the minutes until the end of the meal. Harry passed it to him, and he spooned some of the rich bread sauce over the chunks of meat on his plate, then stared at them. He was beginning to understand how Yuuri could be robbed of his appetite so easily; Victor thought his love had actually eaten more than him this time.

He and Julia had eventually located Percy, who had been delighted to help him select the fabric to give to the king. Victor decided it best that it come out of his own stores, and in the end they decided on several ells of bright red velvet. It was a sorry loss, but Victor was wearing a variety of it even today, so it was no great hardship to part with, he supposed. The king had warmed to him upon receiving it, and they’d talked at length about life at the castle, and hunting. But Victor would rather have kept the material.

In addition to this admittedly minor annoyance were his concerns about the duel that afternoon, of course. And about Yuuri’s state of mind, though he seemed outwardly to be coping well, despite being very quiet. On top of it, however, Matt had decided to sit Harry next to him. Yuuri had given Victor a look of sympathy when he’d arrived. It was impossible to break bread and chat with the man and avoid thinking about his fate and wishing he could reverse it somehow. _Why will_ _you lead rebellions against the next king? _Victor thought as he watched him chew, drink, and laugh at the comedy players performing in the middle of the room. _What do you hope to gain from it, if you’re at the height of your career, as Phichit said? What makes you believe it’s worth the risk to your family? To yourself? Why, Harry, why? _

The play came to an end and the audience clapped. Julia cut a slice of duck breast for both himself and Harry, and they spooned more sauce over it. Harry speared the meat with his knife and took a bite. “I understand Sir Justin, there, is a protégé of yours,” he said conversationally. “It’s an honour to fight before the king.”

Victor, who had speared his own piece of meat, lowered it back to his plate. “It’s to the death, Harry. A waste of a life.”

“Then let’s hope it’s Tyler’s, eh?” he chuckled. “What think you, Justin?” he called across Victor. “Are you prepared to give us a good show this afternoon?”

_Don’t antagonise him. And Tyler is at the end of the table, waiting to be stirred up. _Yuuri was struggling to think of a response, and Victor got one in first. “Of course he’s ready; he’s been training for months. How much wine have you had?”

Glancing at his goblet as if he’d forgotten it was there, Harry took a healthy draught. “No more than I normally have, why? This hypocras may be the best I’ve ever tasted. And surprisingly strong. Mind the king doesn’t poach your butler as well, my friend. You’ll have no staff left at this rate.” He took another drink, then nibbled at the duck on his knife. “I’ve heard tell, Justin,” he said loudly, “it’s best to aim for the codlings. I can’t say I’ve done it myself, but I imagine it’s a rather distracting blow.” He smiled, and several men around them laughed.

“Harry, remember yourself,” Victor said to him. _I can imagine now why you might make poor choices, if there’s enough drink in you. _He couldn’t recall having seen Harry in this mood before, but they’d always drunk together in the past, and he supposed that was why; he’d touched little of his own drink today. “Have a care,” he added. “He’s going to be risking his life.”

“Exactly,” Harry replied, raising a finger for emphasis. “Exciting, is it not? He’s had instruction from the best knight in England. We both know you are; don’t try to deny it, though you’ve hidden your light from the king lest he notice you. I can’t say I’ve ever understood it myself, but if that’s your way, then so be it.”

A cold shiver ran through Victor as he looked down the table at the king. Had he heard? But he appeared to be deep in conversation with an adviser beside him. Victor slumped in relief. _I am never hosting a royal progress again, _he swore to himself as he distracted Harry by appearing to become suddenly fascinated with the sweetmeats being brought to them on silver platters. _If my father insists that they come a second time – which I doubt, given the cost to our purse – I’ll make sure Yuuri and I are far away._

He took several pieces of the almond-milk and rose jelly that were offered to him and put one on Yuuri’s plate, holding his gaze. Yuuri picked it up and nibbled at it, staring soberly back before looking down. Emil said they’d left the arena for the training field, where they’d exercised and performed sword drills until the fighting men from the royal progress had arrived, and then Tyler himself. Not desiring a confrontation, Yuuri had gone on a run before attending the meal. Victor placed a hand on his thigh underneath the tablecloth, and was heartened to feel Yuuri’s fingers close over his own. There was little they could say to each other in this company, but for now it was enough.

When the meal finally concluded, the guests arose and began to file out of the room, Victor and Yuuri not far behind the king and others of rank; they would be heading toward the arena. Yuuri strolled past the tables of curious onlookers with quiet dignity, his jaw set firmly as he stared straight ahead.

Victor suspected he was the only one who’d seen it tremble.


	116. Chapter 116

“Why can’t I serve you, master?” Julia asked in obvious disappointment. Victor and Yuuri were standing with their squires against the barrier inside the arena, and he’d just explained to her that no one was allowed in the royal box apart from the hosts, the king and queen, and their chosen guests and servants.

“This isn’t a meal,” he told her. “You had your opportunity in the great hall, but I’m expected to sit with my family and the king, and Yuuri is coming with me. The knights and squires will be in a separate group. You can complain to Master Everard if you dislike his method of organisation, but I’d strongly advise against it. You’ll be serving me again at supper.” He looked at Emil. “And you’ll serve Yuuri. I also have a request – will you allow me to act as his squire on this occasion, so that I can escort him to the tent when the time comes?”

Surprise crossed Yuuri’s face – and he gave him one of the smiles that had been so rare these past few days.

“Of course, my lord,” Emil replied without demur.

Yuuri stepped forward, facing him. “If I don’t…” His voice trailed off, and he began again. “It’s been a privilege to know you, Emil. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’d have been lost without you.” Eyes bright, he gave Emil a hug.

The squire’s shock quickly melted away, and he huffed a little laugh, clapping Yuuri’s back. “The privilege has been mine, sir.”

Yuuri moved to Julia next, but she spoke first. “We’ll see you at supper, sir, so I’m not sure what the fuss is about.” Her expression was passive, though the catch in her voice belied it. “But…thank you. For saving me in York, and…and allowing me to assist you at the cottage and placing your trust in me. It’s been extraordinary, sir. It’s no disgrace to have been beaten by you in the competition we had. And…” She sniffed quickly. “…you’re going to win today.”

“Of course I am,” Yuuri said, clasping her in a hug. “You’ve got so much ahead of you. Make your own life extraordinary.”

When Yuuri pulled away, Victor saw awe on Julia’s face. It didn’t seem right that Yuuri was speaking to them as if he were walking toward his death – and yet it _was _right, somehow, and Victor’s heart was moved by it. He was also conscious of the stares they were receiving, though anyone who thought about it would understand what they were doing and why. “We’ll see you both again shortly,” he said to the squires; and they bowed, their gazes lingering, before they left to join the other knights and squires further along in the stands.

“Shall we be seated?” Victor said. Yuuri looked at him as if waking from a dream, then nodded silently and followed him to the royal box. The carved wooden chair that served as the seat of honour in the great hall had been transported here for the king, and Andrei sat to his right, while next to them were the queen and Natalia. John of Gaunt and Edward sat behind them, and the only seats left were the ones directly in front of the royal couple. Yuuri’s eyes widened when he saw this, but he followed Victor’s cue and bowed low.

“This is one of the duellists I mentioned before, sire,” John told the king.

“Ah yes,” Richard said, eyeing him up and down. “I can’t remember the name.”

“Sir Justin Courtenay of Stanebeck,” John supplied for him as Victor straightened and Yuuri did the same. They both looked directly at the king.

“And something about a rose.”

“I’m called Sir Justin la Rose, your royal majesty,” Yuuri answered in the calm, quiet voice Victor remembered from their meeting with the duke and the archbishop in York.

“And this is because – ?”

“He’s proved himself many times over to be the very flower of chivalry, your royal majesty,” Victor said with some pride, trying not to overdo it.

“Really?” The king raised an eyebrow. “I understand your father, Baron Stanebeck, is not fond of my host family. It seems they took his lands away from him. Were you a chattel in this deal, by any chance?”

“I’m here of my own free will, your royal majesty,” Yuuri answered. “I’ve been given permission to return to my father’s castle if I so desired, but my place is here now.”

“How curious. You know you can speak freely with me, my good fellow. If these people are holding you here against your will, I would hear of it. I can’t say I’m overly fond of one of my barons confiscating the lands of another.” Next to him, Andrei’s face paled.

“The Nikiforovs have allowed my family to continue to oversee their former estate,” Yuuri answered. “There’s been little change for them. And I consider myself to be a knight of the Nikiforovs, at their command. I have no complaints about my treatment. In fact, they’ve generously given me a new squire and plenty of training. I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else.”

Victor fought the urge to smile. The king seemed impressed by this. “I see,” he said. “Interesting. And how come you to fight a duel to the death here today?”

After a pause, Yuuri said, “I…Sir Tyler believed I insulted him.”

“Did you?”

“Um, yes. I called him nice.”

The king burst out laughing. “Is that all?”

“Yes, your royal majesty.”

“What a temperamental fellow this Sir Tyler is. I know his father the duke; I wouldn’t have believed his son was such a hothead to be thus offended. Why, I was entertained by a flyting contest during my supper just two weeks back. And _those _were insults.” He shook his head and chuckled. “So this is a contest of honour. Well, for your sake, I hope you’re vindicated, la Rose. You sound a decent sort of chap. Give me a good fight, won’t you. And while you’re here, you’re welcome to partake of any dainties that are served. They may be the last thing you ever eat, my good man.” He smiled and gestured for a hovering servant to fill his goblet, then waved once to Yuuri and Victor. Victor sat, and Yuuri sank into the chair next to him. He was maintaining his composure, but Victor saw him swallow and close his eyes for a long moment.

“You’ve just made an ally of my father,” Victor said quietly. “He won’t forget what you said.”

Yuuri glanced at him with the ghost of a grin.

The entertainment began shortly afterward, once the setting to a play was quickly assembled and John Burbage of the Fulford Players had appeared in the arena. Victor recalled him from York and was pleased the troupe had been able to come, though the last thing he was in the mood for right now was sitting through a performance. Yuuri, motionless in his chair, appeared to share the sentiment.

_The Play of the Green Dales _was as Victor remembered, though it had been polished in the weeks since he’d first seen it. His eyes followed the movements of the actors, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Glancing down, he realised he’d been fidgeting with his signet ring. It had been his comfort and his sorrow these past two years, clinging to his finger as he bore the memories and the loss.

Which, he realised, his love for Yuuri had gone some way toward healing. That ache of loneliness was gone now. Victor wished he could reach out and hold his hand, but it would be a dangerous action for them both while the king sat behind them. Instead, he looked at Yuuri and gave him a warm smile. At first he either didn’t see it, or ignored it. Eventually, however, he turned his head, met Victor’s gaze for a moment, then turned away again, looking down with the tiniest smile of his own. _I wish I were anyplace other than here, _he seemed to be saying. _But at least I’m with you. _

As he continued to brush his thumb across the bottom of his ring, Victor thought about how this man had not only eased his loneliness, but helped him to come to terms with Alex’s death. It had been bedding down, like a new garden over winter, finding a permanent and accessible place in his heart. _You did this for me, Yuuri, _he mused, feeling warm inside as he slanted another glance at him. _You. Thank God you came to me and helped me change for the better. You’re the spring sun on the snows of winter. I know you never would have seen yourself that way, and maybe you’d think it silly, but it’s true. _

_And I might soon lose you. _

The wave of sorrow that swept through him was brief but agonising. Victor stared at the play before him, willing his mind to concentrate on it until he felt calm again, determined to give no indication that anything was amiss.

_He’s going to win. I’ve trained him well. Any other outcome is inconceivable._

The king’s servants bustled around the royal box, topping up drinks and offering delicacies. Victor and Yuuri both had goblets full of cider, though they drank little. Silver trays passed under their noses laden with strawberry tarts and whipped cream, slices of almond-milk flan, honey cakes, cubes of Italian cheese with smoked spiced meats, pieces of flatbread smeared with cream cheese and caviar or quince paste, and other things besides. Victor took a little of the food and so did Yuuri, though he suspected in both their cases it was more with the intent of avoiding offence to the king than because they wanted to eat. They’d finished dinner not long before, but Victor knew the indulgences would carry on all day. He wondered with a stab of anger what the king would fancy filling his gut with while Yuuri was fighting for his life. 

At the end of the play, the troupe formed a line in front of their set and bowed. The king stood to applaud, and everyone else in the audience followed suit. “This means the play’s a success,” Victor leaned over to whisper in Yuuri’s ear. “They’ll have patrons and most probably a full calendar of bookings soon.”

“That’s wonderful. They deserve it.”

As they sat back down, the props were quickly cleared away, and Victor caught sight of horses and gleaming armour waiting on the other side of the barrier outside of the stands. This was the second feature of the afternoon: a re-enactment by the same company that had performed the Saxon-and-Viking spectacle at the Stamford Bridge tournament. This time, however, they were recreating the Battle of Poitiers, the celebrated English victory over the French thirty-seven years ago in which Andrei had fought alongside Richard’s father, Edward the Black Prince. The baron had thought its inclusion in the week’s entertainments a stroke of genius; Victor knew he’d been awaiting this moment eagerly. But he himself only thought of Yuuri, and how watching these men pretend to butcher each other would not be conducive to his current state of mind.

Yuuri followed the proceedings with the same distant, unseeing look with which he’d sat through the play, occasionally taking a sip of cider or a bite of some fancy morsel. It was fair driving Victor to distraction that they couldn’t even talk, not properly. Though the others seated behind them did enough of it, all of them chattering about the real battle and the nobles who had been involved, with a special emphasis on Andrei, of course.

And then finally they were watching the denouement, where the French king surrendered to Edward and was captured along with his son. One of the re-enactors had even taken on the role of the young Andrei, who was awarded his English title and lands with great ceremony. A few pompous speeches ensued, and more standing applause. While the arena was cleared, Victor fingered his ring again, looking to Yuuri from time to time. But he continued to gaze downward, apparently lost in thought, the stiffness of his posture the only indication of what he might be feeling inside. The projection of Justin’s face, perhaps, hid much. 

When a troupe of acrobats entered the arena, Victor knew they would be given leave to go prepare, as the duel was scheduled to take place afterward. The two of them stood and bowed to the king, who told Yuuri he hoped he was in God’s favour today, and then Victor led the way out of the stands to a large red and white striped tent with a blue and gold flag fluttering at the top. Tyler was waiting in a green and white striped one on the other side of the stands; Victor had seen him go inside a short time ago. 

Upon opening the flap, Victor was incensed to discover officials and servants milling about inside. “Leave us,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. They quickly filed out, and he and Yuuri were alone at last.

“You were well-spoken with the king,” Victor told him.

“Thank you.”

“Remember everything we discussed this morning. Play to your strengths and his weaknesses.”

“I know.”

“Do you want a drink? I can – ”

“Victor.” Yuuri looked at him levelly.

“Yes. I – I’m fussing. But let me inspect your armour and sword? I’m briefly your squire, after all.”

Yuuri nodded, and Victor checked that all of the ties around the plates were secure. Yuuri’s blade was also good and sharp. Emil had done a fine job. Of course he would.

“I’m as ready as I’m going to be,” Yuuri said when he was finished.

They stood and gazed at each other. Yuuri had steeled himself for this, and Victor didn’t want to say anything that would erode his resolve. He’d just decided to mention something about what they could do later, because there would _be _a later, when Yuuri lifted his wrist to his mouth. Victor had forgotten Phichit was listening through the com.

“I’m gonna be going out there soon.” He continued to hold Victor’s gaze for a moment as he spoke, then turned away.

“The king was talking to you, I heard it. And…actually, he was kind of a git.”

“Yeah, fancy that,” Yuuri said, huffing a little laugh. “He’s human after all.”

“I wouldn’t say so. Not if things like this duel are what he considers entertainment.”

After a pause, Yuuri said, “Tell Celestino that there are others here who’ll look for Ailis if I don’t make it.”

“Yeah,” came the quiet voice. “We know. Yuuri, I…” There was a pause, and then he continued, “I wish I could be there with you. Watch you do this, cheer you on.”

“No, you don’t. There are certain things you really wouldn’t want to see. Victor’s here; he’s been looking after me.”

“…Good.”

“Take care. Give my love to Mari if…you know.” His voice hitched on the name. Victor had been present earlier when Phichit had put her on so that Yuuri could say a brief goodbye, and she’d expressed a wish to be here as well. The grim irony, Yuuri had confessed to him afterward, was that he was relieved neither of them would be witnessing this.

“Yeah, will do,” Phichit replied. “Good…good luck, Yuuri.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri dropped his wrist and looked at Victor. He felt lost in those eyes. Wanted to grab him and take him someplace far away, where they could both live in peace. Send him back to his home in his own time, even, and go with him, however strange it might be. All of it desperate and impossible. _Have faith in him, _he told himself.

“Victor, my mission…I know I told Phichit. But you’ll try to find Ailis if I die, won’t you? They can’t send anyone else after me.”

Victor felt an anxious flutter in his chest. _No, this isn’t happening. It can’t be. There must be something I can do to stop it. I’m the baron’s son, aren’t I?_

_Let me go out there in your stead. I’ll dispatch him and save you from having to do it, and then this will be over with._

_Apart from having dishonoured you in front of the king and everyone else._

Yuuri was waiting for a response. “I know, my sweet,” he made himself say. “You already have my reassurance, and Julia’s and Emil’s, that we’ll do what’s necessary, if it eases your heart for me to say it. But it’s not something that should trouble you, because – ”

“I’m going to live through this.” He gave a small huff and adjusted his belt.

“You are.”

“If I don’t, though – another thing. Take my com and translator afterward; you’ll be able to use them.”

This stoical acceptance of the possibility of Yuuri’s demise, while perhaps the best thing in the moment, was cutting at Victor’s heart. He was fuming at Tyler for putting them in this situation, and itching to go to him and tell him that if he killed Yuuri, he’d have him to deal with next. And he would mean every single word of it. The king would have some unexpected entertainment, because Tyler would not live to see another dawn.

But he also knew this was the sort of thing Yuuri deplored. He’d told Victor enough about his own time for him to know that a revenge killing would be considered a serious crime; there were no duels which would turn it into a matter of honour. Everything Victor had learned from Yuuri, all those talks they’d had, the amazing things he’d shared…it should count for something.

He knew he needed to speak. Offer advice, encouragement. “Yuuri – ”

“There’s something else you need to know,” he interrupted hastily; the hard look in his eyes had shifted to something more anxious, and there was a waver in his voice. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you, but now…”

Victor stared, his heart pounding. _Another secret. Something to do with me._

“I’ve been checking with Phichit all this time, right up to today, and it’s never changed. No matter what I’ve tried, it never bloody has. And if I’m not here – ”

“You will be.”

“_Listen _to me – please, Victor. If I’m not here, you need to know.”

“What?” Victor whispered, taking a step back before he realised he’d done so.

“The…the date of your death,” Yuuri choked out. “It’s this year.”

Victor’s eyes flew wide and his mouth dropped open.

He’d known. Some small part of him deep inside had known. Known that their time together might be short for reasons other than this duel, or Yuuri returning to the future. Because noblemen appeared in historical chronicles. And Yuuri had always refused to say anything about the Nikiforovs; had brushed the topic aside as if there had been no information available.

But knowing _fully _now…

“God’s bones,” he muttered, his insides turning to ice.

“We don’t know exactly when or how,” Yuuri said, his words tumbling out. “Phichit can’t find any more specific information. I’ve been worried all this year – but it wasn’t something I wanted to burden you with, too. I thought maybe if I did whatever was necessary to change things, I could tell you then, and say you were safe. But it didn’t happen. I – I’m sorry.”

“I…this is a lot to take in.” If he’d been clouted over the head, he’d hardly be more insensible. The duel. This revelation of his impending death. While outside, the crowd was cheering for the acrobats while a fiddler played.

“I didn’t want to have to ask you to go after Ailis either, with or without me, because of this,” Yuuri continued, his brow knitted in concern. “All it would take is a beam from her gun. Victor, whatever you do – _please, _be careful.” He placed a hand on his arm.

_He’s anxious about my reaction. I’m not handling this well. He needs me now. Any of us could possibly die at any time, so what should this be to me? There’s a duel he must fight, and win._

“I’m your trainer,” he said quietly, stuffing his other thoughts down and mirroring Yuuri’s action, though hard cold armour was not what he wished to feel. “That’s all that concerns me now – that you’re ready to fight.”

“You’re also my lover. A-And the most wonderful man in the world.” Yuuri sniffed, blinking back tears. “I love you.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor sighed, gathering him into his arms and cradling the back of his head. The shuddering breaths against his neck were enough for him to know that it had been taking a great deal of effort for Yuuri to put up a brave front. Victor drew away a little, then brushed his tears away with a finger and sought his lips. Yuuri pressed back hard and clasped him tight. “My love,” Victor broke away to murmur into his hair. And again. But this moment couldn’t last; the acrobats outside would finish, and Yuuri had to be ready.

When Victor pulled back, there was a tear on his own cheek that he quickly dashed away. “I’ve given you all the advice I could think of, and I’m not sure there’s anything new to say. But you’ve given me the best.” Yuuri looked at him in curiosity, wiping at his eyes. “_Carpe diem. _I’ll be watching. And waiting.”

Yuuri let a breath out and smiled, eyes bright. “Thank you.”

“They expect me back at the royal box. The king…”

“I understand.”

“Those people I sent out of the tent; they may want to come back in and have a word. About the rules and so on.”

Yuuri nodded.

“My heart stays here with you.” Victor laid a palm on his breastplate. “I love you.” He kissed Yuuri’s forehead gently, then met his gaze. “Remember what I’ve taught you. Go out there and…and kill Tyler.” In a low voice he added, “Go for the throat.” Without waiting to see Yuuri’s reaction, he turned and left the tent, trembling inside and resenting the instant necessity to put on a mask of neutrality for the crowd.

The officials and servants from the tent were gathered round, and he nodded for them to go back in. The acrobats in the arena had formed a pyramid three men high, and the audience clapped.

_I’m going to die this year. _It hit him in the midst of his thoughts about Yuuri as he made his way back to the royal box. 

All the times Yuuri had been so worried about his safety, when Victor thought it had been purely out of love, there was this hidden concern as well. That time he’d discovered Alice Ramsay’s bowl with the mouldy bread and thrown it out the window…And yet Victor had never felt that Yuuri had attempted to coddle him. It must have been a difficult path for him to tread, all alone.

_You should’ve told me. This is something we could’ve endured together. Something I could even have been wary of myself, if I’d known. You can’t protect me from everything, my love, no matter how hard you try._

_Just like I can’t protect you from this duel._

Victor returned in a daze to the royal box. His father was gone, but everyone else was present, their attention fixed on the acrobats. No one paid him any mind as he sat down, the chair next to him large and empty.

_Ridiculous king. _A dart of anger shot through him, and he waved away servants bearing food and drink. _Insisting I sit up here with you, and for what? I could’ve stayed with Yuuri._

He leaned back in his chair, fingers alighting on his breastplate where his locket lay tucked underneath. As the vivid colours of the acrobats’ costumes swam down below in the arena, his thoughts flitted between times and places far away, and the man in the red and white striped tent preparing to fight for his life – and for everything the two of them held dear.


	117. Chapter 117

Yuuri had never meant to tell Victor. But while they’d been together here in the tent, he realised he had to. Maybe Victor had the power to change his own fate, if he himself hadn’t managed it. He could hope.

_I’m alone now, _he thought as he stood toward the back of the tent, watching castle officials file inside holding scrolls and talking among themselves. He knew that wasn’t true, though. Victor was out there. And Julia and Emil. He could call Phichit on the other end of the com. But none of them could fight this duel for him. He had to make a success of it himself.

_There are no successes in a fight to the death. Someone will die, and the other person will be responsible._

His stomach sank into his sabatons as he removed his gauntlets from his purse and put them on, contemplating what he was about to do, and Victor’s parting words. _I love you. Go for the throat. _He remembered what it had been like to thrust his sword into the boar’s carcase; reminded himself of what he was fighting for.

_For you, Victor. For both of us._

Matthew Everard entered the tent with two servants, who fetched a heavy yellow cape trimmed in gold from a chest and draped it over his shoulders; it stood out against his forest-green robes. Then they brought him a matching yellow hat with a wide brim and something that looked like an ostrich plume waving from the side. Once they’d fixed it at a jaunty angle, he approached Yuuri with the same indifferent air he used when he told guests at a meal where to sit.

“Sir Justin, good afternoon. Just a few guidelines I must make you aware of before the event commences. Sir Tyler has declared this to be a duel to the death, and he’s remained firm on the point. Do not attempt to offer mercy, and expect none. The weapons are your swords and your bodies, nothing more.” He coughed into his hand and resumed. “I’ve also been asked to remind you that you will be expected to put in an honest effort. Do not attempt to run away, or you will face severe punishment on the morrow, if you live to see the rest of the day.”

Yuuri listened with a show of quiet dignity, though his blood was racing.

“I might add, on a more personal note, that you’ve become an asset to the castle, and it would be a shame to lose you today. May God smile upon you and be on your side.” He coughed again.

“Thank you, Master Everard.”

The steward turned away and coughed once more, seemingly finished with what he had to say; one of his servants brought him a drink in a silver cup, from which he took a long draught. Yuuri gripped the hilt of his sword, listening to another song start up for the acrobats. He had a little more time yet, then.

“I can’t believe I’ve come down with this confounded cough again,” he heard Matthew saying over the background chatter. Another bug that had eluded the nanobots, then. “But thank God I still have life left in me after that terrible illness. I feared I’d never live to see this day, or others.”

A man in a white coif next to him responded, “Some say it was borne by the wine at supper the night before, somehow, though I don’t see how such a thing can be.”

“Indeed? How absurd. I know of at least one person who never touched it and still caught the plague – or, rather, the mystery illness.” He glanced at the closed tent flap. “They do carry on, those performers, don’t they?”

“They’re a great success, sir. I believe they’re on their third encore.”

“Ensure there are none after this, won’t you? We have a schedule to keep to. There’s a good fellow.”

Yuuri watched the man exit the tent, and wrinkled his brow. Now that he thought about it, he’d never asked Matthew who he’d seen drinking at the meal. He stepped forward, and the steward looked at him in mild surprise.

“Sir Justin – is there something you require?”

“I couldn’t help but overhear just now. Who didn’t drink the wine but still got ill?”

Seemingly bewildered that Yuuri was interested in this at such a moment, Matthew shrugged and replied, “I was sitting next to Sir Victor and the lady that night. She urged us to drink the wine, saying it had an uncommonly smooth flavour for something so weak, though I must confess I marked nothing out of the ordinary about it. What’s more, a goblet had been poured for her, but I didn’t see her touch it, and it was full to the brim at the end of the meal. I thought it a bit odd at the time, but there’s no accounting for people’s foibles, is there? She was quite deep in conversation with her chief lady-in-waiting, who’d been allowed to sit next to her in the baron’s absence, and perhaps was so distracted that she completely forgot about the drink. Mistress Shaw might have given her a taste beforehand; the lord and lady sometimes sample and help to select the drinks for the meals.”

The blood drained out of Yuuri’s face.

“I have an uncommonly good recall of details,” Matthew continued with some pride. “I could tell you what everyone near me at meals ate and drank and said to me for the past week at least. It’s a valuable asset to my job.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said quietly, moving to an empty corner of the tent and realising he’d forgotten to breathe.

Didn’t drink the wine, but still got ill. Or pretended to be ill? But Ailis would be safe to drink it, so why wouldn’t she?

Maybe because the thought of drinking liquid contaminated with plague bacteria disgusted her, despite the fact that she knew she was immune. Yuuri felt sure he wouldn’t do it himself, either.

Then again, it was possible that Lady Nikiforov had caught the plague from someone else. It was certainly contagious.

_Think, Yuuri, think. This could be shaky ground you’re walking on. It’s flimsy evidence. Of all the women here, surely the baroness is the unlikeliest one for Ailis to be impersonating._

He glanced around the tent. Matthew was reviewing a scroll with one of the clerks. The acrobats were still performing – but for how long? He needed more time.

_Unlikely, maybe. Possible, though. But Victor would have noticed if anything seemed odd about her – wouldn’t he? _

_He doesn’t see her that often. They’re not exactly a close-knit family. What loving parents would send their only son into duels to win money and lands for themselves?_

Would the pieces to the puzzle fit if he tried them? She had access to a horse, as well as time during the day to ride out and shoot pheasants, and to visit her lab without being missed. Had seemingly been so concerned about Ethelfrith’s wellbeing that she and her ladies-in-waiting had gone to sit with her after her “funny turn” in the sickroom, which meant she’d been there to possibly administer dwale or whatever else had likely been added to the laundress’s drink.

She would have known about the passageway under the library – Victor said his whole family did – and therefore could have made it her chief means out of and back into the castle when she wanted to remain unseen, for example when she needed to dispose of the bodies of Dr. Croft, Dr. Quincey and Arthur. Then she was ostensibly the person who’d been given the busted com that was shown at the meal; but if it had been in her possession in the first place, it could have been easy to plant in Ingrid Shaw’s room – and hadn’t it been one of her own ladies-in-waiting who’d brought it around the tables at her behest?

“Shit,” Yuuri breathed, his mouth going dry. None of these things on its own was damning enough, but when they were considered together – ? Why hadn’t he thought of her as a possible suspect before?

_Because she’s in such an important, high-profile position that I felt sure someone would have said something, made some comment, circulated gossip about a slip she’d made. Something she ought to know, but can’t recall. Unusual behaviour. A personality change. Anything at all. But then, she’s a genius; she would’ve bent her mind to making sure her disguise has always been convincing. Especially if she had what she’d consider the good luck to end up as the lady of the castle._

_Maybe someone does know something, if I asked the right questions. Like I should have been doing all along._

More clues seemed to fall into place as he thought about them. As the baroness, Ailis could have arranged that fake letter from the Duke of York which had called Andrei away. In case things didn’t go to plan with the poisoned wine, it would ensure that her husband, the source of her security and power, was kept out of harm’s way. In that case, though, why not just inject him with nanobots so that he’d never get ill? Maybe because she wanted him to be vulnerable some other time…if she got tired of him, or wanted to kill him? And faking her own illness would probably have been easy, because so many others at the castle had been genuinely ill that no one would have been likely to examine her too closely.

There were still questions remaining. But it was plausible. God, it really was. The lady herself. She’d have to convince a lot of people, including Andrei – that didn’t even bear thinking about – but she could conceivably pull it off. And what did it mean she was planning for the king? She’d be in a position to do so many things…

_In which case, I’ve been the world’s biggest idiot for getting stuck on herbalists and butlers while the spider herself was sitting right in the middle of the web. Shit, shit, shit._

He realised the tent had gone quiet, and turned to see that Andrei had stepped into the tent to speak with the steward, his burgundy-coloured houppelande almost brushing the ground. Several people, however, were staring at Yuuri.

“Are you all right, sir?” a servant near him asked.

“I, um, was just thinking.” Then he rushed over to the baron.

“…escort his royal majesty and the queen to the solar,” Andrei was saying, “where they can rest until supper. He said he wants to do something more active tomorrow, so – ”

“My lord, I’m sorry to interrupt – ” Yuuri began.

“Eh? Justin.” Andrei turned from the steward to address him. “I hope you don’t intend to beg me to call off the duel.”

Yuuri just looked at him for a moment. He’d never called him by that name before. It had always been “you”, “knight”, “Stanebeck”, or something similar. Then he answered, “No, my lord. I’m ready to fight.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I must say, I had no inkling you were in possession of such a dulcet tongue. Were your words to the king spoken in all honesty?”

“Yes – I’m here to serve you, for as long as I’m able. But I have some urgent questions, if you don’t mind.”

The baron raised a bushy eyebrow in surprise, while Matthew stared. “Now?”

Yuuri nodded. “Can you tell me where the idea for this royal visit came from? Did the king announce he was going to come, or – ”

“What? Why are you asking me such a thing?”

“Please, my lord,” Yuuri pressed. “I…might not have much longer to live, and I was hoping to satisfy my curiosity on a few issues.”

Andrei glanced at the tent flap. “It’ll have to be quick.” He took a breath. “Very well. My wife was most insistent that we invite him, despite the enormous expense and upheaval. It would be politically expedient, she said. In the end, I agreed. Does that satisfy you?”

Yuuri’s thoughts raced. “Thank you. Might this have been last November?”

“Yes, it was.” Dark eyes gazed at him questioningly, and Matthew began to shuffle his stockinged feet.

Yuuri decided he was going to go out on a limb, and said, “It’s just that I’d heard rumours about her ladyship having had…a funny turn, I think they said, at about that time. That she was forgetful and…not quite herself. Maybe suddenly wanting to spend so much money on a royal visit was part of it,” he said with a dismissive little grin.

“People talk too much,” Andrei said in a growl. “Do they have nothing better to discuss? My servants are clearly too idle.” He paused, eyeing Yuuri. “Considering what you’ll be doing in a moment, I’ll humour you, but I’ll entertain no further inane questions about this. Yes, my wife was a trifle unwell for a short spell about then. She said she’d fallen and hit her head. But if you think the royal visit can be attributed to that, I’ll have you know we’re both intelligent people who don’t follow ridiculous spur-of-the-moment notions.”

“You didn’t say the lady had injured herself,” Matthew remarked.

“Was there any reason to spread word of it? She soon felt better. Last thing she needed was a flock of geese fussing over her. She’s Russian, damn it; she can cope with anything.”

Yuuri pressed his hands against the metal faulds over his hips to stop them from shaking. _It’s her. The baroness. And Jesus, the real one’s been lost somewhere in future York all this time. And – and Ailis is sitting next to Victor out there, right now. And the king, and all those important people._

_We thought she wanted to kill the baroness. So if not that, then what? Shit, I need more time!_

“My lord, I need a quick word with Victor, if I may. Or – or his squire, Julius. Emil. Or a messenger – ”

“You were just speaking with him. I believe we’ve had enough distractions for one day.” Yuuri opened his mouth again but Andrei raised his hand. “Enough.”

“The acrobats are leaving the arena, my lord,” Matthew said, peering through the tent flap.

“At last.” The baron continued to look at Yuuri. “Look here, my good knight,” he said in a more formal tone. “It’s obvious how my son favours you, and with him, that usually only means one thing.” He sighed. “I came to accept this long ago, and that he’ll never have a son and heir of his own. The Almighty tests us in mysterious ways, it seems. But I deem that he could do worse in your case.” After another pause, he concluded, “Just don’t bring dishonour to the family you serve. Win or die well, Justin la Rose.” And with that, he exited the tent.

After taking this in for a moment, Yuuri turned to the steward. “Please,” he implored him, “I need to – ”

“You need to follow me, Sir Justin,” Matthew said, lifting the tent flap. “We’re due outside.”

“Give me just a second – that’s all I’m asking for.” _So I can call Phichit. I’ll tell him, and – _

“_Sir_.” Matthew sounded offended, as if he thought Yuuri wanted to hide. “I really must insist.” Holding the flap wide open so that the inside of the tent was visible to part of the audience, Yuuri realised he was out of time. Matthew beckoned for him to go outside, and he reluctantly did so.

Tyler was already standing in the arena, waiting.

Yuuri scoured the crowd. Knights and squires – there they were. Nowhere near the barrier, though; it would be impossible to say anything to them privately. The royal box was even further away. All eyes were avidly upon him.

_Victor, I have to tell you! She’s your mother! You have to know!_

Victor was gripping the arms of his chair, his expression one of surprise and concern as he looked back from the stands. _Shit, he thinks I’m having an anxiety attack or something. No, Victor, I’m all right, I just have to be able to – _

Matthew raised his arms in the air, and a trumpet sounded from near the gate. The audience quietened. “My lords and ladies,” he announced, “I give to you Sir Tyler Beaumont, son of the Duke of Halbrook, Warden of the Middle March…”

_What if I die before I can tell him?_

“…Keeper of the Keys of Bowley Castle, defender of the realm in the Battle of Otterburn and the Siege of Skeldale. And…Sir Justin la Rose of Crowood.” The crowd cheered.

_Another reason why I have to win, then._

“God will smile upon one of you today, my good sirs,” Matthew called out.

Tearing himself away from the distraction of the crowd and his thoughts, Yuuri looked at Tyler. _How the hell can I kill this man? Or anyone? Jesus…_

“What are you staring at?” Tyler spat out, his armour shining silver, grey eyes glinting as he drew his sword. Yuuri drew his in turn.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said.

Tyler snorted. “I thought you’d say something of the kind, you yellow-bellied cur. Come taste your death.”

“Sirs,” Matthew said, stepping back, “not yet, I pray.” He removed his hat and raised it into the air. “Wait for my signal to begin.”

“Victor knew me years before he ever caught sight of you,” Tyler said to Yuuri in a low voice. “I’m only defending what’s mine.”

“He’s not yours. He loves me.”

“A misconception I’ll soon remedy.”

They looked to the steward, who lingered a dramatic moment.

_Shit, this is it, _Yuuri thought, gripping the hilt of his sword. _I have to kill him. _

Matthew swept his hat down low and backpedalled away from them. The crowd yelled encouragement at them both. Yuuri took the woman’s guard, sword over his shoulder, while Tyler took the boar’s tooth guard, blade angled outward from waist level. They began to circle.

_For Victor. For us. _Sweat sprang out on Yuuri’s brow and a shudder rippled through him. _Concentrate, concentrate._

Each struck at the same time, blades flying as guard flowed into guard, hardly seconds apart. They fought fiercely to break a bind, angling and pushing up and down with a force designed to rip the blade out of the other man’s hand or hurl him off balance. A surge of shouts and cheers carried over from the crowd. Yuuri tried not to listen; to bend his mind and his will to this one focus. He hopped back, deciding to waste no more energy on this position, and regrouped. Tyler glowered at him.

_This is just like sparring. I could pretend it is._

_But sparring ends with a touch. There’s only one way this will end, no matter how many touches we get._

Tyler came at him again. Steel rang against steel, and the crowd responded. Yuuri got a gauntleted hand around Tyler’s blade and yanked with all his might. It might have been enough to beat even Victor, but Tyler managed to hang on and pull away with a triumphant smile. Cheers rang through the arena.

_What the fuck am I doing? _Yuuri thought angrily as he took the window guard. _I got distracted by finding out Ailis is the baroness. Now I’m fighting this fucking duel and might not be able to tell anyone before I get killed. That’s what the fuck I’m doing. Think, think…_

He wasn’t quick enough to parry the blow that suddenly came at him, and Tyler’s sword clanged heavily against his shoulder. He might end up with a bruise, but it didn’t matter. Tyler’s weapon flashed again as he attacked. Yuuri fended him off, panic welling up in his chest as his opponent gained the advantage, pushing him back; he heard cries encouraging Tyler to soak the ground with his blood. Yuuri kicked a leg out to unbalance him. Tyler grabbed his foot and yanked, and Yuuri went down on his back with a crash. Gasps from the crowd, and more shouts.

Tyler towered over him. “Make your peace with God now, villain, for you’ll be seeing him soon.”

_Jesus Christ – I’m going to die._

Yet instinct compelled Yuuri to turn his head toward the crowd, and his eyes went instantly to the royal box. Victor was on his feet, though his father behind him was gesturing for him to sit down. He was calling out frantically, hair aglow and armour glinting in the sun.

_My shining angel._

In that impossibly brief moment, a new strength poured into Yuuri’s limbs. When Tyler made a move to kneel and pin him down, his sword high in the air with the point aimed at his throat, Yuuri curled his legs with a jerk, silver-quick, then kicked out at Tyler’s shins. With an angry shout, Tyler toppled and almost fell on top of him, but Yuuri rolled to the side and sprang to his feet. Tyler did the same; the roar of the crowd reached fever pitch, then died back down as the two of them circled once more.

There was a flash of uncertainty in Tyler’s eyes as he took up the middle iron door guard. “You were luck – ” he began, but was cut off when Yuuri sprang at him, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword and the other holding the middle of the blade as he stabbed with it like a spear. A collective cry went up from the audience; Yuuri tuned it out, looking for a way in under the metal shell. _Go for the throat. _He thrust his blade forward and up, aiming for the soft area above the breastplate. Taken by surprise, Tyler got just enough leverage to kick a knee against Yuuri’s waist and propel him off balance.

_Fuck, I thought I had him. _Quickly regaining his footing, Yuuri spun his sword around and held the blade with both hands, levering it like a club and swinging at Tyler’s head. Tyler parried the blow, though only just in time; surprise was clear on his face. Without pause, Yuuri assailed him again. Tyler dodged, and responded with an attack which Yuuri blocked, holding his sword like a bar. They traded countless blows in rapid succession, and the noise of the crowd swelled as their swords flickered and flashed.

_Why isn’t he half-swording, too? That’d work better to block my attacks. Maybe I’ve found a weakness._ Almost completely abandoning the guard positions now, Yuuri alternated his grips on his weapon, jabbing and thrusting and parrying. Metal rang. They were in constant motion, with little time for thought, only reflex and instinct.

A heady rush swept through Yuuri when he realised he was driving Tyler back. Cheers and cries rocked through the arena. He couldn’t understand why his opponent seemed to be aiming only for his upper body, or why he wouldn’t half-sword. But no matter. He aimed another vicious jab at the throat. With a yell, Tyler brought his sword down hard against the middle of Yuuri’s own; the vibrations shook through his arms, and he released the sharp end of his blade before he was pulled too far downward. A sting ripped into the left side of his face, and he skated back, taking a guard position as a safety default.

Tyler backed into a guard as well, with a look of relief and satisfaction. _What did he do? _Yuuri wondered. He pressed his palm to his cheek and risked a glance. It was slightly wet. _He scratched me. It’s hardly anything that’s going to slow me down, though, so why isn’t he coming in for another attack? _

“Is that all you’ve got?” he shouted. Picking words he thought might incense Tyler the most, he added, “You’re a coward and a traitor!”

“I am neither!” Tyler yelled back, his face going red. He leapt forward. Yuuri was waiting; he parried the cut aimed at him and turned to the side at the same time, slamming Tyler with the full force of his body and sending him clattering to the ground, sword flying out of his hand. The crowd erupted. Yuuri raised his own blade, prepared to spear it through his opponent before he could recover – and stumbled as a wave of dizziness swept through him, his head swimming. By the time he’d regained his senses, Tyler was back on his feet.

_What the hell was that? I…I could’ve had him, I could’ve won. _Yuuri shook his head and half-sworded again, mixing his moves up. Tyler seemed more focused on defending now, parrying and shoving him away. Aiming a thrust, Yuuri stumbled again and took a hand off of his sword, waving it in an effort to regain his balance. He was reeling as if drunk. Cries erupted from the crowd; people calling out Justin’s name in alarm. He forced himself to turn around, just in time to ward off an attack from Tyler. A cold hand seemed to be wrapping around his heart, and his arms and legs grew heavy.

“Stop – something’s wrong,” he breathed, looking at Tyler.

“This duel doesn’t stop until one of us lies dead,” came the sharp reply as Tyler aimed a cut at him. No longer the master of his own body, Yuuri was only just in time to counter it. 

“It’s not a fair fight. I…I’m not well.”

“Do you expect me to believe you, or care? Defend yourself, knave, if you still can.”

Yuuri tried. But it seemed now that Tyler was somehow much faster and stronger than him. Yuuri blocked and parried, attempted to trap them in a bind…and staggered back.

“Victor,” he mumbled, noting with vague concern that the word was slurred as another wave of dizziness took him. He fell to his knees, his sword dropping uselessly from his hand. _I have to tell you…Ailis…and… _“Victor…”

As if in a dream, he heard an answering cry. Victor’s voice. Too late…and his thoughts spun into oblivion.


	118. Chapter 118

Victor clutched at the arms of his chair as the duel played out down in the arena. It was all he could do, when Yuuri had been on the ground with Tyler gloating over him, to prevent his feet from taking him straight there. Thank God Tyler _had _stopped to gloat, because it had given Yuuri a chance to aim the kick that had saved his life.

But what had shattered his composure before he’d left the tent? Victor had been wondering ever since the shock of seeing him trail into the arena behind Matt in an obvious fluster. He’d seemed collected when he’d left him. Perhaps, there on his own, his fears had begun to get the better of him.

_I should have stayed with him until the very last moment, and to hell with what anyone else said, even the king. Where did my own courage vanish to?_

He didn’t want to watch, but he dared not look away. No one he was close to had ever been engaged in a duel to the death before. Once, when Andrei had considered giving Alex a turn, Victor had vociferously condemned the idea, insisting that if someone’s soul had to be tainted, it would be his alone. Then he persuaded Andrei to swear silence on the issue, knowing that if Alex were aware he was being considered as the family’s champion in a duel for another family’s estate, he would not object. Not because he _wanted_ to do it, any more than Victor did, but because he would see it as removing the burden from his brother’s shoulders for once. It wasn’t necessary on every occasion to kill the opponent, either. Victor always offered mercy, and if they had any sense, they accepted it.

_Where, indeed, was my courage? I should have said no to my father, and refused to fight._

_But then he would have found a way to make Alex do it. He knew how to play us off each other like that._

And now it was Yuuri in the arena, through no fault of his own. When an exchange ended with Tyler chopping down at his blade and then sweeping his own upward in a cut, Victor gasped. He could just make out a line of red on Yuuri’s cheek from this distance.

_Shake it off, my love. You’re all right. Don’t let it distract you._

When Yuuri shouted to Tyler that he was a coward and a traitor, it had the desired effect, with Tyler rushing at him in a fury. A flash of silver, and then Tyler was down on the ground without his weapon.

Victor leaned further forward and yelled, though he knew it was drowned by the crowd; even some of the nobles behind him were crying out. “Quick, Justin, stab him _now_!”

_We are monsters, _something inside of him said.

_But all I want is for my love to live._

Yuuri stumbled, looking suddenly dazed, and Tyler got back to his feet. Victor’s heart quailed. If he’d received a blow to the head, such behaviour would be expected. But nothing of the kind had happened; Yuuri’s only obvious wound was a scratch.

Another rapid exchange. _Whatever it is, shake it off. You’re beautiful, Yuuri. You’re brilliant. That’s it – keep him guessing._

But when Yuuri stumbled and reeled again, Victor shot to his feet. “Justin!” he called. “Justin, look out!”

“Victor, remember yourself,” Andrei grumbled from behind him. “His royal majesty – ”

But Victor didn’t wait to hear anything more about his royal majesty. He leapt out of the royal box and raced down the aisle, eyes fixed on the scene before him in the arena. Words were exchanged. More fighting. Yuuri was moving as if he’d been heavily wounded. But there was no blood apart from the scratch on his cheek.

Victor reached the barrier. Panic exploded in his chest as he watched Yuuri drop his weapon and sink to his knees.

“Justin!” he cried, vaulting over, drawing his sword and sprinting into the arena. Unfocused brown eyes looked his way before Yuuri collapsed to the ground. “_Justin!_” He briefly turned to where he knew the squires were sitting. There were Emil and Julia, their faces pale and filled with horror as they looked from Yuuri to himself. “See to him, both of you – take him to the sickroom,” he shouted.

Tyler had hesitated, seemingly unsure of whether to deal the death blow when Yuuri was already immobile. His head jerked up in surprise when he saw Victor running toward him.

_There’s only one reason I can think of why Yuuri would behave in such a way when the only wound he received was a scratch. I can’t believe you’d commit such a dastardly act, Tyler Beaumont, but you’re not going near him again, not while there’s breath left in my body._

“Get away from him!” Victor commanded, brandishing his sword. Tyler hastily parried as Victor’s weapon clanged against his own. Victor stood between Tyler and Yuuri where he’d fallen and forced his opponent back with a furious attack, their blades flashing like the lightning heralding a storm.

_You can beat me on a good day, that’s true. But this is not a good day. For either of us._

He ignored the confused furore of the audience. Hoped the squires were coming to Yuuri’s aid, such as it could be. He couldn’t bring himself to think of what had most probably been done to his love, and the consequences. But it filled Victor’s heart with murderous intent, and Tyler seemed to see it in his eyes.

As they attempted to break a bind, Tyler said quietly, even as he struggled, “I don’t want to fight you.”

“If you imbued your blade with some poisonous substance, you’d best make a quick reckoning with God, dishonourable villain,” Victor bit out. Tyler looked as if he were going to speak, but with a surge of strength, Victor circled his sword with his own, sending it flying, then shoved Tyler to the ground. Before he could scramble away, Victor was upon him, pinning him down with his knees, sword poised. He barely noticed the screams and yells from the crowd.

Tyler squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself to receive the death blow, raising a gauntleted hand as if to ward it off.

The thought that he might have given Yuuri a fatal injury, and in such an underhanded way, was eating at Victor like a flame consuming tinder. Tyler had been responsible for instigating this duel in the first place. He deserved to die.

Then an image swam up in his mind. Yuuri’s beautiful face – his own, not Justin’s. His loving eyes, his smile. A blessing in his life, unlooked for.

_You taught me to be a better man._

Victor paused, staring down at the horror-stricken man beneath him…then slowly lowered his sword and got up to fetch Tyler’s weapon from where it had landed on the ground. As Tyler sat up in bewilderment, Victor came forward scratched his cheek with the tip of the blade.

“Holy Mary mother of God,” Tyler gasped, pressing a gauntlet to the wound, eyes wide.

“That’s no ordinary injury, is it?” Victor said flatly.

“N-No.”

“God’s own justice, then, if you’re harmed by a mere scratch. The same as you did to Justin.” He risked a glance behind him now, and saw that Emil and Julia had arrived to place Yuuri on a plank which looked like it had been pried up from a bench in the stands. “Is he alive?” he asked anxiously.

“I can detect a pulse, my lord,” Emil answered as the lifted the plank, “but it’s faint.”

“What happened to him?” Julia asked. “I didn’t see – ”

“This rascal scratched him with a tainted blade.”

She gasped, and Emil stared in surprise.

“Be careful with him,” Victor said, his voice catching. “They’ll have horses outside the arena for the parade. Emil, find one and ride pillion with Yuuri; you can hold him steady while he’s in front of you, can you not?”

“Of course.”

“Then both of you – take him to the castle and look after him there.” Gazing at Yuuri, he whispered, “Oh, my love.” The projection gave the impression that he was simply sleeping. There was no telling what his appearance was underneath, however; how pale his face, how blue his lips. Victor wanted to tend to him personally; to carry him and hold him and heal him somehow. But more pressing, unfortunately, was his business with the vanquished man on the ground. “Also tell those people I need a moment to speak to Sir Tyler,” he added, gesturing to Matt and several others who were tentatively coming to join them. “As the victor, I have that right.”

“Yes, master,” Julia said, and she and Emil did as he’d bade, taking Yuuri away on the plank. Victor prayed it wasn’t the last time he saw him alive. A shudder passed through him, and he blinked back tears. Then he turned back to Tyler.

“You really do love him,” Tyler said.

“Like my life. And all this time, he’s had this infernal duel looming over him, because of your obstinacy. If you’ve killed him – ”

“I was jealous,” Tyler continued quietly, his voice wavering. “It blackened my heart. I…I deserve what you’ve done to me. Victor – ”

“It _is _poison on this blade, isn’t it?” Victor pressed. Tyler looked down at the ground and nodded. “That’s why you wouldn’t touch it yourself even though you’re wearing gauntlets; you didn’t want to wipe the poison off. And why you kept aiming for Justin’s face and neck above everything else – because all you needed to do was break the skin; after that, you could wait until he suffered the effects.” Victor pressed his lips together until it hurt, then demanded, “What kind of poison is it, Tyler? What the hell did you do?”

“I – I don’t know, I swear. She didn’t say – ”

“She?”

Tyler gave a small sigh, his eyes dropping again before he raised his gaze back up to him. “I loved you, Victor,” he whispered; with the conversation of the people milling about behind them a short distance away, Victor had to lean closer to hear. But surely his ears were deceiving him. _Loved? _“I never told you. When you spurned me and took up with him, I was filled with a thirst for revenge. But I’ve dishonoured myself and my family.” Tyler let out a shuddering breath, wiping a tear from his cheek and smearing the blood from his scratch. “If it’s the last thing you do for me, Victor…please forgive me. That man, I must confess, is a worthy knight, and does not deserve to die. Ah.” He held a hand to his forehead and shuddered. “I can feel it working in me.”

“Tell me who ‘she’ is.”

“Your own mother.”

Victor’s eyes opened wide. “What? You lie.” He glanced at the people in the arena. They were talking among themselves while they watched the proceedings, Natalia included.

“I tell you truly. She came to see me this morning and offered the poison for my sword, to guarantee a swift and easy revenge against a man she doesn’t want in this castle or with her son. Once he was dead, she promised she’d…” His gaze dropped once more.

Victor could hardly believe what he was hearing. “She promised what?”

“She promised she’d sweeten your ear and encourage you to take me back.”

“By all that’s holy.” His mother had many faults, but Victor knew she would never do such a monstrous thing. However, there was one woman here who would; who had already poisoned most of the castle once by a different method.

“I…was weak,” Tyler said. “I never saw Justin as a threat until yesterday, when I came upon you both sparring on that wheel, and…and I was alarmed enough to listen to her villainous words.” His breaths were shuddering, and sweat beaded on his brow. “I’m sorry. Please take my confession as evidence of that…if it’s the last thing I do. She bade me swear I’d tell no one. Please…”

His words made Victor’s insides crawl, but he mastered himself. “I’m glad you’ve told me this. Is there a cure?”

“I don’t know. Ask her – you must ask her. I don’t want to die…”

“You should’ve thought of that before you involved yourself and Justin in this duel.” Victor turned and gestured to the steward and several soldiers, who approached. _If she has a cure, I must get it. Quickly. And carefully – she’ll have a laser gun. God, please give me the time I need to work out what to do._

“My lord,” Matt began, “we’ve been much amazed and confused by what we’ve seen.”

“Sir Tyler has been using a poisoned weapon, which will remain in my safekeeping for further investigation. I therefore declare the duel invalid. However, Tyler has been injured by the same blade, and requires an escort to the sickroom.” Victor glanced down at him; he was struggling to his feet. “Have someone ride with him there, since I doubt he’ll be able to walk the distance.”

“Dear God, how terrible.” Matt looked over to the royal box, where their esteemed visitors waited, drinking and talking. “His royal majesty will not be pleased.”

“That’s hardly my problem.” Sheathing his sword but still holding the poisoned one, Victor glared down at Tyler, who was hanging his head. His eyes were unfocused when he looked up. “No more pleading to me. It’s a higher power you must reconcile yourself with now.” He moved away, thoughts churning.

_Yuuri’s going to die. He might already be dead. Ailis may or may not have a cure. How do I get it from her without putting myself in danger?_

Panic swelled once more in his chest; he closed his eyes and fought it down. He needed time to work this out, but there was none to spare. Yuuri – and Tyler, though he could just as well be damned – needed him. Ailis, in the guise of his mother, was but a few paces away, talking with Andrei.

She would want Tyler dead, for fear that he’d tell his secret. She’d been trying to kill Yuuri the whole time she’d been aware of his presence here – and what if she suspected he was Justin? She might have decided to rely on Tyler to do her work for her this time, but that plan, if plan it was, had gone awry. And both of these men might turn her sights to Victor himself. Tyler, because they’d been speaking together just now, and she feared what Victor might have learned. Justin, because he and Victor were lovers, and deep in each other’s confidence. Though he couldn’t be sure of anything other than the need to act.

“Victor.”

He turned and saw Natalia standing in front of him in her flowing crimson dress and white wimple. She was looking at him keenly, and he knew that a great deal hinged on his ability to put up an instant pretence. His heart pattered and his mouth went dry – but then, such a display was allowable; no one would be surprised that he was distraught about what had happened to Justin.

_I can’t confront her here. I…I must get to the castle. As soon as possible. _But it was difficult to think straight as he gazed at her. The face of his mother serving as a mask for a stranger; a criminal.

“I’m sorry about your…knight. He appears to be seriously injured.” She seemed to be aiming for a sympathetic tone, but there was hardness underneath. 

“He was scratched with a poisoned blade.”

“Are you sure?”

“He admitted as much to me.”

“Did he say where he sourced his potion from? Surely no one here at the castle would have given to him.”

“I didn’t ask him. Do you know of anyone who might be aware of an antidote?”

“Do you even know what it was, exactly, that he put on the blade?”

Victor raked his fringe back. “No.”

“My dear son, I’m afraid I don’t know how to help you.” She looked back at the stands. “Your father has gone to speak to the king. The parade of horses has been cancelled. I’ll take my ladies-in-waiting with me back to the castle and have one of them fetch Mistress Ramsay; perhaps she has a tonic that will help. The rest of us will attend to the fallen in the sickroom.”

_Attend to the fallen? Absolutely not. _

“How embarrassing,” she continued, “that such underhanded dealings should take place during the entertainment for the king and queen. I wouldn’t have – ” 

“Madam, I’m going to go tend to Justin and Tyler myself. I know them both, and there’s no other place I wish to be.”

“I think the king would – ”

“To hell with that.”

She sucked in a breath. “Don’t let him hear you say so. But Victor, attending to the sick is an important task of mine at the castle. It comforts them.”

“Justin will be better comforted by me. Your place is here with my father until he leaves. You shouldn’t need me to remind you of your duty.”

A flash of anger chased across her face. “I know it well. I also think you’re mad with grief and making poor decisions. Why on earth did you jump into the arena in the first place? Your father was most displeased.”

This conversation was futile, and wasting precious time. However, it was vital that she – where was the _real _Natalia? – went nowhere near the sickroom. Or her bedroom. Victor spun around and sprinted back to the stands, ignoring the stares he received, and entered the royal box.

“Sir Victor,” the king said, “I hear tell that Sir Tyler was using a poisoned blade?”

“Yes, your royal majesty,” he replied quickly. “He and Justin have been sent to the sickroom.”

“How utterly disgraceful. I shall have words with the Duke of Halbrook about this.”

“Who’s due shortly to be bereaved, unless there’s any method I can find to counteract the poison.” Victor looked at his father, who stared back with a stormy brow. “Mother is insisting she visit the sickroom with her ladies-in-waiting. It’s no place for any of them. At the very least – ” He thought quickly. “ – they’ll find the symptoms distressing. Justin won’t have any desire to see them, anyway; he’ll want to see me. I-If he ever regains his senses.”

Andrei made a _humph_. “I don’t doubt it.”

“When you leave here, will you please ensure Natalia remains with you and our royal guests in the great hall?” Victor made the plea clear in his voice and eyes.

“Yes, very well. Do what you need to do. But see that you don’t remain inordinately distempered, son. It’s unmanly.”

Victor didn’t have time to feel angry at Andrei for patronising him. He bowed to the king and hurried out of the box. Behind him, he heard his father say, “Great friends, my son and Sir Justin la Rose. Comrades in arms, you see.”

“Ah, I understand,” the king answered. “What a pity they should be parted thus.”

Matt was beginning to dismiss the audience through the gate. Victor avoided the crowd and vaulted over the fence. Running to where the horses were being led back to the stable, he borrowed the nearest one available and urged it swiftly down the path to the castle, continuing to clutch Tyler’s sword with one hand. There would be a use for it yet.

It was only now, by himself away from the arena, that the full horror of the situation struck him. Yuuri, his Yuuri, lying helpless with that evil substance in his veins. This was clearly something those nanobots couldn’t cure.

If there was any hope to be had, it lay in Victor’s destination. As much as he yearned to be with his love, he had to do what he could to aid him, and that meant going elsewhere.

He prayed there was time. And that he would find what he was after. Because if not…

Refusing to complete the thought, Victor willed his horse to fly as if the very devils of hell were behind him.


	119. Chapter 119

Dismounting at the gatehouse, Victor told the astonished guard to find someone to stable the horse as he ran past and through the corridor, into the courtyard and then the garrison, making his way to his room. His heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of Yuuri’s clothes hanging on pegs on the wall. But he knew he had to focus on his task. Opening a drawer in his wardrobe, he fetched out a keyring that held a master key to most rooms in the castle, then dashed back out into the corridor.

God willing, Yuuri was alive and safe in the sickroom, with the squires looking after him. There was no time to stop there now, however. Running down the one clear path between the tents in the courtyard, he entered the great hall, continued past the food and drink that had been set out on tables along the walls for the royal visitors after they arrived from the arena, and carried on down the corridor and up the stairs to the solar. His mother’s bedroom was here, and he opened it with the master key, then stepped inside, leaving the poisoned sword propped against the wall.

Without preamble, he began his search with coats and dresses hanging on pegs and inside the garderobe, hunting through pockets, though all he discovered were handkerchiefs, pomanders wafting scents of oranges, cloves and roses into the air, and various personal grooming tools. Finishing with these – it was unlikely Ailis would secrete anything in garments that were kept in plain view, though it was just as well to check – he wondered where to look next.

_Anything she wants to remain hidden will be locked away. The master key will be no use with chests and furniture._

But that was where he had to look. He could try prying things open with his sword; the damage it would do was of no concern to him now. But even that would take extra time, would not necessarily work, and could ultimately prove fruitless.

_There must be a way. She lives here; she’ll have private possessions to hand. _

Then it struck him: not so very long ago, he’d cut through wood with a certain special tool. And so had Yuuri. A small, clever, powerful one from another time.

His haste was dulling his thoughts, he decided as he reached into his purse and drew out the laser pen. When he noticed his hand shaking slightly, he paused to take a deep breath, as he’d often seen Yuuri do when he was flustered. Their lives, and possibly many others, depended on what he chose to do in this next little while, and his actions must be well considered and executed. 

The huge wardrobe, with its three sets of double doors, was locked. Victor cut the wood in a circle around the first lock, the thin laser light glowing blue on his hand and glinting on his armour as he worked. Soon he was pulling the door open easily with two fingers, peering inside at linens folded on shelves.

This was no time for an appreciation of Percy’s neat organisation of the contents in front of him, or of the clothes themselves, some of which, like his blue houppelande, were fitting for royalty. He took each dress, cloak, skirt and chemise, felt it over for any items hidden within, then tossed it to the floor behind him. When the shelves were empty, he checked the two deep drawers underneath the floor of the compartment. Heavy winter clothes, not needed at this time of year. These he also removed, searching underneath until he’d reached the bottom of each drawer. Nothing.

The next set of doors revealed shoes and hats. He quickly examined each one before tossing it behind him onto the increasingly chaotic pile. She must own more clothes than himself and his father combined, Victor thought with a shiver of apprehension. How long would it take to search through them all? He continued with the drawers once the shelves were clear, then cut around the third lock and checked. Nothing; not even any garb that appeared to have come from the future. He wondered if, like Yuuri, she’d only brought the black clothes he’d seen her wearing.

There were two tables with drawers in the room. One of these was unlocked, and Victor rifled through scissors, nail files, combs, and hair accoutrements. Ailis, with her unadorned short hair, would have no need of the latter; these belonged to his actual mother. As he continued to search, cutting around the lock to the drawer in the other table, a confusing mixture of emotions welled up within him. A sense of things being out of place, _wrong_, because his mother was somewhere in the future and this changeling was here in her place. Sadness that this feeling was stronger than any love, and consequent grief, he bore for his own flesh and blood relative. Pity for the lost woman who must still be alive – but in what circumstances?

This drawer contained his mother’s seal, along with wax and writing implements. And precious stones, rolling loose. Emeralds. Along with the broken silver necklace from which they’d escaped. No noblewoman Victor knew of – certainly not his mother – would treat such a precious item in so cavalier a fashion. Not that it mattered just now.

Where could he look next – and what was happening with Yuuri? God in heaven…

_Stop. Think. What’s the best course of action?_

_Yuuri keeps his items from the future hidden under a floorboard. Perhaps Ailis has done the same. _

_And I’m not the only one who’s concerned about Yuuri. His friends and family in the future have been waiting to hear news of him. I have the means to contact them._

_I can do that while I search. Two things at once. If I can hold my nerve while I speak._

He paused to take the com from his purse and secure it around his wrist. But no one must see him wearing it. Yuuri had said these projections could be altered so that only certain parts, such as clothing, were affected; in which case, perhaps it was even possible to conceal the com itself. He brought up the menu and selected Ethelfrith’s projection, then attempted to refine it. Could this device follow his very thoughts?

It seemed that it could, for before long, Ethelfrith’s appearance faded, as did the com, though he knew it was still on his wrist just past the edge of his armour; he could feel it there if he thought about it. While he began testing the floorboards to see if any were loose, beginning with the ones under the bed, he brought up the menu again and called Phichit, who answered immediately.

“Victor – is that you?”

“Yes. I’m alone in my mother’s room. Quite a few things have happened. Yuuri is – ”

“Wait, let me get my translator in. Hold on a minute, it’s just here…OK, that should be better now. What about Yuuri? What happened, how is he?”

The floorboards here seemed sound, though not all of them were easy to get at. Victor shunted the bed out of the way and kept testing. While he did so, he told a horrified Phichit what had happened. “Which means, unfortunately, that I’m not aware of how Yuuri currently fares,” he concluded. “I pray God he’s alive.”

“But – poison?” came Phichit’s voice from the com. “Shit, I don’t know if there are any antidotes in that time! I’ll get on the Cloud straight away – there are these survivalist sites I keep looking at, in case different things happen to you jacks there. Do you know anything about what kind of poison it is?”

“I’m afraid not; Tyler didn’t know, either. I hope I’ll soon be able to get some information from Ailis – there’s one important thing I haven’t explained yet.” None of these floorboards were loose, either. Victor moved on to another part of the room, speaking as he went. “She’s posing as my mother, Natalia.”

“What – ? Holy shit, are you serious? The baroness?”

“She gave Tyler the poison to put on his blade; he told me so himself. It makes sense in many ways. I think I’m in a position to see for myself now, though I’ve been blind all this time. We’re not close, you see, she and I. She’s…well, someone from your time might describe her as rather cold. But she’s the wife of a baron. You have to understand what that means here. There’s a certain degree of…pragmatism involved if you take such a position seriously, as she always did. You could even call it ruthlessness.” He continued to kick the floorboards and pry at them with his sword. _Still _nothing. “Having said that, lately she’s been more…extreme than usual.”

“Are you completely sure, Victor? Like, a hundred percent? I hate to say this, but could your mother maybe have developed an extra-mean streak or something? Yuuri never mentioned that he suspected her.”

“He didn’t, and nor did I. It would be a very difficult role to make a success of. The demands it would make on her…But no, she’s done things my mother would never do. I’m in her room because I’m looking for anything from the future Ailis might have hidden here. My guess is a laser gun. But perhaps there’s something else, too, even an antidote for poison. I need to be at the greatest possible advantage before I confront her, and I must do it as soon as possible, before…” His voice hitched, and he left the rest unsaid.

“OK, Victor, I’ll take your word for it. Have you found anything yet?”

“No, but I’m still looking. I’m checking the floorboards.”

“She’s not gonna walk in on you in the middle of this, is she?”

“I told my father to ensure she stays with him. If she desires to remain in disguise, she’ll do as she’s told.”

“OK. Good. So she doesn’t know you know?”

“I’m not certain yet what she suspects, but shortly she’ll be aware in no uncertain terms that I know who she is.”

“Why – what are you planning to do?”

Voices in the courtyard floated up to the window. Satisfied that none of the floorboards were loose, Victor crossed the room and stood to the side of the glass, leaning just far enough over to peer out. “I have to find out if she knows of a way to cure Yuuri,” Victor said quietly. “And…and Tyler. She had the nanobots to cure the plague. Perhaps – ”

“This is different, though. I don’t know if Yuuri explained to you about bacteria, but poison’s not the same thing.”

“I know. But I have to try. I can’t let him die.” Victor bit his lip as tears pricked at his eyes. Down below, the king and his royal party were being escorted by Matt across the courtyard. Most of the noise, to his surprise, was coming from the baron and baroness.

“Is somebody there?” Phichit asked in alarm. “I thought I heard voices – ”

“They’re outside; it’s all right. I can’t make out much of what they’re saying, but I’ve seen my mother gesture twice to the part of the servants’ wing where the sickroom is, and my father seems to be remonstrating with her. It’s a serious disagreement if it’s taking place in the presence of the king. But – ah good, she seems to have given in,” Victor breathed. “They’re going to the great hall.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Phichit said. “I’ll have to tell Celestino that Ailis is the baroness. That means we know who to look for here in my time – well, sort of. She must still be alive, or Ailis would’ve been pulled back here. Can you give me a description of her?”

There were three chests in the room. Victor cut around the lock of the first one and began removing its contents – more clothes – as he told Phichit everything he could think of that might help them identify Natalia Nikiforov. He moved on to the second chest, again without result, his heart beginning to race once more. There _had _to be something here – unless she’d been worried someone might search her room, in which case she could have one or more hiding places elsewhere in the castle. But no; surely she would keep something here in her own room, at hand if she needed it. 

“Wherever she is,” Phichit said, “if she’s got access to the Cloud, we could send out a missing persons alert on it. Use her name, even say her son Victor is worried about her, and give our address here. People have been looking for her all this time, so I don’t know what chance we’d stand with that if they haven’t found her yet; but with a name and a description, if she doesn’t come forward herself, maybe somebody else will who’s met her. We’ll do our best to find her, Victor, I promise.”

“Thank you,” he replied, opening the lid of the third chest and going through the clothes in it, though they smelled musty, as if they hadn’t been aired in a long time.

Dropping his voice, Phichit said, “How did Yuuri do in the duel? Did he fight at all before Tyler scratched him?”

Despite the worry filling his heart, Victor smiled as he recalled the beauty of Yuuri’s movements, his power and determination, speed and grace. Everything they’d trained for, all that time. If the duel had played out, Victor felt sure he would have won. “He was magnificent,” he said as he continued to search through pockets and discard the clothes on the heap behind him. 

“Really? Wow.”

“You sound surprised.” It occurred to Victor that this was something he and Yuuri shared that Phichit knew little about and had never seen. Perhaps he’d always been a little jealous of Phichit since they’d first encountered one another over the com – being a companion of longer standing, who knew, intimately and thoroughly, the strange time that had been Yuuri’s home until recently. But Yuuri had chosen _this _as his home. And Victor understood the bliss of the dance they both performed with the blade, and had an idea of what Yuuri might be coming to feel about it as well, now that he had begun to recognise and hone his talent. A dance that was best performed with no malicious antagonist.

“I’ve never seen Yuuri do this knight stuff, not even in Immersion,” Phichit said. “That was always his own private thing, I think.”

“It will be a challenge to protect him from the king wanting his services, now that he’s had a glimpse of what he’s capable of.” Victor was aware that they were speaking as if Yuuri was going to live through this day; it helped to believe it, for now. 

“Jesus. It’s a good thing there won’t be any major battles for a while. Maybe he’ll leave you both alone.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure it happens.” _If I live long enough. _His throat hitched as the thought intruded. Phichit must know about the date of his death, if Yuuri knew it to tell. But now was not the time to mention it, and he forced himself to refocus.

Nothing in this chest, either. And none of them had false bottoms – Victor knew how to look for the signs, as some of his own chests contained them; that was where he stored his most valuable possessions when they weren’t in Percy’s keeping.

He stood, glancing around the room. What had he forgotten? He’d looked everywhere, surely.

“What are you doing now?” Phichit asked.

“A moment, please,” Victor answered distractedly. “I need to think.” He could, of course, attempt to take Ailis by surprise; decoy her out of the great hall and physically overpower her. But how far away from a crowd of people would she be willing to go with him, and how would he stop her reaching for her gun before he was in a position to attempt to seize it from her? There were a great many risks involved. He’d been right to come here to search her room first – he just needed to be cleverer in how he went about it.

For instance, he thought with a flutter of hope in his chest, false bottoms weren’t the sole purview of chests; furniture might have them, too. He turned around and viewed the wardrobe again, its doors hanging open. In the middle compartment, the drawers were set lower than the ones on either side, he noticed now; yet the floor was the same height all the way through. Racing back over, he ran his hands across the floor, along the sides and back, then the front, and oh – _there _it was, he thought with a smile. A small wooden switch that released a hidden spring and caused the front of the floor to pop up slightly. He reached his fingers under and pulled it up the rest of the way.

And there inside was all the proof anyone would ever need that Ailis was posing as Natalia. He’d discovered her modern clothing. Much of it was black, the colour she obviously favoured. The styles weren’t so different from what he was familiar with – there was nothing here like the outfit Yuuri called his athletic wear – but some of the materials felt strange and light, and stretched like Yuuri’s did. The question was, he thought as he picked up each item and searched it, was there anything more here to be found than clothes?

Joined trousers, such a strange thing for anyone to wear, let alone a woman. A black skirt. A few tunics without buttons; they either stretched to accommodate the head through the hole in the neck, or gapped open at the front. A pair of black shoes with soft soles like Yuuri had on his modern white ones. Things that might be undergarments. The only clothes that had pockets were the trousers, and those were empty. Chest tightening, he removed the remaining items – there weren’t many in all – and thanks be to God, his search was finally rewarded.

“Victor, are you OK?” Phichit asked.

“I’ve found a laser gun in a hidden compartment in the wardrobe.” He aimed at the bottom of the wall and fired, the blue light excavating a small hole there. “And it works.” She’d left it on the highest setting, of course; he moved it to the lowest.

“Prang! So what are you going to do?”

Victor set his jaw as he tucked the gun away in his purse. “I’m going to go see Ailis.”

* * *

After ending the call, he went down the stairs and exited into the courtyard near the gatehouse so as not to reveal he’d been anywhere near his parents’ chambers. But he took his time in walking past the tents, wondering how best to distract the woman. The gun would make a noise, yet if he tried to draw her into the courtyard or the corridor so that he could be alone with her, she might become suspicious.

_I must be as quick as possible. I can’t afford to waste any more time._

But his worry for his love continued to threaten to undo him. Even now, his thoughts wandered to where he lay, in the little room across the courtyard.

Nearing the great hall, Victor decided the best way forward for now was to join the gathering, take in who was there and what they were doing, and hope inspiration struck. He listened to the sounds coming through the archway. Quite a few people talking in conversational tones. A trio of musicians: harp, lute, and shawm. Passing into the hall itself, he discovered groups of nobles and knights standing around the room with cups or goblets in their hands, including Andrei and Natalia with the king and queen, and more servants bringing refills or snacks on platters in case they didn’t care to move a few feet to the nearest table.

This gave Victor an idea, followed by a second one. As clever as she was, Ailis’s hopes might be used against her. He prayed it would work, for Yuuri’s sake as well as his own, because he might not get a second chance.

Spotting one of the young pages carrying a mostly empty platter of shortbread and other biscuits and cakes, Victor had a quick word with him, then took a moment to assume the role that was required of him.

_For you, Yuuri. _

He walked to where his parents stood with their royal guests, waving food and drink away as if it sickened him. His chief fear at this moment was how long he would be obliged to make conversation before he could attempt to lure Ailis away. He bowed to the king.

Andrei searched his face. “How fare Justin and Tyler? Or have you come with grim tidings?”

“Their health is failing,” Victor replied, giving him a sombre look tinged with pain. “I fear the worst may be upon them soon, unless I can find help. Do you know where Mistress Ramsay is? I doubted at first that she would have anything which could aid them, but in the absence of any other options – ”

“I haven’t seen her for some time, son. I usually have little need of her potions.”

Victor turned anxiously to Ailis while the king and queen listened quietly. “Madam, I believe you said you intended to send one of your ladies-in-waiting to find her?”

“I sent Hannah to speak to her. Has no one arrived in the sickroom yet?”

“No, and I couldn’t wait there myself any longer. Our herbalist may be our last hope.”

“It grieves me to say so, but it may be too late even for that.”

Victor’s heart gave a lurch; she would know what she’d used, of course, and how quickly it acted. “I have a favour to ask of you. Please, will you consider your original offer to go with your ladies-in-waiting and keep vigil over them both while I continue to search? I…I can’t leave them alone like that.” He was appalled by the sudden gleam in her eye, but his mask remained in place. 

“I’d be pleased to do so, if our esteemed guests don’t mind me taking my leave?”

“Of course not, my dear,” the queen answered with a sympathetic look. “It’s very good of you to give your time to those in the castle who need you.”

Ailis shot Victor a keen glance. “Has Tyler been able to give you any information yet about where he obtained the vile substance he smeared on his blade?”

“He’s not been in a condition to say much at all. I’ve attempted several times to get it out of him, but I’m not sure he even knows who I am now. I must find Mistress Ramsay.”

She held his gaze a moment longer, as if trying to decide whether to believe him. But eventually, to his relief, she nodded. “Very well. I’ll do my duty. Sophie and Rohesia are just there, by the musicians.”

She and Victor bowed to the king, then set off across the room. As they walked, he looked pointedly at the page bearing the platter, which he was pleased to see now sported a dozen or so silver cups. After a brief nod in his direction, the boy promptly dropped everything to the floor with a resounding series of clatters.

Ailis turned along with everyone else to look – while Victor seized his opportunity to grab the gun from his purse and stun her in the back. The noise was lost amid the existing clamour in the room; no one seemed to notice the flash of blue light while their eyes were drawn elsewhere. Good lad. Victor had said he would explain later to his minders why he’d seemingly made such a clumsy error.

And just as he’d hoped, Ailis had collapsed to the floor. He quickly put the gun away and pretended to be as shocked as everyone else to see her there.

“Natalia!” Andrei exclaimed, joining them. “Victor, what happened?”

“I think the noise must have stunned her.”

“What? Nonsense. She’s never fainted in her life.”

“Perhaps she was already distempered. I’ll take her to her chambers, where I’m sure she’ll recover after a rest and some peace.”

“I’ll take her,” Andrei grumbled. “She’s my wife.”

“You should see to the king, Father. I’ll arrange with her ladies-in-waiting to have Mistress Ramsay attend to both her and our knights. She must be here at the castle; it’s simply a question of finding her.”

The baron looked over his shoulder at the king and queen, and the members of their royal party nearby. It seemed Victor had guessed his father’s own wishes correctly as well – he was embarrassed about the duel not going according to plan, and didn’t want to compound it by leaving them just now.

“I’ll make sure she’s comfortable,” Victor said, gathering her up in his arms. He felt her clothes drape down, but it was more like recalling a memory or a dream than a physical sensation. It must mean, he guessed, that she wasn’t even wearing the dress at all, but her modern attire. 

Sophie and Rohesia, unfortunately yet not unexpectedly, flocked to his side as many stares continued to follow him while he strode through the hall. “What happened, my lord?” the former asked as she lifted her heavy green skirts out of the way of her ankles. “The lady seemed in excellent health today. She’s not given to spells like this.”

“I’ve seen it happen on a few occasions when there have been sudden loud noises,” Victor lied as they began to climb the stairs.

“Even so?” said Rohesia in surprise. While Sophie was young, this woman was closer to his mother’s age, and wore a white torque on her head with a trailing veil. “I must confess this is news to me.”

“She’ll recover presently, I have no doubt.”

“Shall we fetch Mistress Ramsay?” Sophie asked.

_No. I don’t want you to accompany me either, nor do I want you to go to the sickroom, or return to the hall, since my father expects you to be attending to your lady. This is an impossible tangle._

“My lord?”

“I have a better suggestion,” Victor replied as they reached the top of the stairs. “I remember, when this happened before when we were out riding, that we were near the Eaton family farm. They served my mother bread with butter they’d churned that morning, and honey from their hives. She declared it was some of the best she’d ever tasted. I’ve been meaning to ask Fernand to source more butter and honey from them. I’m sure they’d revive her wonderfully, once she begins to wake.”

Sophie wrinkled her brow. “But where are we meant to obtain these things, my lord?”

“The Eatons’ farm, of course.” He stopped outside the chamber door, suddenly remembering the mess he’d made inside which they mustn’t see.

“Can we not get butter and honey from our own kitchen, my lord?” Rohesia asked.

“I daresay my mother would be able to tell the difference.” Panic was bubbling up inside of him once again. He would have to be firm in order to get rid of them, even if they ended up believing his reason was unbalanced. “I’ll tend to my mother in her chamber. I want you both to go straight to the Eatons’ farm and procure these items for her; use the stairs further down the hall to leave, so that you come out near the gatehouse rather than disturbing the assembly in the great hall. Pay the family well, and have Master de Lacey reimburse you upon your return. Find a couple of soldiers to escort you; tell them it’s urgent business I’m sending you on.”

They stared at him, Sophie in a fluster and Rohesia frowning. “With all due respect, my lord,” said the latter, “I feel I must ask how much consideration has gone into this request. I would have thought that obtaining smelling salts from Mistress Ramsay would be the more prudent course of action. Perhaps…with Sir Justin as he is, it’s…affecting you, sir.”

Victor pretended to be incensed by this, though he was sorry for it, and knew they were sensible ladies who meant well. “You dare presume to lecture me on my own judgement?” he said, raising his voice and glaring at Rohesia, whose eyes opened wide. “Your impudence is hardly to be credited. I gave you your instructions; which part of them do you find yourself unable to carry out?”

“None, my lord. My – my apologies.” She bowed her head and curtseyed.

“Would you like me to open to door for you, my lord?” Sophie asked in a tremulous voice.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself,” he snapped. “If you both love my mother, then be off with you, and return as soon as you can.” Which ought to be a while, he added silently, since the Eaton farm was several miles to the north. They bowed and scurried away down the hall.

Victor was not in the habit of treating servants, let alone his mother’s ladies-in-waiting, in such a way, and knew it was disgraceful. But so was the situation in which he now found himself. He managed to dig his keyring out of his purse and opened the door, then locked it behind him. The room looked like a tempest had whirled inside of it, but it couldn’t be helped; he steered past piles of discarded clothes as he went to lower Ailis onto the bed.

As he searched her, his hands dissolved into the strange illusion of her dress, and he felt a physical belt underneath with a purse similar to his own. This he opened, to discover keys inside – and another gun. He took it and briefly studied it; it was identical to both the one he’d found in the wardrobe and the one he’d fired at her in the servants’ wing while Yuuri had been with Ethelfrith.

How many of these had she brought with her, and why? Had she been planning to build an army after all – not of holograms, as he’d suggested to Yuuri, but of real people with the deadliest weapons this time had ever seen? But Yuuri had been convinced that senseless brute force was not her style. Despite all of her threats, despite everything she’d done, they were still only aware of two people she’d killed.

_Yuuri. _Victor continued to think about him in these contexts as if he’d simply gone on a sojourn and was not in fact struggling to stay alive in the sickroom. A struggle that, pray God, he had not yet lost. How long did it take for a person stunned by a laser gun to recover their wits; how long would he need to stand over her like this, marking the time? 

He leaned against her bedside table, watching, unable to push away thoughts of his love, brushing a tear from his cheek every so often. The wait felt like the longest he’d endured in his life, though his mind told him it must only have been a quarter of an hour or so. She made no sound. One moment her lids were firmly closed – and the next, Natalia’s ice-blue eyes were staring up at him.

“So you’re awake at last…Ailis,” he said, standing up straight and aiming the gun at her.


	120. Chapter 120

She took in the sight of him, and the weapon, then the room – and her expression became one of surprise and outrage. “What have you done in here?”

“If you hadn’t concealed this gun so well, it wouldn’t have been necessary. I’m frankly astounded that the first thing you think of when you regain your senses is the status of your room while two men lay at death’s door because of your scheming. Though if there’s one thing I’ve come to learn about you, it’s to expect no compassion.”

She continued to stare. It almost seemed possible to watch the thoughts racing through her mind.

“You have a great deal of explaining to do,” Victor continued, “but there’s only one concern I have at present, and that’s the safety of those two knights. Tell me – is there an antidote to the poison you persuaded Tyler to use on his blade? I took it from him and brought it with me.” Victor had propped the sword against the bedside table in readiness for this moment, and lifted it now with his left hand; he wasn’t as capable with that one as he was with his right, but he could manage, and was not about to relinquish the gun.

She sat up slowly, eyeing the sword, her own hand inching toward her waist.

“If you’re hoping to find your gun, you’ll discover it’s been confiscated,” he told her.

A look of boiling hatred crossed her face. “Well,” she said, tight-lipped, “aren’t you the clever one. Where’s Yuuri? Dying or dead, maybe?”

“I asked you a question. Is there an antidote?”

“No,” she said flatly. “But even if there was, I don’t answer to you. You’re just a feudal toff.”

Victor didn’t know what that was, and he didn’t care. _Please let her be lying_. And she was brazen indeed to speak to him so, while he held a weapon in each hand and she was helpless before him. “Did you not bring one with you, or create it while you were here, as you did for the plague?”

She sat up slowly, eyes darting from the gun to his face. “Do I detect a touch of worry? I said there _wasn’t an antidote_. I meant for Justin to be killed; the poisoned sword was just reassurance because I couldn’t be completely certain of the outcome of the duel. Tyler was easy to persuade. You and your complicated love life are a real pain, you know that?”

“Why did you want him to die?”

“I should’ve killed you when I had the chance. My mistake.”

Victor flicked the sword before she could react. A line of blood appeared on her cheek, and she gasped as he put the weapon back down.

“Do you still insist there’s no antidote? If that’s true, justice is served to you as well as Tyler for your part in this.”

“I…” She swallowed and reached toward her foot, which appeared to be wearing a gold fabric shoe with red and orange gems sewn into it.

“Turn your projector off so I can see what you’re doing.”

Natalia’s image disappeared, and Victor found himself gazing at Ailis with her short dark hair and green eyes. She wore a green tunic with loose sleeves made of some silky-looking stuff, covered with shiny gold leaf patterns. A stiff rounded collar dipped at her neck, and a row of horizontal fastenings ran down the front. Black trousers and another pair of those soft-soled black shoes completed the ensemble. With a glance at him, she continued to reach until she grabbed the bottom of one shoe.

“Slowly, madam. I won’t hesitate to shoot.”

“How kind of you,” she muttered under her breath, pulling the shoe off. There was a small white rectangular device secreted within that had been hidden under her foot. As soon as she removed it, Victor held his hand out, and she reluctantly gave it to him. “I’ll make you sorry for all of this,” she declared quietly, glaring again.

“You’re in no position to make threats. What is this?”

“A self-sterilising injector. Not that I’d expect you to know what that means – ”

“What Yuuri used to cure the plague?”

“Well, yes. This one’s filled with a serum that counteracts the poison. No one ever gives me credit for being the scientist I am. I wouldn’t develop one without the other. Mistakes happen, and I didn’t fancy the wrong person being poisoned. Namely me, though who knows what might have gone wrong with that oaf of a knight I gave it to.”

_Thank God in heaven. _Victor was momentarily so relieved that his legs weakened, and longed to be able to sit down and collect his wits. But he had to get the injector to Yuuri. “How does this work?”

“You put it over a vein and press the button on top. Happy? Be a good boy, then, and start with me.”

Victor was certain he’d never encountered such an attitude from anyone, apart perhaps from Yuuri in angry or whimsical moments. The fact that it was coming from a woman was a deeper shock, but one he decided he would have to inure himself to. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped to think.

_I have what I need. I could kill her now._

This woman’s deeds had been villainous. It was her fault that Yuuri was in the sickroom instead of at his side, victorious from the duel. She had nearly killed them both on more than one occasion, as well as most of the people in the castle. Had robbed his mother’s skin and been parading under it for months, while God only knew what had become of the real Natalia. He’d sentenced people to death for far less.

And if she died, his mother would be pulled home without the need for a time-travel device. He knew it well enough, because he lived with the same fear for Yuuri every day.

_Yuuri wouldn’t kill her if he were the one standing in my place with a gun. I don’t think. No, I don’t believe he would. This is also ultimately his decision to make; his mission. Since when was I so eager to spill the blood of another? First Tyler, now Ailis, when both of them are already at my mercy. _

“Well?” she said. “Do you intend to cure me, or execute me?”

Her composure was remarkable, Victor thought as he tucked the injector carefully into his purse. It would certainly have helped her in impersonating his mother. “Stand,” he said. “Turn your projector back on; you’re coming with me to visit Justin and Tyler. If you attempt to raise an alarm on our way there, I’d consider it provocation enough to change the gun setting to kill.”

“Fine,” she said, doing as she’d been bidden. “But I must be honest with you – I don’t know how likely they are to be alive, especially Justin. All that moving around during his duel would have spread the poison quicker. He also got first scratch, which means a higher dose. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.”

_You’re sorry? Only because you fear my reaction if we arrive and find…well. _“You know where the sickroom is. Walk directly in front of me, down the stairs to the exit near the gatehouse. Speak to no one unless they speak to you, in which case you’re not to indicate that anything out of the ordinary is happening. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly. What a gentleman you are.”

They left the room, which Victor locked behind him, and passed through the corridor, then down the stairs. Once in the courtyard, there was activity around the tents; fortunately the highest-ranking people at the castle would all be in the great hall, which meant that no one accosted them as they crossed the courtyard. They re-entered the castle through the garrison, continuing to walk in silence until they reached the sickroom.

“Open the door and go inside,” Victor said quietly. “I’m directly behind you.”

She did so. There were four beds in the room; Tyler and Yuuri each occupied one, while Emil and Simon, Tyler’s man, sat on the other two. “Leave us, please,” Victor said to the latter. “I need a word in private. You can wait outside by the door.”

“Yes, my lord.” He obeyed Victor’s instructions, the latch clanking shut behind him.

Tyler was groaning and shifting on his bed, but Yuuri did not move or make a sound. “Sit down,” Victor told Ailis, nodding to the bed next to Yuuri’s where Emil had been sitting; the squire stood and came to join him. As she did, she looked darkly back at him.

“I don’t feel well,” she said. “Give me the injection.”

Emil shot her a confused look, then said to Victor, “I’ve been checking my master’s pulse, sir. I haven’t been able to detect it this last little while.”

Victor rushed to kneel next to Yuuri. Ailis’s eyes burned into him from the next bed, but he ignored her.

With the illusion of the projector, Yuuri still seemed only to be asleep, though the scratch on his cheek stood out an angry red. It appeared, however, to have been washed and tended to. “Justin,” he whispered, checking for a pulse himself but finding none.

“Is there something amiss with the lady?” Emil asked, coming closer.

“You could say so. She’s Ailis, not my mother.”

“S-Sir, are you sure?”

“I am,” Victor replied, watching Yuuri’s chest for movement. There was none, but his breastplate would make that difficult to determine anyway. “The gun I’m holding came from her room, where she’d been hiding it. She’s the one who gave Tyler the poison to put on his blade, because she wanted Justin to die.”

“_He _knows my name?” Ailis said incredulously. “How many people are in on this? The entire castle?”

“Dear God,” Emil whispered, staring at her. “Where’s the real lady, then, sir?”

“In the future, presumably.” Victor handed his gun up to him. “Keep her covered with this. You fire it by pressing the button on the top. I’d rather she wasn’t stunned again, because I’ll want to speak further with her, but don’t hesitate to use it if you need to. And don’t take your eyes off her.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Spare me the melodramatic deathbed scene,” Ailis sighed, looking down and picking at the woollen blanket on which she sat. “I’ve seen plenty of them in my time. They’re tiresome.”

“This is Sir Victor Nikiforov, son of the lord of the manor, and you will use a tone of respect with him,” Emil chastised her.

She blinked. “You think I don’t know who he is? I’ve been pretending to be his mother since last year. A few minutes ago, _you _would’ve been bowing to _me_. But you men here are all alike. You enjoy controlling women. You call us daughters of Eve, as if we’ve inherited some bloody Biblical flaw. Does aiming that gun at me make you feel powerful, squire?” 

“How dare you – ” Emil began, but Victor interrupted.

“Don’t let her goad you.” While this exchange had been taking place, he’d held a hand to Yuuri’s cold face, fingers trembling. He was so quiet, so still. Just like Alex at the last…

Swallowing, Victor took the injector from his purse, then lifted Yuuri’s hand and searched his wrist for a vein. Tyler let out a cry that trailed off into more groans, and Victor glanced at Ailis. “I take it there’s enough of the antidote in this device for three people?”

“Plenty.”

“Then you’ll sit and wait quietly if you want a turn.”

She sighed and looked down again, but Victor caught a flash of worry on her face. Then he resumed his search for a vein. “I pray this brings you back to health, my love,” he said softly as he positioned the injector and pressed the button. _Don’t leave me. _He watched Yuuri’s face for any sign of movement.

A weak voice came from further away in the room. “Victor…” Tyler’s glazed grey eyes stared from his bed. “…help me.”

Victor stood, his desire to come to the assistance of a suffering man warring with what this one had done to Yuuri – not only in the duel, but during the anxious months beforehand. However, that was no reason to withhold the simple life-saving treatment in the palm of his hand. He turned to address Ailis. “How long will this take to have an effect? I see no change in Justin.”

“From my experiments, I’d say it’ll be a while, since he’s obviously far gone – ”

“Experiments?”

She glared at him. “On animals. I haven’t been going around poisoning people. It’s a nasty way to die.”

Victor blinked at this strange logic. “You gave the plague to people. You gave it to _me_.”

“Exactly. While I held the cure. Mind you,” she added, looking at Yuuri, “he might not be responding because…well, because he’s already dead, I thought I ought to say. In case you hadn’t considered it. But that’s not my fault – ”

“Madam,” Victor said, striding over to Tyler, “my patience is wearing thin. Hold your tongue.” He knelt next to the bed, took a hand and searched for a vein.

“What are you doing?” Tyler asked hoarsely. “I…I can’t see or hear very well. I think sometimes I must be dreaming. And the inside of my body…it burns.” He shifted on top of the blanket.

“Be still,” Victor told him. “I have an antidote for the poison.”

“Oh, can it be true?” He squirmed again in his agitation.

“I said be still.” Locating a blue line in Tyler’s wrist, Victor pressed the button on the injector. Then he stood and went to the door. Opening it, he found Simon waiting outside. “Get someone to help you take your master to his room,” he told him. “You might find a man in the garrison, or on the roof of it. I’m pleased to say Tyler’s been given an antidote to the poison and should recover soon.”

Simon’s face lit up. “My lord, this is joyous news. I’ll find someone straight away.” He bowed and trotted off down the hall.

Shutting the door, Victor’s eyes alit on Yuuri again, and his stomach dropped when he noticed no change. _It may take some time, she said._

“Sir, what will you do with this lady?” Emil asked. “Will she be put on trial? Returned to her own time?”

“I need to consider. Both of those options are problematic.”

“You can’t think you’d be washing your hands of me by sending me back,” Ailis told him. “I can’t _go _back. A part in the time-travel sphere malfunctioned in the timestream. I can’t exactly fix it with a hammer, chisel and saw, or make a new one out of nails and string.”

“So I understand.” He returned to Tyler’s side and knelt once again. Bright, feverish eyes regarded him, though they’d already lost something of their fogged look.

“I’m sure I’m still dreaming,” Tyler said with a shaky smile. “I heard voices speaking nonsense.”

“You can hear and understand me, can you not?”

“Victor. Yes.” 

“Simon will be escorting you to your room shortly. When you feel well enough, you’re to pack your possessions and return to your father, which is more mercy than you deserve. He might have already heard of your dishonourable actions by then; you may expect the king to inform him, unless you make haste and find the courage to do it yourself.”

“Thank you. You’ve indeed been merciful, and…I’m grateful.” 

“Are you able to sit up?”

“Let me try.” He grimaced, and Victor reached out a hand, which he took. The contact stirred unexpected feelings within him.

_I made love with this man, on numerous occasions._

_No. There’s only one man I’ve ever done that with. _

“I’m sorry for what happened between us,” he said quietly, the words bitter yet truthful. “I didn’t realise how you felt, and I was callous.”

“It means a lot to hear you say so,” Tyler replied, taking deep breaths and then moaning. “Dear lord, my body still hurts, and I’m dizzy. But I believe…yes, I’m better than before.” His gaze found Victor’s again. “I was also at fault. I should’ve said something before…before things got as far as they did. Then when I saw you with him…” He glanced at Yuuri.

_Don’t remind me of that. And in fact, I believe enough has been said between us now. If I never saw you again, it would please me. _

A knock sounded on the door. “Sir Victor,” came Simon’s voice, “I’ve brought William, a guard from the garrison.”

“Come in,” he said, and the two of them entered. “He’s ready to leave, though his sword is in my keeping for the time being. I’ll have it returned to him in due course.” He addressed Tyler again. “You call me merciful. Go try and be merciful to others, then, as payment, rather than seeking revenge. I only wish we’d both learned these things sooner.”

“If you’ll allow us to help you stand, sir,” Simon said to Tyler, “William and I will take you to your room. I’m sure you’ll feel more comfortable there, without all this armour strapped to you.”

Tyler nodded, and with each man slipping an arm behind his back, he was hoisted to his feet. He held Victor’s gaze a moment, then braced his arms around his escorts’ shoulders, leaning on them heavily as they exited. 

Victor closed the door behind them. “I wonder – ” Emil began to say, looking at him. But Victor caught a movement behind the squire – Ailis reaching over to Yuuri, lifting his wrist. He darted toward her just as she recoiled back to her previous sitting position, her palms on the mattress.

“What were you doing?” he demanded, grabbing her own wrist and examining her hand, which was empty.

“You’re hurting me.”

“I said what were you doing? Why were you touching him?”

“By ‘him’, you mean Yuuri,” she said, staring at him defiantly. “You may as well say it. I felt his com.” Seemingly alarmed at his thunderous expression, she added, “That’s _all _I did! I wanted to make sure. Not that I really needed to. Everyone knows how close you and Justin are. So you getting my gun, and all these things you understand about me and my tech – it’s obvious you must be in Yuuri’s confidence. I’m not stupid.”

Victor let go of her wrist and heard Emil say, “I looked away for a moment, sir. I’m sorry; it won’t happen again.”

“That day someone used the other com to project themselves as the laundress, Ethelfrith – that was you, wasn’t it?” Ailis said to Victor. “Shooting at me.”

“You hardly gave me a choice,” he replied, seeing little point now in denying it. “I saw you waiting for Yuuri across the hall.”

“Then it must have been you who fired the arrow at me at the cottage that day. But no – you had the plague, didn’t you?” She looked at Emil. “Was it you? You seem to know all about this.”

“I’ll ask the questions from now on,” Victor said to her.

“Ow.” She winced and wrapped an arm around her stomach. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t feeling well. You do remember I’ve been poisoned, don’t you? By you. You’ve given the knights in shining armour their injections; now it’s my turn.”

Ignoring her, Victor moved to the other side of Yuuri and bent over him. If the antidote were having any effect, surely there’d be something happening by now? He couldn’t see his real skin to be able to ascertain if its colour had changed. The search for a pulse again yielded no result. There were no sounds of breathing that he could detect. _Yuuri, my darling, please, don’t do this. _He stood so that his cheek was near Yuuri’s nose and mouth.

“Anything, sir?” Emil asked after a moment.

“I…I don’t know…I’m not sure.” He lingered, unwilling to let go of hope. It couldn’t end for them, the beautiful time they’d had together; not like this. As prepared as he’d tried to be for Yuuri meeting his death in the duel, Victor discovered that it hadn’t formed any kind of bulwark against the grief and despair that threatened for real. His heart was shattering, he was sure. 

But…could he, perhaps, feel something now? Or was it his imagination? It must be; he wanted it too much. Wait – yes, he _could_ feel it; very faint exhales. Yes, yes, there was no mistake.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he sighed with a smile, tears filling his eyes. He pressed a kiss to his love’s forehead.

“Touching,” Ailis said. “Now give me the injection.”

Victor straightened and held her gaze. “On one condition,” he said.

“Condition? Your action in withholding the antidote – which I developed myself, along with the tech you and your boyfriend have freely been making use of – amounts to nothing short of torture.”

“I’ll be happy to give you the injection momentarily. Just tell me one thing: what mischief have you been planning for the king’s visit?”

She shook her head. “What makes you think I am? Celestino and all his puppets have convinced you, too, haven’t they? That all I want to do is wreck everything around me, like a toddler having a tantrum. I don’t know if they told you what a scientist is, or – ”

“Why did you develop the plague bacteria, then, and infect so many of us?”

“Control, Victor. No one else from this time knows how the plague is spread, let alone what it is on a microscopic level.”

“Presumably the guns serve the same function?”

“You might say so. But I don’t use any weapon, biological or mechanical, unless I feel I have to. Yuuri attacked me; he may have been planning to kill me, for all I know. I had to defend myself. So I found a way that was certain to get him to come to my cottage.”

“And you thought risking the lives of everyone at the castle was justified in that cause?”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

Victor pressed his lips together. “I asked you to tell me what you were planning for the king’s visit, and I’m not satisfied with your answer.” He glanced at the injector in his hand before looking back at her. “You say you’re in some discomfort. It wouldn’t take long to remedy if you were more forthcoming.”

“You b – ” She seemed to think better of what she’d been about to say. “I’m telling you, the answer is nothing. Nothing nefarious, anyway. I wanted to meet the king and queen and find out what they’re like. And experience everything that goes into a royal visit. It furthers Andrei’s ambitions, so he was hardly likely to object, though he grumbled about the cost. Don’t you ever wonder about the past yourself? What it was like when York was the Viking capital of the country? Or when the Romans were here? There are intriguing things even further back in time, before recorded history, that you have no idea about. And then imagine you have a time machine and can choose any one of those things to visit. Wouldn’t that be reason enough to do it – sheer curiosity? And on top of that, it just so happens that I swapped places with a baroness. Why do you expect me to try to cause chaos when I dropped straight into a life like this?”

Despite himself, Victor was intrigued by her words, but he made sure it didn’t show. “Because of what I’ve already said,” he replied. “Furthermore, I’ve been informed of some of the threats you’ve made. Did you not say something to Professor Celestino about having the power to change history?” He thought back to his conversations with Yuuri. “For example, to assassinate the king and ‘fry the knights in their armour’?”

The look she gave him was vicious; that alone was enough to put the lie to her words. “Like you said, it was a threat. I’ve made a lot of them, which I guess you also know. To keep people off my back. It doesn’t mean I ever had any intention of carrying them out.”

“Madam, I’d trust a snake sooner than I’d trust you.” Victor thought for a moment, looking at Yuuri again. Yes, he was definitely breathing now, thank God, but he showed no sign of waking. There was no telling how long it would be, and he had no desire to continue conversing with Ailis like this.

Perhaps there was a way to make the most of the time, and learn something of her real plans into the bargain. It would require withholding the injection a little longer yet, which pricked at his conscience, but he wouldn’t allow her to become too poorly before he gave it to her. And God knew she’d caused enough suffering to others. In fact, if this worked, it could make Yuuri’s job that much easier when he awoke.

“Where’s Julius?” he asked Emil.

“He went to stable the horses, sir, and purposed to return afterward.”

“Hm.” It would have been helpful to have an assistant along, just to help keep an eye on Ailis. But not essential. “Stay here and look after Yuuri, and tell Julius to do so as well. When he awakens, explain to him what went on here, and give him the gun. He and I can both talk to Phichit, who might even be able to arrange for us to speak with each other over our coms. I’ll let you know what’s happening that way and you can do the same.”

“Where are you going, sir?”

“To Ailis’s lab. I believe that’s what you call it?” Victor said to her.

“What do you mean, to my lab? I don’t have a lab here. You must’ve noticed I abandoned the cottage I was using.”

“And found a new one, did you not? Or another place to go.”

“No. There’s no way for me to get away from the castle once the gate’s closed for the night, thanks to _him – _” She tilted her head at Yuuri. “ – and what he did to the underground passage.”

“But that occurred well after he went to see you at the cottage,” Victor pressed. “I understand you possess quite a few items. All I discovered after a thorough search of your room at the castle was clothing and the gun. You therefore have another location where you store your things, and most probably also where you work. I can’t imagine anyplace in the castle where you’d be able to grow plague bacteria or make poison and an antidote without being discovered.”

Her eyes sparked as she considered him. “I underestimated you, it seems. All this time, I thought you were a pretty piece of arm candy with more brawn than brains.” She huffed a little laugh. “I suppose if I’d talked to you more, I’d have learned the truth sooner. But then, I didn’t want you to suspect who I was. Andrei thinks you’re bright, even if he doesn’t understand the reasons for everything you do. I should’ve taken him more seriously.”

Victor had no taste for secondhand information about himself via this woman who Andrei had believed to be his wife. “Where is this lab of yours?” he asked.

“Give me the antidote first.”

“Do as I say and you’ll receive it.”

“I swear I’ll make you regret this,” she hissed. “You and that stooge of Celestino’s.” She doubled over. “Bloody hell, my stomach.”

“Then we should make a move before it gets worse.”

“Move? Where the hell are you planning on dragging me off to now?”

“You’re going to show me your lab.” Victor took the second gun from his purse and pointed it at her.


	121. Chapter 121

_Lies seem to come to this woman as easily as breathing_, Victor thought as he entered the woods with his gun aimed at Ailis’s back; she walked just ahead of him and a little to the side. When she’d realised she was not going to receive the antidote until she’d shown him to her lab, she’d taken back what she’d said about not having one.

At first she’d wanted to ride there, but Victor didn’t care for the idea, as that would make it easier for her to seek an opportunity to get away. Instead, he’d gambled that the place would be close by, if she’d been going there at night until recently. Though she’d complained that she couldn’t possibly go on foot with the poison in her system, Victor had remained steadfast until she’d finally agreed. They’d left Emil watching over Yuuri and made their way out of the castle. Victor had ordered Ailis to remain silent, and had told Alfric as they left the gatehouse that his mother fancied a walk and some fresh air.

Now in the cover of the trees, he told her to turn her projector off, and she did so. He also decided they were sheltered enough for him to contact Phichit; but before he could make the call, Ailis spoke.

“Give me the antidote,” she said, continuing to face ahead as they walked.

“Not until you’ve shown me where your lab is.”

“It isn’t far.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. For your sake.”

After a pause, she said, “You really are your father’s son. Yuuri doesn’t seem to have been much of a civilising influence on you. Maybe it’s the other way around, then – maybe you’ve dragged him down to your level.”

Victor had been determined not to let any of her barbs sting, but this one nevertheless was keen. “What do you mean, my level?”

“His getting involved in that duel was your fault, wasn’t it? Because your ex-lover got jealous. I’m not blind to what happens here. Then you trained him all those months in how to butcher people. I guess he’d be here with us now if he could, applauding what you’re doing to me.”

Victor was tempted to argue, but it was difficult when he’d had similar thoughts himself. Apart from one. “He wouldn’t applaud any of this. I believe he’d understand why it was necessary to temporarily withhold your treatment, however. I’ll have you know he’s taught me a great deal about your time, and standards of justice and morality there.”

Ailis bit out a laugh. “You must know you’d be arrested for this, then. It’s attempted murder.”

“I have no intention of killing you.”

“All right, grievous bodily harm. You’d be removed from society and put in intensive therapy and rehabilitation.”

“Apply your justice to your own actions, madam. I hardly think you hold the moral high ground.”

She fell silent for a while. Then she said, “Did you know Andrei wanted to make Alexander his heir?”

Victor took this in, stunned as he was to hear her speak of his brother at all, let alone what she’d just said about him. “What?”

“It’s true,” she replied with a touch of smugness. “He was disappointed that you were what he was left with. A son who can’t produce an heir because he’s not interested in women. The excuses he’s had to make for you…”

“How dare you – ” Victor began, then cut himself off. _Don’t let her goad you_, he’d said to Emil_. _He ought to follow his own advice. And anyway, if she’d been hoping for an element of surprise, she’d missed the mark; Andrei, plain-speaking man that he was, had already said as much to him on more than one occasion.

“I’ve been in a privileged position, Victor,” Ailis continued. “Andrei thinks it’s unmanly of you not to set foot in the castle chapel. Father Maynard is embarrassed that the lord’s own son avoids mass. And all this time you’ve spent training Yuuri – did you know that both Matthew and John have complained about the extra work you’ve given them?”

“I see that my father has confided in you,” Victor said, his blood beginning to race; he hoped it wasn’t reflected in his voice. “He also confides in me. But only one of us is who we claim to be.”

“He’s done more than confide in me,” she said with a dark laugh. “He’s very keen, your father, even though he’s pushing sixty. Quite virile. Did you know he likes to – ”

“_Enough._” Willing himself to remain calm, Victor halted. “Turn around and look at me.”

She did as he instructed, watching his gun and eyeing him curiously. “Changed your mind? Are you going to shoot me?”

“Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Then why are you trying to provoke me?”

She considered her answer, then said in a low voice, “Because it seems to be all the power I have left. You’ve been ordering me around at gunpoint. You and Yuuri know who I am. You’re making me take you to my lab. You _poisoned _me and don’t give a damn that I’m in pain. That’s my retaliation. That, and this, now that we’re having a proper little chinwag – Andrei dies in 1405. Natalia dies five years later. That’s how the history books had it when I first got here; I don’t know if they’ve changed based on subsequent events, or if they still will. But _you_, now…”

“They say I die this year.”

She stared. Then understanding shone in her eyes. “Well, what do you know.” Her tone was both surprised and amused. “Yuuri’s not beyond trying to save his love from an early grave. So I’m not allowed to change anything while I’m here, but the same rule doesn’t apply to him.”

“Do you know how it happens?” Victor asked quietly before he could stop himself. Even if she did know, there was of course no telling what kind of lie she might invent as an answer.

“That fact seems to have been lost to history.” She gave him a faint grin. “Maybe I find a way to turn the tables on you and make you sorry for everything you’ve done to me.”

“What I’ve done, madam, is in no way akin to the fact that you infiltrated my family and are unapologetic about the trust you’ve violated and the actions you’re responsible for. While my father and I might not always see eye to eye, we have a certain understanding. And I can confidently state that if he knew who you were and what you’d been doing, he’d have you interrogated and put to death. You’d find my treatment today gentle by comparison.” A flash of fear across her face revealed that she knew the truth of what he’d said, but it quickly dissipated, and her voice was smooth when she spoke.

“He’d like the laser guns, though, don’t you think? These feudal men, so hungry for power. That’s all it’d take to buy him. Don’t tell me you disagree.”

“Has it been rewarding for you?” Victor jumped in quickly. “Being here, in my mother’s position? Have you got what you wanted from it?”

“Got what I…” She stared again. “You know, I didn’t have a firm plan for anything in mind when I came here. It was the first and only time I’d travelled using the tech I invented. Maybe I was just hoping to start over someplace else.” She coughed. Her face was quite pale. They couldn’t stand here talking all day, not while the poison was in her system.

“You could’ve done that in your own time.”

“They don’t appreciate me. No one ever has.”

“You don’t seem to want to encourage anyone to like you.”

“Why should I? What a pathetic thing to do.”

She coughed again; then bent over, her back to Victor, as more coughs shuddered through her. He fought off the instinct to rush to her aid. Though his conscience stabbed at him, his mind told him it was too transparent. All she wanted was the chance to wrest the gun away from him. 

“Give me the fucking antidote.”

“Lead me to your lab, then, and waste no more time with words.”

She made an impressive effort to convince him that she was having an attack of some kind, but he forced himself to hold firm, and was reassured that he’d made the correct decision when she eventually straightened with a few more weak coughs and resumed her walk. It remained a pleasant afternoon, a warm gentle breeze sighing through the leaves while puffy white clouds floated across the sky.

Victor called Phichit on his com. When the young man’s voice emerged, Ailis gave a start, but continued along the small path that wound through the trees. Victor summarised what had happened since they’d last spoken in Natalia’s room. “Yuuri’s recovering,” he said at the end. “He’s been given an injection to counteract the poison.”

“Thank God for that,” Phichit breathed. “So where are you right now? What’s Yuuri doing? He hasn’t contacted me on his com yet. And where’s Ailis?”

Victor answered his questions as they walked. “I imagine when Yuuri’s awake, he’ll call you. Would you be able to let Mari know?”

“I’ve already messaged her since you came on. She was glad to hear and sends her love to you both.”

“That’s kind of her. Please tell her – ”

“Both of you, stop already,” Ailis grumbled. “I feel sick enough as it is. Besides, we’re about there.”

Victor looked ahead and saw a clearing; the grass was luminous green in the sunlight, with buttercups and daisies sprinkled over it like fairy dust. A sharply defined mound the size of a large round barrow sat in the middle, a thick wooden door set in its side.

“Oh,” he said. “I know where we are.” He hadn’t been able to remember at first where this particular path led; it wasn’t one that was in general use anymore. But he recognised it now. “This is the dungeon.”

“Ailis has been working in a dungeon?” came Phichit’s voice.

“It’s disused,” Victor explained. “There’s been no one here for a long time, until now.” Seeing it again sent a cold stab through him. A building had stood in this clearing long ago, probably an old wooden motte and bailey castle. The dungeon inside the mound was all that remained, and when its existence had come to Andrei’s attention, he’d made occasional use of it. Fortunately, Victor and Alex hadn’t needed to try hard to persuade him to stop. Andrei had said it was too much bother to have to look after people there away from the castle, though Victor also knew that his father was not entirely lacking in compassion.

He saw now that there was a shiny new padlock attached to the latch on the door, the only clear indication that Ailis had appropriated the dungeon for herself. “Perhaps if we keep this call open,” he spoke into his com as Ailis led him forward, “you can help me make sense of what’s inside.”

“If you want my advice, I think it’s safer to go back to where Yuuri is; then you can all go out to the lab together when he’s ready.”

“But as we’re here, it seems a wasted opportunity not to discover more about what Ailis has been doing. I’m watching her, and I’ll be able to tell Yuuri what I’ve found.”

After a pause, Phichit said, “Be careful, Victor. If she’s got some kind of defence or trap set up…”

“I have a laser gun. From my experience, I’d say it’s quite effective protection.”

Ailis unlocked the door, and it swung open with a creak. Once inside the black aperture, she reached toward the wall as if searching for something. “What are you doing?” Victor asked sharply.

“There’s a light here. I’m trying to turn it on. Is that allowed?”

“What do you mean, turn it on?”

Something made a clicking noise, and a harsh white light spilled from a device on a shelf, bathing the corridor in an eldritch glow that gave them the appearance of ghosts. “Yuuri didn’t even bring one of these with him?” She gave a quiet chuckle. “I’m sure he’s loved having to fumble with fire steels and flint. You haven’t even invented _matches _yet.”

“Show me to your lab.”

She paused and slanted a glance backward. “I wonder how long it’ll be before he gets tired of everything here. We’re used to living with comforts that people of this time could never imagine. It might start out as an adventure in a way, like a camping trip. But after a while, you start missing air conditioning, a shower, a washing machine, a decent Cloud connection, a cup of coffee at the press of a button. How well do you think you could ever really understand this man of yours from the future? You have no idea what his life was like before he came here.”

“And you presume too much,” Victor said, his voice harsher than he’d intended. Because her words had once again pierced to his core. He didn’t even understand all of them, which was no doubt deliberate on her part. Although he’d disarmed her, she still had a powerful weapon at her disposal: her tongue. “Not another word until we reach your lab,” he ordered, “or I’ll stun you. And I suspect you’ll feel a sight worse than you do now when you awaken.” Though he felt sick at the thought of it; of forcing her to carry on still longer without the antidote she needed, despite the horrific things she’d done and most probably still desired to do. Perhaps, after all, he wasn’t as uncivilised as she seemed to believe.

_Of course I’m not. Yuuri wouldn’t have fallen in love with me if he shared her thoughts. She doesn’t speak for her entire world and time._

“_I _know what Yuuri’s life was like here,” Phichit spoke up. “You make him really happy, Victor. Don’t listen to any of that rubbish she’s spouting.”

Victor’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Ailis let out a huff and continued down the grey stone-lined corridor, her arms wrapped around her stomach. Soon they came to another heavy wooden door that she unlocked with a key. Inside, she switched on a second white light. Victor shut the door behind him and looked around in awed silence.

The spacious area before them contained several cells, each with a door consisting of a gridwork of rusting iron bars. While the floor and walls were of grey stone, the high ceiling appeared to be solidly constructed of heavy timbers; thick posts supported the beams at intervals. A long wooden cabinet lined the wall to Victor’s left; smaller cabinets were mounted on the walls, and one stood against the far side of the room. He was left with the impression of a place whose original purpose, though obscure, had been more domestic, especially given the existence of the fireplace; the chimney must be cleverly concealed somewhere in the hill. At a later date the cells would have been added, though the original fixtures in the room had remained.

But this was not what had aroused Victor’s interest when he’d entered. In the eerie white light, he found himself gazing at nothing less than an alchemist’s workshop. A large, heavy wooden table, much of it covered with apparatus, stood in the middle of the room with two stools pulled up to it, one on either side. Glass flasks of various sizes simmered on trivets over miniature oil lamps. There were ceramic bottles, bowls, a marble mortar and pestle. Measuring cups and spoons. Candles – many of them, all around the room. At least one on every available surface, it seemed, though none were currently lit.

In addition, some items were clearly from Ailis’s own time. A long black coat similar to Yuuri’s hanging on a hook on the wall. A silver box the size of a large dinner platter with flashing blue and white lights mounted high on a shelf above the fireplace. Metal components lay in piles on the table: small boxes, plates, tiny screws and coils, even tools that resembled the laser pen.

“What is it that you do here?” Victor asked Ailis, who had turned to face him.

“Inject me first, damn you. I did what you wanted. My stomach hurts so much I can barely think.”

“Hold out a wrist.”

She pushed a gleaming green and gold sleeve up and stretched her hand out, palm up. The blue veins stood out against her pale skin in the flat white light. Keeping the gun trained on her, Victor took the injector from his purse and placed it over her wrist, then pressed the button and put the device away. “Now answer my question,” he said.

She blinked. “Do you realise what a tedious existence noblewomen have here? Believe it or not, I like to do things that don’t involve planning meals with the cook, deciding which dress I want Percy to bring me next, or embroidering for hours while my ladies-in-waiting gossip endlessly. Your books here are very pretty, but there aren’t many, because they all have to be written by hand. If I want to listen to music, I have to summon the musicians to my chamber. It’s not safe to work on my tech in the castle. Not easily explained away if someone walks in on me.”

“Many people would envy that kind of existence.”

“You don’t have to lecture me about all the privileges I have here; they’ve been rubbed into my face from day one. I don’t know how you and Andrei put up with all the sycophants who flock around us. Maybe you like it; the king certainly seems to. But for me it’s worse, because behind their ingratiating smiles, they don’t respect me. I’m a woman. Every man in that castle patronises me. You do it, too. Can’t go anywhere on my own, have to have a chaperone…”

“It’s for your own safety,” Victor replied. “Ruffians and thieves can lurk on the roads, hoping to ambush wealthy travellers. You may not have noticed, because you’ve always been well protected when you’ve ventured beyond the castle. I assure you, they wouldn’t be so gallant as to allow someone like yourself to pass by unmolested; quite the opposite, in fact. But if you expect my sympathies at the moment – ” 

“Believe me, I don’t. Not from you.” She paused. “Well, now that we’re here, what do you want?” 

Phichit’s voice came from the com. “Victor, what are you seeing?”

He described the room and its contents while Phichit made small noises of acknowledgement. “Ailis, can you hear me?” he said when Victor was finished.

“There’s nothing wrong with my ears.”

“What are you working on in there? What’s in the flasks you’re keeping warm?”

“My supper.”

“The truth,” Victor said, giving the gun a brief wave.

“All right. I’ve been experimenting with distilling salicin from white willow bark and concentrating it, because I could do with a decent painkiller. I might even be inclined to share. Evil of me, isn’t it?”

“Prove it. Drink some.”

She stared at him, her nose wrinkling slightly. “It’s not finished yet.”

“It shouldn’t need to be. I’ve heard of people stripping the bark straight from the tree and chewing it to obtain the effects.”

“It’ll ruin the experiment.”

“How?”

Phichit jumped in, saying, “To be on the safe side, I think it’s best to destroy whatever she’s brewing. It could be more plague, or something similar. We can’t risk the king getting hurt by anything she’s doing. You’ve got a gun, Victor – I’d say use it.”

“What?” Ailis shrieked. “How’s the king going to be hurt by anything here when you’ve already taken me prisoner? Leave my possessions alone, you philistines – you don’t understand!”

Victor raised his gun, ignoring Ailis’s pleas of _No, don’t_, and aimed at the largest flask; it contained a liquid that resembled pease pottage, only thinner. Keeping the weapon on stun, he fired, and the flask shattered, along with the lamp underneath. Oil oozed across the table, mixing with the spilled green liquid and fragments of glass.

“Stop!” Ailis cried, stepping forward.

Victor pointed the gun at her. “Stay where you are.” Then he aimed at another bubbling flask with the same result.

“You’re making a bloody mess of my work!”

“Knowing what your ‘work’ has been in the past, I have to agree with Phichit – it’s the safest thing to do.”

“_Safe?_” Ailis balled her fists at her sides. “You’re firing a laser gun at _oil lamps_. Hit the oil directly and that whole table could ignite and take everything else in here with it, along with the roof. Is that how you fancy dying? If you’re determined to make today your death day, don’t bloody include me in it!”

Victor glanced at her, deciding she had a point. “Then a precise aim would seem to be required,” he said, pointing the gun at another flask.

Before he pressed the button, however, the door flew open behind him. He whirled around to come face to face with –

_Roman soldiers?_

Marching at him, swords raised. He gasped, and his right wrist was grabbed from behind and yanked – _the gun_ – 

An explosion of blue light, then darkness.


	122. Chapter 122

Ailis scrolled frantically through the BCI menu in her visual field – _come on, come on, bloody hell, where is it_ – until she finally located the command to switch the guards off. They were only supposed to attack Victor, but they’d been realistic enough to make her worry for a moment. She wasn’t any more immune to the powerful hypnotic effect of Immersion than anyone else, and she’d felt a fleeting sense of vulnerability that she hadn’t expected. 

But it was gone now. She exited the menu and eyed Victor on the floor; he’d made quite a clatter on the stones with all that armour. “I got you, you bastard,” she muttered.

She’d thought she’d had him sussed. A rather morose member of the selfish nobility who only seemed to care about training and whoever he could take to bed. Andrei despaired of how little interest he showed in politics, though he’d apparently been pulling his weight with affairs of the castle and the estate until recently.

Not that any of it mattered to her. But she should’ve known, once he’d had that conversation with Tyler in the arena, that the game was up; that the hapless knight would let slip the secret of who’d given him the poison for his sword, even though he’d sworn not to. At that point, she should’ve acted; done something to protect herself. But she hadn’t credited Victor with the ability to put two and two together – a very regrettable mistake.

“You gave me a hard time, and you _enjoyed _it,” she said aloud to the still form on the floor.

She ought to kill him now. The gun had been set to stun, and she’d been forced to act quickly. But now she could, and did, alter it. Her finger hovered over the button as she aimed at Victor’s head.

_No. He can still be useful – as bait to lure Yuuri here. _That rankled, but it was an opportunity she’d be foolish to throw away.

Slipping her gun into her trouser pocket, she decided she’d have to move him to a cell. If he weighed too much with the armour, she’d have to take it off him, though untying all the pieces from his unconscious body seemed like a rather distasteful last resort. Pulling her keyring out, she opened a cell, then returned to Victor, slipped her arms under his own, lifted his upper body, and pulled.

The muscles in her back strained and her arms ached almost instantly, but she discovered she was able to drag him bit by bit across the floor, his metal heels making a long grating noise as they scraped across the stone. She required a couple of breathers along the way, still feeling weak from the poison; but eventually, sweating and gasping, she deposited him in a cell. Standing, she took a moment to get her breath back.

Now, what did she need to take from him? It was possible Yuuri had given him one of her translators, but she wasn’t going to worry about that, having no desire to poke around in his ear. She grabbed his wrist and removed the com; the call to Phichit would’ve dropped when Victor had fallen unconscious, and she wasn’t in any hurry to restore it. But that com was rightfully hers, and Ethelfrith’s projection might still be handy to have.

What else was in his purse? She opened the drawstring and emptied its contents. Money and keys, which she didn’t need. Those could go back; she wasn’t so petty as to take everything here just because she could. The injector with the antidote; hers as well. And a laser pen? Must be Yuuri’s – the one he’d tried pitifully to use on her that day they’d struggled in the woods. Well, it was hers now too. She locked the gate to the cell, then placed the items on a shelf in the long cabinet against the wall and relocked that, and turned to look at the room, her gut twisting as she took in the destruction from Victor’s gunfire.

“Bloody hell,” she spat. She should’ve thought to call up the BCI for the Immersion console as soon as she was in the corridor and able to access it, but it hadn’t occurred to her until Victor had begun destroying her stores of _Yersinia pestis_. She’d been distracted and in pain, that was the problem. Now the table was a mess, there was glass all over the floor, and the oil spills from the lamps were dripping over the sides. Once this was all over with, she would clean up in here and consider what to do next. She didn’t have to use the plague to kill, as a gun would do the job just as easily; it simply pre-empted questions and meant someone else would take care of the body, since no one here would suspect that an illness could be deliberately targeted at a victim. 

She decided she could spare a moment to sit down, pull her thoughts together, and consider what to do. Perching on a stool, she massaged her forehead. She hadn’t been lying about the salicin, even if the other flasks contained plague cultures. But the oaf had gone for random destruction, and the salicin was gone. At least the effects of the poison were gradually wearing off.

Underneath the lingering pain and nausea, and the relief from having locked up her own captor, she was picked as hell. At herself just as much as Yuuri, Victor, Phichit and Celestino. She’d made too many errors. Life wasn’t as neat as the coils, quantum processors and temporal harmonisers in the devices she’d created. Those could be studied, intuited, fathomed. There was a certain creative logic to them that was unique to the improbable world of the very small. Her brain danced with the possibilities. Unfortunately, human relations were much messier. They weren’t her strong suit, and she understood that; it was just as well to be honest with herself. Maybe it was why so many things had gone wrong here.

Her gaze strayed to the unconscious gleaming form of Victor in his cage. _Maybe this whole trip has run its course now, and it’s time to move on. _It would be a wrench after she’d settled in, though there would be plenty about this place she wouldn’t miss.

She could, of course, have chosen to live a quiet life as the baroness without aspiring to be queen. But Celestino had done his best to kill that as a possibility, and Yuuri had never given her any peace. Besides, how much power did she really have here? A baroness compared to the actual queen – that made all the difference. She would only have needed to kill two more people after Yuuri. As queen, she would inevitably be responsible for more deaths, but that was something she was willing to take on her shoulders as necessary – to maintain order, even change things for the better. People would soon see how powerful and deadly the guns were and give up trying to fight. She would be benevolent to those who deserved it. So many downtrodden people in this time.

_Why should I run away and start over somewhere else, if I can still accomplish that?_

She stood and went to a cabinet on the wall, where she removed an earthenware bottle of thin wine and a cup. Taking them back to the table, she poured herself a drink and polished off half of it in one go, then sipped at the rest. That was better.

_I’ve put too much effort into what I’ve done here to give up now. And I’m being too pessimistic. Once I’m rid of Yuuri and Victor, I’ll have a second chance at the castle as Natalia. _Though there was also the problem of the squire, Emil. He seemed harmless, however, and it would be a shame to have to kill him. She could possibly buy his silence with a knighthood, especially without his two masters around anymore, and no one left to believe any fanciful-sounding stories he came out with. At any rate, there would be no more effective opposition to her here, and at last she’d be free to do as she pleased. They’d thank her for it – the whole country.

_One step at a time, though. _She was in control again – so why did she feel backed into a corner?

_Because three people know who I am. Hopefully no more. But I’d better face up to the possibility that they’ve told others, which would complicate things. At least I’ve got one of them under lock and key now._

She hadn’t anticipated that the Immersion console would come to her rescue quite like this. When it had finally occurred to her to bring up the BCI menu – Yuuri would have recognised the significance of her blank stare and darting eyes, but Victor hadn’t – she’d been able to access the simplified part of the program she’d used for earlier tests and project some of the characters from one of the environments; thinking quickly, she’d randomly chosen the Roman soldiers. She took a moment now, as she sipped her wine, to call the menu back up and enter commands to ensure that when she left the dungeon, they’d return to guard the prisoner.

Then there was the matter of the main attraction – the full-blown Immersion program. _I wonder what you’ll make of it, dear enemy. You think you’re good at fighting? Then prove it, or die trying. You’ll find this is rather different from waving a sword at Tyler._

She’d be taking a risk by entering it with him when he got here. As the controller of the game, she was supposed to be afforded a certain level of immunity to attack; though she knew that if she did something like walk into the middle of a fight, she might be injured or killed due to the simple fact that any other outcome was wildly improbable. She would also be open to attacks from other players. It wasn’t ideal. If Yuuri hadn’t been in possession of a gun, she would simply wait in ambush outside and then shoot him when he was within range. So much easier. But Victor had scuppered that possibility, damn him. No, it was too dangerous to try to confront Celestino’s man head-on. Better to give the Immersion program its first outing, and guide it from within to get rid of him for good.

There was no sound or movement from Victor as she stood and passed through the doorway into the corridor beyond, shutting the door behind her and automatically reaching for her keyring. There she paused. If she locked the doors, the holograms would be sentient enough not to walk through them. What type of security would be best in the unlikely event of Victor’s escape – locked doors, or Roman soldiers? Put that way, the soldiers would clearly be the wiser option, as they’d be able to respond to a wide variety of possible situations. She brought up the console’s menu once more, and soon three Roman soldiers appeared in the corridor.

“There’s a prisoner in one of the cells in the room behind me,” she said to them. “Patrol this corridor and make sure no one comes in or gets out.” They nodded and saluted her, and she walked out into the sunlight.

The grey Immersion cloud in front of her hung eerily in the warm afternoon, unaffected by the gentle breeze. It was time to get word to Yuuri, who ought to be awake by now, that she was holding Victor captive, and that he’d better get his arse over here if he wanted him to remain unharmed. She took the little black earpiece she’d picked up before leaving the lab and fitted it snugly, checking that it still enabled access to the Immersion controls. All was as it should be.

_Right, Ailis, _she thought, taking a breath and raising her wrist to her mouth. _Confidence. You are in control. _She made the call.

“A-Ailis?” Phichit answered tentatively. “Where’s Victor? What – ”

“Phichit,” she drawled. “Good afternoon. I’ve got a message for your agent friend. That is, if he’s conscious yet…” 

* * *

Warm…a bed. Safe in Victor’s room…had to be. Heavy, so heavy. He needed more sleep…

_No. Things I have to do. Can’t…can’t stay here._

He wasn’t sure what those things were. Wasn’t sure he could move his limbs. His mind fought through the depths, but something hung over him, pushing him back down. Something black…that he’d done.

_No. I don’t want to know._

But the truth was unavoidable as his memories of the duel floated to the surface.

_I became a killer._

He hadn’t actually killed anyone, he knew. But he _would_ have…he would have done it. He’d tried.

He couldn’t lift a hand, but he could cry, it seemed. A hot tear spilled down a cheek.

_I did what I had to do. Just like Victor. _

Images bled through his mind, gradually sharper, colouring. Tyler…swords clashing…a sting on his cheek. Dizziness. His body giving out just as victory was in his grasp. What had happened? How had it ended? He couldn’t remember.

“I’m alive,” he mumbled through dry lips, trying to pry his eyes open. But it sounded more like a fluttering sigh. How could that be, though, if he’d collapsed during the duel? Tyler would have come in for the kill.

“Master, you’re awake!”

…_Emil? _That didn’t make sense, either. Where was Victor? He’d be here, wouldn’t he? He’d want to know, want to check on him…perhaps the king had summoned him…

_The king. He’s here._

_And Victor’s parents. The baroness…_

_Ailis!_

Yuuri sat up with a start, eyes wide, taking in the sun through a window, Emil sitting on the bed opposite him. His head felt like it was exploding, and he clapped his hands to it. “Shit,” he moaned, blinking away waves of pain and nausea.

“Easy now, sir,” Emil said gently. “Perhaps it would be best to lie back down again for a spell.”

“No.” Yuuri forced his eyes to stay open, steadying himself with a palm on the bed. This wasn’t Victor’s room at all. Victor wasn’t here. What had happened? But the most important thing right now was –

“Emil, Ailis is the baroness,” he said urgently. “Victor’s mother. Natalia.”

“I know.”

“She – ” Yuuri processed what he’d just heard through a mind that felt like mud. “You do?”

Emil nodded and handed him a cup, and Yuuri automatically took a deep draught. It was thin wine, and he was incredibly thirsty, quickly draining the cup dry. “More?” Emil asked him.

“I need you to tell me how you know.”

Emil took the cup and placed it on a small table between the beds, then reached into his purse and pulled out a laser gun, which he handed over. Yuuri’s mouth dropped open when he saw it. “Sir Victor wanted you to have this, as he has one of his own.”

Yuuri eyed the gun, then put it down on the mattress. “Victor was here? He had two guns?”

“Make yourself as comfortable as you can, sir, and I’ll explain. It may take some time.”

“Where is he? Is he all right?”

“As far as I’m aware, he’s fine.”

“As far as you’re aware – ?” Yuuri’s brow clouded and he looked around the room. His body was stationary, though his stomach was still doing sickening flips and his head throbbed.

“Please, sir – you really need to hear this.”

The gravity of Emil’s tone compelled Yuuri to gaze at him in silence. He nodded…and listened in growing amazement to the tale of the outcome of the duel and how Victor had fought Tyler. The poisonings. Tyler’s part in them, and Ailis’s, and how Victor had come to the sickroom with her and the antidote, Tyler’s squire leading him away shortly afterward.

“You seem to have received the largest dose of the poison out of the three of you,” Emil said.

“The three…?”

“Apparently Sir Victor scratched Ailis with Tyler’s sword in order to give her a dose, so that she’d hand over the antidote and do as he requested while she waited to receive it herself.”

Yuuri was struck by the desperation that must have been required for such an act. Victor had saved his life twice today. “Jesus,” he muttered. “How did he find out that Natalia is Ailis, then?”

“He didn’t say. He decided, while you were recovering, that he’d have her show him her…he called it a lab.”

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat. “What? He went there with her by himself?”

“Yes. He did have his gun pointed at her.”

“Did they say where exactly they were going – did Ailis tell him?”

“No, sir, not while they were here.”

“Julia didn’t go with them?” Yuuri said, raking a hand through his hair. “Where is she?”

“She and I brought you here on horses, which she’s gone to stable. She hasn’t returned yet.”

“Do you know if Victor had been in contact with Phichit at all?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but no, I don’t.”

“I…” Yuuri took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to interrogate you, Emil.” 

“I wish I could be of more help. But Sir Victor did give the impression of feeling confidently in charge of the situation.”

“Let’s hope he still is. I’d better get on the com.” Yuuri blinked through his headache, lifting his wrist up to his mouth. “Phichit,” he said as soon as the call was answered, “do you know anything about what’s been happening? Have you heard from Victor recently? Emil says he’s with Ailis.”

“Yuuri – thank God.”

His pulse quickened as he leaned forward. “What, Phichit – what’s going on?”

“I’ve been trying to call you, but I guess you were still unconscious. Victor was with Ailis, Yuuri. She’s the baroness.”

“I know. What do you mean, _was_?”

“Well, he insisted on making her show him her lab. He kept his com on while they went inside, and he told me what he saw in there; it’s some kind of disused dungeon inside a hill, in a clearing in the woods. It sounded to me like Ailis might have been culturing more plague bacteria, so I told Victor to destroy the flasks of liquid; I heard him shooting them with his gun. Then something happened. I heard what might have been a door opening, and the start of, um, what was probably laser-gun fire, but – ”

“_Shit_,” Yuuri breathed, jumping to his feet, though he was suddenly so lightheaded that the room spun and he almost blacked out. Reluctantly he sat down, his hand shaking as he attempted to hold the com steady. “And? What happened next?”

“Well, Victor and I were cut off at that point. I haven’t heard from him since. That was about ten minutes ago. I know it sounds bad, but anything could’ve happened. I wouldn’t jump to conclusions until we know more.”

“Did they mention where this dungeon was?”

“No.”

Yuuri looked at Emil. “Do you know where it might be?”

“I’ve heard such a place mentioned, sir, but unfortunately I don’t know how to get there. I could go around and ask – perhaps people who have been at the castle long years, like Alfric, might have some idea.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit said, “Ailis also knows you’re Justin. She wanted you dead.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Have you tried to call Victor back?”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t been answering.”

“Christ. Why didn’t he wait for me to wake up? We could’ve gone together.”

“Master,” Emil said, “perhaps I should speak to Alfric, as I suggested, and – ”

Phichit cut him off. “I’m getting a call from – from Ailis’s com. I’m just going to answer it.”

A shiver ran through Yuuri, and Emil stared at him, blue eyes wide in concern. Neither spoke until Phichit’s voice returned. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Put her on.”

“It won’t be the best connection, because I have to transfer the sound from one com to another, but OK.” There was a small pause before Phichit added gravely, “Yuuri, she’s got Victor.”

Yuuri swallowed as he listened to the words that had intermittently haunted his nightmares for months. “OK,” he said quietly. “Let me talk to her.”

He waited a long moment, fingering the gun. Then the sound of Ailis’s voice made his stomach quiver. “Yuuri, how are you feeling? As sick as I am?”

“Where’s Victor? What have you done to him?” 

“Your kindhearted beau poisoned me with Tyler’s sword and took his good sweet time giving me the antidote, which he was quick enough to inject you and Tyler with. I didn’t appreciate that.”

“Where _is _he, Ailis?”

“He’s unharmed. For now. He seemed to think he could get the better of me, but I put that right.”

“Where are you?”

“All in good time.” After a pause, she continued, “You know who I’ve been disguised as, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Yuuri almost whispered. “Lady Nikiforov.”

“That’s right. And I suspected _you _to be Justin for quite a long time. I thought Tyler would finish you off, but I also let you live a while longer for Victor’s sake. I needed a harmonious family.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t realise at first how attached to you he’d become; but by that point, I figured it was better not to deprive him of his boyfriend just yet, not with important visitors scheduled to visit the castle. Originally, though, I’d hoped he could be encouraged to develop an interest in the king.”

Yuuri stared at his com. “What?”

“They’re about the same age, and Richard’s handsome, wouldn’t you say? He had a male lover who died only last year, though he’d been in exile because he’d done treasonous things, as so many of these foolish nobles do.”

Yuuri glanced at Emil, who looked equally bemused. “You thought you’d get the king’s ear by using Victor like that? Are you mad?”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to. But I was counting on Tyler making neat work of you, and no one would blame Victor for being upset about the death of his very good friend. It seems he worked out who I really was, though, and he gave me a fair bit of trouble earlier. As I said, I didn’t appreciate that.”

“Where – ”

“I’m in a dungeon underneath a hill. Apart from serving as my lab, it’s also being used as originally intended.”

“You have Victor locked up there?” Yuuri’s stomach gave another lurch. Had she chained him to a wall? Put him in some sunless cell?

“Yes. I don’t really have a good reason to keep him alive, either, since he knows who I am and has been working with you to do unpleasant things to me. If you’d rather I didn’t kill him, come here alone and unarmed. You know the drill. Without an archer this time.”

She gave instructions for how to find the dungeon, and Yuuri struggled to take note of them through the swirling horror inside of him. But he saw Emil nod reassuringly, indicating that he knew where to go.

“Let me speak to him,” Yuuri said into his com.

“Not possible; he’s still stunned cold. You have half an hour to get here. Phichit will keep time – won’t you, my lad?” Silence ensued. It was broken by Phichit’s voice.

“She cut the call, Yuuri. Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“I’d better go,” Yuuri said, looking around in a daze. _Victor…_

“Um, I hate to say this; I know it’s not what you want to hear. But you’re looking at risking your life, so…you realise that Victor could already be…be dead, right?”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take,” Yuuri replied, not wanting to imagine the possibility. To Emil he said, “Will you help me?”

“Of course, sir. Anything I can do. The dungeon should be about fifteen minutes’ walk on foot, by my reckoning.”

“Fine. We’ll need to go to the stable first, though, if your bow and arrows are there?”

“Yes, sir. But isn’t that what Ailis told you not to do?”

“You expect me to do what she says? Anyway, you wouldn’t be going straight to her; she won’t know you’re there. I’m also taking this.” He held the gun up before putting it in his purse. Then he got to his feet again, though another wave of dizziness swept through him. “Shit, how long does it take to recover from whatever Tyler put on his sword?” Emil held out a hand to steady him, but Yuuri waved it away. “I’ll be fine. Some fresh air and sun will probably help.”

“You would not _believe _the crowd in the stable,” Julia grumbled as she wandered in. “The royal stablemasters seem to think we ought to have one about three times the size. No one was free to help me. I – ” Once inside the room, she stopped and stared. “What miracle is this? You’re up!” She beamed at Yuuri. But when she took in his expression, her face clouded. “What is it?”

“Julia, if you’ll go back to the stable with us, we’ll explain on the way,” Yuuri said, pouring himself one more cup of drink and gulping it down before leaving the room. The squires followed him, Emil doing a creditable job of filling Julia in on what had happened, punctuated by her own expressions of surprise and dismay. By the time he was finished, they were almost at the stable. Yuuri stopped before they arrived, looking at her.

“We must help the master,” she said firmly. “He can’t be left to suffer at the hands of that witch.”

“If you’re willing to come – ”

“Of course I am. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Julia, it’s possible that he’s…that he’s already…” Yuuri couldn’t say it. He didn’t want the last time he ever spoke to Victor to be in that tent just before the duel, when…

_When I told him about his death date. Please, God, don’t let it be today._

“If he’s still alive,” Julia said, “I shall do everything in my power to ensure he remains so.”

A small voice at the back of Yuuri’s mind whispered to him that she was only fifteen. But she was a trained fighter, fiercely loyal to Victor, and she’d helped before. Yuuri decided he’d be glad of it again now. “You can both come with me, then. But you need to realise how dangerous this is. These laser guns – ”

“We know,” Julia answered. “Don’t we, Emil?”

He nodded. “It’s a good thing you have one yourself, sir. But we’ll be cautious, and I daresay a well-shot arrow might be almost as effective at a distance.”

“We’re taking our bows?” Julia said excitedly. Then her expression darkened. “I’ll make her regret what she’s done, wait and see.”

As the squires fetched their weapons from the stable, Yuuri explained that he didn’t want Ailis to be harmed unless it was unavoidable. It was clear they didn’t understand the reasoning behind this, though Julia was the more vocal one about wanting to shoot the woman dead for her crimes. Now wasn’t the ideal time to speak to her about ethics, however, especially when he was worried out of his mind about Victor, and they had a deadline for arriving at the dungeon. But he attempted to have a few words as they walked swiftly towards the woods.

“You may have to shoot Ailis before she shoots me, if you’re in a position to do that. Or if you see her threatening Victor. But it’d be best if you could do what you did last time – just plan to surprise and wound her. Or if you can, shoot the gun out of her hand.”

“That would be a marvellously skilled shot,” Emil said.

Julia set her mouth firmly. “I could do that. But why are you so keen to preserve her worthless life when she’s done enough to deserve death many times over?”

“Because it’s not worthless,” Yuuri felt compelled to explain. “Even criminals deserve a fair trial, don’t you agree? You have courts here.”

“I think the verdict in her case would be a quick and easy matter.”

_Then it’s a good thing it’s not up to you to decide what ultimately happens to her, _Yuuri thought. Though he wondered for a brief moment if Julia’s simpler view of the situation might not be the better one after all. _Regardless, I have to make sure we all get out of this alive somehow._

His com was still on, but Phichit said little, reminding them at intervals how much time remained before they were due to be at the dungeon. There had been no further word from Ailis.

“Seven minutes left.” His voice broke the silence as they followed the little winding path through the trees. “Yuuri, do you know what you’re going to do when you get there? If she sees you, she might just shoot you, and then – ”

“I know. But there are three of us, and one of her, and we’re armed.”

“She’s got Victor. She can threaten him.”

“I’ve never been out here before, Phichit; I don’t know what to expect. When we get close, but not too close, I’ll scout out the lie of the land and think about what possibilities that presents.”

“OK.” He sounded like he wanted to say more, but remained quiet.

Yuuri couldn’t help but remember the last time he and Victor had embraced and looked into each other’s eyes. When instead of leaving him with the reassurance of his determination and bravery, he’d told him about his death date.

_Your true love will die by your own right hand. _That was how the song went, “Crazy Man Michael”. The fortune-teller at the competition had told Yuuri that he was the eponymous man of the verse, but he could never bring himself to believe he might be the cause of Victor’s death. Maybe this was how it would happen, though – Ailis was only threatening Victor because Yuuri had been working with him; had confided in him, given him dangerous information: one of the reasons why he’d been so hesitant to reveal his identity. He’d never wanted to tell Victor that the history books said he would die this year, and hadn’t had the chance to gauge his reaction. _This is a lot to take in_, he’d said just before he’d left the tent in the arena.

Might he be prone to doing something reckless or panicky – the very opposite of what Yuuri had intended by telling him? He didn’t think so. But Victor was with Ailis now. What was happening there? How could they get him out? A dungeon would be rather more secure than an abandoned cottage, and not exactly easy for the squires to infiltrate if it came to that. And how _could _he stop Ailis from shooting him on sight, as Phichit had said?

_I’d been thinking that all I’d have to deal with today was the duel. _Nor was he in an ideal state for this; he was still weak and dizzy from the poison, and had hardly slept the past several nights. What good was he going to be to Victor, if they even found him alive?

A spike of anxiety shot through him, and for a moment his hope and courage seemed to evaporate along with it. Suddenly he had the absurd desire to sit and cry and have Mari hold him.

_I can’t go to pieces now. I’m going to believe that Victor is alive, that he needs me, and that I can help. There are three of us coming to his rescue, and Ailis is by herself. Those are good odds, aren’t they?_

“Master.”

Yuuri blinked and turned to look at Emil, who was gazing ahead with an expression of bafflement.

“Yon fog bank appears to be surrounding the dungeon; the top of the hill rises just above it. I’ve never seen anything like it, especially late in the afternoon.”

“Zounds,” Julia said, peering at it. “You’d almost think it was a magical smoke.”

“It’s not magical,” Yuuri told her, not wanting to believe his eyes once he’d taken in the sight, because the implications were too incredible, too horrendous to consider. “Come on, let’s get a better look. Keep your bows ready.” He gripped his gun as they covered the rest of the untouched ground; and when they drew up on the path to a point where the “fog” began just a few paces in front of them, there could be no doubting it. This was light-years beyond projecting a hologram or two onto the landscape, the “ghosts” people had been seeing.

“What _is _it?” Julia asked, reaching a hand out in front of her.

“Don’t touch it,” Yuuri said quickly, and her hand shot back to hold her bow.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Quite probably,” he replied, staring at the unmoving bank of grey. “Though not in the way you might think. It’s an Immersion field.”

Silence from the squires. He’d told them both what Immersion was, but like him, they seemed to be having difficulty accepting the fact that it was here in front of them.

Phichit was the first to speak. “You’re joking. Are you sure? How could there be an Immersion field in 1393?”

“I…suppose it’s possible Ailis brought a portable console with her? She must have.”

“A whole console?”

“They’re not that big. You could fit one in a backpack.”

“Why would you do that if you were travelling in time? I mean, what does she expect you to do, see if you can win _The Legend of Xanadu Part 15 _or something?”

“She’s a genius,” Yuuri said, staring at the fog, wishing he could know what was concealed within. “If she could invent time-travel tech, imagine what she might’ve done to an Immersion console.”

“Shit…Can you see any way around it?”

“The field extends for a good radius in all directions, from what I can tell. Above the tops of the trees. So no. Has Ailis tried to call you back?”

“No, but there are a few minutes to go before the half-hour’s up.”

“I don’t understand,” Julia said.

Yuuri turned to face her. “If you walk into the area that looks like fog, you’ll be in an Immersion game of some kind. It works by hypnosis – um, fooling your mind into thinking things are real when they aren’t.”

“Like you pretending to be Justin?”

“Sort of. It’d seem to you like you’re really there. You can touch things, interact with objects and people. There are different types of games, too – for playing sports, education, visiting places without having to physically go there, entertainment within various environments…There’s no telling what’s on the other side of this boundary, but given the situation – ”

“It’s not going to be a pleasant swim in a lake,” she finished for him.

Yuuri shook his head. “Ailis won’t let me off that lightly, no.”

Emil looked at him. “But if it’s not real, it can’t hurt us, can it?”

“Usually, no.” Yuuri paused, not relishing the idea of explaining this. “There’s an option in some games called hyper-real. Campaigns have been fought to make it illegal, because people have died…”

“Tell us, future boy,” Julia said, gazing at him steadily. “What’s hyper-real?”

Yuuri took a breath. “If anything happens to fatally injure you, your mind believes it’s real and does things to your body. You’d die of a heart attack, or your vital organs would all shut down.”

Emil’s eyes went wide. “Is that truly possible, sir?”

“Yes, that’s what happens. Which is why if I have to go in, I’ll go on my own. We could all be standing a few steps away from death.” _I can’t believe I’m even standing here saying this_, he added silently with a shudder. But he had to continue to draw on the courage he’d summoned to face Tyler, because if he thought too much about the implications now, the anxiety would quickly get the upper hand, and he – all of them – would be lost.

The squires continued to stare at him, and Phichit said, “You can’t be serious, Yuuri. You can’t go in.”

“I may have to, if it’s the only way of getting to Victor. I’m not arguing about it. Will you call Ailis and let her know we’re here?”

“All right, but I don’t think – ”

“Sir,” Emil jumped in, “I’m not leaving your side.”

“Not am I,” Julia added. “And the master’s in there.”

Yuuri put a finger to his lips. “Don’t let Ailis know you’re here when she comes on. If we can’t see her, she can’t see us either, assuming she’s at the dungeon.”

After a moment, Phichit said, “I’m putting her through now.” Soon Ailis’s voice came over the com.

“So you got here in good time. Well done.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. There were noises in the background – people talking, though the voices were so low that he couldn’t make out the words. Quite a few people…a crowd or gathering? Shouts and laughter in the distance. Maybe a busy street or marketplace. Was he actually hearing sounds from within an Immersion game broadcast over the com? But how was that even possible? The things Ailis could do with tech were staggering. So why was she in the Immersion program herself, then? Was that where she wanted to meet him?

“Why have you set up an Immersion field here?” he asked her.

“Why – ? I only brought the console with me for its intended purpose, Yuuri. To give me some amusement in case I ended up swapping places with someone who led a rather boring life. But then I realised it could do so much more for me than that. All it took to get it working the way I wanted was cannibalising a few parts from some other pieces of tech, and a bit of tweaking and reprogramming.”

“What have you done?”

“I made it into a defence,” she told him. “I couldn’t help but feel, after I left the cottage for good, that I’d been a mite unprotected there. In a way, I suppose it was you who forced me to come up with the idea of putting the console to use. The people here are so superstitious that it’d frighten them out of their wits; they’d all avoid the dungeon after an encounter or two.”

“Well, turn it off so I can come in,” Yuuri said.

“Not at all. I turned it on just for you.”

“What did you do to it? What’s inside?”

“Come in and find out.”

“Roman soldiers, by any chance?” he hazarded.

After a pause, she answered, “You saw one while I was testing, didn’t you? Or someone told you about one they saw. I heard them talking. My console came with three different environments; that’s one. Would you believe me if I said it was a historical education tool I took from Cambridge before I left the place?”

“Somehow I doubt it’s that innocuous. Let me speak to Victor.”

“I’m not with him. I’ve joined the program; he’s still in the dungeon.”

“Why can’t he talk over his com? If he really was stunned, he must be conscious by now.”

“I took it back. You ask a lot of questions.”

“How do I know he’s still alive?”

“You don’t, sunshine. I’m being truthful, of course, when I say that he is, but I don’t suppose you’d believe me. However, I’m going to give you ten minutes to steel yourself and get inside. That’s how long it’ll take me to comfortably extricate myself from where I am, return to the dungeon, and kill your lover if you don’t show up.”

Yuuri’s mouth went dry and his heart hammered. More noises came across the com; it sounded like a vendor selling…salted peas and figs? What kind of place would that be? “What do I do once I’m in?” he asked.

“Oh, you’ll know straight away, don’t worry.”

Yuuri waited for more, but nothing else was forthcoming.

“She’s cut the call,” Phichit said.

Yuuri wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and looked at the squires. “I still think it’s potentially too dangerous for you in there,” he told them. “It’s probably full of futuristic scenarios you’d be expected to understand in order to negotiate your way through.”

“You mean like people speaking your strange version of English?” Julia asked.

“Well…no, not that. It’s like the translator in a sense; you’d understand what was being said because the Immersion program harmonises with your brainwaves and hypnotises you; reads your thoughts, to an extent. But that’s part of the problem, too. It’ll also know what scares you. That’s supposed to make it challenging and fun, but I doubt Ailis is using it for that purpose.” 

“Sir,” Emil said, “with all due respect, we’ve been training for years to handle fear when it arises in a battle situation.”

“Have you had the chance in battle to test that out yet?”

“Not as such, but – ”

“Do you doubt his mettle, or mine?” Julia demanded.

“No, of course not,” Yuuri replied hastily. “I’m just saying I know what it’s like to…to have to fight your fears. With the most solid, determined will in the world, sometimes they can get the better of you. As it is, Ailis is dangerous without Immersion added to the mix. And it’s programmed for people from my time who’d already understand the environments. I don’t want your deaths on my conscience, assuming I even survive myself. But besides that,” he added before they could argue further, “I need you both _here_. If Ailis comes out of the Immersion field, I want you concealed with your bows and arrows, either in the trees or behind them. She’ll have a gun, so be wary of that. I’d prefer her to only be wounded, like I said; but if the safest thing is to kill her…”

Julia and Emil looked at each other, and he told Yuuri, “Very well, sir. We’ll do as you say, if that’s the best way you believe we can help.”

“I’ll try to come back out with Victor, but I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He clasped Emil in a quick hug, then Julia grabbed him and gave him a tighter one before letting go.

“It feels like we only did this a few hours ago,” she said.

Emil nodded. “In the arena.”

She added, “I wish you’d reconsider. We’re your comrades, sir. Our place is beside you in combat.”

“Then help me by covering for me out here,” Yuuri replied, looking down solemnly at her. 

“Good fortune go with you, master,” Emil said.

Yuuri nodded and turned to stare at the field in front of him again. His instincts told him he ought to let the squires come, while his brain told him it would be irresponsible – they could all end up dead in seconds. At least if they stayed out here, they should be safe.

He had no idea how he was going to find Victor. There was no guarantee Ailis hadn’t already shot him. Every time he considered the possibility, his heart quailed. He lifted his wrist and said quietly into his com, “I’m going in.”

“Jesus, Yuuri, OK. Good luck. Will you keep your com on?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“The hypnotic effect of the Immersion must work somehow over the connection – did you hear those people in the background when Ailis was talking?”

“I heard someone selling food. There were other people around; I think she might’ve been on a street somewhere. Anyway, there’s only one way to find out.”

Yuuri took a deep breath, grasping his gun tightly.

_For you, Victor._

He stepped forward.


	123. Immersion (Part 16)

_What the hell?_

Yuuri was standing alone in the middle of an arena. No – a _colosseum_. Surrounded by an audience of toga-clad men and women, watching, seemingly waiting.

_No fucking way._

His armour was still on, of course, in real life. But not here. Instead, he appeared bare-chested apart from leather straps securing a gold-coloured plate, shaped like the head of a shovel, to his left shoulder. Thick coils of fabric resembling bandages ran the length of his left arm and up both calves, his bare toes poking out of the bottom. Over his hips was a…well, it was more than a loincloth, but not by much. Scarlet, like ancient Roman soldiers wore.

He looked down at his hands. In his right was a trident, in his left a net. A small dagger was tucked into his thick leather belt. Any of these weapons could be what his gun had morphed into, though for all he knew, he might have tossed it on the ground. It didn’t matter; these were the only serviceable items he now had access to.

_Fuck, I’m a gladiator. _Sweat broke out on his brow as he glanced around. _Jesus fucking Christ._

But what else could he have expected? Ailis wouldn’t have to face him at all this way; he’d walked right into it, and the game could kill him without her needing to lift a finger.

“Yuuri!” Phichit called to him. “What’s happening? What’s all that noise?”

“I’m in the middle of a colosseum. The game’s made me one of those gladiators with a trident and a net, and I’ve never used either in my life. No sword in sight.”

“Oh my God. You have to get out of there!”

“_How? _I don’t even know what my body’s doing in real life. There’s no way I can be in control here unless I can stop the game somehow. Try calling Ailis.”

A large dark doorway loomed across the arena; the portcullis that had been barring it was beginning to lift. Yuuri’s skin crawled.

“She’s not answering,” Phichit said frantically.

Yuuri scanned the crowd and saw eager faces and bored, some of the people completely disengaged with proceedings as they conversed with their neighbours or bought food and drink from roving vendors. Then – _there_, in what looked like a royal box. In swaths of rich purple cloth and a sparkling headdress. Ailis. An…empress?

_How am I going to find Victor like this? How am I even going to _survive _– what if they send lions out of that doorway? How the hell are you supposed to use these weapons? I’m trained to fight with a fucking sword._

The rumble in the crowd was replaced with a collective cheer. Yuuri jerked his attention back to the doorway, the blood draining from his face and his heart thumping as he saw that other fighters were now emerging, two queues of them, with different types of armour and weapons. As they entered the arena, they fanned out to fill the space. There must be a few dozen here, Yuuri thought with a shudder as he scanned what was presumably the competition. Some had chain-mail shirts, others shields – and almost all of them had helmets which covered the entire head so that the face could not be seen. Yuuri and the few others kitted out like him, with trident and net, were distinctly exposed by comparison. 

“Yuuri, what’s going on?”

“I…”

A grey-haired man in a white toga walked to the middle of the arena carrying a bullhorn, which he lifted to his lips. “Welcome, my good men and ladies,” his voice boomed, “to today’s gladiatorial games celebrating the ascension of our beloved Empress Ailis to the imperial throne.” Yuuri watched, thoughts racing, as she stood and waved to the cheering crowd. “For your entertainment, we present to you the elite gladiators of our city, who in a contest of great skill and courage will fight each other to the death.”

Still more cheers. “Are you bloody kidding me?” Phichit called out. “Yuuri – ”

“I know!” All this time he’d been training to fight Tyler, thinking it was finally over; that he and Victor could be together and enjoy a peace they hadn’t known for months. His head was still swimming with the effects of the poison, and a spike drove through his chest as he wondered where Victor was, if he was all right, if he was alive… 

The announcer continued, “The last man left standing will be crowned our winner, with triumphal celebrations in his honour.”

Yuuri swallowed and took another look at Ailis. If only he could talk to her. He could even try attacking her in the stands – but she was surrounded by guards; he’d never be allowed near. And what more was there to be said? This was what she wanted. He’d known the risks when he’d stepped into the Immersion field.

“Yuuri, what are you going to _do_?”

Phichit’s panicky remarks might end up provoking an anxiety attack despite his good intentions, Yuuri realised. “I’d better end this call,” he said. “If, um…if I live through this, I’ll contact you afterward, OK?”

“Oh, OK – God, Yuuri, be careful…”

With a heavy heart, Yuuri cut the call and watched the man with the bullhorn draw a sword and raise it high. He was speaking again, but Yuuri wasn’t listening. What should he do – toss the net aside and fight with the trident? It was long and clumsy compared to his sword. And the dagger seemed pretty well useless; most of the other gladiators had large-bladed weapons – shortswords, spears, and someone with a hatchet-like metal attachment at the end of his arm.

There must be an art to using the net he was holding, but now wasn’t the time to try to work out what it was. He dropped it in favour of wielding the trident with two hands; it felt more controlled that way. _Like I’m really going to have a chance against these men with this. _His best hope might be to try to wrest someone’s sword away from them, though he knew the tactics for using a short blade would be significantly different from what he’d been learning.

_I’m going to do this, just like I did with Tyler. I can’t give in to despair. These games aren’t meant to be impossible to win, even on the highest settings. I’m a skilled fighter, aren’t I? _But when he looked around at all the other muscular men, waiting for their cue to begin, he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

_What if Ailis hacked the program so that it _is _impossible to win?_

_Or what if I did win, but I just ended up in another fighting environment – over and over, until I eventually got killed?_

_What if – _

“…may the best man win,” the announcer finished. He held an arm up in the air, and the crowd went silent. Then he brought it downward in a slashing motion – and the men leapt into action, pairing up to fight.

One of them quickly chose Yuuri, running straight for him, face hidden behind a copper mask, sword and shield at the ready.

Yuuri lifted his trident, gripping it firmly, feet dancing on the ground, sweat beading on his brow.

A muffled voice emerged from under the approaching metal mask. “Die like the dog you are!”

And he ran forward to meet him, filling his head with what had become his mantra.

_For you, Victor._

* * *

Ailis watched the beginning of the fight with a mixture of excitement and revulsion. Blood sports were of course illegal in her time, and their appearance in Immersion was regulated. The only attraction to this, as with the duel, was watching Yuuri. He really was very good. And she’d never admit it to anyone, but it was inspiring to see the courage he displayed in a fight. You wouldn’t think he was some anonymous techie Celestino had dragged out of his hideaway and shoved into the timestream.

Not that she was cheering for him to win. The whole idea of putting him in this game was to have him killed. But it hadn’t been a lie, not completely, when she’d claimed she didn’t _want _to kill anyone. Unlike the people around her in this colosseum, who’d draped a veneer of civilisation over themselves, she didn’t feel entertained by these kinds of displays.

A man with a sword threw his foe to the ground nearby in the arena and disembowelled him, accompanied by cries and jeers. Ailis averted her gaze, stomach churning. The vanquished man had been one of those odd fighting fishermen like Yuuri. They didn’t seem to stand much of a chance in a melee like this. Well, all the better for her, she supposed.

She spotted him again, punching his trident forward at his opponent, who seemed well protected with a large shield. Even from here, she fancied she could see fear in Yuuri’s eyes. There was a certain gratification to that; he was no longer trying to manhandle her, being on the receiving end this time. Did she really want to sit here and watch it, though? It had been bad enough with Tyler; that sickening thrill obtained from witnessing something dark and dangerous that she knew was fundamentally wrong. And it was all so realistic here. She’d be admiring the glimpses she was getting of bare chests and thighs if these men hadn’t been trying to slaughter each other.

Another warrior fell, blood spurting from a gash in his throat, reddening the dirt.

“Salted peas, madam?” the blond-haired, pink-robed woman next to her offered, holding out a paper bag and giving her a pleasant smile. 

_Barbarians_, Ailis thought, taking a handful and emptying it into her mouth.

* * *

_Focus, focus._

The man’s shield – that was the problem. Behind it, he was dressed similarly to Yuuri, though his head was protected by a copper helmet with a metal grill riddled with holes where the face should be. But his bare chest and thighs were vulnerable to attack. Or they would be, if there hadn’t been a big rectangular piece of wood in the way. 

_This jack isn’t real. But he can still kill me. I have to kill him first._

That was why he always turned the gore setting off in Immersion and never fought human holograms in battles to the death. It had been difficult to psych himself up enough to be willing to kill Tyler; a permanent mental space that he’d created out of necessity, which might end up being a scar he would always carry with him…if he survived today.

_I fought side by side with Victor on the bridge, defending us both. I’ll defend myself now._

Though to his surprise, he’d been doing most of the attacking. His limbs still felt somewhat heavy, and his head was still sore, but the movement seemed to be helping to dispel the lingering symptoms of the poison. He was giving his opponent little opportunity to advance, the long trident keeping him at bay and forcing him to counter time and time again with his shield. Yuuri had little experience in training with a shield, because they weren’t ordinarily used in duels. But it seemed to have turned into a handicap for this man in a sense, because Yuuri was beginning to work out how to get around it and force him to lunge forward with his short sword to parry the trident.

Was this how you were supposed to use a glorified pitchfork? He wasn’t sure, but what he was doing seemed to be working; it felt a little like half-swording. As he realised that the other gladiator was struggling to get into any kind of position from which he could do damage, Yuuri felt his confidence growing. Jabbing with the trident, he was forcing the man backwards. Then, deciding to take a risk, he came in closer and aimed a kick at the shield, sending it flying – but that also brought him within range of his opponent’s sword, and he felt a sudden sting across his side. It seemed superficial, but he could see the blood trickling over his skin, and it felt like he’d been stung by a small swarm of bees. If he’d needed any evidence that the game settings were set to hyper-real, he had it now.

He quickly assessed the situation as Victor had taught him to do mid-combat. The man was without his shield. His shortsword would be poor defence against a concentrated attack; his chest was open and vulnerable. But Yuuri still hesitated.

_He’s not real._

Deflecting the man’s weapon, Yuuri stabbed him hard in the abdomen with the trident, quickly pulling it back out and resuming an attack stance. But it was soon clear that no further action was needed as his opponent fell to the ground, a bloody mess leaking from his midsection. Yuuri felt like he was going to be sick.

Another shout echoed toward him, and he spun to face whatever new danger awaited – only to watch as the gladiator was intercepted by someone else. The entire arena had erupted into fighting, and everyone was either occupied or dead. As soon as someone won their own fight, however, they’d very likely come after him again.

Yuuri wondered once more how he’d be able to extricate himself from this – not just the fight, but the whole game. Without the ability to will his real body into movement, let alone knowledge of the direction in which he needed to head to arrive at the dungeon, he was ultimately powerless. He had to win and get out of the arena for a start, and then see what else it was possible to do. Perhaps he’d be able to get access to Ailis somehow within the game, or even Victor.

_So how do I win? I’ve killed one opponent. _His stomach turned again at the thought, and he refused to look at the carnage at his feet. _I never played anything like this when I was younger. I wouldn’t have wanted to. I’m not prepared._

_…Or am I?_

As he gripped his trident, watching for the arrival of his next opponent, a flicker of hope entered his heart.

He knew he’d had a problem with Immersion. That it had hurt Mari as well as himself. Prevented him from trying to make his real life more liveable. But he’d also learned things. With all the hours he’d spent there, he’d become a pro.

That kind of knowledge wasn’t readily forgotten. Not completely.

Cheat codes didn’t work with every game, and they weren’t always the same. But some were almost universal. It was a matter of knowing which was which. There might be a chance that the codes for a fighting game like this were the same as the ones he’d used in _Swords & Sorcery. _But which ones were relevant in this moment? He didn’t need 10,000 gold pieces, an extra bag of rations, or a bottomless quiver of arrows. Magic wouldn’t work in this kind of realistic historical environment. He wished there were a cheat code for turning the hyper-real setting off. Perhaps there was, but he’d never needed to use it.

Then he thought of one that _could _be useful, if only for his state of mind. It was naff, like many of them were, but right now that wasn’t a concern. “Blood-be-gone 401,” he said aloud.

The bodies lying on the ground vanished, along with the crimson they’d leaked into the earth. As Yuuri looked around, he saw that the wounded men who were still fighting no longer had blood on them either. He glanced down at his side. The long, shallow cut was still there, and it still stung, but it was just a red line surrounded by pale skin.

_Not bad, Katsuki. I wonder what else I can do._

He held his trident up. “Transweapon 21.”

It morphed into a wooden club.

“Shit, that’s not it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw a gladiator with a net and trident stab his opponent in the chest; the injured man quickly vanished. Running forward with a cry, the victor readied his net – and it was clear to Yuuri that he himself was the next target.

“Transweapon 211?” he tried, his head swimming. The club changed to a spear. Not versatile enough. Or could it be… “Transweapon 12?”

A longsword.

_Hello, my old friend, _Yuuri thought as he took up the woman’s guard.

The gladiator cast his net once, twice, a third time, attempting to hook Yuuri’s sword and wrest it away; it wasn’t difficult to avoid. Parrying the trident was easy as well; it was slow and cumbersome compared to his own weapon. Like Yuuri, the man had no armour apart from his shoulderpiece, which meant there was no shortage of targets at which to aim. He seemed surprised by the ferocity of Yuuri’s attacks, and unsure how best to deal with them. Yuuri gave him no time to work it out. He stabbed his foe in the throat, and the man disappeared.

Flushed with victory, his eyes glinted as he held his sword in a relaxed grip over his shoulder, silently daring his next foe to come forward. _You want a taste of this? Bring it on, then._

He came back to himself in the next moment, recalling how it had felt to force his blade into the gladiator’s throat; the sickening glide as he’d pulled it out just before the man had vanished. Even if it hadn’t been real, it had felt convincing. He wanted no part of this.

There would surely be more men he’d be forced to kill in the game, however. How many were left in the arena – ? He turned to count.

A net landed over his head and shoulders, cast from behind.

Yuuri twisted around, finding movement possible if restricted; he was just able to parry a trident thrust. In the seconds the gladiator took to recover, Yuuri struggled to get free of his bonds, but his heart fluttered when he saw through the gridwork of ropes that a second fighter was hurrying his way, apparently intent on finishing him off; this man had a shortsword in one hand and one of those hatchet-like attachments at the end of his other arm. The two gladiators must have made a silent agreement to double-team him in order to eliminate more of the competition. Strategy – something Yuuri hadn’t given much thought to. And might not have the chance to consider again.

He couldn’t use his sword in this tangle, and dodged the trident as he finally threw the net off. But as he grabbed the shaft of the weapon and began to wrestle with its owner for possession, the man with the razor-hand leapt forward.

Yuuri held his sword up with his one free hand – it was a weak move; his weapon would easily be batted aside.

The razor-handed man’s momentum carried him straight forward, past an astonished Yuuri, until he landed face first on the ground, an arrow protruding from his glimmering chain-mail-covered back. A second later, he vanished.

Yuuri only had enough time to murmur, “What the…?” before the trident-bearer keeled over as well, an arrow having found its way home between his shoulder blades.

He swept his gaze in the direction from which the arrows must have come – and spotted Emil and Julia dropping down from the stands and into the arena.

“Oh my God,” he muttered, watching their approach. Julia was wearing a light padded garment similar to a gambeson, which ran to mid-thigh, and sandals. Emil was bare-chested, with those bandage-like protectors all the way up each leg, a blue loincloth, and bare feet. And each of them, of course, carried a bow, with empty quivers strapped to their backs.

Glancing around the arena, Yuuri saw that only six other gladiators remained besides himself – two pairs fighting, while the other two men stared at the squires in amazement – though he was sure there’d been significantly more than that just a few minutes ago. If the bodies hadn’t disappeared, he suspected the cause of death would be obvious: an arrow buried in each one.

“I thought you said this would be a future-environment,” Julia commented, running up to him, Emil at her side. Yuuri wasn’t used to seeing him without a coif; his short sandy-brown hair glinted in the sunlight. “This is ancient Rome, or someplace in the empire.”

“Well, yes,” Yuuri replied. “I had no idea what environments would be programmed into the game, though it’s a safe bet that most would be in your future.” He paused. “Did you two shoot all those men?”

“We did, sir, yes,” Emil said. “I apologise for disobeying your orders – ”

“When I told you to stay outside the Immersion field, I was just trying to protect you.”

Julia gave him a small smile. “Now it’s the other way round, isn’t it? You needed us. We’re comrades in arms; we have each other’s backs. That’s one of the first things the master taught me – didn’t he teach you, too?”

“He did. I just…I guess it took me a while to understand.”

“What’s not to understand?”

Emil said, “We decided we’d try to help you if we could, sir. And hopefully Sir Victor as well. I can see why you’d want us to be on hand outside, in case Ailis appeared – but when Julia and I spoke about it, we both thought it was more likely, judging from what you’d told us, that we’d be of more assistance within the game, whatever that might entail.” “So we walked into the fog,” Julia picked up from him, while Yuuri looked around the arena to ensure they were still in no immediate danger of being attacked; all of the other remaining gladiators were fighting each other. “And we discovered that we were standing outside of this colosseum, with people cheering within. We went in, and were shown to the first tier of seats – which I didn’t want, because we weren’t high enough to get an overview of the fighting from there – ”

“They said patricians were supposed to sit there,” Emil interrupted her. “Which I suppose meant us, though we’re dressed like…well, not exactly as gladiators, unless they fought with bows and arrows – ”

“My guess is the game didn’t know what to do with you,” Yuuri told him. “You weren’t expected here. It would have been…assimilating you since then, though, so I wouldn’t hope for any more luck like that from now on.”

“Luck?” Julia asked.

“I think he means,” Emil said to her, “the fact that we didn’t appear straight away in the middle of the arena, having to fight. Is that what happened to you, master?”

Yuuri nodded. “We’re not finished yet, either. The survivors of those battles over there might try to attack us next. Though it has to be said the odds are much improved now, thanks to both of you.” He paused. “I’m grateful.”

“Problem is, sir,” Emil said, “while we still have our bows, we’ve run out of arrows – and our swords seem to have disappeared.”

“They’ll be in their scabbards, just like they were before you joined the game,” Yuuri informed him as he watched the other gladiators. “It’s just that you can’t access them; you’ve got to use what the game gives you.” Then it hit him, and he gasped. “Eterno-ammo 42!”

Emil looked at him curiously. “What was that, sir?”

“I used to play Immersion a lot,” Yuuri explained quickly. “There are special things you can say that give you an edge, if you know what they are.” He couldn’t help but flash them a small smile. “Your quivers are full again, and they won’t run out now. You’ve got unlimited ammunition.”

They both reached over their shoulders and smiled in surprise when they discovered they could grab more arrows.

“Zounds,” Julia breathed. “Do you know any more magic words?”

“I’ve been trying to recall some that might be helpful, but I’ve used the best ones that I know of, I think.”

“Were you an archer yourself when you played these games?” Emil asked him.

“Of course I was. Sometimes, anyway. You can shoot the hell out of things without having to get close. It was easier than in real life.”

Emil laughed at this. Julia looked at the fighting gladiators, then back at Yuuri. “These men are…holograms, aren’t they? As well as all the people in the audience? That’s what you said.”

“Yes. In fact, if you could shoot the other gladiators in the arena, I’d be much obliged. They’re not real.”

“Then what happens?” Emil asked.

“I’m not sure, but – ”

Julia stared into the audience. “I think there’s an empress watching us. But no emperor. You don’t suppose that could be – ”

“It’s Ailis,” Yuuri said, turning to look. As distracted as he’d been with the fighting and then the arrival of the squires, he knew he should have been paying attention to her – and he now had two colleagues with long-range weapons. She was a sizeable distance away, but had remained seated, gripping the arms of her ornate wooden chair.

Julia’s hand, flush with several arrows in its grip, pulled back her bowstring as she aimed.

“Don’t – ” Yuuri began.

“Don’t worry, I’ll only wound her. Which is more than she deserves.” She let the barrage fly, all of the arrows in her hand disappearing in seconds. “Devilment,” she bit out as she reached into her quiver for more. “Those people stood up in front of her. I wasn’t trying to kill the audience.”

“I’ll help,” Emil said, nocking an arrow. They both ran forward, shooting. Yuuri saw Ailis dive to the ground before the arrows reached her, but what she was doing under the concealment of the stone wall surrounding the royal box was impossible to discern.

His blood surged as he trailed after Emil and Julia; maybe they really stood a chance of turning the tables on her. The other gladiators remained occupied, and Ailis would not have access to any kind of gun here, as an Immersion game taking place in ancient times would not allow the use of modern weapons. The arrival of the squires with their bows and arrows had changed everything, it seemed.

_If we capture her, we can make her turn the Immersion off. Free Victor. _Yuuri’s heart leapt as the squires reached the side of the arena and vaulted over the barrier into the royal box.

Then the world abruptly tilted and spun. 

* * *

Ailis watched Yuuri fight his first opponent. Once he’d abandoned the net, he had a good go with that trident.

“Which is your favourite?” the woman in the pink toga asked her. Perhaps this was supposed to be a member of the imperial family, someone on good terms with the empress. She never stopped eating, it seemed; at the moment it was some kind of ground meat wrapped in a vine leaf. “I like that secutor with the blue shield. He’s got nice legs, don’t you think?”

“Stop talking to me,” Ailis said without turning her head, and the irritating woman fell silent. It was tempting to cheer inwardly for Yuuri, if only so that he could have more dramatic fights as the field was narrowed down. But really, if he were killed sooner rather than later, that would be good, wouldn’t it? Although that didn’t look like happening, as Ailis watched him kick his opponent’s shield away and then gut him with the trident.

He’d done it; he really had. Well, had she doubted he would? It was only a hologram, after all, and he’d tried to kill the flesh-and-blood Tyler. He looked like he was going to vomit. They’d think such a display was unmanly of him, here and at the castle.

_But then, it’s a mark of someone from our advanced time, isn’t it? I ought to respect him for it. _Though what she _did _feel was consternation that he’d dispatched the man so quickly when the game’s setting was on the highest difficulty. But well, there were many more gladiators in the arena.

He seemed to be considering his next move. Fine, let him, and much good it was likely to do. Another fighter with a net and trident was approaching him. But – what was going on? Dead bodies vanished while she watched. Fighters smeared with blood were suddenly clean. The woman next to her didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss.

Did the program have a glitch? Ailis wondered with a flutter of apprehension in her chest. Had she introduced it herself from hacking into it?

Yuuri’s trident changed into a wooden club. Then a spear. Then a bloody _longsword_, which he looked very pleased with. What the hell was happening? The poor gladiator trying to attack him was unlikely to have ever encountered a fighter like this, schooled in some medieval craft, with a blade that big and long.

_Yuuri did those things on purpose somehow. He wanted that sword. He must have wanted to get rid of the realistic violence, too. _But how?

Cheat codes…? She’d heard the term before, but hadn’t taken it into consideration when she’d worked on the program in her lab, being in the unusual position of knowing her way around the tech without having had much actual experience of playing these kinds of games herself. But surely even if cheat codes could be used in this one, Yuuri didn’t have them _memorised_, did he?

“I guess he does,” Ailis muttered as she watched his sword flash. “What do you know, he’s a bloody Immersion fan.” Maybe he was even one of those people they called fixtures, who lived out most of their real lives there. They tended to be pretty hopeless cases; maybe that was why Celestino had been able to persuade him to go on this mission.

The question was, what other cheat codes did he know? What would they enable him to do? Could he end up being a threat to her?

_Damn it, I’ve brought him right into his element. _She flinched as he ran his sword through the gladiator’s throat. The body promptly disappeared, and Yuuri looked around as if he couldn’t wait to do it again to someone else. That reticence he’d shown at first was nowhere to be seen; not now that he had his weapon of choice.

_But I’m still the controller. If he’s lucky enough to win here in the colosseum, there are plenty of other things to throw at him. I can make sure of that._

A man was approaching Yuuri from behind with a net, and another one across the arena looked like he was considering joining them both. Now _this _was more like it. Some of the gladiators had been teaming up to overpower an individual and get an easy kill. The plan was probably for them to eliminate everyone apart from each other, then fight it out between them. And Yuuri seemed to have no idea as he stared around gormlessly.

Ailis watched him struggle as the net was thrown over his head; he tried to fend off the trident from underneath it as the other gladiator ran to join them. Yuuri’s life must be flashing before his eyes.

The woman in pink next to her gasped. “What manner of arrow is it that can do that?”

Ailis stared as the second gladiator keeled over onto his face. She got a glimpse of an arrow sticking out of his back before he disappeared; it had pierced his chain-mail shirt. Yuuri’s other attacker quickly went the same way. A glance in the direction from which the arrows had flown revealed Emil and Julius, longbows in tow, leaving the audience and jumping into the arena. They must have shot rather more people than the two with Yuuri, as there were now only six other gladiators left. A real killing spree. Now that she paid attention to the conversations around her, Ailis noticed they were about the strange versions of familiar weapons these people were seeing, and concern that anyone could simply join the fight uninvited, with such massive deadly bows.

_Seems there were a few things I hadn’t anticipated. _One of them being that Yuuri would let so many people in on his secret. Or indeed anyone. Ultimately, that should still be his downfall; after all, it was the fact that he’d confided in Victor that had compelled him to enter the Immersion game, despite the fact that he must have known it was going to be used against him. _Make a little gang for yourself and put them all in danger. How foolish. __You’re better off trusting no one, Yuuri. They all betray you in the end._

She watched the three of them reunite in the middle of the arena. Her gun ought to be easily accessible, but it seemed she wasn’t allowed to have it here; a fact she would have tested out, discovered and fixed if she’d had the time. Maybe she should have considered more carefully before using Immersion like this – but if not now, then when? She couldn’t have just carried on as Natalia at the castle like nothing had happened. No, this was still the best weapon she had.

She could see that the squires’ quivers were empty, which would make their bows useless. If their arrows had all struck their targets, then there wouldn’t be any left in the arena, since the bodies of the slain gladiators had disappeared. Perhaps the audience was still in for an interesting fight.

But then the quivers were suddenly full again, as if by magic. _More_ bloody cheat codes. How could she have known Yuuri would have that up his sleeve when she’d lured him in?

_He can’t do anything too drastic, though, can he? Or else he would’ve done it by now. He can’t turn the game off, or get rid of his opponents, or give himself superpowers. It’ll be all right. He’s just got more of an advantage than I expected._

Screams went up from the spectators around her, and she soon saw why – Julius was aiming at her.

“I’ll protect you, madam!” a man called, jumping up and pushing her out of the way. Several arrows thunked into his toga-covered chest before he disappeared.

Ailis cried out and dived to the floor, wondering how much time she had to figure out what to do before the attackers arrived. Several soldiers nearby sprang into action, dashing through the stands toward the arena with their shields raised – but what chance did anyone stand against those arrows? Hadn’t she heard someone say once that Julius was some kind of archery champion?

“Shit,” she breathed as she crawled on hands and knees to the exit arch, toga catching underneath her. She heard more arrows land solidly in flesh or clatter against stone benches. And finally she was in the area behind the seating, where she paused briefly to take in floors and walls gleaming with white marble, painted stucco ceilings, exquisite statuary and shields and weapons both under the arches and decorating the areas between them. Maybe she should’ve chosen ancient Rome as her first time-travel destination, though she would have needed to refine the temporal swapping mechanism before she ended up as a slave or prostitute.

More shouts from the royal box. Was she going to give them the thrill of a chase and the satisfaction of a capture? Yuuri might be just as masterfully sanctimonious as Victor; perhaps even more so, because being from her time, he’d believe he had some special understanding of her, and would probably lecture her on all her supposed misdeeds.

She would not allow that to happen.

Rome had quickly outlived its usefulness. Time to try something else.

She brought up the BCI menu from her earpiece.


	124. Chapter 124

Victor’s eyes were open and staring before his brain seemed capable of thought. He saw and he felt. Smooth grey stone slabs. Chill, hard, quiet. Harsh white light gradually fading to black around the periphery of the room.

The dungeon – with Roman soldiers, and Ailis.

Why was he on the floor? He was surrounded by bars. She’d put him in a cell! He sprang to his feet and tested the door, rattling it in its iron fittings. Locked, of course. There appeared to be no one else here.

Ailis must have summoned the soldiers to distract him – they must surely be the holograms he and Yuuri had discussed – then seized the gun and stunned him. Where was she now?

With a heavy heart, he discovered the drawstring to his purse had been undone. Examining the contents, he realised she’d taken the gun, the injector, even the laser pen. And the com was no longer on his wrist. He slid down against the bars to sit on the floor once more, feeling a fool.

Ailis had been his prisoner. He’d made a terrible mistake by forcing her to take him into her domain, where anything might be awaiting. What was more, he’d failed Yuuri.

Had she gone to kill him? It was impossible now to warn Phichit.

_I left the gun with Emil, so they’re armed – but if she takes them unawares…_

_I have to try to put this right somehow. Quickly._

He stood again and unbuckled his belt with trembling fingers. This required calm, and a steady hand. And patience, even if he was in a hurry. He must focus on his task.

Removing his sword from its scabbard, he propped it against the wall. Then he lifted his belt and slipped it through the bars in the gate, holding it outside the cell. His fingers found the prong of the buckle and manoeuvred it into the keyhole. It would be necessary to do this by feel, and it had been so long since he’d practised…

The operation took more fumbling and swearing than he’d care to admit, but finally the mechanism slid back with a click. He pulled his belt back into the cell, buckled it on, and slid his sword back into its scabbard. Opening the gate, he trotted to the long cabinet against the wall, hoping to find something inside that would help; with luck, maybe even the items that had been removed from his purse. It was locked, of course. Drawing his sword, he moved to lever the blade into a crack – when the door to the room opened and two Roman soldiers appeared, clearly surprised to find him free.

Victor grabbed the purse strap across the armoured chest of the nearest soldier, yanking him forward and running his sword through his throat – and the man, with frightened eyes, simply…disappeared. Struggling to quell his astonishment as he stared into the empty space where his foe had stood but a moment before, Victor told himself, _They’re not real. Just like Yuuri said._

His hesitation almost proved fatal as the remaining soldier mirrored his own action, aiming for his throat. Victor twisted to the side so that the blade glanced off his armour, then leapt back. It had been some time since he’d fought someone who wielded a shortsword and a small shield, and this man was good, in constant motion, looking for an opening. But with two hands on his own longer blade, Victor knew he had the advantage of power, and also of being at a distance from which he could strike but his opponent could not. He got under the shield several times, though the Roman plate was an effective barrier. Quickening his attacks, he made the soldier guess at his next move while forcing him to remain on the defensive. It shouldn’t be long before –

–_ another _soldier appeared in the doorway? They both rushed at him now, and Victor was unable to take them on for more than a moment before one of them knocked the sword out of his hand, holding him at the point of his own.

Victor realised with despair in his heart that he was either a prisoner once more, or facing his death. Could holograms kill?

“Please, spare me,” he said. “Do – do you understand my words?”

“Quiet, you.” They began a discussion between themselves.

“We should lock him back in his cell.”

“With what? We don’t have the key. How did he escape, anyway?” They both stared at Victor, who remained silent.

“Let’s take him to the empress. He’s her prisoner; she can decide what’s to be done with him.”

“Empress?” Victor echoed.

“Don’t try to pretend you don’t know her,” the guard nearest to him remarked, grabbing his arm. “Come on.”

The other guard picked up Victor’s sword, holding it high and examining it curiously as they left the room and walked down the corridor. Victor wasn’t sure what kind of approach to try with them; he’d never spoken with a hologram before. “Isn’t this place strange to you?” he said. “All the apparatus on the table and cabinets and shelves back in that room. These mysterious white lights that shine without a flame. My sword – have you ever seen its like?”

“You talk too much,” Victor’s captor grunted as they approached the main entrance.

“But doesn’t it make you wonder?”

“We have our orders, that’s all that matters.”

“Who’s the empress?”

The soldier gave him a shove. “Any more stupid talk and we’ll kill you here and now. As if you don’t know your own mother. Her wayward son, who was caught plotting against her. Treasonous dog.”

“What?” Victor blurted as he was half dragged outside, blinking against the sudden glare of the sun. The soldiers were silent.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, Victor observed with a stab of surprise that the hill was now surrounded by a ring of dense grey fog which hung over the land for some distance, unmoving. It reminded him of sheep’s wool, and gave the appearance of almost being solid enough to be touched. They did not slow their pace as they approached it.

“What’s that?” he asked. When there was still no answer, he repeated in alarm, “Don’t you see it?”

“Oldest trick in the book. You must think we’re a couple of imbeciles.”

“_That_, directly in front of us – the fog.”

“What in blazes – ? There’s no fog anywhere out here. Keep your mouth shut and behave.”

Did they truly not see it? So did that mean the fog was separate somehow from these two holograms, and was invisible to them, just as the white lights perhaps were? Victor could grasp the concept of human-like images that felt solid, even if he didn’t understand how they were possible. But there were other complexities involved here that bewildered him, and he didn’t like the idea of walking straight into this mysterious dark barrier without knowing what was inside. However, he didn’t seem to have a choice.

His last thoughts before he was marched into the fog were of his Yuuri. Whether he’d awakened and left the sickroom, and was somewhere safe. And what Ailis was doing. That gave him an idea for another question, if they were willing to answer.

“Where is the Empress Ailis?”

“Watching the games, I expect,” the soldier next to him replied as the wildflower-covered clearing and its fringe of woods disappeared along with the fog, giving way to a new scene entirely. Victor hardly had the chance to take in the fact that he’d been right, and Ailis had put herself in this game somehow, before he was confronted by an impossible view of a different world, a time long past: either ancient Rome itself, or a city in the old empire.

His jaw hung open as he was guided down a wide road neatly paved with grey stone slabs. To either side of them rose shining white fluted stone columns several times a man’s height, their flat tops overlaid with a contiguous horizontal bar. Between and beyond the columns, white buildings loomed and brightly painted statues gazed down at them. Men and women wearing togas, or tunics that more closely resembled what Victor was used to seeing in his own time, were going about their business up and down the road, and in and out of the buildings, stopping occasionally at shops or market stalls. Was this truly what a Roman city was like to visit? Victor could easily believe he was here for real, and the sense of awe that swept through him momentarily overpowered everything else.

_Yuuri, I can understand the appeal of this. I could spend the day here doing nothing but exploring._

The road led straight toward a huge colosseum. Victor heard distant cheering from a vast audience and recalled the kinds of things the ancient Romans used to watch in these places, quailing inside. They weren’t going to…to _him_, were they?

“Is that where we’re headed?” he asked.

“Like I said, we’re taking you to the empress.”

“What will she do to me?”

“Only what you deserve, I expect. Feed you to the lions, perhaps. At least it’ll be over with quick.”

_Could _holograms kill? Victor didn’t want to find out. A desperate plan began to form in his mind, involving improbably quick actions that would incapacitate both of these soldiers, relieve them of their swords, and recover his own. In case of errors, well, he had a full suit of armour on. Apart from his helmet. That could be a problem.

_I can’t let them take me there. I’ve got to get out of here, back to the dungeon, the castle, Yuuri – _

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the world had changed again completely.

Bright sunlight was replaced with a flat grey sky. He stood in a vast field of dirt and mud; there was no sign of his captors. Cracks and booms and filled the air like the most terrible storm, some close, some further away. Earth sprayed up beyond the surrounding mounds and hills and – craters? How had those got there? Flashes in the sky like fireworks, then a rat-a-tat of smaller explosions.

Victor shivered. What was this place? One thing was certain – it was no longer the ancient Roman empire, and there was danger here from an unseen enemy, though thankfully it didn’t seem to be directed straight at him. Yet.

He realised he was holding a piece of metal, and he lifted it up and stared. It resembled a small gun; Harry Percy had demonstrated the use of one to him once at his castle in Alnwick. But that had been much larger, and partially made of wood, and had a touch hole to which a burning wick would be held in order to ignite the powder inside. _Was _this a gun?

In the distance, he caught sight of a line of men cresting a hill, their grey clothes and metal helmets blending into the drab surroundings; Victor was convinced for a moment that he’d stopped seeing in colour. Maintaining their formation, the men ran past the skeletons of trees pointing bare fingers at the sky, pausing to clip a stretch of jagged wire before moving on. Most of them carried a long, narrow metal object over a shoulder, which might have been a gun, though it was very different from what he himself was holding.

This was a battle, surely. But who was fighting? He searched for standard-bearers but could see none. Perhaps, like the Roman soldiers, these men signified which side they were on by their uniforms. So which side, if any, was he on himself?

Victor looked down and gasped. He was wearing sand-coloured clothing, tight-fitting brown leather boots, a long brown coat similar to Yuuri’s modern one, and – he touched a hand to the brim over his forehead – a cap of some kind. His sword and its scabbard had vanished, along with his armour. 

What was real here? Perhaps it didn’t even matter; if holograms could touch him, fight him, presumably they could injure or kill as well.

He had to get away. But when he ran back in the direction whence he’d come, escorted by the Roman soldiers, all he discovered was more mud, more noise.

Thunder and lightning assailed his senses.

* * *

Julia pulled at the metal lever. Why wasn’t it working? This was a weapon, no doubt about it, and this part of it must be the firing mechanism, since it was comfortably shaped for a finger.

“What in God’s name are you supposed to do with this?” she demanded, running her hand over the metal body as if it were possible to feel out its secrets.

“I don’t know,” Emil replied, catching his breath.

Although stationary for the moment, they’d been running ever since they’d landed in this circle of hell, when the colosseum had disappeared without warning and they’d suddenly been surrounded by mud and explosive blasts. The Immersion seemed to have put them on the side of an army fighting in this war, but it was difficult to make more sense of it than that. Where had Yuuri gone? Was the master being kept prisoner somewhere in the midst of this chaos? So many questions. But their primary focus for now had to be on their survival.

“It must be easy to use if you know how,” Julia said, continuing to examine the weapon. She thought it might be a version of a gun.

“That’s usually the way of it.” Emil wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He had the strangest hat Julia had ever seen, a short cylinder with a stiff brim and a wide flat circle crowning it – putridly mud-coloured, like his clothing. And she matched him with tunic, boots and belt, which were familiar items though the styles were strange; but to her consternation, their bows and quivers had disappeared. The only weapons they appeared to have were these little guns.

There was another lever at the back of the weapon; she flicked it down, then pulled at the first one again with her finger. An ear-splitting explosion issued from the end of the barrel, and a puff of dirt erupted into the air inches from Emil’s foot. He hopped away, eyes wide.

“Watch what you’re doing!”

“What happened?” she said, turning the weapon so that she was staring down the barrel. “Did something come out of it?”

“Julia – !” Emil lunged forward and grabbed it from her. “This is a gun, I’m almost certain. That means there’s shot of some kind inside. It could be very dangerous.”

“Don’t talk to me as if I were a child,” she said acidly.

“Then don’t point it at yourself, for God’s sake.” Holding the barrel, he handed it back to her. She took it and looked around.

“There are others approaching who are dressed like us,” she said, nodding toward a nearby hill where eight men had appeared. “Do you think we ought to stay to meet them?”

“We hardly have anywhere to hide,” Emil replied, following her gaze. “Hopefully the fact that we all wear similar clothing means we fight on the same side, in which case they might be able to enlighten us as to what’s happening.”

They waited for the men to join them; Julia kept her gun at the ready, but as they showed no sign of hostility as they neared, she began to relax. They followed a leader who was dressed as she and Emil were, but in neatly cut expensive-looking cloth, and a shirt with a fabric adornment tied around the neck. The men behind him wore coats of rougher material and metal helmets that looked like downturned bowls, and carried what Julia presumed were long guns. Most had moustaches, some of them very bushy, though none sported a beard. She wanted to ask what year it was, but they’d think her daft.

When their leader was a few paces in front of them, he made a quick little jump to stand stiff and straight with his legs together, and lifted his right hand so that his fingertips touched the brim of his hat at an angle, palm outward. Julia glanced at Emil, who wrinkled his brow, clearly as baffled as she was. Would they be in trouble with these men for not understanding their sign?

“First Lieutenant Harrison of the York and Lancashire Regiment, Hallamshire Battalion, under Lieutenant-Colonel Masterson,” the man said, snapping his hand back down to his side, then relaxing his posture. “Thank God we’ve found you, Captains. Have you been separated from your companies?”

“We have indeed,” Emil answered quickly, to Julia’s relief. “These explosions – ”

“Bloody Jack Johnsons and Black Marias will have us all going home in wooden overcoats at this rate; Fritz isn’t running out of ammo any time soon. Our troops have taken heavy losses; we’re not going to succeed in capturing enemy trenches, not today.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his red face. “Lieutenant-Colonel Masterson’s orders are to find however many men of yours you can and get to safety as soon as possible.” He turned to the soldiers standing silently behind him; their faces and clothes were muddy, their expressions haunted and weary. “Stevens and Campbell, go with the captains here.” Then to Julia and Emil, “I’m going to carry on searching for Sergeant Hinchcliffe and his men from my platoon; he led them on a raid and no one’s seen hide nor hair of them since.” He gave a shaky sigh. “Dear God, it’s a disaster. I told the field marshal we should never attack in broad daylight; it’s utter madness.”

Julia strove to keep her expression neutral. While she understood the English this man spoke, he used many terms that were foreign to her. If she gave him any reason to suspect it, though, she knew that she and Emil could both end up in difficulties. She must be careful; but before they parted, perhaps this Harrison could help them.

“Sir,” she said, and he looked at her strangely, “have you heard aught of a…a soldier with the name of Yuuri Katsuki? Though it’s possible he’s known here as Justin la – I mean, Justin Courtenay?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m sure I’d remember it if I’d come across such a name.”

“There’s a Yuvraj Singh in the Gurkha battalion,” one of the men offered.

“And that sounds like the name I gave you…how, exactly?” Julia said.

A whistling noise cut through the air overhead, and a loud explosion threw debris into the air, close enough that it rained over their heads. Julia threw her hands up to cover herself, and Emil did the same.

“Bloody Nora, we’re sitting ducks here,” Harrison said. “I suggest you find your men, sirs. The rest of you – with me.” He gestured forward and moved off with a “Good luck to you,” five of the soldiers trotting after him, hunched over, long guns in their hands. Julia had been meaning to ask about the master and Ailis, but if he hadn’t heard of Yuuri, perhaps there would have been no point anyway. And he was right – it was dangerous to remain here.

The two men who had been left with them, Stevens and Campbell, appeared to be about the same age as Emil. They said they were scouts, and might be able to help them find their men. Julia and Emil flitted with them from hill to crater to hill, running at top speed when whistling or screaming noises overhead indicated that an explosion was imminent. Resting against the side of a hill, Julia watched a streak of light like a shooting star; they were close enough to where it exploded on the ground to hear the terrified cries of men before it hit. There seemed no honour to be had in a battle such as this. And she might not admit it to Emil, but she rather hoped they could get away from it soon. 

“Who’s Fritz?” she asked one of the men.

He blinked at her. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, who’s Fritz? Harrison mentioned the name.”

“Is this a trick question, sir?”

She stared at him.

“Well it’s the Hun, innit? The Germans. They’re giving our arses a kicking out here today, if you get my meaning.”

Julia looked at Emil to the other side of her. “We’re fighting Germans?” she whispered.

“It would seem so.”

“I thought it would be the French.”

“Why?”

“It’s _always_ the French. What have the Germans done, I wonder?”

“Julia,” he said in a low voice, “you do realise we oughtn’t to keep following these two men? I doubt they’ll be taking us to safety anytime soon, not until we locate these missing soldiers. They’re all just holograms. And we need to find our masters.”

“But if we escaped, how would we know where to go?” Julia kicked at the dirt under her feet. “I’ve seen nothing but mud and ugliness. How could anyone find such a game entertaining? These explosions, the strange weapons…”

“All right,” Emil said, though he didn’t look comfortable with the idea. “Let’s allow them to lead us for now. But we should look for the first opportunity to get away when it’s safe.”

“Agreed.”

They moved off, and spoke with the various men they came across in this barren landscape, or rather Stevens and Campbell did. Some were too injured to get up and leave; Julia saw a few being borne away on wooden litters. Others wanted to wait to move until dark, when they said it would be less dangerous; while still others were hoping to meet up with comrades. They called the place of safety “the trenches”. Julia didn’t like the sound of that.

While she and Emil said little, they were able to fight with their guns as necessary, and shot several Germans, whose uniforms were grey. Like the gladiators, their bodies disappeared when they died. And although Julia watched other soldiers pause frequently to reload shot into their guns, she and Emil never ran out. Yuuri’s magic words were still effective here, then, even if he himself remained elusive.

Eventually they put together a band that included ten new men. Stevens, his thick blond moustache bristling, said, “I think that’ll do us – would you agree, sirs? We ought to get this lot back to the trenches; it’s suicide to stay out here. I don’t know where all the others are, but like as not, they’ve either scarpered or clicked it.”

Julia heard “get back to the trenches”, and so apparently had Emil, and they readily agreed. Through another hail of explosions and shot, they eventually approached a series of zigzag gashes in the ground. Once near a ladder, the men insisted Julia and Emil go down first. It wasn’t a long climb, and when she arrived at the bottom, they looked around.

_You men live here? _was the first thing she thought as she took in what she saw. It was just a muddy trench with a wooden walkway along the bottom. The walls, sloping slightly outward, were half again the height of a man, with ladders fixed at intervals, the upper parts stacked with bags of what she guessed was dirt or sand. Her nose told her that there were a lot of unwashed men down here, along with damp earth and other things whose odours were less familiar. Animals at a farm lived better than this. She looked at Emil, who briefly met her gaze with wide eyes and a shake of the head, as if his thoughts ran in a similar direction.

“I knew you both looked familiar, sirs,” Stevens said. “I’ve finally placed you – Captain de Montfort and Captain Nekola. But none of these men we’ve brought back are from your companies, are they?” When neither Julia nor Emil replied, he added, “If you return to your own section, you might well discover that many of them have made their way back on their own. Do you know how to get there from here?”

“I don’t suppose you could show us, my good fellow, could you?” Emil asked.

Stevens scratched his moustache and looked at the men who had accompanied them, now that they had all descended the ladders; they seemed to know what they were about and were starting to disperse. “Well, no harm in it, I suppose. Follow me, gentlemen.” He began to edge carefully past soldiers to either side, and Julia and Emil followed.

If these trenches were part of real history for Yuuri and Ailis, Julia thought, and not some game inventor’s version of hell, then it was difficult to imagine what would drive people to fight and live so. Because the more she saw, the more obvious it was that this wasn’t a shelter dug for temporary safety, but a complex piece of engineering that had been lived in for some time. The men had sleeping quarters with bunks; some even had small individual rooms. The sides of the trenches dropped to chest height at times, and the walls were lined with wooden slats or thin sheets of bumpy metal. Painted signs jutted upward on posts or hung from nails: “Eel-Pie House”, “Prowse Point”, and other odd things Julia assumed were place names.

The soldiers themselves were the main feature of this subterranean maze, however. They seemed so like ants within a hill. Most were silent and moved aside to let the three of them pass, though some simply stared and others asked if there was any news of their comrades, to which Stevens replied he’d only just returned from no man’s land and hadn’t had the chance to speak to anyone yet. Julia thought it sounded like a good name for where they’d landed here.

At intervals, soldiers lined the trench walls with what appeared to be different kinds of large guns, devices made of metal and wood that made loud noises, some of which needed several people at once to operate them. Others sat on bumps in the ground, or wooden benches if they were available, tending to minor injuries, cleaning their weapons, using small flame-making containers to heat liquids. Most conversations could be heard in subdued tones, interrupted by occasional laughter, shouts and cries, when the explosions in the barren, muddy land above ceased for brief periods. Battle was the same in some respects, no matter what place or time, Julia thought. Though she hadn’t been in one yet herself; and despite her desire to win honour, the sights here did not fill her with eagerness to go. 

“Is this starting to look familiar?” Stevens asked. Julia thought this section appeared the same as the others in the trenches; what was she meant to recognise here? The soldiers looked morose; defeated and exhausted. Some sat on benches and stared ahead at nothing. She heard quiet weeping. But when the three of them moved further into the area, she saw recognition dawn in the men’s eyes, and relief.

“Captain Nekola, Captain de Montfort! Sirs!” one of them cried, walking up to them, giving that mysterious sign with his hand against his hat and then shaking their hands in turn.

“I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” Stevens said with a nod and a hand against his hat as well, before turning back the way he had come. Emil called a thank-you after him.

“We feared the worst when we encountered all that heavy shelling, and our companies were scattered,” the soldier in front of them said. “Evans, I’m afraid…well, he copped it,” he added in a trembling voice. “A mine. There wasn’t enough of him left to bring back in a basket.”

“We don’t need all the fucking details, all right?” someone behind him said.

Julia wondered once more who would enjoy playing such a game, with all the realism it seemed to entail.

“You both led us out of that infernal pit before we got separated,” the soldier carried on. “It wasn’t far to go to get back here. We hardly dared hope you’d survived.”

Julia nodded, though she had no idea what he was talking about. “I look after the men who fight for me,” she replied.

“Thank you, sir.” To Julia’s surprise and consternation, he flung his arms around her in a tight hug. “ I never – ” Then he stepped back and eyed her strangely. After a long moment, he said, “You – you’re a girl.”

Julia turned to take in the men behind her, most of whom were gazing back in shock.

“Are you sure?” someone asked.

“Since when did blokes have knockers?” the soldier who’d hugged her rejoined.

She glanced at Emil; they’d been having this silent dialogue since they’d entered the trench, though she wasn’t certain how much it was helping. _I’m astonished as well, _was what his expression seemed to continually say to her. But why was the issue of her gender even part of this game?

_It can read your thoughts, _she recalled Yuuri warning them outside of the fog, just before he’d gone in. _It knows what scares you._

She stood rigidly and glared at the soldier. “What does it matter?” she said sharply. “I’m still your captain.”

He laughed at this, and she felt like hitting him. “Not anymore, I’d say, no.”

“I wonder what Colonel Framley would make of her,” one man offered, with a touch of amusement in his voice.

Emil jumped in, bristling. “She saved your lives. She led you out of the pit. You were thanking her a moment ago, but there’s no honour in your behaviour now.”

“And she’s been _lying _the whole time. My commanding officer is a _girl_!” He turned to her. “A bloody cheek you’ve got, missy.”

“Take her to the colonel; he’ll have a few ideas for what to do with her.”

“We’re all comrades here,” Emil ventured again. “You can’t turn against one of your own like this just because – ”

“You knew all along, didn’t you?” the soldier with Julia said to him. “You’re both in on this! Are you spies?”

“No!” Emil replied hastily. “I’m a captain as well. You will do as you’re ordered, or I’ll…report you for treason.”

“I think,” the soldier said, “that applies rather more to you, from the look of things.”

“Some bloody thanks I get for sticking my neck out for you,” Julia threw at him. Then she looked at the other soldiers. “You don’t support this man’s actions, do you? You were glad to see us when we got here!” Some glared back at her, while others turned their heads away. None of them spoke a word in her favour.

“Come with me, my girl. The colonel will be very interested in you.” Addressing the other soldiers, he added, “Someone escort Captain Nekola, too. He’s got a lot of explaining to do.”

Julia’s gun was in her hand and she was firing before the man could take a step. Then she turned her weapon on the other soldiers. Emil assisted her, and explosions filled the area. _I should have found cover, _Julia thought; but it was over within a matter of moments – apart from one soldier who managed to escape. She began to give chase, but Emil pulled her back.

“There’ll be more soldiers down that way, and we may have to kill them, too. We’re safe here for just a moment, I expect.”

He was right, Julia thought: between them, they had disappeared everyone in this section. “Thank you,” she said to Emil, her eyes roving the empty stretch of benches and little rooms, explosions from the muddy field continuing distantly. The trench seemed ghostly here, vacated of its residents. When Julia thought about how she’d just killed those who were supposed to have been her comrades in arms, though she knew none of it was real, her heart sank. What a dastardly thing to do. Even if the soldiers had betrayed them at the toss of a coin.

“We didn’t have any choice,” Emil said, and by God he seemed to be reading her thoughts as well. “You acted admirably quickly, and did what you had to do. They’re just holograms. Unpleasant ones, if you ask me.” He sounded fatigued, she thought. Perhaps he was upset about having disappeared them, too.

She nodded. “I don’t like to say so, but I think we should go back where we came from. They’ll come after us.”

“Yes, we need to go. You first – up the ladder.”

They trotted over to the nearest one, and Julia scrambled up just as she saw more soldiers approaching in the trench.

“Captain,” one of them said to Emil, “Private Gough has told me the most outrageous story. He says you and Captain de Montfort shot your own men! Where are Simmons, Fitzwilliams, O’Donnell and all the others? Please tell me they just went to have a dekko or to visit the latrines. Even that they’re in no man’s land. Because this – ”

“No time to talk now,” Emil replied; Julia saw him vault over the bags lining the trench and roll away, then get to his feet. Startled cries issued from below, followed by a series of rapid explosions that ended in a line peppering the mud next to them. Julia ran, knowing Emil would be close behind.

“Do you think Yuuri is a soldier in those trenches somewhere?” she said loud enough for him to be able to hear over the blasts, which were fading as they covered ground. “What about the master – where do you think we should look for him? Or Ailis?…Emil?” With no replies to any of her questions, she stopped and turned around. Emil was surprisingly far behind her, moving with a limp, while explosions blew earth into the sky in the distance. She gasped and ran to him, though when she offered to assist, he shook his head.

“You didn’t say you’d been injured!”

“We had to get away – they were firing at us.”

“You still should’ve said.”

“Well, I’m saying now. My leg was shot back in the trench.”

She stared at it. “I see nothing but a hole in your trousers; there’s no blood.”

“The game seems to have been programmed so that no one bleeds, have you noticed? Unfortunately, it doesn’t lessen the injury.” He winced and bent forward slightly. “Good Lord, but it doesn’t half smart.”

“Shit.” Julia glanced around. They were back in the otherworldly mudscape where nothing grew. No man’s land. “I see a crater; we can find shelter there. Come – and lean on me this time.”

The crater was further away than she thought; it was hard to judge distances here when you were looking across a long, featureless expanse. By the time they arrived, Emil’s arm was around her shoulder and she was taking much of his weight. “I miss my armour,” she said as she helped Emil to lie back against the slope of the crater wall, then settled next to him. “I feel exposed in these strange clothes. It’s like I’m dressed up for something, and it isn’t dodging shots in the middle of a muddy field.”

“Even if you had a full suit of plate, I doubt it would protect you from many of these exploding devices. The devastation they cause is beyond anything I could ever have imagined.”

“I wonder where we even are. Do you think this is England? Or perhaps it’s Germany.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t say.” Emil winced again. “Anything that used to be here which could have told us must long since have been destroyed.”

“Emil,” Julia said in a small voice, “we have to find the masters.”

“I know. But I’m afraid I won’t be much use to you as I am.”

“I’ll stay with you. Maybe someone will come.”

“Who? We’ve made enemies of our side. The other side won’t be friendly to us, either. Or one of those explosions will get us. It’s better that one of us carries on, rather than both of us wasting our time here.”

“I’m _not _wasting my time. I won’t abandon you.”

Emil paused, taking a few deep breaths and clutching briefly at his leg. “Remember how we found the master – Yuuri – in the colosseum. He needed our help. He may need it now. Both of them. You _have _to go, Julia.” His eyes bored into hers, and she was reluctantly forced to admit to herself that he spoke sense.

“What will you do?”

“I’ll wait here. Perhaps someone friendly will find me after all. And if they’re not friendly…” He lifted his gun.

“By all the saints.” A tear slid down Julia’s cheek. “You’re so brave. Doesn’t anything frighten you?”

After a pause, Emil answered, “I’d rather not die alone. Return when you’ve found the masters, or send help?”

Julia nodded fervently. “I promise.” She gave Emil a quick hug, then scaled up and out of the crater, the mud and the flat grey sky giving her no indication of which direction she ought to try, or where things were, if there was anything at all here apart from the battlefield and the trenches.

_Damn this place, this Immersion game, _she thought as she ran. _Damn it all to the flames of hell._


	125. Chapter 125

As gunfire chased his fleeing form across the wasteland, Victor dived behind the cover of a hillock, his own gun poised to fire.

He’d been racing hither and yon across this battlefield like a hare with hounds at its heels, unable to find any shelter other than that briefly afforded by hills or craters. These men must have camps where they had spent the night; their leaders must surely be in places of safety. He had to find out where they were; to end this somehow.

It was unmanly, the constant trembling of his heart as he dodged explosions – the guns, these bombs, all so much more powerful than what was available in his time. And where were the other men who were fighting on his side? He’d seen no one apart from the soldiers in grey uniforms. The warring factions must be relatively equal; he’d got the impression that this was a stalemate, neither side giving much if any ground. Otherwise, the action would have shifted elsewhere, and presumably these explosions would ease off. The weapons and the shot, the metal that must go into the making of them…the resources required must have been staggering. Suddenly, men in armour riding horses and wielding swords seemed to him rather quaint.

A high whistle pierced the air, and Victor instinctively ducked and threw his hands over his head as the bomb impacted not far away. He squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding flash of light, gasping. Was this how he was fated to die?

_I cannot give in to fear. _

Eyes still closed, he found himself longing for the comfort of Yuuri’s arms. He was so good at helping him to relax; making him feel cherished. It seemed impossible to conceive of such a notion in this place, but it was always there in his heart, a gift from his love to reflect upon at any time.

His breaths began to settle back to a normal rhythm, and a new sense of peace filled him – for now. It was still dangerous here, he thought as he opened his eyes again; and these men in grey seemed particularly keen to capture him when he encountered them, as if they thought him a great prize. “Get him,” “Take him alive,” they said, and similar things. It made him wonder if they saw him as a nobleman; perhaps his clothing somehow told them so.

At a distance, however, before they got a good look at him, they tried to kill him. They either shot their guns or threw small round objects that hit the ground and exploded moments afterward. He’d worked out how to use his own gun after some trial and error, and astoundingly it had not yet run out of shot, though he’d fired it numerous times. He’d killed perhaps a dozen of these grey men, who had vanished like the Roman soldier in the dungeon. But there were many of them, and they kept coming. It would be impossible to shoot them all, and eventually he would make a mistake and one of them would kill him.

Another deafening explosion. Victor didn’t know how he’d survived this place unscathed so far, but he needed better shelter than this – and he was _not _going to surrender to these soldiers just to get it. He wanted to capture one of them and make him answer questions, but with such deadly weapons as these guns, it seemed impossible to get close to anyone before they fired at him.

“This way!” he heard a man shout. They must be approaching from the other side of the hill – that voice and two others, conferring with each other about where they were; they sounded as lost as he himself was. There was no time to run; they would shoot him in the back if they saw him. Victor held his gun up in readiness to fire, his heart pounding once again as he watched the hilltop for signs of movement.

_Since when did I become such a coward? _He knew part of his discomfort stemmed from the knowledge that this style of fighting was alien to him. But he had wielded a gun against Ailis at the castle in order to protect Yuuri. Even though she’d defeated him in the end, he hadn’t hesitated. However, there were too many unknowns here, he decided, with no one to explain them to him. _Find your courage, _he told himself. _Situations like this are the real test of a fighter._

He crouched down low, aiming upward while he listened to their conversation.

“When we return to the trenches, I’m taking one of Captain Schlueter’s chickens.”

“How do you expect to do that without getting caught?”

“Under cover of darkness.”

“You’ll have to wring its neck quick before it squawks.”

“No fear. And I’ll share it with you. If Schlueter asks what we’re eating, we can tell him it’s dog.”

“I haven’t eaten chicken in over a year.”

“We have to find our way back first.”

“Careful going over the top of this hill. You never know when there might be Tommies about.”

“They must be clearing off by now. We’ve routed them today.”

“Are we heading south?”

“Where’s your compass? No, don’t get it out here. Wait til – ”

They crested the hill, and Victor saw that there were indeed three of them. Wasting no time, he fired – once, twice – gritted his teeth against the sharp pain that blossomed along the back of his left hand, and shot the remaining man.

The attackers were gone now, dead and vanished; and Victor was left with the memento of a long pink gash on his hand from the shot of the third soldier. It was only superficial, but it burned. Searching through his coat pockets, he found a handkerchief and wrapped it around his hand, securing it as best he could, thinking all the while of the three men he’d just shot. How ordinary their conversation had seemed. For a moment, he hated them for making him shoot them. The sentiment came naturally to him, akin as it was to the way he often felt after a duel. But this was a full-scale battle, he told himself – and it wasn’t even real, he felt sure. It was just very lifelike.

_Immersion. _That was the only thing Yuuri had told him about which seemed to approximate what he was experiencing. It would explain the blend of reality and unreality, the reason why these people disappeared when they died, why they didn’t seem to bleed, how the worlds could change instantly. Perhaps it was possible for Ailis to have brought it with her somehow when she’d travelled in time. Then she’d summoned it to life here. Victor could understand the reason for the soldiers who had been guarding him. Why the fog outside the dungeon, though, when she would surely expect him to remain locked in his cell?

She must have meant for someone else to go inside, where she was waiting. Someone who she’d hoped would die by sword or by poison, but had survived both. Instead of taking the risk of chasing him down, might she have tried to bring him here, with the threat that if he didn’t come, she’d harm her prisoner?

In which case, Yuuri might be roaming this blighted landscape. His life might be in danger this very moment.

Victor leaned back against the hill with a sigh, cursing his own stupidity once more. He’d wanted to show Yuuri that he could deal with Ailis and her futuristic tech – that was it, he could see now. That just because he lived in 1393, it didn’t mean he was useless where Yuuri’s mission was concerned. That he wasn’t afraid, even if he didn’t always understand. Only, he’d failed today on all counts.

Well, the best thing he could do now was face up to the situation in which he found himself and try to turn things around. He was still alive. Assuming Yuuri was here, he was too, or presumably Ailis would have dispelled these illusions. That was enough to kindle hope in his heart.

He looked around. There must be wounded men nearby; all he would need to do was find one and ask him some questions. Perhaps that was the way to discover the direction in which he needed to go. He spotted a crater not far in the distance; he could make a sprint for that. Glancing about him, he sprang away from the hillock.

Victor heard it before he saw it – a rhythmic _phut-phut-phut _unlike any of the guns or bombs he’d encountered so far. It sounded like…like the beating of a great metallic heart, accompanied by loud squeaks. What fresh horror was capable of making such a noise? He swallowed and turned around to look.

“God have mercy,” he whispered, the words sticking in his throat. A monstrosity made completely of metal loomed at the top of the hillock he’d recently vacated. It had two lobes, one on either side of its body, shaped like squashed parallelograms – and wrapped around each was a thick ridged metallic belt that _moved_. It was these belts that seemed to be making the noise. Enormous barrels, presumably guns, protruded from the flat sides like antennae. The metal beast was a greyish-brown colour, like the earth; but the earth had never naturally produced such a thing.

Was it coming after him? There was no fighting something like this. Victor spun round and began to run, terror lacing through his veins, expecting any moment to be shot by one of the mammoth guns.

“Sir! General! _General Nikiforov!_”

Victor forced himself to halt and look behind him. The beast had stopped as well, having partially disgorged two men at the top in brown uniforms and caps like his own. But of course – they’d been travelling inside. Presumably they were in control of it.

_And I’m not so ignorant as to think something made of metal like that could be alive, am I? After all, Yuuri described flying cars to me. They’re no less fantastical than this._

One of the men was waving at him, calling his name again. With the “General” in front of it. While there had been generals in ancient armies, nothing similar existed in Victor’s own time. Perhaps they had revived them here, or perhaps it meant something else entirely. It had once been a most prestigious rank; Julius Caesar had been a general.

Neither of the men at the top of the metal beast appeared to be holding a weapon. They looked friendly, and they knew who he was. Continuing to grip his gun, Victor tentatively approached.

“We’ve found you at last, sir!” the man called to him, smiling under his brown moustache. “No man’s land is no place for a general. Come on – we’ll get you back to the trenches. I daresay they’re not a great deal safer, mind, but at least you won’t be in Jerry’s sights.”

Trenches? Jerry? Victor didn’t understand what the man was talking about, though his sentences and most of his words made sense. Was he expected to climb up there to join them? But how? Did they want him to scale the muddy belts?

His eyes widened as a hatch opened in the side of the beast. Another soldier was standing within, holding an arm out to him. “Boost up and in, sir,” he said. “It’s a wee bit cramped, but we’ll have you back where you belong in two ticks.” Concern crossed his features. “Have you hurt your hand? We’ll get it looked after straight away.”

Victor exhaled in relief. Finally, his men had come to escort him to safety. If only they could find Yuuri, too. Since they were addressing him as a general, perhaps that meant he could give orders; it was worth a try. “There’s someone else I need you to search for,” he said as he walked toward the hatch.

“Sorry, sir, but our orders from the field marshal are to return to the trenches on the double. The big push has been a dud, I’m afraid, and we’re all trying to pick up as many casualties as we can and regroup. But if it’s an urgent mission, I’m sure we could spare some men.”

“Please. I must see him straight away.”

“Very well, sir.” Victor took his proffered hand. “In you get.”

He entered the belly of the beast…and was met with marvels. There was as much metal inside as out. Switches and knobs. Numbers and letters and words painted on the walls which made no sense but must be intelligible to these men. The two soldiers who had been standing partially outside the top climbed down a ladder to join them. It _was _a little cramped – there were nine of them inside – but Victor paid it no mind.

“Who’s this fellow you’re after, sir?” the soldier who had assisted him aboard asked as they lurched into motion. Victor grabbed a metal beam to steady himself. “Mind your balance there, sir; these tanks don’t give a gentle ride.”

Tanks? It seemed a good description for the hollow metal vehicle. Victor had the sudden, ridiculously boyish urge to smile crookedly as the framework vibrated and he felt them juddering over the ground, self-propelled. But he kept his expression neutral. “His name is Yuuri Katsuki,” he said. “Or possibly Justin Courtenay. He, ah, has a few.”

The man gave him a long look before replying. “You mean that beggarly Japanese spy for the krauts who blew out just as we were ordered over the top? He left a right old mess behind, sir. I’d expect him to be far away by now, but he had to have gone roughly in this direction. We can certainly send more men out to look for him.”

Victor was momentarily speechless. Then he said, “I…need to interrogate him. He has vital information. Have him brought to me alive at all costs.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll send word as soon as we arrive at the trenches.”

Victor continued to wonder what these trenches were to which the man referred. They must be a place of safety, but they didn’t sound welcoming. And Yuuri – a spy for the enemy side? Who were the krauts? But at least he was here, or the game expected him to be. Maybe the soldiers could find him.

_My dear Yuuri, _he thought as he held on to the beam and watched these men operate the curious equipment that controlled the tank. _What have we got ourselves into?_

* * *

_I’m moving. No – the world is spinning. No – I’m definitely moving. _

The landscape passed smoothly by at a leisurely rate. Trees off to the right. To the left, in the distance, they gave way to burned, blackened stumps.

_I’m in a car…with a soldier. _The vehicle was an old-fashioned open-topped type painted camouflage-green. The soldier was driving, his posture relaxed as he rested an arm on the top of the door and stared ahead at the dirt road. There were explosions in the direction of the blackened stumps, rumbles like thunder, and screams and pops like fireworks on Bonfire Night.

_What the hell? _

He must be expected to fight here, like in the colosseum. That was what these games would have been programmed for. Ailis didn’t like the way the last one had been progressing, so she’d changed the environment.

_How do I stop her from doing that whenever she wants? Jesus, how do I get out of here, find Julia and Emil, and free Victor? _Yuuri did his best to beat out the flames of anxiety that briefly leapt up inside of him. One thing at a time.

So where and when was this? The model of car told him early twentieth century. Where were they going? Nothing here but road and trees. He looked down and discovered he was wearing a uniform similar to that of the man next to him, but his own appeared to be cut and tailored from a finer cloth, with more adornments. While he didn’t recognise which country it belonged to, he felt sure it wasn’t any kind of British uniform he’d even seen in his school history studies. He had a grey tunic with silver buttons running down the front, black trousers and boots, and a light grey cape fixed to his shoulders with more ornamental silver buttons. A pair of white gloves protruded from his tunic pocket. These couldn’t be clothes someone would wear into battle.

Yuuri removed his cap and examined it – grey as well, with two white button-like designs, one above the other, and a shiny black brim. He pulled it back on and turned to the driver, wondering what information he might be able to get from him.

“How long til we get there?”

“Perhaps twenty minutes, sir. As long as we don’t come across any difficulties.”

“What…difficulties would you expect?”

The driver glanced at him. “Well, you were deep behind enemy lines, and most of today’s fighting has been taking place near here. They had a job finding anyone with enough guts to motor out here to collect you. I must say, you live life on the edge, sir.” He gave a rough laugh. “But then, so do I, or I wouldn’t be here. I’m one of the few who had a choice in the matter.”

“What’s happening over there?” Yuuri asked, looking out to the tree stumps.

“That? The pathetic remains of the British army, I expect, trying desperately to return to their trenches. Rather a few men short.” He smirked. “We’ve given them a good hiding today. You chose the perfect time to escape; no one will notice while they’re busy flapping like headless chickens.” 

_Escape, _Yuuri mused. _Trenches. _“I…was on a mission behind enemy lines.”

“Indeed, sir, but I’ll soon have you well away from the fighting. You’ll be sipping champagne with Field Marshal von Hindenburg before you know it.”

That was a German name if he’d ever heard one. _Shit, I know what’s happening now. This is World War One, along the trenches somewhere in northern Europe. And I’m…a German spy? Escaping from the British side? Jesus._

One thing was for sure: he was _not _allowing himself to be driven to some field marshal’s palatial HQ when there were people here he needed to find. Besides, bearing in mind the purpose of the game, something sinister was bound to happen along the way if he let the driver carry on. A flat tyre while British troops were bearing down on them. Or von Hindenburg waiting to see him so that he could have him shot for some reason. Anything could happen – and he preferred it to be of his own choosing as far as possible.

He examined his black leather belt. Just as in the colosseum, he hadn’t been given use of his own longsword; not that it would be an effective weapon here. But there was a holster. As the driver chattered about German officers Yuuri was no doubt supposed to know, he opened the holster under his cape and quietly removed an old-fashioned revolver. He’d never used one of these before – what if he couldn’t work out how? It wasn’t worth taking the risk just now, but he reckoned he could still get the man to do what he wanted without giving away the fact that he didn’t know what he was doing with his own weapon.

“Stop the car,” he said to the driver.

“But Colonel, why? This is the most dangerous part of the journey; it would be – ”

“I said stop the car.” Yuuri pulled the gun out and pointed it at the man’s head. He stared wide-eyed, then quickly turned to watch the road again, bringing the vehicle to a halt. Yuuri opened his door and got out, never taking his eyes off the driver.

“W-Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Yuuri replied, circling around the back of the car and coming to stand several paces away from the driver’s-side door. “But I’m not going with you. I’ll spare your life if you drive on and don’t look back. Forget you ever saw me.”

“But – ”

Yuuri cocked his revolver, and the man turned stiffly to face ahead once more. He pulled away down the road, and Yuuri watched until he disappeared around the bend.

It was strangely deserted here, but then it seemed a safe assumption that no man’s land was to his left, and vehicles would be open targets. The character who the game had given him to play, he thought, must be either arrogant or stupid if he’d put on his best German uniform to take a merry trundle across British-held land.

He trotted into the meagre cover the trees offered and turned the revolver over in his hands. Eventually he worked out that the hammer at the back must be a safety mechanism, and depressing it enabled him to pull the trigger. He fired at a tree, and splintered bark flew. This weapon was even louder than a laser gun.

After a few more minutes, during which a couple of trucks with red crosses passed by on the road beyond, Yuuri had discovered how to open the gun’s bullet compartment, and after some trial and error was able to reassure himself that the cheat code for endless ammo had carried over into this environment. The question now was, where should he go? He could backtrack along the road, but people would see him, and he was dressed in an enemy uniform. Where might the squires be? It was likely they were in the most immediate danger, if Victor was in the dungeon. In the heart of the battle, then, or in the trenches? He couldn’t just casually walk over to the enemy’s side; even if he managed to get a British uniform off someone, he would be immediately recognisable because he was Japanese. But he _could _search no man’s land, as harrowing an idea as it was.

The dwindling trees and the sounds of shelling were obvious indications of the direction he should take. Feeling like he must be the only person who’d ever freely chosen to go _into _no man’s land, he broke into a run, certain now that the last of the poison had at least left his system, though he was weary and thirsty. The explosions were getting louder, and eventually the trees ran out completely, apart from the odd ghostly hulk of a stump, giving way to an otherworldly landscape of lifeless earth, craters and barbed wire. A whistle through the air was followed by a blast on the side of a hill nearby; the earth sprayed up and rained into a new crater.

Yuuri suddenly felt very alone, and very vulnerable. Perhaps he should have stayed in the car after all and faced whatever the game had in store for him. Here, it wouldn’t take much for him to be cut down by some sniper or blown to pieces by a grenade or a bomb.

_For Victor – and Julia and Emil, _he reminded himself as he ran.

He moved between craters and hills, the only shelter available out here. The trenches must be somewhere in the vicinity, but he knew he wouldn’t be welcome there. Should he just carry on like this, hoping to encounter the squires or the dungeon? The probability of players coming across each other in Immersion games was much higher than chance, because that was what people usually wanted. Maybe if he persevered, then – or even stayed where he was for a while – the program would give him some help. If Ailis hadn’t hacked it to be hostile to everyone but her, that was.

_If she had, we wouldn’t have been able to beat those gladiators and go after her. _

Leaning against the side of a small hill, he decided it was as good a time as any to contact Phichit, who must be worried. Though it would be difficult to concentrate on a conversation with the artillery bombardment. Adrenaline sang through his body and he wanted to break into a frantic run every time he heard an explosion nearby. God help the soldiers who’d had to live through this for years.

He made the call and held his com near his lips. “Phichit.”

“Yuuri! Oh my God, are you OK?”

Yuuri was briefly reminded of why he’d cut their earlier call; that he was afraid Phichit’s panicked comments would kindle similar feelings in him. He had to try to calm him down – both of them. “I survived the colosseum,” he said quietly. “Emil and Julia joined me there. Ailis was…well, she was dressed like an empress and was watching from the audience. But she changed the environment before we could get to her. I’ve been able to use some cheat codes to make things easier, but…um, I’m in World War One now.”

There was a long pause while Phichit took this in. Then he said, “Wow – how do you know?”

“Because I’m a German spy, apparently, in no man’s land.”

“Holy shit. Are the squires with you?”

“We got separated when the environment changed. I’ve got one of those old manual guns, so I’m armed. I’m going to try to find them, and then Victor. And…and deal with Ailis. Just a few minor jobs before supper.” He gave a little laugh, but his smile dropped away and he jumped as a shell exploded nearby.

“Yuuri, was that a bomb? You’ve got to get out of there!”

“Where should I go, exactly?” Yuuri replied with a sharper tone than he’d intended. “I have comrades to find. I’m still a knight, aren’t I? I’ve been training for battle.”

“You were training to fight a jack with a sword, not to run around a muddy field with an antique gun while bombs are dropping around you!”

Yuuri bit his lip and tried to think of something Phichit could look up for him on the Cloud; some piece of information about World War One that might help. But with no landmarks to describe, no knowledge of the country or the year, it didn’t seem likely. And he’d be unable to tell him what he needed to know more than anything else: exactly where everyone was, and how to get out of this mess.

“I’d better not stay in one place for too long,” he said into his com. “It’s fucking dangerous here. I just wanted to let you know what was happening. I’ll keep in touch, I promise, and call you back when there’s something to report.”

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri waited for him to continue. Eventually he said, “What?”

“It’s…well, it’s just hard knowing you’re there facing all this. I mean, the duel was bad enough. I just wish I could help.”

“Sure,” Yuuri said more gently.

“You’re the jack I go down the pub with, you know? Who I have lunch with at the uni. You…you’re a really nice jack. And you’ve been fighting for your life all day.”

Yuuri felt the ghost of a smile cross his lips. He wasn’t sure what to say to this. “It all feels like a lifetime away,” he replied eventually. “Right now, even the castle does. But thanks. It’s good to be able to talk to you. The men who fought this battle in real life didn’t even have that much.”

“Just…keep letting me know you’re alive, OK?”

“I will. Bye, Phichit.” Yuuri cut the call and stood, his back against the earth, glad of having been afforded a moment of sanity in the midst of chaos. But when a metal container that looked like a small pineapple landed near his feet with a thunk, he gave a cry and scrambled away, an explosion erupting behind seconds later. More grenades landed nearby; someone had obviously spotted him. He ran, heedless of the shelling, zigzagging around explosions, his throat burning and chest heaving with the effort, until he saw a crater. Keeping his finger on the trigger of his gun, he leapt inside.

Only, he wasn’t the only one here, he discovered a moment later as he aimed his gun. The three men did the same – but after getting a good look at him, they lowered their weapons, their shoulders slumping in relief. Yuuri saw they were wearing grey uniforms like his and lowered his own gun, his hammering heart beginning to slow. As they approached him, he observed that their clothes were similar to the car driver’s, fairly plain and made of rough-looking material. They wore metal helmets that looked a little like bells, and carried rifles. 

“I don’t believe it,” one of them said. “Colonel Katsuki?” Yuuri nodded warily. “It’s an honour to meet you, sir.” The man held his hand out, and Yuuri shook it. “One of the kaiser’s most decorated spies, here with us! Oh, but I’m forgetting myself. Sergeant Zimmer at your service – and this is Private Weber and Private Hauptmann. We were separated from our platoon.”

The privates shook Yuuri’s hand as well. It felt oddly more like a dinner date than a life-or-death situation in a bombing zone.

“But why, may I ask, are you here in the middle of all the fighting?” Zimmer continued. “Some top-secret mission, I guess, eh?”

“Yes,” Yuuri replied, thinking fast. “I was taking a message to an operative.”

“Damn dangerous place for it, if you ask me, but who am I to question the methods of our brave spies? Would you like an escort wherever you’re headed?”

“No,” Yuuri said hastily. “But, um, thanks just the same. I need to – ”

He didn’t get a chance to finish, because gunfire from the top of the crater rained down on them. Yuuri dropped to the ground, spinning round to return fire as the Germans vanished. Five soldiers – British, he thought, in their tan uniforms – half-slid down the side of the crater, aiming at him.

_Holy shit. _Yuuri knew he stood no chance.

“Lower your weapon!” the man at the front of the group commanded, and Yuuri complied as they surrounded him. His gun was quickly removed from his grasp, and he was prodded and made to stand up.

“I _told _you not to shoot him,” the man who appeared to be their leader said. “He looks like somebody important.”

“I think he is, Captain. He fits the description we were given. Bloody Japs are supposed to be fighting on _our _side.”

“A very dapper German officer,” the captain said, looking Yuuri up and down as the other men kept their rifles trained on him. “What’s your name?”

When Yuuri didn’t reply, the man searched through his pockets. From the inside of the cape, he pulled out a notebook bound with brown leather. Opening it, he glanced through, then waved it angrily in his face.

“A book full of British trench codes. Took it to show your friends, did you – Colonel Katsuki? I’d say this’d be enough evidence to get you a swift execution. Come with us.”

Yuuri tried to protest, but they ordered him to shut up at gunpoint. He was forced to follow the captain out of the crater and trot behind him, hunched over, across no man’s land. The other soldiers continually had their rifles at his back, and there seemed no possible way of escaping unless there was a sudden massive distraction. He hoped the game program was ready to throw one at them, but if so, it was a long time in coming.

Were they taking him to Ailis? She was likely to shoot him on sight.

_I have to get away. I _have _to._

It was hard to guess how long it took them to reach the trenches, crossing featureless ground and pausing for a moment wherever there was shelter, or to clip tangles of barbed wire in their way. It could have been fifteen minutes, or an hour; time seemed to have no meaning here. Finally, they arrived at a long line of gashes in the ground. Yuuri was prompted to descend a ladder after the captain; then he was led along the narrow walkway between earth-packed walls covered with corrugated metal.

The trench was a potent mix of damp wood and earth, mildew, cigarette smoke, leather, and body odour. They passed soldiers with guns aimed over the top, while others were going about their own business. Twice, an alarmingly large grey rat scurried across the wooden walkway in front of them, and Yuuri couldn’t help but flinch.

“Bloody vermin,” the captain muttered as they went along. “Simmons, tell them to get terriers or cats down here, will you? I’m not going to sleep tonight with the thought of one of those blighters crawling over my face.”

“Yes, sir,” came a voice behind Yuuri. He knew the conditions were abominable here, though the meticulousness and personal touches that had gone into the construction of the trench gave it a veneer of civilisation. And he felt sorry for the men, in a way. But these were holograms representing people who were long since dead, while the threat to himself was very real – it would be disastrous if they took him to Ailis. He continually searched for an opportunity to escape, but with walls on either side of him and enemy soldiers all around, no ideas presented themselves.

_Cheat codes_, he thought in desperation. But the best he could come up with was the one for morphing weapons. He supposed he could turn their guns into clubs, but there were still five of them against him – and five clubs could kill, more painfully than guns. _Think, think, think…_

As they entered a roofed-over area, the captain glanced back at him. “In here,” he ordered, knocking on a door to the side with a brass plate labelled “Private”. A muffled response issued from within, and the captain opened the door. Blood racing, Yuuri followed him into a surprisingly large enclosed office lined with wooden panels, windows above trench height, bulletin boards on the walls filled with maps and bunches of paper, and a table with chairs.

And sitting at the desk…

Yuuri gasped.


	126. Chapter 126

Ailis examined the small stack of vinyl records next to the phonograph, which was currently playing Vivaldi in that fuzzy, tinny style typical of early twentieth-century music. It didn’t do the poor composer much justice, but was a vast improvement on nothing but the castle musicians for months – and she had to hand it to the game designers: they’d done their research. She hadn’t known Immersion could feel so _real_. Having said that, however, she didn’t think much of their musical taste. Most of these records contained ridiculous popular songs of the time, many of them meant as morale-boosters for the troops. But there was only so much of “The Tanks That Broke the Ranks Out in Picardy” or “Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty” she could stand.

She’d been brought a service of coffee with cream and sugar. It felt and tasted real to her mouth, but it didn’t slake her thirst. That wasn’t going to stop her from enjoying it, however. God, she’d missed a bit of civilisation. All right, they were still discovering what could be done with electricity, and vehicles that weren’t drawn by horses were rare; but they were making baby steps, which was rather more than could be said for 1393.

She sat back in her chair, taking in the view of her grand wooden desk, which someone at some point had hauled here to the trenches for her privilege. As well as the phonograph and the records. Outside the window, in the distance, were exploding bombs. She could have allowed herself to be transported to safety from here, but she knew that the three people who constituted her quarry were out _there _somewhere, in the middle of the fighting.

Presumably all she had to do was sit here, drinking coffee and listening to music, while she waited for Yuuri, Emil and Julius to be captured or killed. These obsequious soldiers were good at giving regular reports. Unfortunately, there had been none yet about any of them, though she’d been amused to hear that Yuuri was known as a Japanese-German spy who had just made good his escape. There would be no cups of coffee for him here.

She hoped he didn’t have any more cheat codes up his sleeve. Maybe she could persuade some men to take her out in a tank, and she’d hunt the trio down herself. They were ugly, clunky, unreliable machines, but they offered more protection than anything else out in no man’s land. 

_No. I have to be patient. I’m in no danger here. The game will take care of them for me. Perhaps no man’s land will give them more of a challenge than the gladiators. The squires won’t even know what the hell’s going on._

There was a knock at her door. “Come,” she called, turning off the phonograph and watching as an officer stepped in, with a prisoner escorted by soldiers pointing rifles at his back.

Julius.

The lad stared at her with fear in his eyes, though he was making an effort to conceal it.

“Sir,” the officer said in a formal tone, “this captain and a compatriot are wanted for shooting their own men dead in the trenches. Only one of them, a Corporal Williams, managed to escape and raise the alarm, but by that time the two of them were escaping to no man’s land.”

Ailis stared at Julius with a raised eyebrow until he began to squirm under her gaze. “Is that so?” she responded slowly. Her eyes flicked back to the officer. “How was he caught?”

The man gave a small snort. “The fool was apprehended whilst shooting at a tank with his revolver. Luckily for him, the bullets didn’t ricochet and cause an injury.”

Ailis addressed Julius. “Well. Who was your ‘compatriot’?”

“A Captain Emil Nekola, sir,” the officer answered.

“Was anyone else seen with them?”

“Not according to Williams, sir, no. But it turns out – ”

“I was defending myself,” Julius interrupted hotly, “and Emil was defending me.”

Ailis’s eyebrow crept up again. “Defending yourself. Against your own men.”

Julius glared at her. He was quite the little firecracker, this one. But no immediate answer was forthcoming, and she looked to the officer again.

“Um…” He glanced down and scuffed at the wooden floor before meeting her gaze once more, his cheeks slightly pink. “It seems, sir, that Captain de Montfort is…is a girl. She was going to be taken to her commanding officer when the violence broke out.”

“Oh.” Well, this was interesting. And no business of these stupid holograms. “Leave us. Have someone bring refreshments.”

The officer coughed but didn’t move. “Sir,” he said in a quiet voice, “this girl has not only been impersonating an officer, but has killed our men. We brought her to you in hopes that you’d arrange a swift…er, execution, not to put too fine a point on it.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” she replied. “I want to interrogate the prisoner further. I trust you have no objection?”

“I…”

“Am I or am I not in charge here?”

He clicked his heels together and gave her a quaint military salute. “Yes, Field Marshal.”

“Then clear out with your men, and I’ll send for you when I’m done.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer said stiffly. Then he turned and left with the other soldiers, shutting the door behind him.

This was an unexpected treat. “Sit,” Ailis said to the squire, indicating one of the red-leather-padded wooden chairs, which looked like they’d migrated here from someone’s dining room. “I have to say I wondered for a while if there was some non-cisgender thing going on with you, though I can’t say it was ever at the top of my thoughts until now.” She chuckled when all she got in return was a confused stare. “So what do you want me to call you, and do you prefer ‘he’ or ‘she’, or something else?”

“My real name is Julia.”

“And do you see yourself as a he or a she?”

“A she, of course.” Through her obvious bafflement, she added, “That’s what I _am_. I’m a girl, and I wanted to be a knight. Girls can’t be knights.”

Ailis scratched idly at her cheek. Interesting. “Who else at the castle knows about this?”

Julia puckered her lips. “Why should I tell _you_?”

“You have spirit. I like that. Though I guess you’d need it for living the way you do at the castle, surrounded by all those fighting men. I was just curious.”

After a pause, Julia replied, “The master, who’s known all along, plus Yuuri and Emil.” Her eyes flashed in concern. “You won’t tell anyone else, will you?”

Ailis laughed. The beautiful naivety of youth. As if she were in any position to tell anyone at the castle anything right now. “No, your secret’s safe with me.”

Another glare. “No secret is safe with you. You’re full of lies.”

“Such a poor reputation I’ve developed among your little group,” Ailis sighed. She noticed that Julia’s gaze had been straying to the phonograph, and she leaned over and switched it on, the record beginning to spin before she placed the stylus on it. The tinny music of Vivaldi emerged once again from the large brass bugle at the top. Julia gasped, and Ailis had a feeling akin to having performed a rather clever magic trick.

“Is this how music is produced in the future before it plays over the com?” Julia asked.

This time Ailis held her laughter back, lest the girl get prickly about being a source of amusement. “It’s rather more sophisticated than this where I’m from. And it sounds much better.” She paused. “So someone’s been playing music for you over the com, have they? Would that be Phichit, by any chance?”

Julia simply stared. Then she watched the spinning record.

“I know he communicates with Yuuri, as he was doing with Victor until I took his com back off him. I can get him on my com, too. Did anyone tell you that it’s my own invention? Just like the time-travel sphere and the translator. Yuuri couldn’t function here without all the help my tech has given him.”

But Julia didn’t seem interested in this. “What have you done with the master?” she demanded. “Where is he? What gives you the right to imprison him? Have you got Yuuri, too?”

“I don’t know where the hell Yuuri is – but once I find him…” She decided not to finish the sentence, as Julia wasn’t going to like how it went, though she’d obviously guessed. “As for Victor, he’s still in the dungeon. He hasn’t been harmed. Did you know he poisoned me and let me get ill before he gave me the antidote? He also had me at gunpoint for quite some time.”

“Because you’ve been posing as his mother, and you’re a criminal,” Julia spat out.

It seemed their moment of pleasant conversation was at an end. But Ailis still felt a desire to attempt to make the girl understand. “You must know Yuuri’s an agent who’s been trying to kill me for months. Just as you defended yourself here – rather demonstratively, I might add, by massacring your own troops – I have that right as well.”

“Yuuri doesn’t want to kill you. He keeps saying things like, ‘Only injure her if you can.’ ”

Ailis frowned. “How gratifying.” She stopped the record and looked long and hard at Julia. “Have you ever thought about what you’d do if you got the opportunity to travel in time, especially if you could go hundreds of years into the past?” When there was no answer, she continued, “It’s not a question I’d ordinarily ask someone. But since you’re in Yuuri’s confidence, I was wondering. Let’s say you were visiting the prehistoric people who lived in caves. Wouldn’t you be keen to bring them some enlightenment and civilising influences? You could show them the wheel and how to use it, perhaps. How to farm crops. Wouldn’t you be tempted, with such easy knowledge at your fingertips?”

Julia eyed her quietly. The she said, “You’re trying to tell me you came here with our own good in mind.”

“In a way, I suppose I did, yes.”

“So how does giving people plague and planning to do something to the king achieve that?”

“I’m not planning to do anything to the king. All of you misunderstand me. The only way I can make the sweeping changes this society would benefit from is to become more powerful.”

“We don’t _need _you here,” Julia said firmly. “No one needs to be saved by you. You should just go home. You can’t be the baroness anymore, not now that we know who you are.”

Ailis struggled to quell the anger that spiked in her chest. Julia might only be young, but she knew how to get under a person’s skin – and she was becoming too complacent in this situation for her own good. “I rather think all four of you could do with someone to save you,” she said tersely. “I could shoot you right now if I wanted.” She took her revolver from its holster, and Julia gasped. But instead of aiming it, Ailis let her have a good look at it from a distance before putting it away again. “And going ‘home’, as you put it, is a complicated business.” She paused. “You know, apart from the tense moments I’ve spent with your masters, I haven’t spoken to anyone here as I truly am – not the baroness, but Ailis Marr, from the future. That means I’ve been more honest with you than anyone else. So tell me – ”

A knock at the door. Ailis called for them to enter, and a clerical-looking chap brought a tray, reminding her incongruously of the servants in the great hall during a meal. She told him to leave it on the desk, and when he’d gone, she put out the saucers and mugs, pouring coffee out of the pot for them both and adding cream and sugar. There was also a plate of biscuits.

“Try it,” she said, sitting back and cupping her mug in her hands, though wary for any sudden movements the squire might attempt if she thought she was off her guard.

Julia stared at the array in front of her with a clouded brow.

“Don’t be tedious. People eat and drink these things all the time where I’m from. Yuuri too, I expect. Coffee and biscuits. They won’t hurt you; they’re not even real.” 

Julia picked her mug up and sipped, then made a face of disgust and put it back down. “How can anyone like this? It’s bitter. You mixed something sweet in it, but the bitter is still there underneath.” Then she chose a biscuit and took a bite. “Not as good as they bake in the castle kitchen.” She held it up, examining it. “How did human hands make these perfect flat shapes?”

The corner of Ailis’s mouth quirked up. “They’re called tea biscuits.”

“What’s tea?” Before Ailis could answer, Julia gasped and dropped the biscuit back on its plate. “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?” Her eyes sparked.

“Of course not,” Ailis snapped. “Didn’t I just remind you that none of this is real?” But she instantly regretted her flare of temper as Julia flopped back in her own chair, crossing her arms and glowering. You’d hardly think she was under threat of execution for treason. Ailis wondered how she could get her to talk before they were forced to attend to whatever happened next. Maybe this was the only opportunity the two of them would ever get. “In case you were worried,” she said, “I don’t care that you killed those soldiers. They’re just holograms. Though the other holograms here don’t take kindly to it. I rather think you’re beholden to me for protecting you from them so far.”

“I’m beholden to no one,” Julia said firmly.

“Really? I’ll call that officer back here then, shall I, and leave you to his tender mercies.”

Alarm sprang into the girl’s eyes. “No, don’t.”

“Well, then.” Ailis paused and drained her mug, then put it on its saucer and took a biscuit. Julia was right; these factory-produced wafers were no match for what they made at the castle. “Are you curious at all as to what’s going on around you? Did Yuuri tell you anything about world history, from our point of view in the future?”

After a long pause, Julia replied, “Some things. But not about this.”

“This, my dear squire, is World War One, a conflict fought in the early twentieth century. You’d think, looking around you, that there was something worth fighting _for_, wouldn’t you? But that’s part of the tragedy of it. One nation is insulted, and because it’s made treaties with others, they all band together against the enemy country, which also has tangled alliances. There were other contributing factors, but that was the main one. Ask any of the men in these trenches what the war is about, other than to rout the enemy, and they’d probably scratch their heads.” She gave a quick smile. “History is full of low points like this. Though somehow it lurches onward to 2121, where things are rather better, in some ways at least.”

“Was – will there be – more than one world war?” Julia asked; Ailis could see that the squire’s interest was piqued.

“Two, in my own history. And…the Water Wars. But World War One is where we are in this Immersion environment. You and I are on the British side – though I’m afraid you’re not actually on anybody’s side anymore – and I’m one of their top commanders.”

Julia blinked. “Will women be allowed to do such things?”

Ailis finished her biscuit and brushed the crumbs off her uniform. “As you seem to have discovered for yourself, not at this time. You heard them calling me ‘sir’, didn’t you? From what I’ve gathered, they think I’m a man.” She grinned. “Which means you and I seem to have something in common. Only, you got caught.”

“I’ve never been caught at the castle.”

Ailis stared at her. “What’s it like, living there as a boy, when you’re really a girl? Do you…are there people you’d call friends?”

Part of her couldn’t believe she was trying to talk on these terms with a fifteen-year-old who was essentially an enemy. And she expected Julia to remind her of it. But instead, she said, “The fighters are comrades in arms. We’re friends, and we’d die for each other. That’s how it is. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. The master has been training me in all aspects of being a knight, and he’s been helpful and kind, but he doesn’t tolerate bad behaviour, and for that I’m glad. I left being a girl behind when I came to the castle, and this is how I purpose to live.” She paused. “Unless you intend to kill me.”

Ailis was struck by her last sentence, and discovered she was developing a grudging respect for the squire. “I’d…rather not. I’m going to have to think. But what you said about being a knight – you do realise you might have to fight in battles?”

“Of course. I might even have to die that way. I don’t wish it, though some knights do, because they believe it’s the ultimate honour. But as long as I can fight with the master, and Emil, and Yuuri, I won’t be shamed. He intends to stay here in this time, did you know? He’s one of us, even if he still has a lot to learn.”

Ailis had never expected Yuuri to have a way to escape this time as it was, but she reflected on the girl’s words. She was tempted to wonder what could possibly have made someone like Yuuri, with his modern sanctimonious attitude, want to stay in the Middle Ages – but of course, one needed to look no further than Victor. However, as unfortunate as it was to have to quash their little fairytale romance, she couldn’t allow either of them to live. Not that she intended to remind Julia of it just now. That didn’t mean she couldn’t show mercy to others, though.

“I never meant for you to get caught up in this Immersion game,” she said. “It was supposed to be a defence around the dungeon where I’ve been working. But you don’t have to be here. Go back to the castle and be a squire, and a knight. I can tell the program to let you leave safely.”

Julia’s brow clouded again. “Is this a trick?”

“No, it’s not a trick,” Ailis said with a flash of annoyance. “I’d rather not see you killed.”

“I’d _never _abandon my comrades,” Julia replied defiantly. “First Yuuri and now you, trying to make me stay away for my own safety. Don’t people in the future feel any loyalty or kinship toward each other?”

Of all the ridiculous things. The girl wouldn’t be helping anyone by remaining here; she’d be executed. Ailis would advise her to trust no one, and then she’d be less likely to needlessly risk her life. She wondered briefly what it must be like to be part of such a tight-knit group, and felt an ache for the sense of belonging; for people who cared. But then, she’d been weak and given in to that feeling before, and it had produced people like Ian in her life. Being alone was better than being with…well, everyone she’d ever known.

She had a vague notion of trying to talk Julia into accepting her offer to let her leave Immersion, even though she could see it was probably a pointless endeavour, when there was another knock at the door. “Come,” she said.

An officer opened the door and lingered there. Ailis didn’t know one from the other, or how to tell which rank was which, but he sported the small red shoulder tags and band around his hat that she’d learned were indications of top brass; she had them herself.

“Sir, a word if you please,” he said.

She stood, leaving Julia where she was, and stepped into the trench corridor, shutting the door behind her. “I’m busy with a prisoner. What is it?”

“We’ve captured Colonel Katsuki,” he told her in a hushed voice. “He’s with General Nikiforov right now – ”

“He’s with _who_?” Ailis said rather more loudly, eyes widening.

“General Nikiforov. Of course – and this information is still highly confidential – we’ve long suspected that the general has been Katsuki’s contact in the British army, which is why so many of our secrets have been leaking to the Germans – including our plans for the attack today. They were ready and waiting for us. But with the two of them together like this in a British trench, and Katsuki as our prisoner, it would be easy to arrest them both. We have dossiers of evidence against them.”

Ailis smiled. She liked this game, she decided. “But what’s Victor Nikiforov doing here?” she mused aloud. How had he got out of the dungeon?

“He was found behind enemy lines by our men and brought back here. It’s possible he was attempting to rendezvous with Katsuki and got into trouble somehow; they said he wasn’t sure where he was.”

“Ensure that they’re both kept under heavy guard,” she told him. “Don’t let either of them go anywhere.”

Before the man could reply, another soldier ran up to them from the other end of the dark corridor. “Field Marshal Marr,” he puffed, struggling to get his breath back. “I was sent to find you urgently. And you too, Lieutenant-Colonel Sweeney,” he added, glancing at Ailis’s companion. “The Hun is on the move. It’s no longer safe here. We’ll need to relocate you further back, at least temporarily, though it’s recommended that you return to HQ as soon as your work here is done. Our German spy ring seems to have done a great deal of damage.”

A series of explosions rocked the makeshift underground building. The beams above their heads shook, and dirt rained down on their caps. “Bloody hell,” the soldier cried.

“We need to vacate this area,” the man addressed as Lieutenant-Colonel Sweeney said. “Sir, if you want to check on your prisoner – ”

Ailis was already opening the door and dashing into the office – to discover that two of the walls had received a blast from a shell, and the roof had partially collapsed. The desk was on fire, as were the chairs, which had been reduced to matchsticks; and the horn from the phonograph was crumpled against a blackened wall, black shards of records scattered across the floor. “Julia…?” she said, looking around. There was no sign of a body. And there ought to be, she thought, remembering the program she’d hacked into, if a flesh-and-blood person had died; _they _wouldn’t just disappear.

“Is he here?” Sweeney asked as the two men joined her.

“I don’t think so – he’s a she, actually – but how could she have survived a blast like that?”

He looked at a corner of the room, where one of the chairs lay undamaged. “My guess is she used that as a shield and then got away as soon as she could. Resourceful, this prisoner of yours. I hope the loss won’t be too hard a blow.”

She paused. “No, I suppose not.”

More explosions nearby. Sweeney urged her again to exit the area with them, and she didn’t protest.

_How could this have happened?_ Ailis wondered dazedly as they hurried down the corridor. The game wasn’t supposed to attack her. But then, it _was _supposed to attack the other players, including Julia. It seemed that whenever she interacted with them, she was endangering herself.

_Good luck, Julia, _she thought as the corridor opened onto trenches lit by watery sunlight. _You may need it, because you’ve had your chance from me. We’re back at war with each other._


	127. Chapter 127

The explosions continued in all directions, some close, some further away, as Emil lay on the damp earth, fingering his gun. He’d told Julia to come back for him. But how would she remember where he was? This crater had no distinguishing features; none of them did. And how could he ask her to take such a dangerous risk again by coming back out here, if she’d managed to get to safety?

_Because we look after each other. I would do the same for her._

He hoped he was hidden well enough here, but it was still out in the open. The trenches couldn’t be too far away – but he was a hunted man there now, and he didn’t think he could walk. His leg throbbed; it hurt when he shifted position. No, there was no leaving this crater; he would have to remain here, come what may. If only there were someone he could talk with to pass the time.

Perhaps he dozed for a little while, but it didn’t last long; the explosions made sure of that. And an unwelcome thought entered his mind: what if he died here? Never seeing anyone he knew again, unable to help his master or Sir Victor in this strange world. He took a shuddering breath, refusing to release the tears that threatened to come.

This wouldn’t do at all. He was a man. A squire. Brave. Trained for battle. Though this was unlike any he’d ever expected to encounter, where swords were useless, and enemies killed with explosive devices, having never set eyes on each other.

He wondered where Julia had gone. Where the master was. If Sir Victor was still imprisoned. What Ailis was doing. How long this game would go on. The moments inched slowly by. He filled his head with songs about maidens and thieves and being in love so that he wouldn’t think about anything else. They seemed so silly in this place, but it helped, and he started to relax a little more.

He hardly heard it when a soldier rushed into the crater, his feet slipping at an angle down the steep slope while he fired at something beyond the rim that only he was in a position to see. This man’s uniform was grey, like some others Emil had seen; he must be a German. In which case, he was likely to shoot as soon as he realised he wasn’t alone in the crater. Nevertheless, Emil paused: attacking someone when their back was turned was one of the most dishonourable things a fighter could do, and the avoidance of it was ingrained in him. Despite the fact that this was a hologram, and an enemy. He kept his finger on the lever of his gun and watched quietly, hoping the man would leave as quickly as he’d come.

Apparently finished with firing his long wooden gun for now, the man slid further into the crater, leaned back, unfastened a metal flask from his belt, and took a drink from it. If only it were real, Emil would almost be tempted to ask him to share. But then the man finally made the decision to take in his surroundings inside the crater – and his eyes came to rest on Emil with an instant look of alarm. He dropped his flask and reached for his gun.

Emil fired from where he’d been hiding his weapon at his hip, and the man disappeared. He felt sorry in his heart, which didn’t seem to quite believe that these soldiers were only illusions, though he continued to remind himself of the fact.

_I don’t much care for this version of your Immersion, master. I wonder what the games you enjoyed playing were like. Nothing similar to this, I shouldn’t think. _Though Yuuri must have fought within the games; hadn’t he said that was where he’d begun to learn the art of using a sword?

Emil suddenly wished for a knight to fight. A whole army of them. At least it would be familiar, and he could put his skills to use. But…not with an injured leg.

Shouts drifted down to him from beyond the rim of the crater; several people were approaching. Too many, surely, for him to be able to shoot all at once. Which side were they on? Were they Germans, looking for their friend whom he’d just killed? _God and saints and angels save me._

As he watched the top of the crater, aiming his gun and listening to the voices, he thought about his master – Yuuri, with a strange though not unpleasant look to his real face, though Emil had known him for months as Sir Justin, and that was still the visage that came to mind.

_I’ve failed you, sir. I’m sorry. _

His parents, brother, sisters – they’d been so proud when he’d become a squire. He aspired to being made a knight one day. With Sir Victor and the master training him, he was doubly blessed. But were his hopes about to come to an end?

_I shall fight to the death before I admit defeat. _He pointed his gun in the direction whence the voices were issuing; it was impossible from here to make out their words. Then four silhouettes appeared at the top of the crater, two of them carrying a long board between them. As they travelled down the slope, they didn’t seem to have any intention of firing at him, and their uniforms were the same colour as his own.

_Thanks be to God. _He sighed and leaned back, spent. 

“’Ey up, here’s another poor blighter.”

“Don’t you worry, son, we’ve come to take you out of here. Let’s see what ails you.”

Emil watched the four men approach. Two of them held the litter while the other two examined his leg.

“Looks like the bullet’s gone clean through. Very little blood, but I’ll wrap a temporary bandage around it just to make sure. I’m Mike, by the way.” He had amber eyes and a brown moustache, and looked to be in his thirties. Emil watched him work. His companion handed him cloth and scissors from a kit, and smiled when he caught Emil’s gaze.

“You’re one of the lucky ones, duck,” Mike said. “Your leg’s still attached and it don’t look like anything vital was hit. Can you move it?”

“Yes, but it hurts.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” Emil answered as the litter-bearers came near and the other two men carefully lifted him onto the wooden platform. His leg gave a twinge, and in the midst of the pain, he suddenly wondered if any of them might realise he was the man who had killed his fellow soldiers. There was no spark of recognition in their eyes, however, and they were most pleasant in their manner for people who worked in this desolate war zone. One of them even began to whistle a tune.

“Any problems with your breathing?” Mike continued to question him as the stretcher began to move up the slope of the crater.

“No.”

“Nausea, headache, dizziness?”

“No.”

“Do you feel hot or cold? Or…lukewarm?” He chuckled.

“I think I’m all right.”

“Apart from getting a bullet in the leg, eh?” Mike looked at one of the litter-bearers. “All right there, Gary?” After a pause, during which they crested the lip of the crater, he said to Emil, “Land sakes, at least we’ve had a dry spell. I been up to me nadgers in mud here before – and you wouldn’t care to know what’s buried in it, either.”

Emil felt exposed in this open land – they all were – but the men moved steadily, and chatted among themselves. He half listened, his previous thoughts and worries jostling for space in his mind – but when he heard mention of a General Nikiforov, he tried to sit up.

“Now, none of that,” Mike told him mildly. “You’ve got one healthy peg left; you don’t want to go breaking that as well.”

“Peg?”

“Cockney rhyming slang, innit? Legs are dolly pegs.”

“I thought it were bacon and eggs,” one of the litter-bearers said.

“_Scotch _eggs,” the other one corrected him.

Mike chuckled. “I’m getting hungry now.”

“Please,” Emil interrupted, settling back down, though the hard wood was anything but comfortable, “you said something about General Nikiforov – ”

“Oh aye, he’s been touring the trenches. His temporary office ain’t far from here, actually. Usually people get het up about inspections as a rule, but well, Fritz don’t sleep, so most men’s got other things on their minds today.”

“I need to speak with him. Urgently.” As Emil felt their eyes on him, he added, “I…have important information for his ears alone.”

“That so?” Mike said. “We’ll give that wound a wash and get you patched up, then we’ll see, laddie. You ought to be off your feet for a while. It’ll be the hospital for you. Regular food, pretty nurses, no fighting – what’s not to like, hey?”

“But you don’t understand,” Emil protested. “The general – ”

“Will be here yet awhile, don’t you worry. Rest is what you need for now.”

Mike’s assistant, who had been walking alongside them mostly in silence, added, “They’ll be wanting to send you back to the front line before you know it – I’d make the most of it if I were you.”

“Here now, don’t go putting his blood pressure up with talk like that.”

Emil lay motionless for the time being, watching the bleak landscape go past. Hope had entered his heart again – if Sir Victor was a general here, that must mean he was no longer locked in the dungeon. But he couldn’t let these men carry him off; he had to ensure he remained in the trenches. If he could only meet with Sir Victor, perhaps he’d learn something about his master and Julia. Maybe one or both were even with him, right now.

“If his office is nearby, will you release me there?” he asked.

Mike huffed a little laugh. “You talk as if you’re our prisoner. We could release you _here_ if you wanted, but I wouldn’t say it’d exactly be conducive to your health. And I daresay the general won’t be keen to have a casualty bleeding all over his nice floor. If it’s that urgent, though, then when you’re at the dressing station, let ’em know you’ve got a message, and they’ll see it gets through.”

“But – ”

“Easy, now. We’re almost there.” He patted Emil’s shoulder gently. “Before you know it, we’ll have you as right as rain.”

* * *

It was the most difficult poker face Yuuri had ever pulled in his life.

Because the man sitting with his booted feet propped on the desk in front of him, complete with trench coat, shirt and tie, and fancy cap, was _Victor._

Victor, who was supposed to have been imprisoned in Ailis’s dungeon.

Victor, who was obviously some kind of bigwig in this Immersion game, sitting here like he owned the place.

The man he loved with all his heart, and wanted to crush against him and never let go. This very moment.

Instead, Yuuri stood still and attempted to get into the character of a captured spy, convincingly enough for these soldiers not to suspect that anything wasn’t as it should be. He practised a defiant glare at everyone, with a touch of outraged aristocrat, since his clothing seemed to hint at it. Inside, however, his heart was leaping in utter joy.

“General Nikiforov,” the captain said, “we’ve apprehended Colonel Katsuki and brought him here as you requested.” He took the leather-bound notebook from a tunic pocket and tossed it onto the desk in disdain. “He had this codebook on him, no doubt trying to smuggle it out. And this revolver,” he added, placing Yuuri’s gun next to it. “We were lucky to catch him, sir. I doubt many people would think of combing no man’s land for a spy.”

“Good work,” Victor answered, and Yuuri was relieved to see that his expression also gave nothing away. “I’ll want to…see what information I can get out of our prisoner. It may not be a pleasant sight to witness, so I think you’d best leave.”

“Are you certain, sir?” the captain asked, eyeing Yuuri. “I’ve been known to be pretty persuasive myself.”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” Victor replied in clipped tones. “Leave us, and ensure that we’re not disturbed unless something catastrophic occurs. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes sir.” The captain snapped his heels together and saluted him, then turned to leave with the two soldiers, shutting the door firmly.

Yuuri glanced after them, then turned to look at Victor, a smile of amazement and delight spreading across his face. Words wouldn’t come to him; he simply took in the sight of his dear Victor, safe with him here, however it had come about.

Victor returned his gaze, a slow smile touching his eyes and making them shine. He stood and circled round the desk like a man in a dream, his gaze never leaving Yuuri’s for a moment. Once he stood across from him, he held his arms out. Yuuri rushed into them, and they clasped each other tight.

Neither spoke for some time. Yuuri nuzzled against Victor’s shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of him; telling himself that while they were surrounded by holograms, this was _real_, and by some miracle Victor was with him once again, instead of languishing in that prison. Through the overwhelming waves of relief, he became vaguely aware of spilling tears onto Victor’s coat. He knew it _wasn’t _a coat, of course; could even get a sense of the hard armour underneath. But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now but this. 

“Yuuri, my love,” Victor murmured against him. “By all that’s holy, I’m so happy to see you.” In answer, Yuuri breathed out and held him tighter still.

Victor removed his cap and tossed it onto the desk with a small smile. Yuuri did the same – and they came together, lips joining as they stroked each other’s faces. Victor’s kiss was deep, soft, gentle, sending ripples of warmth through Yuuri’s core. He ran his fingers slowly through Victor’s fringe and cupped his cheek, while Victor placed his hands on his neck as if he were something precious and beautiful. All the hurt of the day seemed to drain away with Victor’s presence, his touch…though there was an undercurrent of urgency to it as well, which went in both directions and seemed to be saying, _I was afraid I’d lose you. Thank God you’re with me again. _If only they could be together like this in the safety of their room.

“What happened to your hand?” Yuuri asked, taking it lightly in his own; a bandage was wrapped around the middle. “Did you get hurt?”

Victor looked at it briefly as if it were a curious object. “Apparently the skin was grazed by a bullet. That’s what they said it was, the shot that’s inside these guns. They cleaned and dressed it for me. I’m unharmed, otherwise.”

“Good,” Yuuri whispered, running a finger along his cheek. “I was so worried about you. I came here to try to find you – ”

“I know.” Victor paused. “This is Immersion, isn’t it?” When Yuuri nodded, he said, “Then how is it possible to be injured here?”

Yuuri explained about the hyper-real setting while Victor listened with a wrinkled brow. Once he’d finished, he added, “There’s something else you should know. The squires are here. I told them to stay out of the Immersion field, but they thought I might need their help. As it turned out, I did, but we got separated when the environment changed. You haven’t seen either of them, have you?”

The worry in Victor’s eyes grew. “No, and no one’s spoken of them. But I haven’t been here long. When I arrived – _where _I arrived, after the dungeon – ” He cut himself off. “It’s a long story. But Julia and Emil – I can send people out to search for them, just like I told them to look for you. Once I mentioned your name, they told me about you being a spy, so I knew you were here, that Ailis had used me to…well.” He looked down.

“We’ll work it out,” Yuuri said softly.

“I hope so.” Victor stepped away and pulled a wooden chair up to the desk, and they sat down facing each other across it. The opulence of the furniture and décor in here compared to the rest of the trenches reminded Yuuri of what it had felt like to first set foot in Victor’s room at the castle. But he was used to it by now, and the Immersion game only reflected what the players were already familiar with.

He watched in surprise as Victor pulled a black box forward on which was mounted an old-fashioned phone on a silver cradle, and resisted the temptation to quirk a small endeared grin as Victor worked out which end to hold to his ear. But soon he was connected to someone, presumably at a switchboard.

“Good afternoon – this is General Nikiforov. I need to speak to Major Campbell, please.”

He laid a hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Yuuri, cheeks pinking. “I’ve never seen a device like this before today. They call it a telephone, though the com is better, isn’t it? I met Major Campbell earlier; he said to tell him if I needed anything. I hope I’m doing this correctly.”

Yuuri was about to say he sounded very polite and charming for a general, when Victor removed his hand from the mouthpiece and listened intently.

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like you to do something for me. I need two more men brought to me; they’re either on the battlefield or in the trenches. Julius de Montfort and Emil Nekola…no, I’m afraid I don’t know – are you not able to discover that yourself?…I appreciate that, Major, but this is of vital importance. Yes, as soon as possible. Bring them to my office once they’ve been found…Thank you. Sorry, do I what…?” He paused to consider. “I suppose so. Bring enough for two. Thank you, and good day.”

He replaced the handset and turned again to Yuuri. “He asked me what rank the men were. I honestly don’t know. No one has used organised armies like this since ancient times…well, not from my point of view.” The pink in his cheeks grew. “They, ah, also want to bring food and drink. I don’t suppose those are real, either, but I thought perhaps you could assist me with identifying what they are; they served me some before. I fear I may be rather out of my depth in this place.”

“You’re amazing,” Yuuri said, smiling at him. “Someone might wonder how you intend to torture your prisoner with a tea tray, but I suppose it’s conceivable if the food’s bad enough here.” He huffed a little laugh, but stopped when he saw alarm in Victor’s eyes. “I wouldn’t worry about it, honestly. I’m just…it’s so good to see you, Victor, and be with you. I thought you were still locked in the dungeon.”

“It seems we both have had enough worries for a lifetime today,” Victor said with a small sad grin. “I thought my heart would fair burst with gladness when you were brought into my office. When you collapsed in the duel, and I learned you’d been poisoned, I feared the worst – and that was only the beginning, it seems.”

“And you saved me. Emil told me everything.” Yuuri took the fingers of Victor’s left hand from their resting place on the desk and held them, caressing lightly with his thumb, mindful of the bandage. Victor watched as if hypnotised, then met his gaze again.

“When I woke up in that cell,” he said, “I discovered that Ailis had removed every piece of future tech I possessed – my gun, the com, the laser pen. That was hard to take, especially given the circumstances. I feared she would come after you, and – ”

“How _did _you get out?” Yuuri couldn’t resist interrupting to ask.

Victor gave him a catlike grin. “I had a simple tool that Ailis never suspected.”

“What was that?”

“The prong of my belt buckle.”

“You what?” Yuuri laughed.

Victor’s grin widened at his reaction. “I used it to pick the lock.” 

“I never knew you knew how to do that.”

“You never asked.”

Yuuri just laughed again and shook his head.

“It’s unfortunately rather common for nobles to be kidnapped and held to ransom,” Victor explained, sobering. “So I was taught at an early age how to pick a lock with any long, narrow metal object. Alex learned, too. Defensive skills don’t all involve fighting.”

Yuuri stared, wondering how many times this man had yet to surprise him. But then Victor’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the desk, where their fingers still touched.

“I thought I was handling the situation so well, Yuuri. Ailis was at my mercy. I decided, while you were recovering in the sickroom, that I’d make her show me where her lab was. I only wanted to help, but I was overconfident; too proud of what I’d already achieved.” He bit his lip. “I was a fool. And the fact that you and I and the squires are all here in this dangerous Immersion game, while Ailis is free again, is a consequence of that.”

“You were thinking like a fighter,” Yuuri said as Victor looked at him again. “You wanted to make the most of the situation.”

Victor shook his head. “You’re too kind, defending such a mistake. I should have been thinking like the man who loves you and wants to keep you safe. As it was, I didn’t have an easy task ahead of me once I’d got out of my cell, because Ailis had stationed holograms of Roman soldiers to keep guard. I killed one, but the other two took me outside and into a grey fog.”

“The Immersion field.”

Victor nodded. “We were suddenly in an ancient city with a colosseum. But we were hardly there for long before it changed, and I was standing in that muddy battlefield here that they call no man’s land.”

“Something similar happened to us. It can be very disorientating.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been more frightened,” Victor said quietly, “though I’m ashamed to say it.”

Yuuri squeezed his fingers gently. “Don’t be. I can’t imagine what it must be like for someone from 1393 to experience everything here. It was bad enough for the people of that time, who understood it.”

Victor continued after a moment, “It was like a nightmare. The barren earth everywhere, explosions, wires covered with spikes…and there were these enormous self-propelled machines with guns, which people controlled from inside.”

“Tanks.”

“That’s what they called them. I rode in one.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “You did?”

“It picked me up and took me here. I…enjoyed it, though I suppose to you it must be old-fashioned tech.”

Yuuri gave him a brief smile. “I wish I could take you for a ride in a flying car. Or to the moon. I was never interested in going there, but I’d go with you.”

Victor stared at him as if trying to decide whether he was being serious.

“I, um, didn’t mean to interrupt your thoughts. So the tank brought you to the trenches?”

“It did, though before that, I didn’t know how to stay safe or where to go. All I felt sure of was that this must be Immersion, and I thought you’d probably be here, and I had to find you. The soldiers from the British side picked me up and brought me here, and treated me like royalty. It’s been rather confusing, though I suppose it hasn’t been so very different from my position at the castle as the son of the baron. They gave me food and drink, but I’m still hungry and thirsty – it’s all an illusion here, isn’t it? Anyway,” he continued as he glanced around the room, “I saw the dates on the papers on this desk, and these boards on the walls with things pinned to them, and discovered it’s meant to be the early twentieth century. And I’d learned that we were the British fighting the Germans. I thought back to things you’d told me about your history, and guessed this must be World War One. Would you say that’s right?”

“Yes. We’re in the north of the continent – France or Belgium, probably.”

“And you’re supposed to be a German spy.”

“Apparently so.”

“Have your gun and book back, then, my German friend.” Victor passed them across the desk, and Yuuri took them. “So I was given the rank of a British general, along with the correct uniform.”

“That’s how the game works. You’re supposed to be able to choose who you want to be, but I imagine that’s one of the first things Ailis changed about the program. You don’t actually have a uniform on, though, which I suppose you’ve guessed. We’re both still wearing our armour.”

There was an expression of curious interest on Victor’s face as he tapped at his forearm. “I can just about feel it, I think.” He returned his gaze to Yuuri. “One of the Roman soldiers took my sword. I wonder where it is now.”

“It might still be in its scabbard on your belt. Or when you believed the soldier was taking it away, you might have tossed it on the ground. Either way, you wouldn’t be able to access it in the game unless the program thought it was appropriate for the environment, which it isn’t here.” He caught himself. “Well you _could_, but you’d have to know the right cheat code to use. I was able to get myself a longsword in the colosseum, even though it wasn’t the one I personally own.”

You were fighting inside?”

“Yeah, I was…um, a gladiator.”

A look of horror crossed Victor’s face. “Oh.” Then he considered, and raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” he repeated, this time sounding intrigued.

Yuuri couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “You were imagining me with oiled pecs and a loincloth, weren’t you?” He looked at him in mock accusation.

“Me? What an outrageous suggestion. Though…you’re quite fair to behold in that uniform, I must admit.”

Yuuri rested his head in his hand for a moment, still smiling. Trust them both to end up in sexual banter even when their lives were at stake. “I knew a cheat code that would change the type of weapon you have,” he sat up and continued, “though again, the program will usually draw the line at anything that’s from a time period too far beyond what’s supposed to exist in the game. These guns are all right as they are, I think.”

“They never seem to run out of shot. Bullets. And what’s a cheat code?”

“I used one to give everyone on our side an endless supply of ammunition for their weapons. And I used another one to turn off the realistic killing – blood, guts, bodies and so on. But that was just to help me stay sane.”

Victor looked at him in awe. “You learned these things when you played Immersion, didn’t you? Yuuri, you’re amazing. I never would have thought it possible to affect the illusions in such a way. How do you use a cheat code, then?”

Yuuri felt a sudden surge of pride, and grinned. But it quickly faded. “I haven’t been able to remember any more that’d be useful here. The others are just stupid things, like…” He thought, and said, “Chowbag 23.” As if by magic, a brown sack materialised on the desk. Victor gave a start and stared at it. “The words are usually silly, but they work. Open it,” Yuuri invited him.

Hesitant at first, Victor reached a hand inside and pulled out a small loaf of brown bread, then cheese wrapped in paper, a packet of raisins, and a flask of what smelled like ale when Victor removed the stopper and the aroma filled the air. “A decent meal,” he observed, pulling a hunk off the bread and chewing it. “Good bread, too. You know, I _like _the taste of brown bread, but I’m not allowed to eat it at the castle because it’s supposed to be – ”

“For poor people,” Yuuri finished for him. “I know. Even though it’s actually healthier. But this food won’t help you in this game. In _Swords and Sorcery_, it’d speed up your healing. Here, it’s just something else that isn’t real.”

Victor had a sip of the ale, then pushed the items from the bag aside. “I wonder where Ailis is. I don’t believe she was in the dungeon when I left.”

“She was in the audience at the colosseum, watching the gladiators fight. The game made her an empress. I’d guess she’s someone important here too.”

“Did you have to fight many men there?” Victor asked him quietly. “I know I made light of it a moment ago, but that’s because you’re here, so I assumed you won. But it was villainous of her to do that to you, especially after you’d just survived one duel in real life.”

“She was trying to kill me, so I don’t suppose she’s worried about my feelings. But, um, I got through it. The holograms weren’t as good at fighting as Tyler. Besides, that was when Emil and Julia turned up with bows and arrows; they shot almost all the other gladiators.”

Victor’s face brightened. “They did? I should like to have witnessed all this.” He paused. “No, I take it back. It was difficult enough watching you with Tyler. Nigh on unbearable, because I was so worried.” He added hastily, “Not that I didn’t have faith you would win – ”

“I know,” Yuuri said with a gentle smile. He realised he was well past the point of getting angry because Victor didn’t seem to believe in him. The very thought of it was silly now.

“You fought so well, and so bravely, my sweet,” Victor said, his gaze steady and sombre. “I wanted to tell you, and finally I have the chance.” He squeezed Yuuri’s hand. “I was so proud. You did credit to all the hard training you put in.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Yuuri said softly, squeezing back. He wanted to kiss him, but they were facing each other across the desk in these chairs; and while he wouldn’t have allowed anything on earth to prevent their initial embrace, further ones would really have to wait – there were too many worries and dangers yet to be confronted. He hadn’t even thought about what the British would want to do to him now that they’d caught him, despite whatever protections Victor could offer.

Victor looked as if he were searching for words; his eyes were warm, lips slightly parted. But when there was a knock at the door, his hand flew under his trench coat to the butt of his revolver. Glad to see him take the precaution, Yuuri did the same, his hand hidden under his cape.

But it was only a boy with a tea tray. He left it on the desk, giving Victor a salute before he went. Looking forward to a lighter moment during which he could introduce Victor to some modern foods – something he never believed he’d be able to do – Yuuri began to arrange the food and drink. It was quite a spread, with tea and scones and everything that traditionally accompanied them.

“Why do they hold their hands against their heads like that?” Victor asked, watching what he was doing. “Is it a sign of respect?”

“It’s a military salute,” Yuuri replied, checking that the tea was steeping in its red ceramic pot. “So yes, I suppose you could see it that way. You do it for senior officers, I think. Would you like sugar? It’s sweet, like honey.”

“Does it taste good in this drink?”

“I like a little.”

“Make mine how you take yours. Um, what is it? This doesn’t look like the dark brown drink with the heavy aroma they brought me earlier.”

“They probably brought you coffee, from the sound of it. This is tea. In my time, an Englishman who’s never heard of tea would be a rare find. Just about everyone drinks it.”

“I recall that you told me what it was, but for the life of me, I never thought to be tasting it myself.”

“I never thought so, either.” Yuuri smiled and began to prepare a scone for each of them. “I’d been telling you what Ailis was doing,” he said as he worked. 

“You said she was an empress in the colosseum.”

“And the three of us, me and the squires, ran at her with our weapons. Julia and Emil went before I could stop them, and it seemed like a good idea because they had bows and arrows. But she changed the environment before we could get near her.”

“Is there any way to stop her from doing that?”

Yuuri thought. “She’ll have some sort of control device on her, probably an earpiece. If we can get it, or destroy it, we’ll be able to take over the game or make it stop. But that means getting close to her. The other thing would be to try to find the dungeon so we could turn the game off manually, once we located the console.”

“But would that be possible? The Immersion environments we’ve been in don’t reach inside.”

Yuuri spooned strawberry jam on each scone. “The challenge there would be finding the dungeon while we’re in the game. In real life, we should be able to see it from where we’re standing, but the Immersion will make our brains turn it into something else – a prison, maybe. I don’t know what the equivalent would be here in the trenches. Once we got close enough, we’d leave the Immersion field and see the actual dungeon.” He paused. “I might find my way to one soon, if the British want to put me in one. I don’t think the game is likely to steer them into deliberately locking me up somewhere outside the actual field, though.”

Victor leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Yuuri, after everything we’ve been through today, now that I’m with you again, I’m not leaving you. I will _not _allow anyone to lock you up; I’ll run away from here with you before that happens.”

The corners of Yuuri’s mouth turned up as he finished with the jam and poured the tea for each of them through a strainer. “Thank you,” he said softly. “But I think we ought to stick it out here for as long as we can, and see if they find the squires. At least then if we run away, it’ll be all four of us together.”

“That’s a good idea.” Victor reached a finger out and slicked some jam on it from one of the scones, then tasted it.

“Hey,” Yuuri said in mock outrage, “I’m not done yet.” As the finishing touch, he spooned generous dollops of whipped cream on top of each scone.

“What _are _those concoctions?”

“Scones. We’re in the middle of a war and we get high tea, complete with things the ordinary soldiers probably haven’t seen since they left England.” He huffed a laugh. “You seem to be a magnet for luxuries wherever you go.” Then he felt his cheeks pink, and he quickly said, “I didn’t mean – ”

“It’s all right. I think I know what you’d say if you weren’t being so polite, and you’d be right – it’s not fair. If this environment were real, I’d look into what the high-ranking officers are being granted, versus the low-ranking soldiers, and see if I couldn’t even things out a bit.”

Yuuri smiled. “You would?”

“Hmm. You’ve taught me a great deal, Yuuri. It’s just a shame that over five hundred years after my time, hierarchies seem to be so ingrained still. I can’t see anything wrong with the privileged having a little less, so that everyone else can have more.”

“Or with the privileged being not so privileged,” Yuuri said, passing Victor a mug on a saucer and a plate with a scone oozing jam and cream. “But it’s all right; I don’t want you to think I’m always going to jump down your throat about this. I’m touched that you’re thinking about it.” He nodded toward Victor’s food and drink. “Want to give it a try?”

Victor took a sip of his tea and looked thoughtful. “Not sure,” he said eventually. “It’s a strange brew, but not unpleasant. I can’t decide if I like it better than the coffee.” He gazed at Yuuri as he sipped some more. “What’s your favourite drink in the future?”

“Me? Well…hot chocolate before bed, maybe. And a pint of good strong beer made by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“What’s chocolate?”

“It’s, um, hard to describe. God, I wish I could show you. I bet, being a general, you could ask for some; they must have it here if they’ve got bloody whipped cream.”

“Perhaps I will. And strong beer, hm?”

“That’s right. I never realised it’d be in such short supply in the Middle Ages.”

“Can you imagine what it would be like if everyone was in their cups before dinnertime?”

“A very merry place,” Yuuri said with a grin.

Victor snorted. “All right. I’m trying the scone now.” He picked it up and took a bite. “Oh yes, that’s lovely,” he declared as he chewed. “This food may not satisfy the stomach, but my tongue is delighting in it.”

Yuuri would ordinarily be tempted to suggest something else his tongue might delight in, but there would be other opportunities. Once they were out of Immersion. And they’d found Ailis. And –

“Aren’t you going to eat yours?”

Yuuri shrugged. “It’s not a new taste for me. But sure, why not.” He took a bite and watched in amusement as Victor devoured the remainder of his. “You’ve got a spot of cream on your chin,” he said with a smirk.

“Where?”

Yuuri reached a finger out and cleared it with a gentle sweep, then couldn’t resist sucking on it while slanting a dark look Victor’s way.

“Oh,” Victor breathed. “You’re going to make me wish these uniforms were real, and we could…” His voice choked off.

Yuuri had a momentary vision of what he’d like to do with Victor, and how much fun it would be to remove some of those layers. Then he felt ashamed of himself, given the circumstances. He ran a hand through his hair and sipped at his tea. Like the scone, it was flavoursome, though the fact that it couldn’t fulfil the main function of imbibed liquid made it a strange experience, which was why he didn’t usually eat or drink in Immersion. Now seemed to be a good time to make an exception, though.

“I love that blush,” Victor said, finishing his mug of tea. “It felt so lonely sitting here in this office, speaking to people I didn’t know anything about, understanding so little, wondering where you were and what was happening to you.”

Yuuri gave him a small grin. “I wish it could stay this way. But – ”

“I know.” Victor paused. “It’s been a wonderful moment with you, though, my love.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri was surprised to discover he was blinking back tears.

Victor gave the cuff of Yuuri’s sleeve a slow, affectionate stroke, then looked out the nearest window. “Perhaps we’ll have word of Julia and Emil soon. It took surprisingly little time for you to be found. I get the impression that things happen quickly in these games.”

Yuuri nodded. “They speed time up sometimes, so you don’t have to sit around and wait unless you want to.” He turned his head briefly, to follow Victor’s gaze. “It’s hard not to think about what might be happening to them out there. I hope they’re all right.” An anxious flutter passed through him.

“They’re good at surviving, Yuuri. They’ve been training to be knights for years. We should have some faith in them.”

A barrage of shells exploded in the distance, but it sounded nearer than anything Yuuri had heard since he’d entered the office.

“Not too close, I hope,” Victor said.

“I wouldn’t have thought it was a good sign.”

“Yuuri.” Victor took his hand. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that I’m glad to be with you. I didn’t thank you for coming to try and rescue me.”

Yuuri laced their fingers together. “You can’t imagine for one minute that I wouldn’t. I love you. But I haven’t done much of anything yet. The four of us are still caught in the Immersion field, with Ailis in charge.” He paused. “We might end up having to go out there again to find Julia and Emil, if the soldiers can’t do it. I’m not sure how far I’d trust holograms; some are more sentient than others. It could make it trickier, too, if they don’t _want _to be found for whatever reason.”

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

Yuuri sighed. “You’re right. But while I’m here, I think I’d better let Phichit know what’s happening. He’ll be worried.” He raised his wrist; but before he made the call, there was a knock at the door, and their hands dropped to hover near their revolvers again.

“General Nikiforov,” came a voice, “I have urgent news for you.”

“Ah, perhaps we’ve been worrying over nothing,” Victor said with a smile. “The squires must already have been found. Come in,” he called, though his hand remained near his revolver.

“If you’re still with the prisoner, sir, then we’d better speak out here.”

Victor glanced at Yuuri, then went to the door and opened it, peering out. Yuuri watched him step into the corridor – and lurch to the left, shouting his name once.

Yuuri was on his feet in an instant; but before he could draw his revolver, three men in British uniforms had dashed into the room, their rifles trained on him. “Hands up,” one of them ordered, “and go through that door, slowly. Any sudden movements and they’ll be the last ones you make.”

Yuuri complied, heart pounding. Once out in the corridor, he saw Victor standing amid these soldiers with his hands raised as well. It was dim here, with the open trenches receiving daylight not far away, but he could just make out eight men in total. Understandable that they’d want to take him away at gunpoint – but why Victor? If only they’d exited by a window, instead of messing about with tea, of all things. He listened as the officer who appeared to be in command spoke.

“General Nikiforov, I’ve been sent to apprehend both you and Colonel Katsuki. We’ve kept you under watch, having suspected your dealings with this spy for some time, and now it seems we’ve caught you in the act.”

“I was interrogating him,” Victor responded indignantly. “He was left with me for that reason.”

The officer approached Yuuri, who forced himself to appear calm. But instead of speaking to him, he shoved a hand in Yuuri’s tunic pocket and grabbed the leather-bound book, which he held up triumphantly. “First place I look, what do you know?” He stepped away and turned to address Victor. “Careless of you, rather, to allow him to take this back, wasn’t it? When it was meant to be in your safekeeping.”

“I had no idea he had it,” Victor said. “He must have tricked me.”

“You must think I’m an imbecile,” the man spat, giving Victor a shove in the stomach with his elbow. Yuuri, seeing red, took a step forward – and was instantly met with a bristle of artillery.

“I’m arresting you for assisting and corresponding with the enemy,” the officer said to Victor, still holding the book up. “Though it seems, unbelievably, that you’re also in league with the two captains who shot their own troops dead earlier today, since you had the audacity to ask Major Campbell to find them for you.”

Victor tried to interrupt, but the man was in his stride now. With every word, Yuuri felt his heart sink further while his sense of urgency grew. This was worse than either of them had anticipated – where were they going to be taken, and how could they get away? And what was this about being in league with captains who’d shot their troops – was he referring to Julia and Emil?

“You’ve been tried _in absentia_ by Field Marshal Marr,” the officer announced to them, “and sentenced to death. Both of you are to face a firing squad. Within the hour.”


	128. Chapter 128

“Excuse me. Can you tell me where General Nikiforov’s office is?” Emil gripped his crutches as he addressed the two men in the trench. He’d hesitated to say anything at first, because they were breathing smoke like two dragons, and he couldn’t work out why anyone would do such a thing or what it meant; but eventually his desire to find one of the people he was looking for had won out.

They turned to him. “Shouldn’t you be in hospital, sir, with an injury like that?” the one with a blond moustache asked. Like his comrade, he held his small smoking stick in one hand.

“I’ve been…allowed to take an important message to the general,” Emil replied. “Lives depend on it.”

“Lives depend on just about everything that happens here,” the soldier said, but his tone was pleasant.

“Please, if you can just tell me where he is – ”

“We can take him there, can’t we, Ben?” the other soldier said. “Get us out of here for a bit.”

“Sure.” He stepped forward. “I’m Corporal Simmons, and this is Private Appleby.”

“Captain – ” Emil stopped himself before he gave his real name; they might be combing the trenches for him and Julia by now. “ – Fitzwarren,” he said, borrowing the name of his late master.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Simmons said. “If I’d just come from being patched up by the medics, I’d be gasping for a fag. Here.” He removed a flat metal case from a breast pocket and took out a stick of the type that he and the other soldier were holding, lifting it to Emil’s mouth. Observing Appleby as he sucked on his stick while the end glowed orange, Emil took it in his lips, wondering if this were a necessary ritual of some kind.

“What is this?” he asked around the stick. It was flexible and had a thick paper wrapping.

The men laughed. “A cigarette,” Simmons said as he took another smaller box out of his pocket, from which he procured a tiny wooden stick with a red-painted tip. “Ain’t you ever smoked before, sir?”

“Smoked?”

Simmons pulled the end of the stick across the side of the box, and it flared into a steady flame. “Holy mother of God,” Emil mumbled. If only people in his own time could produce fire at will just by doing what this man had done, how much easier so many tasks would be.

“You all right, sir?” Appleby asked him. “Touch of concussion?”

Before Emil could answer, Simmons was holding the flame to the end of the stick, which began to glow. There was a pause while they all stared at it. “Is there something I’m meant to do?” Emil asked.

“Don’t anyone at all smoke where you’re from?” Simmons asked in astonishment.

“It’s, ah, not very popular there.”

“You take a puff, breathe in deep, hold it for a second or two, blow it back out.” He demonstrated. The smoke came out of his nostrils this time.

Emil tried to follow his instructions, but he coughed once he’d filled his lungs with smoke and had to pin one of his crutches against his side with his elbow while his hand flew up and prevented the stick from falling out of his mouth. The men chuckled while they watched. Not wishing to disappoint, Emil made a second attempt and did rather better. Though he couldn’t say he much cared for the taste or smell, and he felt a mild buzz in his head, as if he’d been drinking beer.

“You’re getting the hang of it now, sir,” Simmons said with a smile. “Come on and follow us, then, and we’ll show you to the general’s office.”

“Thank you,” Emil replied, removing the stick briefly so that he could talk properly. Then he stuck it back in his mouth with no intention of inhaling from it any further, renewed his grip on both crutches, and allowed the soldiers to guide him.

Though these trenches were rather grim places to be, Emil was thankful he’d been able to get this far, after having been taken on the litter to the dressing station Mike had mentioned. They’d carried him through a maze of busy subterranean corridors and placed the litter on trestles, then said a quick farewell and good luck; Emil had barely had the chance to thank them before they’d gone to fetch another litter and search for more injured men. As he lay there, he wished he’d had the chance to say more to them; to tell them how he admired their genuine smiles and laughter in this place. Then he reminded himself that they weren’t real, which he’d found strangely upsetting.

He’d been attended to after a while by healers who cleaned his leg, put something on it that made it sting like fury, then bandaged it. They told him he needed to be moved several miles back to another station, and from there he would go to hospital, which was confusing because he wasn’t elderly, poor, or infirm.

“I have an urgent message for General Nikiforov,” he’d said. Perhaps if he repeated it to enough people, he might eventually be able to see him.

The man who’d bandaged his leg – he wore a plain white shirt without hat or helmet, and had very short brown hair and a small rectangle of a moustache – had regarded him sternly. “All right, sir,” he’d said. “If you’ll leave it with me, I’ll find a messenger to take it.”

“You don’t understand. I need to see him in person.”

“He won’t be hanging about here, my lad. I don’t see how you expect to go anywhere yourself just now. Lie back and rest for a spell; we’ll get you moved on as soon as there are some men free to take you. If you’re lucky, you might even get a ride on a motorised ambulance.”

“_Please_, I – ” But the man had already left to examine a row of soldiers sitting on a bench.

The room was dark and stuffy, with a low beamed roof, and quite a few people were packed into it. No one paid Emil any mind as he sat up and carefully swung his legs over the side of the litter. Looking around, he spotted some sets of crutches lined up against a wall; they were a little more complex than what he’d seen in his own time, but he felt certain that must be their function. He stood, tentatively putting weight on his injured leg; it was sore and painful, but he could move. Slowly he walked to the crutches and took a pair.

The healer who’d bandaged his leg accosted him before he could leave. “Who gave you permission to take those?”

“I told you, I need to see General Nikiforov.”

“Those are military property; you can’t just help yourself to them. And it won’t do for you to go walking around on that injured leg.”

“John!” called someone from the other side of the room, and the man turned his head to look briefly, then opened his mouth to speak to Emil again.

“I appreciate your concern for me,” Emil headed him off. “But if you continue to prevent me from doing my duty, the consequences could be calamitous – and if anyone questioned me, I would tell them to hold you responsible.”

Emil hated speaking like this to the man who had cared for him, however briefly. But it seemed to have the desired effect, as he stared in surprise.

“_John! _We need you over here!”

“Yes…well.” The man gave a small huff. “I haven’t got time to argue. But if you exacerbate your injury by going through with this, on your own head be it.” Then he turned to join the other healers who had been calling for him.

It took some little while for Emil to adjust to using the crutches, but eventually he’d been able to cover a fair distance and found himself back in the trenches with ordinary soldiers, thankful that there seemed to be too many fighting men here for one to easily recognise another in these circumstances.

Simmons and Appleby clearly didn’t know who he was, either, and he kept his cap pulled low over his face now as they passed through the trenches. Emil watched a cylindrical pile of ash build up at the end of his stick before it fell off, and the stub had begun to burn his lips before he spat it out, crushing it under his boot against the walkway as he’d seen his guides do with their own.

“We’re close here,” Simmons announced as they halted. “We’d better get back to our posts before we’re missed, but it ain’t difficult to find the general’s office.” He pointed down the trench. “Keep going that way til you see the sign that says ‘Tenerife one thousand-something miles’, then left, then right, and you’ll be there. I can’t promise he’ll be in, but you seem to know what you’re about as regards your message, sir, so…”

“Thank you very much indeed for your help,” Emil said. “You both have been very kind.”

“Tweren’t nothing,” Appleby said, “but if you want my advice, sir, you ought to get yourself back to the clearing station when you’re done. If you ask me, you’d be mad not to get some weeks away from the front line so you can heal up.”

Emil nodded. “I’m sure I will.”

They gave him the hand-against-the-forehead sign, then left in the direction whence they’d come. Emil suddenly felt alone again; sharing the burning sticks seemed to have united them in some sense. He saw other soldiers in the distance breathing smoke as well, and going about their business in the ways Emil had got used to in the short time he’d been here. Then he became conscious of the noise of explosions, and realised they’d been occurring all the while, his attention only drawn to it now because these had been quite close. Somehow he’d been filtering it out, though he hadn’t realised it.

_This place is becoming too familiar too quickly, _he decided. But now he turned his thoughts to finding Sir Victor. Following Simmons’s directions, he made his way to the Tenerife sign, then turned left, then right. He noticed he was passing sleeping quarters; inside were wooden bunk beds, with makeshift curtains pulled most of the way across. A soldier had left his weapon propped against the bedpost, as many of these men seemed to do; Emil had largely been ignoring it, since his own gun had proved effective, and he had an instinctive dislike of stealing from comrades, even if they were holograms. But this gun was different from others he’d seen; it was an especially large one made of wood with a metal cylinder on top that contained holes spaced at regular intervals, and a curious circular appendage mounted on it that was rather like a snail. He wondered what the function of it was, then focused on his task and headed toward the enclosed area ahead of him. 

He was about to enter when he heard the sound of several men on the walkway coming from the other direction. Instead of carrying on toward him, however, they stopped inside the corridor and knocked on the door. Emil’s full attention turned to what was being said as he heard someone ask General Nikiforov to leave the office to speak with him.

_Oh, praise be to God, he’s here after all._

But Emil’s exultation turned out to be short-lived as he heard Sir Victor shout Yuuri’s name and the clicks of guns being readied and aimed. He quickly pressed himself against the wall of the trench and peered into the gloom. There was Sir Victor with his hands up – and Yuuri too, emerging from the office, in a German uniform. The words Emil heard next sent a chill through him: _General Nikiforov, I’ve been sent by command to apprehend both you and Colonel Katsuki._

God in heaven, what was happening? Quietly, Emil inched back to the sleeping quarters, where he could mostly hide behind a curtain and still gaze out. Sir Victor was trying to argue with the man who was arresting him, but it was proving ineffective.

_…you’re also in league with the two captains who shot their own troops dead earlier today, since you had the audacity to ask Major Campbell to find them for you…_

“Saints preserve us,” Emil muttered, sweat breaking out on his brow. He reached for his gun, wishing Julia were with him again; he needed her help. He might be able to take several of these men by surprise, but all of them at once…? He’d have to pray for a miracle.

_You’ve been tried _in absentia_ by Field Marshal Marr and sentenced to death. Both of you are to face a firing squad. Within the hour._

Emil swallowed and placed a hand on the end of his gun in its holster, fighting an internal war as he told himself to remain calm. One side won.

He dropped his hand, picked up the gun with the snail-like appendage, and aimed.

* * *

Yuuri could barely process how quickly their situation had deteriorated. Ailis, a field marshal who had ordered their execution? How the hell were they going to get away under armed guard?

“I’m your leader,” Victor said to the officer, and now there was a trace of agitation in his voice. “You can’t do this.”

“You can’t try people without their knowledge,” Yuuri jumped in. “A court martial involves a _court_ – lawyers, a jury, evidence – ”

“Field Martial Marr holds the ultimate authority here,” the officer said. “We’re in the middle of a war, and we can’t always do things as nicely as you’d expect at home.”

“That’s bullsh – that’s wrong,” Yuuri insisted. “Even the military operates according to laws. They don’t just get to make them up.” 

“I’ve nothing more to say to you, German pig. We show no mercy to spies.”

“I forced General Nikiforov at gunpoint to give me the code book back and ask for the captains to be brought to his office,” Yuuri said quickly, grasping for anything he could use to mitigate their circumstances. He saw surprise and consternation on Victor’s face as he continued, “I was still armed when I entered his office. He’s played no part in this.”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “Why are you defending him?”

“He…offered me clemency if I gave him the names of other spies who have infiltrated the British military. Which I was going to do. If you shoot me, you’ll never find out.”

The officer eyed him while Victor’s mouth quirked up ever so slightly. “You know what?” the man said eventually. “I don’t believe a word of it.” He turned to his men. “Frisk them both. Thoroughly. The field marshal wants to see them before their execution.”

Yuuri grasped frantically for anything else he could say, as someone reached for the holster on his belt. The sudden rapid rat-a-tat of gunfire nearby caught the soldiers’ attention, and Yuuri did the only thing he could do – he ducked back through the doorway, drawing his revolver and peering out to shoot at the men. There were only two left that he saw, who quickly disappeared, through his own fire or that of the other person’s he couldn’t tell.

Risking a closer peek out at the corridor with his gun at the ready, he was bewildered to see that all eight of the soldiers had vanished. Victor was crouching in a corner – thank God he was alive – and slowly lowering his gun, eyes wide. Yuuri followed the line of his gaze, and sucked in a breath when he saw Emil bracing himself against a wall, partially concealed by a curtain and holding what looked like a crude early machine gun.

“Holy shit.” With another glance at Victor, he trotted over to his squire.

“Sir, I’m so very glad to see you.”

“I was about to say the same thing.” He took in the bandaged leg and crutches propped against the wall. “Jesus, Emil, what happened? Was Julia with you?”

“I was shot. I told her to leave me where I was injured, in yonder wasteland. May I ask how you both – ”

“We ought to leave,” Victor said, looking around. “Others will have heard. They could arrive at any minute.”

“You’re right. We can talk later.” A bullet hit the wooden post next to Yuuri’s head, spraying splinters. He returned fire, but the gunman had disappeared. “Let’s get over to those ladders and haul ourselves up. Can you climb one of them, Emil?”

“It’s death to be out there,” Victor said, eyeing the top of the trench.

“It’s death to be down here,” Yuuri replied, wondering whether they should try to take the crutches, and deciding they were likely to slow them all down; besides, they’d be no use in no man’s land.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think I can.” Emil shifted uncomfortably – then his eyes shot open wide and he fired into the corridor. “I think I got one of them. They’re attempting to come after us. I don’t know how many are there.”

“Give me your gun,” Yuuri said, returning his revolver to its holster. Emil did so, and Yuuri passed it to Victor. “This is a machine gun,” he told him, “with unlimited quick-fire ammo. About the best weapon we could have here, I think, if the way Emil got rid of our problem was any indication.”

Victor examined the weapon, then looked at Yuuri. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because you need both hands to fire it, and I’m doing this. All right, Emil, I’m just going to pick you up. Victor, keep an eye on the corridor – you need to cover for us, and we’ll have to hope no one’s coming from the other direction yet.”

Victor put his own revolver away and held the machine gun up, aiming it at the corridor, but glancing behind him while Yuuri lifted Emil in a fireman’s carry – something else he’d learned in Immersion. Now that he’d been training, it was easy it was to take Emil’s weight.

“Yuuri, are you sure you can climb a ladder like that?” Victor asked before firing into the corridor. The gun kicked back a bit, and he looked at it as if he didn’t quite trust it.

“Sir, you could be shot,” Emil said over his shoulder. “Perhaps you should lay me down in one of those bunk beds, with the curtains closed. You and Sir Victor can escape, and come back for me – ”

“No way, Emil. You’re my squire, and you’ve saved my life twice today already. A lot of people have been doing that. Now it’s my turn to help.”

“Hurry – but be careful,” Victor said.

“You too. Fire the gun as much as you need to.”

He began to climb the nearest ladder. This was different from just standing still; he was going up an almost vertical set of rungs, trying to keep his balance without losing his grip on Emil. Progress was slow, and while Emil wasn’t a heavy man, he was heavier than the sacks of grain Yuuri was used to carrying up and down the castle hill. Suddenly he wished he was doing that now. It felt impossibly far away.

Victor wasn’t firing yet. Yuuri dreaded hearing the noise, because it would mean they were under attack, and he couldn’t see what was happening. But not hearing it was just as bad, because what if it meant someone was sneaking up on Victor; on all of them? He spoke to distract himself.

“Emil, have you been…smoking?”

“Yes, that’s what they called it. Two soldiers gave me a burning stick and told me to inhale. It wasn’t very pleasant.”

“Not too good for you, either.” The machine gun erupted into life. “Shit. Victor, what’s happening?” he called. But the fire continued nonstop.

“Hurry, sir.”

Yuuri finally hauled himself over the top, scanning the area, but there was no one immediately in sight. He lowered Emil to the ground, then drew his revolver and looked into the trench. From his elevated position, he could see that Victor was still firing into the corridor while a group of six men were approaching from the other direction.

“Fuck,” he breathed, heart lurching. He dropped to his stomach and shot at them. Two vanished, while the others either ducked behind cover or fired back. Yuuri wondered whether he would be reliving these moments in nightmares, when his brain was free to rehash the horrors of himself and the people he cared about fighting to stay alive. “Victor!” he shouted. “Up the ladder while I cover for you!”

The machine-gun fire ceased and Victor scrambled up – thank God he was all right – while Yuuri continued to fire in both directions. “Keep firing down at them,” Yuuri told him as he got up and lifted Emil onto his shoulders again. “Let’s get away from here.”

Victor sent another spray of bullets into the trench, then joined them, monitoring their surroundings warily.

“Stay hunched over as low as you can,” Yuuri advised him.

“You don’t need to tell me that. I was out here before. I’ve never seen the like.”

The two of them trotted across the barren battlefield for a few minutes, their only immediate aim to escape the trenches. Then Victor shouted, “Yuuri, this way!” and dashed back in the direction from which they’d come. Confused, Yuuri followed – and seconds later something detonated behind them with a boom, followed by clods of earth pelting against his cape. He watched Victor aim the machine gun at the top of a hill and cut down a silhouette there.

“I saw the device he threw,” Victor explained.

“Hand grenades. Small bombs.” Yuuri took a moment to get his breath back. “Thank you.”

“We can’t remain here or in the trenches; we could be killed at any moment. And we have a man with an injury. Is there no shelter that you’re aware of?”

“Let’s head for that crater over there – ” He pointed. “ – and we can talk.”

Once inside, Yuuri carefully laid Emil against the sloping crater wall and then leaned next to him, with Victor on his other side. Without thinking, his hand sought Victor’s and they clasped, their fingers entwining. Yuuri glanced at him, feeling a renewed sense of calm, and then addressed Emil.

“How’s your leg?”

“They said nothing was broken, sir, but I’m afraid I’m going to be rather a liability. You can’t continue to carry me everywhere; it’ll exhaust you, and make you more of a target for these devilish weapons.”

“We’ll worry about that later. What the hell happened with you and Julia – they said you shot your troops? Is that how you were injured?”

Emil proceeded to relate a tale to him of how they’d escaped no man’s land in the trenches, only for Julia’s gender to be discovered. Fearing what the colonel who the men spoke of might decide to do to her, and him, he’d readied his weapon, though Julia had begun the shooting. “How can illusions be so real?” he said after he’d mentioned again how he’d insisted that Julia leave him in the crater and go for help. “Terrible things happen here. Are there people who enjoy such games?”

“A few, I suppose,” Yuuri answered. “Some just want as realistic an experience as possible. Or…I don’t know where Ailis got the console from, but it might have been used for military training. I keep wanting to say I’m sorry for all of you being stuck here – ”

“It’s not your fault,” Victor said softly, squeezing his hand. “And you’re stuck with us. If we could decide on a plan for how to remedy that, though, it would help.” He looked at Emil. “You haven’t heard aught of Julia since she left you?”

“I was hoping you could give me news of her.”

They were silent for a moment, and Yuuri guessed they were all wondering about her; where she was, what she was doing, if she was even still alive. He felt a stab in his heart at the thought.

“Have either of you encountered Ailis here?” Emil asked.

“She’s a field marshal, apparently,” Yuuri told him. “That’s all I know. It’s the highest rank in the British army. I wouldn’t have wanted to meet her via a trip to a firing squad, which is what she seemed to have planned for us.”

“We have a powerful weapon now,” Victor said. “This machine gun, as you call it.”

Yuuri bit his lip. “We’d have to get near her first, and she’ll be surrounded by armed soldiers. And none of us can expect to be able to go back into the trenches without being recognised.”

Emil winced and shifted his position. “Master…my leg isn’t really injured, is it?”

“No,” Yuuri reassured him. “Once we get you out of the Immersion field, the hypnotic effect’ll be broken, and you should be absolutely fine.”

“That’s good to know,” Emil said with a sigh.

“It was brave of you to shoot at those soldiers who came to arrest us. You could barely stand up.”

“I was protecting you, sir.”

“It was an honourable deed, Emil, regardless,” Victor said. “You saved us both.”

The squire gave a slight nod, remaining quiet but looking pleased.

Several shells exploded nearby; Yuuri could see the debris flying from beyond the top of the crater. They couldn’t make the same mistake here that he and Victor had in the office, and assume they were momentarily safe.

“This battlefield has to have a boundary, surely,” Victor mused. “What would happen, do you think, if we sought it?”

Yuuri considered. “I’m not sure. These games are programmed to keep players together as much as possible. We’d have a better chance of finding Julia if we stayed here, I think. But also a better chance of being killed.” He paused. “Maybe the best thing to do would be for us to try to find the dungeon. But how it’d be represented here, I couldn’t say. They didn’t build dungeons or prisons or anything like that near the trenches; it was all meant to be temporary, and easy to move.”

He was going to add something about how they would probably have to sneak back into the trenches and somehow find out where they held prisoners, which could be in numerous different places. It would probably involve a change of uniform for them all. While Emil could barely move his leg. And Julia was still missing. None of those problems were insurmountable on their own. Together, though…

But Yuuri didn’t get the chance to mention any of it, because their surroundings began to blur like watercolours on wet paper. He could only just hear Victor’s and Emil’s gasps of surprise.

_We’re not getting separated _was the last thing Yuuri thought as he held Victor’s hand tight and grabbed Emil’s arm. 


	129. Chapter 129

“Château d’Yquem, madam?” The waiter displayed the bottle on his tray as if it were a rare treasure fit for a queen. Ailis let him pour, then sipped at it. A sweet white wine, nothing special. The fact that it was in a crystal goblet covered in gold vine-like patterns studded with red gems didn’t enhance the taste. She waved the waiter away, sighing inwardly at the task of getting used to this new environment. 

It had seemed like the only sensible thing to do, changing everything again once she’d been informed of how Yuuri, Victor and Emil had vacated the trenches together and re-entered no man’s land. That, on top of losing Julia. They seemed to have been caught in an endless, wearying game of cat and mouse.

Ailis had thought she had them with the snap “trial” and firing squad. It had all been planned: Yuuri and Victor would be taken to her office, where she would have the chance to put a few things right between the three of them, and then the soldiers would take them out and shoot them. Distasteful but necessary work. However, she hadn’t counted on Yuuri’s squire turning up like that. She should have sent an entire platoon to arrest them.

Faced with the possibility of a long wait while an exhaustive search for the fugitives took place, she’d had to conclude that just like ancient Rome, the World War One environment had run its course. Better luck next time. Though it had to be said, she was feeling a little tired now. And thirsty, and hungry. But so would they. And it was extremely unlikely that their positions in this new environment would be anything like as secure as hers.

If you could consider being an oligarch flying over the ocean secure. The others referred to this vehicle as a car, even though it was the size of an aeroplane. It was also old-fashioned; less streamlined than modern versions, with obviously dated décor. But all that paled in comparison to the luxury that dripped from every chandelier crystal, diamond-studded table, and silk Persian rug woven through with silver and gold thread and gemstones. The entire body of the car, from what she could tell, was made of gold. Soft confections in white spirals formed furniture that could be loosely defined as sofas, and there were plump white leather chairs with gilded legs. Toadying servants dressed in black and white carried trays full of food and drink.

She’d landed right here on one of those sofas, perched on the edge, and almost instantly had been given a gold plate with what was announced to “madam” as a bagel topped with white truffle cream cheese and cloudberry-infused Riesling jelly and gold leaf. Which had tasted quite nice, though a steak and ale pie and a pint of Guinness, or a curry, would have been preferable, and far less expensive – no doubt defeating the purpose. Then the waiter had come with his precious Château d’Yquem.

_Reminds me of when I first arrived as the baroness. All those fancy dishes of Fernand’s. I couldn’t believe people ate like that._ She wondered briefly if she’d have the chance to taste Fernand’s cooking again. Neither of the first two Immersion environments had succeeded in killing Yuuri – and now Victor was free, and the squires were mixed up in it all. But she wouldn’t let herself dwell on it. This could well turn out to be the deadliest environment yet.

Somehow it felt even more alien to her than the castle, however. Despite the medieval class snobbery and all the trappings and ornamentations of wealth, there were levelling factors. Even royalty died from the plague, and superstition and fear abounded while science was in its infancy. Women died in childbirth and men died in battle. Here, however, in this unimaginably expensive vehicle gliding above the earth, you could imagine you were a member of a different species entirely.

A servant, when she’d asked, had brought her a mirror. She still looked like herself, with her remote-control earpiece having morphed into a glittering gold earring with fine chains like a fringe, but everyone was calling her Madam Huxley. That had to be Megan Huxley of Crystal Clear Water – one of the wealthiest women who’d ever lived, and a key figure in the company during the Water Wars; every schoolchild learned about that. The Immersion program was doing a good job of favouring her if it had put her here with the elite. Perhaps Yuuri and the others had ended up with the rioters. 

Anyone joining this game environment was meant to get a bit of a guilty thrill from the obscene wealth if they played a character like hers, that much was obvious. Almost 700 years separated the time Ailis had been living in from this one, and you’d think humanity hadn’t made any real gains. Most of the ordinary people would be struggling to afford to buy enough water, while a select few super-rich were partying hard. Ailis wasn’t even sure where this car was headed, apart from over an ocean; she hadn’t spoken to anyone but the staff yet.

She sipped her Château d’Yquem and looked around the cabin. Face paint wasn’t a trend yet in the 2070s, but ornate coiffures for both men and women were considered chic, especially when adorned with jewellery and ornaments. Hair hadn’t been this big since the eighteenth century, she reckoned, though at least it was natural instead of powdered white wigs. Her own hair, when she’d seen it in the mirror, reminded her of a geisha’s, gold and scarlet combs with little curtains of jewels shivering down.

And her dress didn’t even seem to be made for sitting in. It consisted of some kind of thick, stiff iridescent metallic material the colour of fire, with a modest circular neckline, and protruded down to just above her gold-heeled feet. She was wearing a long-sleeved orange leather piece over it which was more of a fashion accoutrement than a coat, the same length as the dress, with black diamond patterns on the sleeves. The whole getup was weird, and she would have preferred her own modern clothes, but she supposed it was meant to help her look and play the part. She checked to see that her com was still there, and discovered after forcing the material up past her wrist that it had become a thick gold bracelet with a pattern like leaves on vines, encrusted with countless diamonds. 

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen – just a heads-up that we’ll be touching down in ten minutes,” announced a calm and polished male voice through a speaker. “It’s been a relatively smooth transatlantic crossing, with a few patches of turbulence over Greenland; apologies for any inconvenience that may have caused. The weather is cloudy but dry, and the ambient temperature is a comfortable twenty-one degrees. I hope you’ve enjoyed the flight, and have a pleasant stay.”

A woman with similar hair and clothes to Ailis’s own, only in metallic green, sat down on the sofa next to her with a frosted gold-lipped goblet in her hand and a killer red smile, her eyes like diamonds. “Megan, my dear,” she said with a touch of a drawl. “I’ve been trying to get away for a word all during the flight. I’m so pleased you asked me to come. Rupert has been in a positively frightful mood; it seems our stocks have been volatile in China while the workers have gone on strike. Damn the lot of them, I say, if you’ll pardon my French. We just can’t seem to get automated quickly enough. I needed this time away, I can tell you.”

Ailis stared at the silly hologram. She’s been unapologetically rude to several of them in these environments, though it was just as well to assess first whether or not it was likely to boomerang back at her. She didn’t know who this woman was, which could be a problem.

“The wine’s gone to my head, I think,” Ailis said in a breathy voice with a rueful smile. “Remind me, will you, where we’re landing? I _so _love these trips, sometimes I hardly care where they end up, so long as I can be in the air.”

The woman laughed. “Oh I’m the same, my dear, I’m the same.” She paused to sip her drink. “I suppose you’re aware there’s been a little spot of bother in London lately. The rabble’s getting stroppy; God knows there’s always something getting their backs up. So we’re collecting some friends from the roof of the Hinduja Suites. No hurry, mind you, but I believe we’re taking them back to Missouri for a spell, until this blows over. They’ll be so very pleased to see you again, I’m sure.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “They’ll want to monopolise your attention, darling, because they know you have Randy’s ear. But you mustn’t let them. Too many others will be jealous.”

_Who the hell even are you? _Ailis thought angrily, though she flashed a smile at the woman.

“I must dash.” She put a hand on Ailis’s knee. “I’ll see you on land, Megan my dear.” With that, she got up and left, and Ailis was not sorry to see her go. Her offensively strong flowery perfume lingered, however.

Soon she could feel the car landing; it was a simple deceleration, gentle, with a loud hum from the engine. A man who looked like a posh butler, very pale and very bald, came and invited her to exit the car before everyone else, and she followed him in her long stiff dress and high heels, walking down red-carpeted steps to find herself in a rooftop garden. Surrounding this building were others of a similar height; it was impossible to tell from here how far above the ground they were. Ambient music floated from a quartet of musicians. More wealthy-looking people were eating, drinking, and chatting at white linen-covered tables, while others were taking leisurely strolls around pots and beds full of exotic plants – well, as exotic as the English climate would support. Palms, bamboo, and lemon and lime trees were some of the ones Ailis recognised. Flowers bloomed in profusion, bushes sparkled with strings of pastel fairy lights although there was plenty of daylight left, and the blue waters of a swimming pool sat mirror-like, waiting for a guest to send them rippling.

“Madam,” the butler said as they moved away from the hovercar, “the host here, Mr. Derbyshire, bids you a warm welcome and begs you to take a table.”

They were close enough to the dining area now for her to be able to get a good look at what was there. Gold, crystal, haute cuisine foods she didn’t recognise. None of it satisfying, none of it real. “Not just now, thank you,” she replied. “Perhaps later.”

“Very well, madam. Do call me if you need me.” The man bowed and left.

Ailis wondered for a moment how she was supposed to do that – shout across the roof? – but of course, she’d forgotten for a moment: players would be able to access a 2070s Immersion version of the Cloud here, and the call and messaging services it offered. She laughed as she realised she’d been stuck in the Middle Ages for so long that she’d begun to think like the people there. It was funny at first, then it was disturbing. What else was she likely to forget, or had already forgotten?

_Not something I need to be worrying about just now. _

She took a closer look around her. A cosmopolitan crowd. Lots of Arabs here, as you’d expect. Chinese and Indians too, and perhaps Russians, though that was harder to tell. When she listened carefully, however, she noticed a distant undercurrent of noise from beyond the rooftop. The music and conversation drowned it out mostly, but Ailis was certain she could hear yells and possibly even laser-gun fire on the streets far below.

Before she could go to the edge of the roof to investigate, however, she was approached by a Chinese man in a black tunic; definitely not the all-colours-blazing style of those who had been in the car with her. In fact, most of the clothes she was seeing up here were more traditional: women in black dresses, men in suits or Chinese fashion. This man appeared to be about her age, with long black hair, and a bit of eye shadow and rouge and lipstick over his sharp angular features.

“Madam Huxley, how delightful to finally meet you. Li Wei, Longquan Springs.” He gave her a wide smile and held out a hand, which she shook. Of course – a water company.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said without enthusiasm.

“I wanted to thank you for coming to spirit myself and my colleagues away, haha. However, I see no need to leave immediately when we’re enjoying ourselves. Won’t you come dine with us?”

Ailis began to wonder how many of these dull, unlikeable holograms the game would oblige her to speak with. There had been some in the royal box in the colosseum, but she’d ignored them for the most part. The military personnel in the trenches kept giving her reports that were of mild interest, plus coffee. Here, though – this was by far the worst. She wondered if anyone in this game ever decided _to hell with this _and simply went commando, gunning down these leeches and feeling like they’d become the world’s hero.

The man was waiting for an answer, the smile still stretching across his face. “Thanks, but no,” she replied. “I had a meal on the way here.”

“Then won’t you share a drink? We’d be honoured by your company. Crystal Clear’s business strategies are the stuff of legend. I for one would very much like to – ”

“What’s happening on the streets?” she interrupted to ask him. She’d definitely heard gunfire this time.

Still the smile. It seemed frozen, like a mask. “Ah, it’s nothing. The police will handle the thugs causing the trouble and lock them back up.”

“You mean they were locked up before?”

He shrugged, beginning to look uncomfortable. “There have been some prison breaks, they say. A few disgruntled characters running riot. Nothing the authorities can’t handle, I’m assured by the highest sources. There’s tight security downstairs; they’ve been instructed to allow no one inside, and there are very many locked doors.”

“So your sources have said.”

“Please, don’t worry your head about such things.” He gave an unpleasant laugh. “I must admit to being a little embarrassed by my host country’s high spirits, but well, what can one do?”

“Indeed,” Ailis replied. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He attempted to draw her into further conversation, but she ignored him and walked away from the dining area, past the idling hovercar, and into the garden. Soon she discovered she was near the pool, and stood and watched the dim reflections in its depths.

This must be the very beginning of the Water Wars; in which case, these modern-day toffs didn’t seem to have much clue what was about to hit them. There was a certain satisfaction in the knowledge…though she’d never wished harm to nobles like Andrei; not for the mere reason that they were nobles. He’d done some horrible things in his time, but he wasn’t all bad. Neither was Victor, if she were honest. Maybe if she got to know some of these people here, she’d discover they had better sides to them, too. But from what she’d seen so far, it would take some pretty deep digging. And frankly she wasn’t interested.

So how likely was she to find the four people she was after if she hung about with this tiresome crowd in their let-them-eat-cake moment? They weren’t fighting where she could see them, like in the colosseum. She couldn’t order soldiers to kill or apprehend them here; the oligarchs didn’t quite have that level of autocratic power, not yet. All these nobs she’d pretended to be, even Natalia, and they kept slipping out of her grasp.

She heard giggles behind her, and turned to see a man with his shirt half undone chasing a woman in a trailing banana-yellow dress dusted with orange crystals. Both were running with glittering glasses which sloshed red wine over the concrete floor of the roof. The woman shrieked as the man grabbed her and tripped over her dress, and they both plunged headlong into the pool. Some of the diners turned their heads in mild interest, then returned to their meals and discussions as the music played.

If a jack tried to do that to her, Ailis decided, she’d kick his nuts in. This clearly wasn’t the best place to stand, and she didn’t fancy returning to the hovercar. There didn’t seem to be anything else for it, then.

Li Wei and his friends were about to receive a guest at their table after all.

* * *

“God in heaven!” Julia cried as in mid-stride the mud under her feet changed to smooth black rock, and the sweeping vista of the battlefield became towering buildings of stone, brick, and metal. She stopped and lifted her right hand, which instead of holding the World War One gun was now wrapped around a smooth round piece of silver metal that looked remarkably like Yuuri’s laser gun. She pressed the button, and jumped as a blue beam of light shot out and blew a small hole in the road.

“Zounds,” she breathed. She’d taken the risk of stealing a gun from the trenches after she’d escaped from Ailis’s destroyed office, and was glad now that she’d done so. This would be a powerful weapon.

“What in the name of all that’s holy am I wearing?” Her arms were bare, she suddenly noted – and her shoulders. The material of her top was white, some soft clingy stuff like knitted wool but smoother, with thick loose gathers about the neck. And what was this covering her legs? The trousers were like hose, but thinner, and joined together, with swirls of blue, white and purple that looked like something an artist had daubed onto a paint palette and mixed around. On her feet were white shoes that reminded her of Yuuri’s, but their soles were impractically thick, and made her feel like she was walking across a bed.

These clothes were silly and immodest. But comfortable. As long as other people dressed like this, she supposed she would fit in. However, there would be no concealing the fact that she was a girl. She hoped it wouldn’t matter here.

Trotting further down the street, she blinked as she took in her surroundings. What was this place? If it was a city, it wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen or imagined. She appeared to be standing on a road paved with something like tar; white stripes ran down the middle, inlaid with large flat gems. From the sides of some of the buildings, huge moving images popped out, looking real enough to be touched. The larger-than-life people in them seemed happy. Julia assumed they were holograms.

Posts, rails, signs everywhere – in English, though she couldn’t understand what many of them meant. Taxi…paninis…tow zone? Vehicles were scattered about the road; she guessed that was what they were because they had wheels, but there were no horses here. No one was inside them and they weren’t moving; some were charred or even burning. She might be tempted to take a closer look at their colourful metal bodies, but it was clear that something here was amiss.

Aside from the burning vehicles, no traffic was passing down the road, and there were no people in sight. Loud rings and beeps issued from some of the buildings, as if to raise a hue and cry – but if anyone was present to hear, they didn’t come.

Her attention was suddenly arrested by a noise as of great sheets of glass shivering to pieces around the corner ahead of her. As she stared, a building disgorged perhaps a dozen young men in dark clothing, most with hoods and kerchiefs over their faces, who ran further along and then kicked and punched and shot at more glass before disappearing inside.

Hurrying to a shadowed doorway, Julia wondered what they were doing. Thieving, from the look of it. Where were the people who lived in this city and ought to have been stopping them? She could see, now she looked, that many of these buildings had already been broken into and vandalised. Some appeared to be shops, while others might be businesses and residences; it was difficult to say. She could make out fires burning inside a few.

There were several groups working in different areas of the street, she could see now. They seemed to have been given the freedom to do as they liked. Some emerged from the buildings carrying large items, boxes, or bulging bags strapped to their shoulders. Others fired laser guns at more of the stationary vehicles, causing explosions. Their hearts, Julia thought, must be as hard as the roads and buildings of this city, for them to be behaving thus, and suddenly she wondered if she was safe enough where she was.

Before she could move, however, she heard buzzing noises overhead and looked up – and gasped at what she saw. Containers propelling themselves through the air! Yuuri had mentioned flying cars; she remembered it well. Was this near his time? But he’d said mainly good things about it, and whatever was happening here was the work of the devil.

The vehicles flew away over the buildings, and her attention returned to the street. The clicks of marching boots echoed off the buildings, and a group of perhaps twenty men and women in black uniforms, holding laser guns, hurried into view in a neat formation, their faces grim. Were these soldiers?

They stopped outside one of the shops, weapons at the ready, and a woman spoke into a trumpet that greatly amplified her voice, demanding that anyone who was illegally inside the buildings should come out with their hands up. Laser-gun fire erupted from the broken window of a nearby building, and the black-uniformed people scattered for cover, firing back, the air rent with blue lights and shrieks. Julia shrank back against the door.

“Why are you here?”

She looked to her right, along the grey wall of the building, and saw one of the black-uniforms running at her and ducking to join her in partial cover.

“Who are you?” she asked. He had brown eyes and a black cap with a silver-starburst design on the front. His stiff posture, quick movements, and firm words gave him the air of a fighting man.

“I’m a police officer,” he answered. “We’re attempting to bring the rioters under control, but it’s incredibly dangerous here. You should’ve been evacuated. You’d better come with me.”

She didn’t know what a police officer was, but she didn’t want him to take her away by force. “Are you arresting me?” she asked in alarm.

“Are you part of what’s happening here?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so, from the look of you. Are you lost?”

“I’m trying to find my comrades. Do you – ”

“If they have any sense, miss, they’ll have left. The city’s full of large-scale looting and rioting, and it’s worst here in the financial district. This is no place for a young girl. I can – ”

“No,” Julia said flatly. “I’ve got to find them.”

“I must insist, for your own safety.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Find someone who wants your help. I will not abandon my comrades.”

He grabbed her arm. “Don’t force me to stun you.” But when an explosion worthy of the war zone Julia had just vacated rocked a nearby building, a ball of flame erupting from inside, the man glanced away – and she raised the gun she’d been concealing behind her and shot him. He didn’t even have time to react before he disappeared.

“Hey!” one of the police officers called from across the street, getting his colleagues’ attention and pointing. Julia sprinted away, firing madly behind her as blue light exploded against the building. It almost singed the hair on the back of her head as she turned a corner. That was close. Were they in pursuit?

Not waiting to discover the answer, she dashed down the narrow alleyway in which she found herself. Narrow by the standards of this place, perhaps, but not by those of the cities and villages she knew. The perfect geometrical nature of everything here seemed otherworldly. Buildings and roads met at ninety degrees. Clean, polished, hard stone underfoot; no mud or filth in sight. And no animation, no life, apart from the warring factions here. She hadn’t seen a single animal, and there was hardly a tree or a patch of earth to be found, either. As disgusting as she sometimes found York – her experience in the pillory having done nothing to endear her further – this city was no more hospitable. It was _cold._

Once on the other side of the alleyway, she didn’t hesitate, but zigzagged down a maze of streets. Grey and brown stone, red and gold brick, some buildings that seemed to be made of nothing more than windows. Pharmacy. Coffee – they had _shops _for the foul liquid here? Silver vaults, master tailors. More streaks of blue gunfire, this time ahead of her. Whether thieves were warring with each other or with police officers, Julia didn’t know, and didn’t pause to try to discover. She spotted a nearby shop with the door half ripped off its hinges and flitted inside, quickly scanning the interior to ensure no one else was present. Deciding she was perhaps as safe as she could get for now, she stood still and caught her breath.

“Harcourt’s of London”, the fancy gold sign outside the shop had said. She’d been to London; it was like a larger version of York. What a sad, bleak future it had to look forward to, if what she’d seen of it so far was any indication.

As she glanced around the shop interior, she was hard pressed to imagine what it must have looked like before the glass cases on the floor and walls had been smashed. With a stab of surprise, she saw that the room was lit by rows of orbs in the smooth grey ceiling; what caused them to burn with such a steady white flame, she could not have guessed. Portraits of morose-looking men and women displaying bracelets, necklaces, rings, and bizarre hair ornaments lined the top of one of the walls; some of these had blackened holes where they’d been shot. Dying flames licked at parts of the smoking, charred wooden floor, which was strewn with fragments of glass.

Almost everything had been removed from the displays; when she took a closer look, Julia found a golden butterfly pin inlaid with red and blue enamel, some pearls from a broken necklace, and a silver and ruby earring without its partner. She took the pin and secured it to her top near her shoulder, then went to the wall between the doorway and the broken windows and leaned against it for a moment. 

She was never prepared in this Immersion for how the world could spin and change. Once she’d procured a weapon for herself in the trenches, she’d attempted to find Emil again, and had ended up shedding bitter tears of frustration when she’d discovered how many craters there were in the wasteland, how one looked much like another, and how there was no easy way to discover which direction was which. She had been determined to find him, even if she had to search for hours, though she knew that Yuuri and the master might also be in need of her help. She couldn’t simply abandon an injured comrade. And she’d made a promise. But then she was suddenly here, in this city of stone. London.

It was quiet when the guns weren’t firing in the distance. But she could hardly think for the worries that filled her brain and her heart. If she’d ever needed advice from the master, it was now. But she had to assume he was still occupied with troubles of his own – still a prisoner.

_I want to help. I wish I knew how I could. _Everyone was lost to her now. If they were in this city, they could be anywhere. How would she find them?

More shattering glass outside; she’d thought the thieves had been and gone from here. Gunfire, shouts, screams. Julia flattened herself against the wall. The best thing was to wait for it to pass. She must force herself to focus.

The master was in a dungeon. If that was Ailis’s hideaway as well, perhaps it was where the Immersion was coming from. She wondered if it would be possible to find it and destroy whatever was controlling it with her gun and set the master free. Then they’d find Yuuri and Emil – who would still be alive, God willing – and capture this…horrible witch, as Julia still wanted to think of her. Well, she was. Even witches could be kind sometimes.

That meant talking to people. She needed to find out where the nearest gaol or prison was, because that was the only sensible place she could think to try looking. But patience was important, too. She waited until it had been some time since she’d heard a noise outside, then exited the shop and made her way along the street, lingering near doorways and alleys in case anyone with a laser gun decided to set their sights on her.

She turned a corner and spotted a group of five people further along the street; they were moving rather slowly, probably because some of them were carrying armloads of silver pipes. Gradually catching them up while she hid from their sight, Julia had a good chance to observe them. They looked a few years older than her, wore strange clothes, and all had backpacks. She waited to see if they would get guns out and thieve from a shop; perhaps the pipes were intended to assist them somehow. But they didn’t show any interest in the buildings they passed, and they weren’t concealing their faces.

Eventually they came to a halt. A tall muscular man with floppy straw-blond hair and a short-sleeved black shirt with a painting of a group of people on the front was carrying the most pipes; he put them down, as did the others. Two of them appeared to be keeping watch with guns, looking up and down the street; Julia ducked into an alleyway before they caught sight of her, then peered out. One of the watchers was a man with a mop of orange hair and an even oranger long-sleeved frilly shirt cut in a “V” at the front to expose his chest, and black trousers. His companion was a brown woman with long black hair and a short blue top that exposed her midriff; Julia told herself it was prudish to be shocked by this, but she couldn’t help it. She wore trousers as well, of a thick dark blue material. The pair of them looked nervous and wary.

The remainder of the group consisted of a woman with short, spiky white-blond hair – Julia had thought only the master had hair that light – wearing loose clothes with swirling earth-colours reminiscent of no man’s land, and a man dressed in black, with shiny trousers like leather and long, wavy auburn hair in a ponytail. He began to pry up a small square metal lid from the street with a pole. Julia couldn’t imagine what they were doing, but they were the only people she’d seen in this place who weren’t thieving or shooting.

Gun in hand but pointing down, she emerged from the alleyway and approached them.


	130. Chapter 130

“Stop right there,” said the woman with the spiky hair. “This is our patch. Go find your own.”

Julia stood several paces back and glared at her. “I’m not invading your _patch_, as you call it. I’m trying to find my comrades. I just wanted to ask – ”

“You don’t need to ask anything. Frazz off, little girl, and take your gun with you.”

Julia instinctively reached to draw her sword, but of course it wasn’t there. Anyway, she already had a weapon – but she couldn’t imagine fighting a duel with a laser gun. _The enemy wants you to be distempered, _the master had told her on numerous occasions. _You’re more apt to make mistakes that way. _However, he wasn’t here and didn’t know these people. They were close to her age, but old enough to want to patronise her, and she wasn’t going to stand for that.

“_You _listen to _me_, Hedgehog,” Julia snapped, relishing the look of surprise on the woman’s face and the growing interest of her colleagues, who had been more concerned with their pipes til now. “Perhaps your friends can help me if you’re unable, or won’t.” She raised her voice, though it had already been rather loud. “I’m looking for the nearest prison. Dungeon. Gaol. Whatever you call it here.”

The spiky-haired woman gave a harsh laugh. She and Julia were clearly the centre of attention now. “You and what army? Besides, you’re a tad late. Everyone’s already been sprung loose. Good luck finding your mates. Now sod off, there’s a good girl.” She turned around and began speaking to the man in orange.

Julia had a growing suspicion that the master wouldn’t approve of her speech and actions just now, but this could not be tolerated. “Dishonourable, base harlot,” she snarled loud enough for them all to hear; once again she had their attention, as the woman turned back to stare at her in bristling surprise. Julia raised her gun, though she had no intention of shooting unless it was necessary; she suspected the woman’s companions would be rather cross. But let them see she was armed and willing to fire. 

The orange man was laughing. “What the fuck? Is that an insult from Shakespeare or something?”

“I’ve got a gun,” Julia warned, though it had been in plain sight all along.

The spiky-haired woman seized a gun for herself from the brown-skinned woman, who cried out in annoyance. “Guess what? So have I. Think I’m afraid of a runt like you?” She lunged forward and rammed into Julia, who reeled several steps back, but managed to keep hold of her gun. Should she stun her with it? Did the woman intend to kill her? A spike of fear shot down her spine and she realised that she had no experience at all with these powerful weapons or how people used them.

But this was also an issue of saving face. The other four people here didn’t look like types who enjoyed shooting and killing for no good reason, and the woman had physically attacked her instead of using her gun, hadn’t she? Julia rammed her in return, and she saw fire sparking in her opponent’s hard blue eyes now.

“You little – ”

“Sasha, what’s going on?” Auburn Ponytail asked. Having pried up the lid in the street, he’d been examining some kind of metallic apparatus that lay underneath.

_He’s pretty_, Julia thought. Not in the same way as the master, though. While Sir Victor had the appearance of someone who’d lightly stepped onto the earth from another realm, this man _was_ the earth – warm, solid, seeming to invite confidence.

It suddenly struck her that she was waxing poetic, and had forgotten her anger for a moment. This wasn’t like her, and it was weak. She added a dose of defiance as she stared at the woman called Sasha. 

“_This_,” Sasha looked away to tell Auburn Ponytail, “is just some cracked little squid who walked up to me and gave me shit. I’ve never seen her before in my life.” She shoved Julia once more, and Julia shoved back.

“You wanna fight me?” Sasha demanded.

Julia tilted her head up with her toughest look. This woman was taller than her, but not greatly so. “I’ll fight you anytime. You’ll lose.”

Sasha snorted a laugh and put her gun in a trouser pocket. “Don’t hide behind your weapon, then.” Her comrades watched silently, though the brown-skinned woman was shuffling her feet, and her eyes darted around. Auburn Ponytail’s attention was still mostly on his task.

Julia searched for a pocket in her clingy trousers, found a small one at the top of a thigh, and put her own gun away.

“All right, you little rat,” Sasha said, squaring her shoulders, “let’s see how many seconds you last.”

Julia quickly settled into her mental fighting space. The master had been trying to teach her to make it a place of quiet strength, but it had never really worked for her unless she channelled her anger into it as well. She could feel power flowing through her body now.

The man with paintings of people on his front said, “Go easy on the girl, eh? I doubt she knows what she’s doing.”

“Quiet, or you’ll be next once I’m finished with Hedgehog,” Julia threatened him. He just laughed, and she supposed he had a right; he was muscle-bound, and Julia wasn’t used to fighting without a sword or indeed any weapon at all. She’d had some training in hand-to-hand combat, but only a little. However, she did know a great deal about physical attacks during a swordfight. Many of those rules might be applied to this situation.

Sasha swung a punch at her – all raw power, no finesse. Julia ducked and grabbed the woman’s leg, throwing her off balance, and they both fell to the ground. She maintained her grip on the leg, clamping both of her own around it, clinging. Sasha couldn’t get up, and she started swearing.

“Sasha, you’re such a gonk,” the orange man said. He held a hand out to Julia to help her up, and grinned. “You’ve got a lot of bite to you, babe.”

She ignored him, and stood and stared at the group as Sasha also got to her feet. They were unlikely to be willing to answer her questions now, and she would have to leave. But at least she’d given them a display of her mettle. Sasha glowered at her.

“Nice one,” the man with the people on his chest said to her. “What’s your name?”

“Julia. What’s yours?”

“Piotr. Hey, Ash, we could do with a fighter like this, you think?”

“Seems a bit of a loose cannon if you ask me.” Auburn Ponytail was still intent on his purpose, picking up one of the silver pipes and securing it perpendicularly to the apparatus in the ground.

Julia’s heart lightened. Piotr had liked her display of skill. Perhaps, then, they wouldn’t seek to be rid of her after all, though she doubted Sasha would be pleased about it. She approached, and no one ordered her to go back or tried to attack. “What are you doing?” she asked the man whose name was apparently Ash.

He glanced up at her. “Placing a homemade standpipe inside the hydrant here.”

“What will that do?”

After a pause, he answered, “Well, tap the water supply.” He threw his arms out in a wide gesture. “Whoosh,” he said with a smile. “We leave it on, flooding the road, and move to the next one.”

They had a water supply under the road – and they wanted to tap it and create floods? Were they intending to put fires out that way? Create a hazard? Perhaps even add a spot of interest to these surroundings of drab stone and metal?

“Why?” she asked.

“Where have you been hiding?” There was resentment in Sasha’s voice, but Julia hoped she was correct in believing there was some grudging respect as well. “It’s a protest.”

“Against what?”

Ash gave her a strange look. “Against the authorities who allow the water companies to charge a fortune, and throw people in prison for not paying their bills.”

“You pay for water?”

“Don’t you?” Sasha asked her.

“No, I get it from a well.” She looked down at the open rectangle in the street, with its new pipe. “Is that a well?”

The brown-skinned woman laughed sharply. “Are you taking the piss?”

Ashley looked up again. “You didn’t say where you were from.”

“Yorkshire.”

“Well that it explains it,” Sasha said with a smirk. “Northern wastes. They probably all still wear flat caps and work down t’pit.”

It had been meant as an insult, Julia realised, but she couldn’t make much sense of it.

Ash pointed at the pipe. “This, Julia, is a hydrant. We’ve got the keys to open it, and others, and let out the liquid gold. We knew today was going to be the big day when the rebel groups were all going to act, so we came down to do our bit. This is it.”

The orange man said to him, “I reckon most of them’s as dangerous as the rozzers, Ash. We’ve only been in touch with a few groups, and most people here are just looting. If they think we look too posh…”

Ash straightened and placed his hand on a small knob on the pipe. “You’re the poshest-looking one of us in that outfit, I’d say. You could’ve worn jeans and a hoodie.” There was no reply to this, and Ash addressed the entire group now. “Anyway, it’s a great opportunity. The cops are busy, the city’s been evacuated, and we stand a good chance of not being bothered by anyone. Ready?”

The brown-skinned woman said, “Get on with it, will you?”

Ash waggled his brows at Julia like a performer about to do a trick. “_Vive la révolution_.”

He turned the knob, and a spume of water gushed into the street, as if it had been dammed back all this time, waiting for the chance to be freed. Blaze whistled and jumped back. Ash pumped his hand triumphantly in the air. Julia stared. It was a truly powerful spray. And it reminded her of how thirsty she was, but she knew this water wasn’t real. The others, however, bent over and took some in their hands, drinking with dripping faces.

Ash was laughing. “Flink, it works!” he shouted joyfully. “C’mon, help me pick these up,” he said to his comrades, indicating the stacks of pipes with growing puddles underneath them. “We’ve got a lot more to do.”

“We can’t do all these,” the brown-skinned woman protested. “We’ll get caught, or shot.”

Sasha darted a look of annoyance at her. “Then why the fuck did you come along in the first place? Do you want to do this or not?”

The woman was silent. Several of them collected up the pipes and started to walk at a rapid pace down the street. Julia remained next to Ash, who appeared to be the oldest, and the leader.

“What’s a loose cannon?” she asked him.

He laughed. “You don’t know?”

“Would I ask you if I did?”

“Someone who’s unpredictable and impulsive, and generally dangerous.”

“That’s a compliment, correct?”

He glanced at her with a small grin. “Nice work with Sasha, by the way,” he said as they went along the street. Julia kept an eye out for more thieves or police officers but had seen none here so far. “That’s a good way to earn her respect, though she’s going to be picked for a while first. Where’d you learn to fight like that? You took her out in one.”

“That’s what I am. A fighter. Who are all of you, and what’s happening here?”

“Don’t you know?”

“You said that before, pretty boy.”

A grin crept across Ash’s face. “That’s a compliment, correct?”

Julia ignored his remark. “I arrived here in the middle of all this. I didn’t know what was happening.” The thieves had evidently passed this way already, for most buildings showed signs of damage.

“You’re lucky if you live someplace where fresh water is free and plentiful,” Ash said as they continued to walk; Julia wondered where he planned to stop next. “Most everywhere else, it’s expensive and rationed. You probably already know, but the wealthiest companies in the world are the ones that own the water.”

“But how can you own water?”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “_Exactly _what I say. Access to it should be a human right. If people use it but can’t pay, they’re imprisoned. But that’s one of the wonderful things that have come about today – prison break-outs all over, people set free.”

“What, including criminals?”

After a pause, he answered, “There weren’t many genuine criminals inside, is my guess. As for the ones who were, I suppose they get a second chance.”

“To riot and loot, you mean,” the orange man said from behind them. “More power to them, though, if you ask me. They can keep doing their thing. Plenty of these posh shops deserve it. All of it helps the cause.”

“Where’s the next hydrant, Ash?” the brown-skinned woman asked. “You said you’d memorised the map. I hope you meant it.”

“Should be just a bit further along.”

Julia said, “That’s what I need to find – a prison. Is there one near?”

Ash stopped at another metal lid in the road and looked at her as he put the pipes down, the others mirroring his actions. “There’s no need to break anyone out,” he told her. “They’re all empty. If you’re looking for friends, they’re probably on the streets.”

“I’m not sure about this one,” she said. “He – ”

A buzzing noise rapidly approached overhead, and their gazes all went skyward. “Another flying car,” Julia observed, wondering what it was coming to do.

Ash led them into the nearest building. They all stood inside, well away from the windows, staring frantically out. This place had been lucky enough to escape vandalism; Julia could hear the muffled buzzing of the vehicle through the glass.

“I don’t think they saw us,” the brown-skinned woman said.

“They definitely didn’t, or they’d be shooting,” Ash replied. “They won’t risk damaging the city further if their target isn’t well in sight, I don’t think. By the way, Julia, this is Kranti.” The woman looked at her and blinked. “Sasha you’ve most definitely met. And Piotr. And this is Blaze.”

The orange man made a flourish. “Blaze by name, blaze by nature.”

“What do you do,” Julia said, “light fires?”

The others obviously thought this funny, but he frowned. “Sasha started calling me that because of the colours I wear, all right? I like it.”

“You have to admit, though,” Piotr said, “it would be a lot more badass if you _did _go around lighting fires. Why don’t you do it to some of these posh shops when that hovercar out there’s cleared away?”

“I might just.”

“Not if it brings the cops down on us,” Ash said. “Besides, there are thousands of rioters out there today, but I don’t know if anyone else is doing what we’re doing. The pipes are our focus, remember.”

Julia stared at Piotr. “Who are those people on your shirt? They look very real.”

“I guess they would, yeah, since it’s a photo of a band. It’s the Keyboard Junkie Sharks.”

“The…” Julia began to repeat; then she simply nodded, mystified. It certainly wasn’t a band Yuuri or Phichit had mentioned.

“Haven’t you heard of them in Yorkshire? Or is everyone still listening to Beyoncé there?”

“All right,” Ash said, “we ought to – ”

A man’s voice boomed from outside and above, as if someone were speaking through an impossibly large trumpet: “To anyone who has illegally entered or defaced premises or property in the city, you have ten minutes to cease criminal activities and disperse. I repeat, ten minutes. Then bacteriological agents will be released. That is all.”

Julia’s five companions stared out the window, their mouths hanging open. After a moment of silence, they all seemed to want to talk at once.

“They _can’t_,” Kranti breathed. “No way.”

“Looks like they fucking will,” Blaze rejoined.

“The red death? They’d never do anything that extreme.”

Ash gazed at her sombrely. “They have done before; why do you think they’d hesitate now? This is what we’re fighting against, Kranti.”

Blaze said to him, “I told you we should’ve brought the fucking hoverboards with us. We could get right up and out of this then.”

“And how do you think we’d have carried all those pipes? They would never have taken the weight.” Ash paused, his eyes boring into Blaze’s. “You signed up for this, jack. Are you backing out now?” When Blaze shook his head, he said, “Fine. We need to get the pipes inside. Quick.”

They all dashed back out into the street, and Julia grabbed some pipes herself. This red death sounded fearsome, she thought. But no one was panicking, so perhaps they would be safe inside.

“Thanks,” Ash said to her. “You’re stronger than you look.”

She eyed him. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“A compliment. But we need to hurry – if they’re going to be spraying the red death, we can’t be in the street or on the lower floors of any building.” In a louder voice, he said to everyone, “Back in the hotel – we’ll leave the pipes in the lobby, find the stairs, and go up to the top. Any locked doors in the way – Sasha and Blaze, you’ve got the guns. Shoot them open. Let’s find a room where we can be safe.”

“Actually,” Kranti said, “that was _my _gun.”

Sasha held it out, then slapped it into her open palm. “Share and share alike, right?”

“Fuck you.”

Sasha sucked in a breath to respond, but Ash quickly said, “Can we try to get on with each other? I know we didn’t expect this, but it’ll pass and we’ll be OK. Come on, let’s find the stairs.”

“There’s a lift over there,” Piotr pointed out to him.

“Do you want to risk the electricity being cut while we’re stuck inside down here?”

“Shit, all right.”

Julia quickly realised that this couldn’t be a shop, as it didn’t seem to sell anything at all. Its marble halls were palatial, and there were huge glittering crystal fixtures attached to the ceiling, glowing with that same mysterious inner fire she’d seen in the jewellery shop. Long desks. Seating areas. Wait – Ash had called this a hotel. Julia had never heard the word before, but she knew of _hostel _in French, which meant living quarters or a place to stay. If this were something like an inn, it was the largest, most incredible one she’d ever seen.

“Stairs,” Sasha said, gesturing ahead of them. They were made of white stone, tightly covered with what looked like a very long Persian rug, and along their edges ran iron railings in curlicue designs topped by polished wooden rails.

“That’s a hell of a lot of flights to go up,” Blaze observed, looking overhead as they approached, and Julia could see that the stairs wrapped around themselves in a series of squares for quite a distance before ending at the top in a large window in the roof.

“Perhaps you’d care to stay down here with the red death,” Sasha said to him.

They began to climb. “What’s the red death?” Julia asked Ash as she walked next to him. No one seemed to have any objection to her speaking with him as she’d been doing, though if they had, she was willing to fight for the right.

“You’ve never heard of it?” A tight-lipped smile flashed across his face. “Lucky you. The police keep it as a supposed last resort in extreme civil disturbances – though they get to be the ones who judge what ‘extreme’ is.”

“The police are law enforcers – those men and women in black?”

She heard Sasha’s voice behind her: “Course they’re bloody police, what the fuck else do you think they’re doing here?”

Julia craned her neck around and shot back, “Temper your disrespectful tone with me, Hedgehog, or I’ll mete out another serving of justice to you.”

“What the hell?” Sasha mumbled; and Blaze said, “Are you an actor or something? Why are you talking like that?”

“Why are _you _talking like _that_?” was the best reply Julia could think of, though she knew it wasn’t very good, and her cheeks pinked. It was easy to forget that these people weren’t like Yuuri and Phichit, who were used to the speech of 1393, if not the actual languages.

“Anyway,” Ash continued as they walked, and Julia could see from all the corridors of doors with numbers on them that this was indeed a giant inn, “the red death is a spray full of genetically engineered super-bacteria. They’re programmed not to live long, but in the meantime they’ll soon overwhelm the healthiest immune system. In other words, a quick but painful death from multiple diseases.”

“God in heaven,” Julia breathed. Just like Ailis with the plague, perhaps even worse. “But if all you need to do is go upstairs to evade it, what can they hope to accomplish?”

“Well, it’ll clear the streets, for one thing. Stop people breaking into buildings. And it’ll still catch anyone who’s unaware it’s coming, or can’t get away. They’ll want a few people to die in order to make an example of them. Fewer criminals on their hands that way, too.”

“But that’s evil.”

“We haven’t lived in a democracy for ages, Julia, especially not if the government kills its own citizens like that. People need to be aware of it, and stop reading mainstream news sources controlled by them and wealthy businesses, because all they do is spout propaganda. Bombs, laser guns, the red death – that’s how they treat us. But starting today, we’re officially fighting back. Against the government, and the water companies, and the parasitical rich.”

“Hey,” Kranti said, “listen to you on your soapbox again.” Although it sounded to Julia like it was meant to be an insult, there was affection in her tone.

“Don’t you agree?” Sasha asked her. “And if not, I ask again, why the fuck are you here?”

“You’re my only friends. If this is what you want to fight for, I’m fighting too. I just…didn’t want to die today.”

“None of us are going to,” Ash said firmly. He, like the others, was a bit out of breath by now. “Looks like we’re at the top – let’s see if we can open one of these doors.”

Kranti and Blaze got their guns out and shot at them, then Ash and Piotr and Sasha kicked in their smoking remains. There were only four sets of rooms on this top floor, but they were breathtaking in their luxury and opulence; in fact, it made Julia think of the lord and lady’s solar in the castle. She’d only seen it a few times, when the master had taken her there with him, though she suspected this was an even grander display of wealth.

Once all of the doors had been opened, Ash led them into the most luxurious suite of rooms out of the four. They all stared as they entered, and Julia heard curses and whistles. The room wasn’t overwhelmingly large – there were plenty of bigger ones at the castle – but it was like a heavenly cloud: white walls consisting of painted carved wooden panels, and white curtains, carpets, and furniture highlighted with delicate floral patterns. The chairs were lined with cushioned fabric, many elongated so as to seat more than one person. And such slim, elegant tables as Julia had never seen. More shining bunches of glimmering crystals hanging from the ceiling. A fireplace with a mantel adorned with elegant vases, and a glimmering mirror above. Portraits of proud-looking people on the walls, and of landscapes. When Kranti flicked a switch, more illuminations sprung to life around the room, under cylindrical white shades decorated with fringing.

“Quaint,” she said. “Old-fashioned tech that you don’t need a Cloud connection to use.”

“They probably like having human servants turn the lights on for them, do the dishes, wash their clothes, that kind of thing,” Sasha observed. “Why have tech do it for you when you can show everyone how much power you have over people, and how they love kissing your arse? This is making me sick. Give me that gun.”

Kranti pulled her hand back, clutching it. “Why? You already took it once. Get your own.”

“We have two guns for five people. I just want to borrow it.”

“And I asked you why.”

A blue flash and an explosion made Julia jump; Blaze was shouting in glee as he pumped a fist at a black scar on one wall and a pile of burning wood below it that had been a portrait. While Kranti’s head was turned, Sasha grabbed the gun with a quick “thanks” and ran through a doorway.

“I fucking knew it!” came her echoing voice. “Fucking _solid gold _taps. They don’t make this shit up after all.”

Julia heard gunfire from that direction while she was still wondering at the idea of taps made of gold, and whether King Richard might have them in the Palace of Westminster. Then there was more noise behind her; Blaze had shot a cluster of illuminations attached to a curving golden post sitting on a table, like heavy fruit on a tree. The explosion sent glass flying, and little flames licked at the table, the wall and the floor. He looked for another target while Piotr offered some suggestions – a vase, a mirror, and words Julia didn’t recognise: sofa, chandelier.

They hadn’t seemed interested in thieving and vandalising while they were releasing the water. Now they had access to these beautiful things, and all they wanted to do was break and burn them.

“Stop,” Ash said.

Sasha dashed back into the room and shot another portrait; Blaze made for an adjoining area in which Julia could see a larger version of these elegant dark wooden tables with spindly legs.

“Fucking _stop_, will you?” Ash called. This time they turned and looked at him. “I know you’re keen,” he said more quietly. “God knows I’ve waited for this too. But seeing as how this is our refuge at the moment, I wouldn’t say it was a brilliant idea to turn it into a smoking ruin, would you?”

“Ash, I’ve waited my entire _life_ to do this,” Blaze told him. “Fucking rich knobheads. Fuck them and everything they stand for.”

Ash paused. “Have a look around, then,” he said eventually. “Anything you want to destroy, make sure it’s not something we’ll need to use, or something that’s going to explode or catch fire. Flink?”

The others nodded. Piotr and Blaze went to investigate in one direction, and Sasha in another. Kranti gave Julia a pointed look and said, “Will you stop staring at me already?”

“I’m not.”

More laser blasts emerged from one of the rooms, followed by laughter from Piotr and Blaze. Julia looked at Ash. “Can’t you just tell them again to stop?”

He wrinkled his brow. “Why would I want to do that? They just agreed on the rules, and I trust them.” He seemed to sense Julia’s confusion and added, “The people who pay to stay in places like this have been sucking the public dry like the leeches they are for years. Literally. There are people out there dying just because they don’t have water to drink. That’s the absolute worst it gets, but of course there are all the other things you do with water, too – cook, clean, bathe. Public health problems are emerging that this country hasn’t seen for two centuries. But this lot don’t care, Julia. They’re only out for themselves. So if you fancy shooting something, just make sure you don’t start a fire. Not yet, anyway.”

Kranti turned to him. “How about checking the Cloud, just for a moment? We can find out what’s happening across the city. How many have been killed or arrested, what the authorities are doing.”

He shook his head. “I told you, Cloud blackout is essential. They can track us if we use it, you know that. Do you want the police to pull up in a hovercar?”

She sighed. “Course not.”

“We’ll have to wait up here and make the best of it until the red death is gone. It’s frustrating not knowing what’s happening, though; I get that.” He walked to one of the sets of huge glass double doors covered by a thin, gauzy white curtain and pushed it aside, peering out. “They’ve passed by overhead and sprayed; you can see it down there now.”

“That’s creepy, jack. I’m gonna go see if they have a kitchen in here.” With a last lingering look at Julia, Kranti turned and left the room.

Julia edged closer to the doors and stood next to Ash, gazing down, and gave a small gasp. The entire street, and windows of the buildings for perhaps two levels, were wreathed in red smoke, as if the city had sprung a terrible wound. “Are we safe here?” she murmured, and was surprised to feel a hand laid on her shoulder.

“Yeah, we are,” Ash replied. “I guess this must all be a lot to take in, for someone like you who’s new here. But I did my research before we came, and I looked into the red death just in case; I was hoping they wouldn’t go to that particular extreme, but as you can see…” They both watched the red drifting slowly below. This hotel was very tall; higher than the tallest turret Julia had ever climbed. But some buildings out there were taller still. She wondered if anyone had been caught by the smoke and was lying underneath, in pain. Then she remembered they all disappeared when they died. 

The hand dropped away. “You’ll have to excuse us today,” Ash said. “Everyone’s a bit short with each other. It’s not usually like this. We’ve been planning action for a while, but this is the first chance we’ve had to carry it through. We’ve got those guns, but none of us have ever shot anyone, and I didn’t know if it was likely to happen today. I hope there won’t be any need. We’re all worried about our friends out there, and well, ourselves too.” He removed his backpack and pulled a tiny lever across the top to open it. “At the same time, it’s exciting in a way. So you could say it’s a lot for _us _to take in as well.” He started hunting for something in the bag.

“I have some questions for you, Pretty Boy,” Julia said, hoping now was a good time to ask.

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “All right. And the name’s Ash.”

“Ash, then. Why are you blasting rooms apart, and making water come out of a hole in the road, when what you really want is to fight? Isn’t that what you said? So what’s holding you back? Find your enemy and destroy them.”

Ash stopped rummaging in his bag and scrutinised her as seeing her properly for the first time. “What do you propose we do – march into the streets and start shooting?”

“I shot one of the police officers who tried to apprehend me.”

His brown eyes widened. “Holy shit, you did?” When she nodded, he said, “You know, I think I believe you. Are you sure you’re not in the military or something?”

“Military? No,” she replied, her thoughts momentarily returning to World War One.

“They’re not after you, are they?” There was a flash of alarm on his face. “Do you have a Cloud connection right now?”

“They didn’t know who I was, and I don’t have anything that lets me use the Cloud.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Good. I’m glad. For you as well as us.”

“You have such powerful weapons,” Julia continued. “Why don’t you put them to better use for your cause?”

“Because the authorities have them, too. And not just guns. They have money and influence. Governments across the world let the oligarchs do what they want; no one seems to be able to pin them down to any single country’s laws. And besides, they finance the politicians who are in power. No one would’ve come to London today expecting any of them to stay once the riots began. All they have to do is get into a hovercar.”

Julia didn’t understand all of the words he used, but she thought she followed his meaning. “Then why are you doing this?”

Ash blinked. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

“Tell me.”

He paused to consider. There was a crashing noise from one of the other rooms, and more gunfire, followed by joyous shouts. Ash glanced in that direction, then said to her, “It’s symbolic, releasing the water into the streets with the standpipes. A message. But you could say the same thing about what’s been happening in the whole city today. The more people who participate, the louder that message will be, and maybe it’ll spread.” His eyes flashed. “We’re telling them that there are a lot of us, and we’re strong, and we’re prepared to act if no one else will stand up for us. To show them how angry we are, and that we’re determined to get things changed.”

“But how strong _are _you when you’re not fighting them directly?”

Ash’s tone was sombre. “There’s more than one way to fight a war. If the movement spreads, governments will start to listen to us and hopefully take some power back. They can pass laws. They _can _do it, especially if they work together. We’re giving them that incentive.”

There was a curious beeping noise in his backpack. He removed a small grey rectangular device and pressed some buttons on it. “We’re in radio contact with some of the other cells today; this must be one calling. I need to check in and find out if anyone can give me an idea of what’s happening, and what the police and government are doing.” He hesitated. “I almost don’t want to. I’m not sure how many of the people I know out there are still alive.”

“It’s a hard part of being at war,” Julia said over the beeping, reminded of her own colleagues. The master, Yuuri, Emil – what if they had been caught in this red death? What if they had died? Would Ailis have stopped the game – or was she waiting to get her, too? _Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints…_

“You have comrades out there, don’t you? The one you said was in prison.”

Ash’s eyes were kind, and the flood of tears that had threatened began to die back down. How could she have been so callous as to hardly have given a thought to them once she’d entered the hotel with this crowd?

“Are they sensible people?”

“Yes,” Julia answered. “Most of the time,” she added, thinking how the master and Yuuri could make each other crazy.

“Then they will have entered a building and got to safety. And the prisons are empty; your friend won’t be stuck there.” He studied her face. “I expect they’re fine.”

The beeps were steady from Ash’s device. “You should attend to that,” she said.

He nodded, pressed a button, and said, “Ash here.”

Julia left him to his business, knowing his words for the empty reassurance they were. If he was worried that his friends had been captured or killed by police officers, or caught in the red death, then she was right in being equally concerned about her comrades. She imagined living at the castle without the master, and that would be the hardest blow, though she’d miss Yuuri and Emil too – and if the master were robbed of Yuuri, it would be like Sir Alexander all over again.

Curse that witch for doing this to them. That was what she should’ve said to her in World War One. Told her off for all her evil deeds and reminded her that she’d burn in hell for them. But she suspected Ailis already understood this, and didn’t care, and might even have laughed at her for carrying on like a child.

Blaze and Piotr strutted triumphantly back into the room and put the glass bottles they’d been carrying on a table, then shot one, slivers flying everywhere.

“Watch what you’re doing,” she snapped over their whoops and laughter. “I don’t want glass in my eyes, and it could get in yours, too. Ash is also trying to speak to someone, and you’re making a great deal of noise.”

Piotr looked at her in surprise, and Blaze said, “Get this little lady telling us off like she’s our mum. Yes mum, sorry mum.”

“She’s got a point, though, jack. Stop being such a wazzock.”

“Speak for yourself.” Blaze shook a bottle and popped the top off; the liquid inside fizzed out in a stream of bubbles. Piotr bent at the knees, tilted his head back and opened his mouth, and Blaze poured the frothing liquid into it, too fast to drink; it spilled over his face and onto the floor. They were laughing again. 

_Louts,_ Julia thought. This was how drunken soldiers and villeins behaved. She decided to try to ignore them and sat down on one of the strange extended chairs.

“You jacks have _got _to come in here and see this shit,” came Sasha’s voice. She was no longer in the echoing room, but sounded as if she were standing beyond the large wooden table visible through the nearest doorway.

“What’s that?” Blaze called, putting his empty bottle down while Piotr wiped his face off with his shirt.

“All this weird shit that rich people eat. There’s a fridge in here, come see. Caviar, truffles, stuff I’ve never even heard of.” The two men left to join her.

“Oi, don’t nick mine – get your own!” Kranti shouted, and a moment later she entered the room with a silver tray of food and drink which she put on the table in front of Julia’s extended chair before perching on the opposite end. Then she turned to stare with large, dark, angry eyes.

“What the hell’s your deal?” she demanded.

Julia blinked. “What do you mean? I’ve said nothing.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve been bloody _staring _at me ever since you turned up. So, what’s your fucking deal?”

Julia fought down the urge to snap back at her. Now that she thought about it, she supposed she _had _been taking longer looks at her. “It’s just that I’ve never seen someone with brown skin like yours before,” she said. Kranti’s mouth dropped open, and Julia continued, “I’ve seen people with _darker _skin. Africans. In fact, there’s a man who works at the cas – um, where I live.”

Kranti’s smile was not at all humorous. “What the fuck?” she said, her voice higher now. “Are you having a laugh? Are you having a fucking _laugh_?”

Julia wrinkled her brow. “I was speaking the honest truth. I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you. What’s wrong with that?”

“Because you keep asking the dumbest, most bizarre questions. What are police. Do we pay for water. Where’s the dungeon. You talk like some fucking Royal Shakespeare Company reject. Now you’re trying to tell me you ain’t never seen an Indian person before. You’re obviously just a fucking wind-up merchant.” She pressed her lips together and glared.

Some options for how to deal with the situation flashed through Julia’s mind. She could get up and leave, declaring she was done with this group, and wait out the red death in another room; there were many in this hotel. She could tell the truth about being from another time, but none of them would believe her. She could demand that Kranti fight her; that was often an acceptable way to resolve a dispute, and it had worked with Sasha.

But Ash seemed to have a bond with this group, and Julia realised that she wanted to try to get on with them for his sake. Not only that, but this woman interested her as well. She didn’t seem to want to destroy things like her three friends did, and hadn’t been as exuberant as the others when they’d freed the water and entered the hotel. She was also smooth where Sasha was rough. What was her reason for being here?

She was dressed like the resident of a brothel, but that was beside the point. The clothes that Julia had been given might fit that description as well. It felt bare, underdressed, but also freeing.

_I wonder if this was how Yuuri felt when he first arrived at the castle_.

“So it’s the silent treatment now, is it?” Kranti bit out. She grabbed her tray. “I’m moving.”

“Wait,” Julia said quickly. “I haven’t been trying to upset you, and I didn’t realise I was staring. I’m from…a very isolated place. I was speaking the truth when I said I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you before. It wasn’t meant as an insult.”

Kranti folded her arms. “So tell me how that’s possible when you can see anything and everything on the Cloud.”

“I’ve never been on the Cloud.”

“Look, there’s _isolated_, and then there’s, like, completely shut away from the world. You expect me to believe you? Just leave me alone.” She turned to face the table and fiddled with the items on the tray.

Julia didn’t want to give up. “I like your long hair,” she said. “And your clothes are so bold.”

Kranti looked at her again. “These are just normal clothes.”

“Women can’t dress like that where I’m from. And they usually don’t wear their hair like you do, unless…well, they don’t. They almost all have pale skin, too.”

“That’s an unusual haircut you’ve got,” Kranti said, scrutinising her.

“I’ve been pretending to be a boy. It’s the only way I can do the things I want, like fight.” Julia hadn’t meant to come quite this close to the truth, but the words tumbled out.

“You’re bullshitting me. And just where in the deepest darkest depths of Yorkshire _are _you from?” Before Julia could answer, she added, “You know, I can’t figure you out. It’s rude to stare – you do know that, right? I thought you were trying to wind me up.”

Julia didn’t know what “wind up” meant in the sense that she kept using it, but it was clearly not something to be desired. “My sincerest apologies,” she said, wondering when the last time was that she’d been quite so grovelling with anyone. She was glad no one who knew her was here to see this.

Kranti huffed a laugh. “And the way you talk, it’s so fragged. You can’t seriously tell me you talk like that all the time. You’re taking the piss, right?”

Julia really wanted to ask her what that expression meant, but perhaps not now. “As I said, I’m from a very isolated place.”

“Oh…” Kranti said, her eyes suddenly widening. “…you’re not from one of those ultra-religious groups who want to live like it’s hundreds of years ago, are you? Did you come here because you’re running away?”

Julia had never heard of such a thing, but the explanation was a good match for what she’d been saying, and Kranti seemed pleased she’d thought of it. “That’s painfully close to the mark, I must admit.”

“Whoa cow. Why didn’t you say so?” She took a plate with slices of bread and a glass of brown bubbling liquid, and put them in front of her. Julia stared at the tiny bubbles floating to the top. Ale and beer could contain a little fizz, but this stuff was teeming with it.

“My family is originally from Kerala,” Kranti explained, taking some of the bread and chewing it; a brown paste had been spread between the slices. “We go to see my relatives there sometimes. I wish we could go more often, but it costs a lot of money. Well, everything does.” She looked around. “We ought to take some stuff from here and flog it instead of shooting it to pieces. Nick those gold taps and get them melted down or something; they’d be worth a fortune.”

Julia continued to eye the glass of brown liquid. “Is this for drinking?”

Kranti laughed. “No, it’s for a fizzy enema. Course it’s for drinking, it’s Coke.” She paused. “Don’t tell me that’s banned in this Yorkshire place you come from.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Bloody hell. Try some, if you want.”

She took a sip. It was cloyingly sweet, and the bubbles got up her nose; she sneezed.

Kranti snorted. “You’re supposed to drink it, not inhale it.”

“It tickles my tongue.”

“I guess it’s supposed to be part of the experience.”

“Will you tell me why you joined this group?” Julia asked.

Kranti settled back on the long chair, looking at her. After a moment, she replied, “It’s because me and Blaze knew Ash. Blaze didn’t have anywhere to live; you can ask him about that sometime if you want, but I can tell you he’s been through some shit.” She sighed and paused, then continued. “I sort of didn’t have anywhere to go, either. My mum died a few years back, and my dad took up with this woman Sumi, who’s a complete cow. I don’t know why, but she’s always been nice to my brothers and horrible to me. She started pinching me when no one was looking, calling me nasty names, and one day I caught her searching through my room for no reason. So I peeled out of there.”

“Zounds,” Julia said. “Did you not tell your father about her?”

“I tried, but he wouldn’t believe me? I never thought he’d be like that.” She looked down and shrugged. “Anyway, I stayed with friends for a while. I thought I could just go out and get a job, but nothing was happening – and places to live here are super expensive, too. I didn’t want to move out of London, because my family’s here. I wasn’t going to let that bitch keep us apart like that, you know? So that’s where Ash came in. He works for the housing association and sorted out a place that me and Blaze share – we’re flatmates. He can be a knobhead sometimes, but he’s all right really. Then when a job came up with the association that included training, Ash encouraged me to apply, and I was in.” She paused and looked back at him; he was still speaking into his device by the doors, with a look of concern on his face. “I owe him a hell of a lot. With my job, I can save up to take my brothers with me to India to see our family there sometimes. Sumi won’t come – I wouldn’t let her anyway – and my father stays home with her on principle, but that’s up to him. Won’t ever stop the rest of us from going.” She shrugged again. 

Julia felt a new respect for this woman. “You’re courageous,” she said.

“Thanks. You must be yourself, if you really ran away from some backwards place like that. Sorry, no offence intended, but I _mean_.”

“So why did Piotr and Sasha join?” Julia asked, not wanting to revisit the subject of her supposed escape from the religious group.

Kranti looked to the room with the large table, from which a steady murmur of voices issued. “They read some of Ash’s articles on the Cloud, urging people to stand up for equality and human rights.” She turned back to Julia. “It’s good stuff; you should take a look sometime. Um, when you can get on the Cloud; we’re in a blackout right now or I’d show you. Anyway, if I’m honest, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this revolutionary stuff. I’ve never killed anyone, and I don’t know if I could. But I had that gun today and was meant to be keeping a lookout.” She lowered her voice. “This whole thing today in the city – it’s an OK idea, but if you ask me, it’s not going to end well. Those are mega-powerful people out there, and we’re what? Ordinary jacks and hens. Nobody cares about us.”

“That’s not true, Kranti,” Ash’s voice answered, and Julia turned to see him approaching their long chair. He leaned on the back of it. “We’ve got each other. And there are a lot of people who want change. They just need their voices to be heard.”

She huffed. “You be the idealist, I’ll be the realist, and we’ll see if we can meet somewhere in the middle.” To Julia, she said, “I’m gonna go see what else there is in the kitchen, if that lot have left anything. Maybe there’s some of that weird gourmet stuff that’s a hundred pounds a jar or something.” She stood and exited to the other room.

Julia thought about the last meal at which she’d served, where the king and queen had been brought rose pudding garnished with almonds covered in gold leaf, while precious gems had been hidden at the bottom for them to find. Perhaps these rebels would delight in destroying the great hall with their laser guns. Would they want to kill the king and queen, too? The baron and lady – and the master, and Yuuri? Her own family?

No, she thought when she looked at Ash, he and the other four wouldn’t commit such evil deeds. He and Kranti helped people find a place to live, and they all wanted everyone to be treated fairly. But she couldn’t help putting a word in.

“Not all wealthy people are bad.”

He gave her a little surprised smile. “I didn’t say they were. I don’t think that.”

“You don’t want to see them killed?”

The smile faded. “No, I don’t. ‘Find your enemy and destroy them’ – your words, not mine.”

“Oh. When I said ‘destroy’, I meant…” Then she paused. Suddenly things didn’t seem so simple.

“Well I have to say, if Randall Flanagan himself came here and stood in front of me, maybe I would, I don’t know,” Ash said. “But maybe it wouldn’t do any good, because there’d be someone to take his place, and that person’s place, and so on. The whole system is what needs to change. If it’d prevented him and others like him from becoming so powerful in the first place, there wouldn’t be a problem. What they’ve done makes me angry – all of us are angry. I’m going to dedicate as much of my life as I can to this cause, for as long as it takes, but it doesn’t have to involve killing anyone. Having said that, I am prepared to do it if necessary. That’s why the five of us are here today – to strike the first blow, and defend ourselves in the process.”

_There’s more to bravery than deeds done in battle, and more to winning a war than slaughtering your enemy, _Julia thought. But it could be easy to forget, especially when you could settle a quarrel so easily with a sword, and it was what you trained for daily. The master must surely know this, too; he was wise.

“It’s an honourable cause,” she said.

“And I’m getting on my soap box again,” Ash answered with a smile. “I can tell you have concerns of your own. You’re still worried about your friends.” The smile fell away as he added, “I’ve lost some today myself, though I don’t know exactly who yet. It makes you realise this is really happening. It’s begun. Julia, I don’t want them to have died for no good reason. I hope this movement grows and isn’t quickly stamped out. I don’t think it will be, but…”

“If they believe in your cause as much as you do,” she replied, “then they will have died well. But yes, it can be hard to bear. Comrades worry about each other. The death of one…” She didn’t want to think about it, but it was just as well to say it. “…can pierce the heart most keenly.”

Ash looked at her silently, then said, “Has that happened to you?”

“No one close, not yet. But it’s a risk that must be lived with when you fight together.”

He thought, then nodded. “I overheard some of what you were telling Kranti about yourself; I hope you don’t mind. It seems to me that you’ve lived an extraordinary life, Julia.”

If he were awaiting a response, she wasn’t sure what to say. They both had very different backgrounds and tales to tell, she was sure.

“And that you’ve experienced more than you’d care to admit. I think we were lucky you stumbled across our little group today.” He gave her a shaky smile, then added, “I noticed there was a breeze trying to kick up, so I think we’ll be able to go back outside soon.”

Julia was heartened by the news. Then she thought about this cause that Ash wanted to devote his life to, and about the system in which she lived herself, which she’d heard Yuuri criticise from time to time. But even that hadn’t gone so far as to try to make people pay for water. She wondered what, if anything, would come of today, and whether Ash and his colleagues would succeed.

_I’ll ask Yuuri when I see him again. Which I will. And the master. And Emil._

“You’re miles off,” Ash laughed, still giving her that curious gaze. It suited his kind features. He was shapely as well; she’d never seen a man wearing leather hose, let alone joined-up ones; they glistened like a lake under moonlight. Then she felt her cheeks grow pink, and told herself she was being stupid.

“If you mean I’m not paying attention, I assure you I am,” she said.

“What kind of a fighter are you?” he asked. “I’ve been wondering.”

“We…” Julia thought back to the story Kranti had encouraged her to give. “We trained as knights, in that community. I’m very good with a bow and a longsword. Not that they’re much use here.” She gave him a small grin. “We’re also fighting to save our world from the darkness that threatens it.” That was suitably vague, she thought.

“Then we seem to have something in common. The five of us are fighters, too. I was one before I even actively started supporting a revolution. I’ve got a good job now; I can pay my water bills and help my family, too.” He settled back in the chair, still gazing at her. “Not long ago, though, that wasn’t the case. I have an older brother, Paul, who was imprisoned off and on over the course of five years for non-payment, and he’s never been able to keep a steady job because of it. My father’s been imprisoned twice.”

“Even so,” Julia breathed. “And how is incarcerating someone meant to enable them to pay what they owe?”

Ash leaned forward to emphasise his words. “People were saying the same thing about nineteenth-century workhouses. Of _course_ it makes no sense; it’s supposed to make you an example to others, I think. But what that means is I’ve got to temper my desire to fight with the fact that my family need me to be alive and earning money.”

Now it was Julia’s turn to stare in curiosity. “Yet you’re risking your life today, bringing the water to the streets.”

He nodded. “It’s an important symbolic action. I do believe that.”

“You’re full of great valour and wisdom for your youth.”

Ash looked at her strangely for a moment, then smiled. “That’s definitely a compliment.”

“And well deserved. I made some hasty remarks at first. This is a noble cause you have. Many people are suffering.”

“I want to believe we’ve lit the spark that’ll ignite the bonfire, but the truth is I don’t know what’s going to happen. Lives have already been lost.”

“You’ll plant more of those pipes in protest,” Julia said with a smile.

He laughed. “I’d like to. Those took a while in the making, you know.” Then his expression became sombre. “We could do with more help. You’re strong and courageous…and quite unique. You’d be welcome to help us out. Bring your friends along, if you can find them.”

“I wish I could,” she murmured.

Blaze’s voice called from near the windows; Julia hadn’t noticed he’d entered the room. “I’m sure the cloud’s gone now. I was watching out the window in the kitchen, and I can see from here. We can get back to work. Hear that?” he said more loudly, looking into the next room. “It’s gone out there, we can go.” He approached the table, where he and Piotr had left their glass bottles. “I’d suggest stashing some of this bubbly in your backpack first, though, Ash. Just a whiff of it’d probably cost you a hundred quid. We can film ourselves smashing them against a wall, with an open standpipe in the foreground.”

“That is absolutely flink,” Ash replied with a grin as Sasha, Piotr and Kranti joined them. “We need to do that.” He turned back to Julia. “Well? What do you say?”

“I’ve got to find my friends. But afterwards, I’d like to find you again.” Even though she doubted it would happen. Because this was Immersion. She’d been trying to forget about the fact while she was here.

He nodded. “Good. Ashleigh Mitchell. I live in Camden. That’s here in London.”

“Come on then, jacks and jills,” Sasha said. “Let’s hit the road.” She began firing her gun randomly around the room, and Blaze did the same. Ash took his backpack, and he and Julia stood and went to the door as smoking heaps were made of the furniture. Flashes of blue light cut through the haze.

Julia held her gun out to Ash. “Go on, you know you want to,” she told him with a small smile. “And we ought to do the other rooms up here before we leave. To be symbolic. It doesn’t take long with these weapons, does it?”

He gave her that crooked smile, which seemed to possess the ability to go straight inside her, then thanked her before he added to the destruction. Whoops and cheers filled the air; and finally when there was little else to shoot and the room was ablaze, they shut the door and went to another one. All four were burning ruins by the time they finished. It was as easy as a child kicking over a pile of wooden blocks, Julia thought. And when Ash gave her the gun back so she could take a turn, she discovered she rather enjoyed it, though she wouldn’t want to tell the master so.

Once back down on the marble-tiled ground floor, the others began picking up the pipes they’d left. Julia went to Kranti, who was gathering some herself this time. “I need to go find my friends,” she said. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“What, sharing a Coke?” she laughed.

“For not staying cross with me, and telling me your story. I hope things get better with your family, and you can visit your relatives with your father again.”

A sly smile crept across her face. With a quick glace around the room, she reached into a trouser pocket and pulled out a yellow chunk of metal – a gold tap. “This’ll help,” she said quietly. “I’m not the only one who took one, either.”

Julia huffed a little laugh. “God give you good fortune,” she said, and Kranti raised her eyebrows.

“Are you leaving us, then?” Piotr asked her. He hefted an enormous stack of pipes underneath an arm.

“I must, for now,” Julia replied. “But I wish you every success with your mission.”

“Hey, you too. Be careful out there.”

“I will.” She turned to Ash, who also now stood with some pipes. “Can you tell me where the nearest prison is?”

“You, uh, go…here, let me show you.” He put the pipes down and went with her to the door, then out into the street, where he gave her directions. “It’s not far, and mostly down the main road,” he said. “Though that means you’ll need to take extra care about who you might meet along the way. I don’t doubt you can look after yourself, but you’re an individual, and there are gangs – ”

“I’ll be careful.” She smiled. “I told Piotr I would.”

“OK.” He looked around for a moment before meeting her gaze again, once more with that smile she was certain she’d never forget. “We’ve hardly had any time together. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I…I’ll come find you in Camden.” The lie ate at her inside. “Thank you for…um, everything. Taking me to safety with you and explaining why you do this. I hope your protest succeeds and you fill this city with running water.” She fidgeted for a moment, knowing she had to go, though her feet didn’t seem to want to move.

Ash laughed softly. “I hope so, too. And I wish you luck with finding your friends.”

Julia could hardly believe it when he drew closer, and closer still, and didn’t stop until their lips were touching. The warm pressure sent a swooping, tingling wave through her, and then she felt his hand lightly on her cheek before he drew away, his eyes holding hers.

When Julia finally found her breath again, her face was burning, and all she could manage to say was goodbye. But he smiled. Then she did too, and found her feet, and hurried away down the road.


	131. Chapter 131

“Whoa, steady on,” Yuuri said as Emil buckled next to him; he braced him with an arm around his back, and Emil draped his own arm around Yuuri’s shoulders.

Victor was here too, thank God; their hands had been clasped tight. “By all the angels and saints,” he whispered.

Yuuri didn’t blame him. It was utterly disorientating, being plucked without warning from one environment and deposited in another. Especially when the nature of the game dictated that you’d be attacked, and probably soon. At least they weren’t all back in the colosseum.

“I’m holding a laser gun,” Victor observed.

“Me too,” Yuuri said. “Emil?”

“I have one as well.”

“Good – we’re all still armed, then.” Yuuri took in their surroundings. “This looks more modern. A big city. I don’t – ”

“What am I _wearing_?” Victor interjected in bafflement as he held an arm out and stared. Yuuri looked and almost did a double-take.

“Oh,” he breathed. Then he saw they matched each other, right down to their shiny black leather shoes. He and Victor each wore a sharp grey suit, with grey waistcoats and crisp white shirts, and ties – Victor’s pink, his own blue. A few pieces of jewellery seemed to indicate wealth: gold chains adorning their waistcoats, and…“Are these diamonds?” he mused aloud, looking at his silver cufflinks set with prismatic stones. Then he noticed his com had morphed into a thick gold wristwatch, which would seem to indicate a time before portable Cloud access. But that wouldn’t be right, because of the laser guns. It was hard to place the fashion of the suits, though few men wore them anymore in 2121.

“It did your hair,” Victor said.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s slicked back, the way I…it’s slicked back.”

Yuuri ran a hand over his head and felt both that style and a hint of the messier one underneath. “I guess we’re supposed to be going to the office or something. Your hair’s styled, too; it was tousled before.”

“What are we meant to be? These can’t be soldier’s uniforms; they’d be completely impractical.”

“No, we’re not soldiers.” Yuuri looked at Emil, who was dressed differently from them. Black trousers, black walking shoes – though his leg was still bandaged, like Victor’s hand; and a maroon-coloured tunic with a circular gold dragon emblem embroidered near the shoulder. Plus a choker a few centimeters wide, made of gold-coloured metal in a braided pattern – that dated it more than anything. Late twenty-first century. Then why the wristwatches, when there was universal access to the Cloud? To be ostentatious, most likely; he seemed to recall that they were retro fashion statements of the time, mainly among businesspeople. He’d seen holograms of oligarchs from history wearing them.

“Shit, that isn’t what we are, is it?” he muttered.

“I like these outfits,” Victor decided aloud. “Are they luxury clothes of some kind?”

“We’re businessmen, I think.” Then to Emil, “I don’t know what kind of person you’re meant to be. You could go to work dressed like that, or just be walking down the street. We’d better get you someplace where you can rest soon.”

“I’m all right, sir. I just need some help with walking.”

_Oligarchs,_ Yuuri suddenly thought as it clicked into place._ Late twenty-first century. A fighting game. A city._

The blood drained from his face.

_Fuck, no. Not that._

“This is incredible, Yuuri,” Victor said in awe, his head tilted up as he took in the skyscrapers that surrounded them. “Is it a city from your time? The buildings are so tall. But where are all the people?”

Yuuri’s thoughts were racing. Where had the worst fighting been – ? St. Louis, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, London, Paris, Berlin – most of the major Western cities, as well as scattered rural places. “I just need a moment to try to work out where we are,” he said, “and then I might be able to give you an answer.”

“I can read the signs,” Victor said. “Oglethorpe and Blackwood Tailors. Continental Bank. The Golden Hind – I wonder what that is.”

“Burberry,” Emil joined in. “No parking.”

But then Yuuri spotted what he was looking for. _Hargood and Stevens. Bespoke Shoemakers for the City of London, est. 1923._ “We’re in the City of London,” he said in a low, quiet voice. “This should be one of the busiest financial capitals of the world. Well, for a lot of dirty money. That’s why it ended up being where…” There was no denying it, Yuuri knew. It was why no one else was here. No one they’d want to meet, at least.

“Yuuri?” Victor prompted him.

With a dry mouth, he said, “We must be bankers, you and me, if we’re meant to be working here. This is more like how they dressed, while the oligarchs, they…uh, they liked being more colourful for the most part. But this is the worst thing we could be, here and now, because this is ground zero – this is where it all started.”

“Where what started?”

“The Water Wars.”

Victor sucked in a breath and gazed at him with wide eyes.

“What does that mean, sir?” Emil asked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It means Victor and I need to find a way to swap our clothes for something else, because the way we’re dressed, we’re walking targets. Then we get the hell out of here.”

“I can’t help but think this was done to us on purpose,” Victor said.

Yuuri glanced around. “Maybe we’ll be able to find some more suitable clothes in one of these shops.”

“But Julia will be here somewhere. We’ve got to find her.”

Yuuri gave a little huff. “I know. It’s just so much to take in all at once. But first things first – clothes.”

Victor came around to the other side of Emil. “Give me your arm, too,” he said. “If we both support you, it’ll be faster that way.”

“I won’t be able to hold my gun then, sir,” Emil replied.

“I’d say speed may be more essential just now – Yuuri, what do you think?”

He nodded. “If that’s all right with you, Emil?”

Emil found a pocket for his gun. “Thank you, masters,” he said, and they began to head in the direction of the tailor’s shop. 

They hadn’t got far, however, before the sounds Yuuri had dreaded came echoing down the street – breaking glass, shouting, laser-gun fire. Frantically he scanned the area, but could see nothing but the ghostly silent stone buildings surrounding them, their blank windows reflecting a glimmer of sun. “That’s coming from around the corner over there,” he said. “Back this way, I think. Forget about the tailor’s for now.” They turned around and headed in the opposite direction. 

“You said there were riots,” Victor recalled.

“That’s what we’re hearing, I think, yes.”

“Perhaps we should hide inside one of these buildings until they pass us by.”

Yuuri considered this. “Good idea. Quick, let’s try – ”

“Look, it’s a couple of wankers!” came a yell from behind them. Sweat breaking out on his brow, Yuuri turned his head and saw seven men and women wearing hoodies and bandanas, and knew at least one of them must have a laser gun, because he’d heard it shooting.

“Head for that street between those brick buildings!” he cried. They moved as quickly as they could with Emil between them, and only just managed to get a corner of one of the red edifices between themselves and the pursuing group before gunfire erupted behind them.

“Emil, you need to let me carry you again,” Yuuri said. “We have to move faster than this.”

“Leave me here, master. There’s no sense in the three of us being killed.”

“Don’t ask me to do that again, all right?”

Victor stepped aside, blue eyes flashing in alarm as he watched Yuuri lift Emil. “They called us wankers,” he said. “What’s – ”

“An insult to rhyme with bankers,” was the hurried reply. Yuuri checked that Emil’s weight was secure on his shoulders, then ran, Victor remaining at his side. At the far end of the street, he caught a glimpse of another group of young people in dark clothes walking along; they might simply go past without looking in their direction, but Yuuri didn’t want to take any chances.

Victor was ahead of him, ducking into the porch of the building immediately to their left, a tall white-marble rectangle with a regular row of five Georgian-style windows on each storey. The porch was a glorified entryway with a pediment complete with classical-style statues in billowing robes, and four double sets of tall white pillars, behind which they attempted to conceal themselves.

“Do you think they saw us?” Yuuri said, his gun poised to fire.

“As they’re running this way, I’d say yes,” Victor answered. “Yuuri, get back!”

Jumping aside, he was just in time to avoid a blue beam before it blew a chunk out of one of the pillars. “Fucking hell,” he breathed, putting Emil down and returning fire from behind a column. Soon all of them were shooting.

“They’re in a doorway or something,” Yuuri said. “I can’t see how many are left.”

Yells from the other end of the street suddenly echoed against stone and concrete. “I think they followed us,” Emil said, aiming his gun in that direction. “But I can’t see them yet. These columns hide our enemies as well as us.”

“We could go inside,” Victor suggested, turning to look behind him at the entrance to the building. It was a single tall glass door with gilded lanterns on either side. Yuuri could see a white marble hall lined with potted palms leading to what looked like the grand entrance to a lift. He couldn’t work out what kind of building it was – perhaps a posh office suite – but it didn’t matter.

“If we go in there,” he said, “how do we get back out? They’ll just come after us, and we’ll be trapped.”

“Do you think we can shoot them all from here?” Victor asked him.

“I – ”

Gunfire erupted from both directions. They flattened themselves against the columns, but Yuuri could see fear glinting in the eyes of his companions, even though they were putting on brave faces.

_What do I do? I seem to be the one making most of the decisions. They trust me. But what if I get us all killed?_ A spike of terror raced through him at the thought.

More gunfire. Yuuri stifled a cry. He and the others fired back. They clung to the cold rock sheltering them as if they were climbers on a cliff face. It wouldn’t be long before one of them was hurt or killed.

A buzzing noise approached overhead, and a hovercar swooped into view. It lingered in the sky, as if the pilot were taking in the scene below. It didn’t look anything like a police car, so who –

A thick blue beam shot from its underside, hitting home in the middle of the platform on which they stood. Cries rang out as rubble flew in all directions; it thunked against Yuuri’s back and head in small explosions of pain, although in reality he was wearing armour, and there was no stone or laser beam.

“God have mercy,” Victor whispered, looking up at the car. It was going to finish them off even if the rioters ceased to be a threat, Yuuri decided. There was nothing else for it.

“We have to go inside,” he said, turning to the door.

“I suppose you do, at that,” a drawling man’s voice said from a small stone lion sculpture mounted on the wall next to the door, which must contain a speaker. “Don’t shoot my lovely door up, there’s a good chap. I’ve opened it for you. Once you’re inside, just shut it behind you, and the security barrier will come down. I’m told it’s highly effective against most forms of weaponry. Then take the lift to the fifth floor.” That seemed to be all.

Another blue beam missed Yuuri’s leg by centimeters. He threw the door open and the three of them hurried in, while he assisted Emil; and once the door was shut, a solid sheet of metal lowered itself outside, blocking the sunlight. The room, whose only purpose seemed to be to provide a walkway between the entrance and the lift, was lit by white lights in the ceiling. It was like an office lobby without a desk, Yuuri thought. Silence hung thickly after the screams of gunfire.

“What _is_ this place, do you think?” Victor spoke into it. “Who was that man?”

“I wish I knew,” Yuuri said. “I guess we’re safe for now, which is the important thing.”

“He told us to go to the fifth floor. What did he mean by a lift?”

“Must be this.” Yuuri and Emil started down the walkway between the palms, Victor at their side. The entrance to the lift was surrounded by a frame of thick black marble with white veins, and flanked by a pair of tall copper urns chased with intricate flower designs. Two more fancy lamps hung on the wall, white with wrought-iron frames. The double doors were polished wood carved with rectangles; and a retro floor indicator, like the top half of a clock, pointed to number six out of fourteen. Yuuri pressed the gold button in the wall unnecessarily labelled “up”. 

“More lights without a flame,” Victor said, staring ahead and at the ceiling. Emil followed his gaze, looking equally amazed. “There were some in the dungeon, but not like this.”

Yuuri had to remind himself that from their point of view, the smallest things people took for granted in the future might seem incredible to them. “Most devices are run by electricity or magnetism here,” he said. “It’s normal, and certainly nothing magical.”

“To have just one light-giving device like that in my room at night…”

Yuuri couldn’t help huffing a laugh. “I know. It’s pretty hard to do everything by candlelight. And we just call them lights, by the way.”

The pointer reached zero, the lift dinged, and the doors slid open. Yuuri waited a moment, but the voice that had invited them inside didn’t return. “I suppose we go in like he said. I hope he’s friendly.”

“This is going to take us up?” Victor asked.

Yuuri smiled and nodded. “Handy, that, especially since there don’t seem to be any stairs down here. Come on.” They entered the compartment, wood-panelled with mosaic floor tiles forming circular patterns and lit by yellow lights in the ceiling.

“Do I press the button with the ‘5’ next to it?” Victor asked. Yuuri nodded, then smiled again when Victor made a bit of a show of it. The doors slid shut, and Yuuri barely felt them move.

“I don’t think we should hold our guns straight in front of us when we meet this fellow,” Victor said, “but we should keep them ready. We don’t know who he is or if we can trust him. And there might be others with him.”

“That sounds sensible,” Yuuri agreed.

“So, lights everywhere inside buildings is normal for you, is it?”

Yuuri looked at him and laughed. “Yeah, it is.”

“And I thought we lived in luxury at the castle.” Victor’s smile was warm and mildly teasing. I love you, Yuuri thought as he met his gaze. _And you look incredibly sexy in that suit._

He didn’t know how they were finding the energy to smile and laugh together after everything they’d been through today. But somehow, Yuuri thought, as long as he and Victor were together, that made it bearable.

The lift dinged again, the doors opened, and they stepped out into a room that filled the entire floor of the building. It was a glorified living room with plush cream-coloured furniture, elegant tables, and chests of drawers. There were broad-leaved potted plants, lamps on the floor, lamps on tables, chandeliers. A light blue-grey carpet was thick enough to sink into and hardly feel the bottom of, and the walls were papered in the same colour, with motifs of trees laden with blossom and birds with feathers.

Yuuri didn’t blame Victor and Emil for their open-mouthed stares as they looked around. They’d seen opulence before of course, but not this kind, from the future.

A man rose from a deep sofa; his back had been to them, and Yuuri hadn’t seen his head for the plump cushions scattered across the top.

“Well, here you are! Good day, good day,” he greeted them enthusiastically with a large smile. His mop of fair hair and drooping blue eyes with bushy brows reminded Yuuri of a sheepdog. And his clothes…not that Yuuri was an expert, but they didn’t match any fashion in history that he was aware of: white shirt underneath a loose grey jacket, pink flowery Bermuda shorts, and floppy brown sandals. Half of him was on holiday, it seemed, while the other half had stayed at the office. Yuuri struggled not to let his mouth turn up in a grin when Victor glanced at him as if to say, _Is he for real? _

The man approached them and was keen to shake their hands. Victor and Emil allowed it while looking bemused. “Can’t let such fine chaps as yourselves wander about down there with all the riffraff blowing steam, eh? Bankers, are you? I was with First Empire – president for twelve years; I daresay you’ve heard of me. Boris Blessington-Stewart.” When none of them replied, he gave a little laugh. “No? Dear me. Well I don’t suppose I appear much in public these days, so there’s no one to blame but myself. I retired some years back, and potter around this old place.” He looked at Emil. “And here’s the fellow I saw limping with you. Been in the wars, have you? Here, my good chap – come with me and you can lie down on the sofa; I’ve put a blanket over it. Mind the carpet, though. Blood’s a devil to wash out.”

Yuuri felt a growing sense of discomfort as he listened to Boris’s speech. He hoped this was just a friendly, eccentric old aristocrat. Unsure of what to say as they followed him to a large sofa in the middle of the room and helped Emil to lie down, he nevertheless decided to try to start a conversation while his companions took everything in. How hard could it be?

“Thank you for letting us inside,” he said. “We were in a lot of trouble down there.”

“Oh don’t mention it, old bean. I could hardly have left you to the wolves, now, could I?”

“But why are you here, Mr. Blessington-Stewart? I thought – ”

“Boris. Please.”

Yuuri glanced at Victor and found reassurance in his eyes. “All right, Boris – most of the people in the city have been evacuated. Why did you stay?”

Boris’s hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, and he shifted up and down on tiptoe occasionally. When he heard Yuuri’s question, he shrugged and smiled. “Nowhere else to go, is there? I own this building. It’ll blow over out there; these things always do.”

“Sir,” Victor chimed in, “I’m not certain it will.”

“Oh, no ‘sirs’ for me,” Boris said, waving a hand. “Who are you all, anyway? I should try to put names to faces.”

“I’m Yuuri, and this is Victor and Emil.”

“Pleased to meet you, my lads.”

Victor asked him, “You don’t live here by yourself, do you?”

“No, no. Now – tea, anyone? And I must have a medi-unit somewhere for your man Emil here. Lizzie used it last. I wonder where she put it? Tell you what – I’ll go rustle up some tea, then see if I can find that unit.”

“Thanks, but we don’t need – ” Yuuri began.

“It’s no bother, my boy. No bother at all. Oh – and while I’m gone, please feel free to look around. I haven’t had visitors since...” His words trailed off and he seemed momentarily confused.

“Sir,” Emil said from the sofa, “or, ah, Boris – are you certain this building is secure? Because the weapons I saw outside – ”

Boris waved his hand again. “Don’t worry yourself about it, son. It most definitely is. There are no stairs below, as you might have noticed, and the lift is programmed not to go lower than this floor unless you override the command, as I did to let you in. Plus there’s the barrier I lowered over the door. They’ll never be able to get in – tight security, all systems go, that kind of thing.” He seemed to remember something suddenly. “I do apologise for the lack of staff. They all up and vanished once they heard about what was going on out there. Freeloaders and wastrels, the lot of them, if you ask me. So I’m afraid I’ll be making tea myself – won’t be two ticks. Lizzie would normally help, but she’s not so well these days.”

“Your wife?” Yuuri asked.

“Yes, bless her soul. Anyway, won’t be two ticks…” He wrinkled his brow. “I just said that, didn’t I?” He shook his head and laughed, then went to the lift, the doors shutting behind him.

“Yuuri,” Victor said with wide eyes, “I…I must confess I don’t know what to make of it. This building, or…”

“Mr. Blessington-Stewart?” Yuuri finished with a small grin. “Yeah, I’m not sure myself. I’ve never seen or heard of a house like this, with every room on a separate whole floor. I think he must be a very rich and…unconventional man.”

“And this _furniture_.” Victor looked around.

“It’s very comfortable,” Emil said.

Yuuri pulled up a padded throne-like cream chair and sat, looking at him. “Is your leg holding up OK?”

“I don’t think it’s getting any worse, master. I’m just sorry I’ve been slowing both of you down.”

“Emil, fighting men look after each other – you know that,” Victor said, coming to stand next to Yuuri’s chair. “You must allow us to do the same things for you that you’d do for your master.”

Emil nodded. “Of course. I can’t say I feel especially safe, though, sir. And we won’t find Julia here.”

“We’ll leave as soon as we can,” Yuuri told him. “I don’t want to stay any longer than we have to, but it’s no good if people are out there waiting to fire on us. In the meantime, though, with this being Immersion, there’s a possibility we could find something here that might help us.”

“Such as?” Victor asked.

“Um, I’m not sure. I suppose we’d know it if we saw it.”

“Perhaps _you_ would, my sweet. You have a better understanding of this world than we do.”

“I’d like to stay here and attend to my squire.” Yuuri gave Emil a quick warm grin, which was returned. “He’s spent enough time injured and alone today. And if Boris finds this medi-unit he mentioned, I can make sure it works the way it should; it’ll be old tech, easy to figure out.”

Victor blinked. “You…want me to investigate this building on my own? I must admit I’m curious, but it’s a strange place, and I don’t want us to be separated again.”

“I don’t want to lose you either. But I doubt Ailis would change the environment so quickly – we must have some time yet.” Yuuri paused, then stood and placed a hand on Victor’s cheek, leaned forward, and gave him a brief soft kiss. “Keep your gun handy,” he said, “and come back if you see anything that bothers you.”

“All right. I won’t be long.” Victor gave him another quick kiss, then crossed the room, his head turning this way and that, before he reached a set of stairs leading upward. With a quick smile and a wave, he began to climb.

Yuuri watched him go, hoping they were doing the right thing, then sat back down and turned to Emil.

* * *

Victor took his time going up. The stairs were wide and palatial, with white-painted wooden banisters and a rich red carpet hugging them. Fit for a king, he thought. But then, that described much of this building.

It would be quicker to take the lift; he hadn’t even realised it had been transporting them upward before they’d stopped and the doors were opening. But slow was acceptable for now. His head was clouded by everything he’d experienced today, and it was good to be able to take a moment to sort through the jumble.

For many at the castle, the first full day of the king’s visit was more excitement than they’d seen in a lifetime. But Victor had watched his beloved risk his life in a duel, dealt with Tyler and the poisonings and Ailis, got himself locked in the dungeon, entered these different Immersion environments, thought he was going to die, thought Yuuri was going to die – and Emil, and Julia…and just when he’d felt he was gaining an understanding of World War One, they’d been forced here. Where lights without a flame were normal, and a single odd character in the most outlandish clothes owned this entire building without any staff to run it. Victor could easily believe he was going mad.

“I’m not,” he said to himself as he clutched his gun. It felt reassuring somehow to hear his own voice in the quiet.

Besides, unlike a lift, stairs were a known quantity: you were in control of where you went and how you got there.

_I’m a coward, thinking such things._ Perhaps Yuuri had sensed his fear, too, when he’d said _come back if you see anything that bothers you,_ though Victor knew it had been meant kindly. But he could handle this. The Immersion just made him question it at times. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he’d been awed and even a little intimidated at first by how well Yuuri understood these environments and the masterful way he’d been dealing with them. Victor, on the other hand, had been forced to quell moments of full terror. The worst had been when he’d suddenly found himself in no man’s land, though there had been others he could pinpoint with equal clarity.

_I’m not doing Yuuri or myself justice with these thoughts. Yuuri battled his anxiety for days – months – before the duel. He perhaps has felt it here in Immersion as well. But he does what’s needed despite his fears, which is what all warriors do. The only ones who don’t feel fear are those with no sense._

The stairs went in zigzags, a flight leading to one floor and a flight beside it leading at an opposite slant to the next. Victor could hardly believe what he was seeing as he went along. Strange luxurious furniture beyond anything even the king would have in his castle. Metallic structures he couldn’t identify, some with coloured lights, many of them humming. A bright tank full of the most beautiful and unusual fish he’d ever seen. A great variety of décors. Although he couldn’t linger to look more closely, it was astonishing.

An acrid smell drifted from one of the floors, and he scanned the area to discover that most of it had been given over to a rectangle of deep blue water surrounded by white tiles and walls. A whole pool inside a house? How was that possible without a hot spring underneath? It was far too large for anyone to fill by hand, and Victor couldn’t see any taps. He wondered what it would be like to jump in and swim. Fun, perhaps…on a day when there was nothing more important to concern himself with.

The two floors above featured bedroom furniture, where he didn’t linger; and the next one contained a marvel, though he supposed it shouldn’t be to him, since he’d been interacting with holograms the whole time he’d been in Immersion. A shining scene was taking place on a low circular white dais in front of a sitting area, showing brightly dressed people smiling and waving as they walked, accompanied by clapping and laughter, though the hologram itself remained stationary.

“The 2075 International Entrepreneur Awards ceremony took place in Shanghai last night,” a woman’s smooth voice announced while the hologram continued to play, “where the world’s business royalty gathered to recognise the brightest stars in their ranks. This year’s host, Binny Kumar, welcomed Chinara Osewa as a special guest.”

“This lady’s done more than anyone to ensure that remote communities across the world have access to a good Cloud connection,” Kumar said, “ensuring not only that they can be part of the global community, but that the global community has a whole new market to tap. It’s win-win from Union Springs, Utah to Uzunkuduk, Uzbekistan. A round of applause, please, for Ms. Osewa, who’ll be presenting the main award.”

Victor understood their words, mostly, but the cultural import was lost to him. At least he knew what the Cloud was. He turned to leave, when a woman with bouffant hair and a shimmering silver gown walked onstage to the accompaniment of more applause and accepted a golden statuette. As she stood and waved to the crowd, he was certain of it: she was Ailis.

“For the first time in the awards’ thirty-three-year history,” the announcer was saying, “the same person has won back-to-back statues: Megan Huxley of Crystal Clear Water. Ms. Huxley, a senior partner in the firm, has presided over…”

Victor made a mental note to tell Yuuri. He remembered the name Crystal Clear and what it meant. Ailis had been given a powerful position in each environment, as if she were untouchable. In which case, once Emil had received the medical treatment Boris had offered, and the way outside was clear, it might be best for them to seek the dungeon and attempt to shut the game down at the source.

Victor ran a hand through his hair as he returned to the stairs. Had anyone ever played Immersion so long that they had died of thirst? He could do with a good meal as well; the delicious illusory food here was nothing but a tease. Though he did value the glimpse into the food and drink of future times that Yuuri enjoyed. And his own discomforts were little compared to what Emil must be going through. Or Yuuri, who’d already been in two fighting situations before they’d reunited in the World War One office.

Or Julia…if she was still alive. He suddenly wished more than anything for her to be at his side.

_Oh, my dear girl. I pray you’re all right._ Victor blinked and swallowed as he started to climb again, the flashing lights and noises of the holograms fading behind him.

* * *

“I wish I could help more,” Yuuri said to Emil as the silent contents of the room surrounded them like ghosts. “With your leg, I mean. Your injury isn’t real, but there’s no way to convince your brain of that; the hypnotism’s too strong. Does it hurt much?”

“It aches, if I’m honest, and there’s occasional pain. But I’ll manage.” After a pause, he added, “It’s frustrating though, sir, if you don’t mind my saying. I’ve been training years for the possibility that I might find myself in battle, defending the castle and my comrades. And I’ve ended up being a liability – not only is it difficult to fight, but I’m slowing you and Sir Victor down; you can’t truthfully deny it, sir.”

“Emil, you’ll never be a liability,” Yuuri told him quietly. “You’ve done so much for me. Not just today, but the whole time I’ve been at the castle.” He huffed a small laugh. “You even taught me how to ride a horse. Me. The jack who’s supposed to be your knight and master.”

“You are, sir,” Emil said with a little grin. “It’s inspiring to watch you and Sir Victor train together. You always had the ability to do those things; you just needed to understand the methods first. I’m proud to be your squire.”

Yuuri’s eyes pricked with tears. “Thank you.”

“So…may I ask a few questions?”

“Of course.”

Emil gave him a long look. “Do all the men dress that way where you’re from?”

Yuuri took this in, then laughed. “Usually only when they go to fancy parties. This was the typical male work outfit for a few hundred years. Well, variations on it.” He fingered one of the diamond cufflinks. “Whoever I’m meant to be in this game likes to show off his money. I would never…” _Yes, I would – with Victor. God, yes._ “Um, I’d never dress like this myself.”

“So are these typical clothes that I’m wearing?” Emil looked down and fingered the gold dragon on his tunic, and the gleaming choker.

“Let’s just say you wouldn’t attract much notice if you were walking down the street in 2121. But that’s about fifty years after where we are now.”

“Is that a gold bracelet on your wrist?” Emil asked as he turned his attention back to Yuuri. “The game hasn’t taken your com away, has it, sir?”

“No, it’s just concealed it. A little like the way the projector makes me look like Sir Justin. Actually, I’d better let Phichit know I’m OK.”

“If you’d like me to move while you speak to him – ”

“Emil, you’re not in a condition to move anywhere right now, and besides, there’s nothing I’m going to say that I don’t mind you hearing. I call him from my room in the castle, don’t I? You’ve spoken to him yourself; he knows you.”

Emil relaxed into the sofa, closing his eyes. As he brought up the BCI, Yuuri said, “I wonder where Boris has got to. Tea we don’t need, but I have to say a good working medi-unit, even if it’s fifty years old, would be handy right now.”

“Yuuri!” came Phichit’s voice. “What’s happening? I was going to say I was worried, but you may as well take that as a permanent state of affairs. Are you still in no man’s land? I can’t hear anything in the background.”

“No,” Yuuri replied. “I’m in the Water Wars.”

After a pause, Phichit said, “Bloody hell, _what_?”

“I’m not in the middle of the fighting right now, anyway. You wouldn’t believe…Well, I’m in a house with Victor and Emil.”

“You found them? Did you rescue Victor from the dungeon? How is he?”

“He’s fine, but he rescued himself, then joined us in Immersion. We’re OK for the time being, though I don’t know where Julia is. But out there is the City of London, and I think we’ve landed in the first-ever riots.”

“Shit. I can’t imagine what this has been like for you.”

“Exhausting. I just hope Ailis is feeling the same way.” He took a few minutes to explain what had happened since they’d last spoken, and he noticed Emil listening as well.

When he was finished, Phichit said, “Yuuri, you’ve got to get off this mad carousel before you’re back as a gladiator again.”

Yuuri blew out a breath. “Don’t remind me. We’re going to try to find the Immersion control and switch it off; we just seem to have been too busy trying to stay alive to give it much thought.”

“If I can help at all, just let me know. I can look up maps, locations – ”

“Thanks; I might need you to do that. I’ve only been to London a handful of times in my life. And, um, Phichit…”

“Yeah?”

“Did you tell Mari anything?”

More quietly, Phichit answered, “I said you survived the duel. That Sir Tyler used a poisoned sword and you both almost died, but you’re OK now.”

“Right. You told her I’m OK – ?”

“How could I say you’re all trapped in hyper-real Immersion with Ailis pulling the strings? She’d be out of her mind with worry. I didn’t think you’d want that, you know?”

Yuuri gave a small sigh. “I guess so. Thanks, Phichit.”

“You’ll stay in touch though, won’t you? Because now that you’re all back down to one com, then every time I try to talk to you, I never know…well…”

“If it’s the last time. Yeah, I get that. Hopefully we’ll be out of here soon, and I’ll contact you when we’re on the streets.”

“Be careful.”

“Thanks, I will.”

They said goodbye, and Yuuri cut the call, then looked at Emil. “You know, I’d do anything for a drink right now. A real one. In fact, I want a great big foaming tankard of the castle’s best ale.”

Emil laughed. “Oh sir, so do I. And are you still willing to answer questions?”

“I guess we’re not going anywhere for a while,” Yuuri replied with a grin. “Sure.”

“You seem to know about World War One, and this place. The Water Wars, you said. Could you tell me more about them? I’d like to understand.”

So Yuuri did, as he’d done with Victor that day in their room; only now it felt that much more immediate, because they’d been experiencing it. Emil mostly listened in silence, obviously intent on the narrative, and asked questions once in a while for clarification. Yuuri found himself focusing more on events this time, and less on the moral implications of the wars or what parallels there were with England in 1393, not because he was attempting to patronise, but because he sensed Emil was interested in the stories themselves. Like most everyone, he liked a good tale. Unfortunately for them, they were still_ in_ one, and there was no knowing how it would end.

When he was finished, he invited Emil to tell him in more detail what had happened to him between arriving in no man’s land and saving his and Victor’s lives. This time he was the one gripped by the story – the wait alone in the crater, the medics with the stretcher, the organised network for dealing with casualties, even the soldiers who’d shown him to Victor’s office and given him a cigarette on the way. Emil asked about this strange hobby of sucking on smoking sticks, and Yuuri told him a little about what he knew.

“Have you ever smoked, sir?”

“I’ve tried it a few times, out of curiosity, but it wasn’t really my thing. It’s bad for your lungs, too.”

“I liked the sharing of it more than I liked having it, if that makes sense,” Emil said.

Yuuri smiled. “If I had some cigarettes, I’d smoke with you. Though in 2121, you can get different kinds that make you feel different ways and smell a lot better than those old tobacco rollies they used to have.” He paused, then said more quietly, “Emil, were you waiting long before the medics found you?”

Emil thought about this, then replied, “It_ felt_ like a long time, though perhaps it wasn’t. But that’s not a very brave thing to say.” 

“It’s a truthful one.”

Emil closed his eyes, and for a moment his face looked pained. “I thought about you and Sir Victor and Julia. And my family. I’d dearly like to be home.”

“Me too.” Yuuri set his mouth firmly and gazed back at him. “I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure it happens, Emil. I promise.”

* * *

_What in God’s name is this?_

At the top of the next flight of stairs, Victor discovered a room whose floor and walls were covered with polished wood. Tall wooden cabinets with glass fronts stood in rows, and a curious variety of items were mounted on the walls. What could a room like this possibly be used for?

It took a moment to make himself move; his feet didn’t want to. He wondered if novelty fatigue was a legitimate condition: encountering so many new and unusual things in such a short space of time that the mind baulked at coping with more.

_Nonsense,_ he told himself. _Yuuri must have felt this way at the castle, especially in the early days, and he dealt with it. I can do the same._

He moved into the room, the heels of his shoes making faint clicking noises on the hard floor. The first things that commanded his attention were the wall displays, which featured a jaw-dropping profusion of spears, bows and arrows, hatchets, knives and curved swords, some carved, painted, or adorned with feathers, thongs or tassels. Victor was familiar with the styles of a few, but not others, and wondered what the art of wielding a curved sword involved. None of these weapons would inflict the same damage as a laser gun, however. Perhaps they were as out of their own time here as he was.

In other areas along the wall were clusters of masks that appeared to be from many different cultures. Some were realistic, with natural expressions exaggerated for effect. Others were like visitations from the world of dreams…or nightmares. Some angels, maybe, and many devils, with long teeth, huge black eyes, horns, tusks. Victor’s heart trembled at the malevolent faces burning across the room. From what dark corners of the world had such monstrosities been gathered – and what was Boris doing with them here in his home?

_I’m being silly. They’re just masks. Things people fashioned with their hands._

He approached the cabinets with some trepidation, but soon found that while the items on display were largely mysterious to him, many were also beautiful, and did not seem to have been designed to shock. A paper label lay in front of each one in a hand that he was able to read. Metal and wooden statues of gods, goddesses, monks and Buddhas from India and China. Victor didn’t know what a Buddha was, but they had serene expressions on their faces, as if lost in some blissful secret knowing. Some of the statues had elongated ears, and some had a flame on top of their head. There were also musical instruments of makes Victor had never seen before, some whose operation was incomprehensible to him. Ceramics. Keys, mirrors, dolls. And against the far wall, an Egyptian mummy case. Victor had seen such a thing only once before, in Rome, and he stood examining now it in wonder. Eventually, however, he knew he was wasting time, as there was nothing here that would help them with what they were likely to encounter outside the building.

On his way back to the stairs, he caught a glimpse of something that couldn’t possibly be what his brain told him it was. Feeling compelled to stop and look, he gasped when he discovered he’d been correct – he was gazing at a display of shrunken heads; that was what the label said. From Ecuador and Peru, though it didn’t say where those places were. Nowhere near here, he hoped. Each was hung from the top of the cabinet by a string and was the size of a large apple, with bulging lips and eyes sewn shut.

Victor couldn’t look anymore – and yet he couldn’t look away. His skin crawled. Were these real? He knew they were holograms, but even so, could such things actually exist in the world? Did their makers intend for them to be charms for dark magic? The same people, perhaps, who had fashioned the demon-masks? Was there any truth to be found in such practices?

_I never believed so before, and I don’t believe so now. I just don’t feel comfortable with them. At all. It’s time to leave._

He finally turned away from the grisly scene and approached the stairs – but not before he spotted a group of objects he recognised at the end of the final cabinet. These might be of some use to them. He wasn’t a thief, apart from in direst need. But the current situation certainly met that qualification. He called Boris’s name loudly, but there was no answer. That was good – he wasn’t close enough to hear. Raising his gun, Victor switched the setting to stun and fired, relieved to see that the beam was sufficient to crack the glass without causing the contents to explode. Covering his fist with his jacket, he punched a hole through it, then took what he wanted and filled his pocket.

By his reckoning, there were three more floors above. Perhaps he would come across something else to their advantage if he continued upwards. As he climbed, he dreamed of having a satisfying meal and holding Yuuri in his arms late at night in their bed. Stroking his hair and his back; nestling into his warmth. Julia and Emil would come to visit them in the morning and they’d all go to the training field. But whether they willed it or no, they were in the Water Wars, and that was what they must deal with.

Victor arrived at the top of the flight of stairs, and as he looked around, he was as surprised as he’d been when he’d encountered the previous floor, but for different reasons. This one reminded him of a chapel, with white walls, a gold carpet, and brass candelabras lit with many white candles. These were familiar items, even if the context was strange. A white marble altar stood at the end of the room, covered with cloth of gold and surrounded by vases full of flowers.

Victor went to take a closer look. A thick candle in a brass holder burned on either side of the altar, and in the middle was a green ceramic jar with a flat lid. Lifting it off, Victor peered inside. He could see grey powder and fragments of…that couldn’t be bone, could it? Surely not.

He replaced the lid and looked more carefully at a large painting in an ornate gilded frame on the wall behind the altar. It depicted, with startling realism, a proud-looking woman in a billowing green dress and tiara. She would not be very out of place in the castle, Victor thought, although she lacked a covering for her head and her arms were bare. “Elizabeth Catherine Blessington-Stewart, 2021-2074,” a plaque on the bottom of the frame said.

This must be a funerary urn. A whole funerary chapel. With candles burning for this one individual.

Repulsed, Victor took several steps back. Then he considered. Was this so different from chapels built for the wealthy in churches and cathedrals? They often left legacies to those places in exchange for mass being said regularly for their departed souls. But on one entire floor of Boris’s home…?

Something the man had said came back to him now – that Lizzie would help, but she wasn’t so well these days. He sincerely seemed to think she was still here, still alive. Or that was what he’d been trying to convince himself, despite the presence of this chapel, which was ample evidence to the contrary.

_He’s lost his mind. From grief, perhaps._

Did Boris light the candles here himself? When Alex had died, Victor couldn’t do that much, and wasn’t sure he was ready even now; he’d only just taken his first steps toward acknowledging and dealing with his complex feelings about his brother, instead of pushing them away. Thanks to Yuuri. Boris, however, appeared to have no one.

Seeing no reason to linger here, Victor climbed to the penultimate floor, wondering what oddities were in store for him. But the surprise this time was that there were none; he simply found a large empty space with a white-tiled floor, and a sparkling orb hanging from the ceiling covered in tiny square fragments of mirror. The walls were clad in dark wood panels, some of which displayed tall rectangular mirrors. Perhaps this was something like a great hall, Victor thought as he went to stand in front of one of the mirrors.

“God’s bones,” he muttered as he gazed at his clothes, turning this way and that. Why anyone thought a man would want to dress in these impractical layers, he wasn’t sure; but there was something smart about the ensemble, and flattering to his form. And Yuuri’s too, most definitely…who was waiting for him, Victor reminded himself, and hopefully not worrying by now. If only Ailis hadn’t taken his com, they could have remained in contact. 

He crossed the floor, eyeing a series of wooden doors built into the wall near the lift; it looked like a large wardrobe, painted white and gold, and stretched all the way to the end of the building, where there was a spacious floor-to-ceiling window. That in itself was a wonder, for no glass-makers in Victor’s time would be able to make such a large, flat pane without any cracks.

While he was deciding whether to see what was behind the doors first or look out the window, the lift made a ringing sound and Boris hurried out. He must have seen Victor, but said nothing as he passed by and opened one of the doors. The interior was dark, and Victor strained to see what was inside while Boris turned his back to him, bent over, and began to search for something.

There was a multitude of questions Victor could have chosen to ask him about what he’d seen while exploring the house, but the first one that came out was, “What is that collection of items in the room with the wooden cases two floors below?”

“Damnation, now it’s been so long since I’ve looked in here…” Then he stood and turned his head. “Eh? Did you say something?”

“I was referring to the cases on the – ”

“Oh, that,” Boris replied with a dry laugh. “Family heirlooms, don’t you know.” He returned to searching, closing one door and opening another; Victor could hear the clatter of objects being moved about. “My great-great-great…now how many greats was it?…was an explorer and brought them back. Always a talking point with guests, you see. Quite popular. Now, where is it…? Haven’t used it in years. I was sure it was here somewhere.”

“How is Emil?” Victor addressed Boris’s back.

“Eh, what?”

“Were you able to find a medi-unit for him? Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Oh, sorry, no. I was trying to find it when those hooligans arrived outside. There’s too many of them – I didn’t realise. They’ll have the doors down soon.”

“What?” Victor cried. He dashed to the window. They were very high up; he could see the tops of buildings. And if he stood near the glass and looked down…With a gasp and a shiver of alarm, he realised that a sizeable mob was firing guns at what must be the entrance to the building far below; he could just make out their muffled shouts and screams of gunfire. Boris’s trust in his security measures had obviously been misplaced.

“Are there any other ways of leaving the building?” Victor asked him.

“Not conventionally, no. The more doors you have, the easier it is for someone to break in, you see.”

“And the harder it is to get out.”

“Yes, well…Ah! Found it.” He stepped back from the door, with a flat silver disc perhaps four feet in diameter tucked under one arm and a pair of what looked like metal shoes in the other. “Rare as hen’s teeth, these are, unless you know an official who can get you one. They don’t sell them in shops. But I suppose you must have one, being who you are, eh? Who_ did_ you say you were…? My memory isn’t so good these days.”

“What is that, and what are you doing?” Victor asked in turn.

Boris leaned the disc against a door and put the metal shoes on. “You see, the thing is…” He reached into a jacket pocket and produced a gun, which he pointed at Victor. Having seen no need to keep his own out while he’d been looking around the house, Victor’s hands were empty, and he stared at Boris with wide eyes.

“I’m ever so sorry, my dear fellow.” It was the same friendly, offhand manner he’d used when he’d greeted them. “I feel for you and your friends, I truly do. I was honestly trying to help. How does that saying go – tigers of a stripe flock together, or…? Well, the thing is, I only have one hoverboard. I can’t drive, you see, and the funny thing about that is, I have a whole fleet of vehicles upstairs.” He laughed and hooked a small black device around an ear. “Been chauffeured most of my life, but they’ve all buggered off.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes. I wish you and your friends the very best of luck. You may need it when those oiks get in here. If there’s anything you can find to help you, by all means use it before it’s destroyed.”

Victor couldn’t understand how he meant to leave; surely he mind was overthrown. Which gave him a final idea to try. “You said your wife Lizzie is poorly. You aren’t just going to leave her here, are you?”

“Did I?” Boris said curiously. “Oh, good heavens. She died a year ago, bless her soul. At least, I feel sure that’s what happened. My mind wanders sometimes, and I think I see her…” He gave his head a shake. “Well, she’s not in a position to come with me, and unfortunately, my dear chap, neither are you.”

The window hissed to the side, leaving a gaping hole that opened onto nothing but air. The sounds from the street were louder now; Victor heard shouts and metallic bangs and more gunfire. When he looked back to Boris, his jaw dropped as he saw him place the silver disc on the floor and step onto it with a clank, after which it rose about a foot into the air.

“They’re so determined to get in, they won’t even think to look up here.” A shadow crossed Boris’s face. “That’s the idea, anyway. I’m sorry that tea I promised you won’t be coming. My manners have been abominable today. You know, my parties used to be the talk of the city once upon a spell, but I’m afraid I’m rather a poor host these days. Well, cheerio.”

He continued to point his gun at Victor as the disc moved in the air and out of the open window. Once there, it rose quickly at a steep angle. Victor stepped forward to watch it take the rapidly diminishing colourful form of Boris high up and away. The gunfire below continued, but no blue beams shot up to try to intercept him.

“Saints preserve us,” he whispered, certain that a vision straight from Faerie could hardly be stranger.

He shook away his daze. _Yuuri and Emil – I have to warn them! How are we going to get out of here?_

The lift said it was on the ground floor. Picking up unwanted passengers? He hoped not, because it would take no time at all for them to go up five floors.

Victor pulled his gun from his pocket and flew down the stairs.

* * *

“Do you suppose Boris has forgotten about us, sir?” Emil asked. “I rather got the impression he wasn’t completely right in the head. I wasn’t certain at first, because I don’t know much about what people in the future are like. But you and Phichit aren’t that way, nor was anyone I met in World War One.”

“Boris definitely isn’t a typical man from the 2070s, I can say that for sure,” Yuuri replied, rubbing his hand along the underside of his chin. The wait in this tomb-like room was becoming difficult. There was no knowing where Boris was or what he was doing, and it felt like an age since Victor had left as well.

“Why the fuck did I encourage him to go exploring on his own?” he muttered. “I hope he’s all right.”

“If we took the lift, we could attempt to find him.”

“You know, I like that idea. Should be a quick and easy way to do it. If Boris turns up with a tea tray, it’ll have to get cold.” Yuuri stood. “I’d been hoping we could get your leg seen to, but if you’re OK to go…”

“Of course, sir.” Emil sat up, and Yuuri helped him to his feet as he draped an arm around his shoulder again. There was the sound of a quick breath being sucked in, and Emil winced, but then his features relaxed.

“Let me know if it hurts too much,” Yuuri said as they began to walk to the lift. It was coming up from below, currently passing the first floor. “I guess that must be Boris inside,” he said, “since he has to override the controls to let anyone in. Unless it’s his wife, maybe, or a new guest.” But none of the suggestions settled his disquiet.

Noises from the lift shaft echoed upward. Shouts. Bangs. Laser-gun fire. Yuuri almost sprang back, but held steady for Emil’s sake.

A metal sheet slid down to cover the entire front of the lift. “Security protocol 405 in operation,” a female voice announced from a speaker somewhere. “Intruder alert. Police have been notified of a break-in.”

Gasping, Yuuri took a moment to force down his panic and think. “Shit. OK. That’s not going to be much help, because the police are already busy. And if there are enough rioters down there, and they concentrate their fire on the doors, a defence like that won’t hold them for long.”

“I think, whichever floor they’re on, they must be moving and shooting,” Emil said.

Yuuri heard the noises through the floor – he didn’t think it was the one immediately below them, perhaps the one below that. “We can hope they’re too keen to shoot up Boris’s luxury pad to immediately try to break in just here,” he said, “but we’ve got to do something. Find Victor for a start. Then, I don’t know. If we can’t find a way out…” _Trapped, trapped_ raced through his mind – the reason why he’d never wanted to enter this building in the first place. “Anyway, we’ve got to go up the stairs, which means you need to let me carry you again.”

It was harder this time to heft Emil onto his shoulders, and climbing the stairs with the extra weight was a challenge. The day was taking its toll on him; his knees and back protested, his energy was flagging, and his mouth and throat were parched. But their lives could depend on this. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

Two flights of stairs – and the noise of running footsteps trailed down from above. Yuuri paused, raising his gun.

“Victor,” he breathed as the grey-suited figure took the stairs two or three at a time, his hand gliding on the railing. Concern sparked in his eyes when he reached them.

“I’m very glad to see you both,” he said. “I was afraid…well, the building is besieged, and I believe they may have got inside.”

“They have. We heard them shooting several floors down. There are barriers across the lifts, but those won’t stop a determined attack. And if they can get to the stairs on the fifth floor…”

Victor nodded. “Here, my love. Let me carry Emil for a while, and you cover us with your gun. If we can get to the top floor, I think there may be something that can help us.”

“Is it a way out of here?” Yuuri asked as he carefully helped Victor to take Emil on his shoulders. “That’s what we need more than anything right now.”

“I hope so. Boris mentioned a fleet of vehicles. They have flying cars here, do they not – perhaps he has one as well. I know nothing about such things, but – ”

Yuuri’s heart leapt. “_I_ might. Even if they’re fifty years older than what I’ve encountered before. I can have a look, anyway.” Now that Victor had Emil in a secure hold, they began to climb the stairs. “Boris never turned up again, and we were wondering where he was,” Yuuri continued, looking warily around them as he held his gun at the ready. “What was he doing upstairs?”

Victor gave a small huff. “When the rioters appeared outside, he departed on a flying disc. A window opened and he…flew out.”

“He got away on a hoverboard? Do you know if he had any more? That could be our best ticket out of here, too.”

“He said no. I would have attempted to stop him, but I’m sorry to say he got the better of me. I didn’t expect him to have a gun.”

“I doubt he’s any loss to us anyway. The medi-unit and this mysterious wife of his might not even be real, for all we know.”

“Oh, the wife is real enough. In a sense.”

“What – ”

“You’ll see. We’ll have to pass it on our way up.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow at this, but Victor didn’t elaborate, and he took advantage of the silence to listen for noises and to peer into each room as they passed it. Strange how there only seemed to be one living area on each floor, though there were wooden screens for privacy, and doors to places that might have been closets or bathrooms. And a swimming pool, of all things.

“I’m sure I hear laser guns,” he said, listening intently. “I can’t work out where they are, though. I guess if they were on any of the floors with stairs, the sound would carry right up to us.”

“Let’s hope it remains that way,” Victor said, a little out of breath now.

Yuuri couldn’t help but stop when they arrived at a floor containing wooden cases and wall displays. He stared at masks and weapons, and eyed the contents of the nearby cases without approaching them. On any other day he would have loved to investigate what was here. Still, he never would have expected to discover anything like this in the building.

“He’s got a miniature museum in his own house.”

Victor looked at him. “This is what you call a museum, then?”

“One kind, yes. These things look like they’ve been collected from all over the world. It’s got a Victorian feel to it.”

“One of the labels mentioned Queen Victoria.”

“Maybe these objects were taken from colonies.” Yuuri shook his head, wondering at this. “What the fuck’s it doing here in some eccentric jack’s private building? Most if not all of it should have been repatriated to the countries of origin, because you can bet it was taken without the free consent of the owners. It’s illegal for it to be here.”

“Boris said they were family heirlooms.”

“Passing pilfered stuff down the generations doesn’t change the fact that it was pilfered in the first place.”

Yuuri listened again down the stairs. He was sure he’d heard banging noises and screams that might have been several weapons firing at once. “They’re bound to get access to the upper storeys soon,” he said. And once on the top floor, there was nowhere else to go – they would either have to leave in a vehicle, or failing that, find a damn good hiding place. 

“I’m not especially keen to linger here,” Victor told him. “Some of these items on display…well, let’s just say I hope I won’t be seeing them in my dreams.”

Yuuri glanced at the cabinets again, and it wasn’t long before he spotted the sort of thing he thought Victor might be referring to. A man from medieval England would never have seen a shrunken head before. Come to think of it, some of these masks were disturbing, too. He felt sure Father Maynard would want to conduct an exorcism here, and maybe invite all the monks from the priory to help him.

“The next floor is odd as well,” Victor said as they began to climb once more.

“Odder than that? What, has he got prisoners chained up in there or something?” Though given the surroundings, the mental state of their owner, and the money he must possess, it was difficult to rule anything out.

“No,” was the simple reply.

Yuuri could see something like a large indoor chapel coming into view, and once more he stopped to look without going closer. He read the name on the painting, and his eyes dropped to the altar. “Is that an urn?”

“Yes. This is a memorial to Boris’s wife, I believe.”

Yuuri blinked. “She’s dead?”

“If the contents of the urn are any indication. Though he did also confirm it to me. He, ah, gets confused at times.”

“He wasn’t too confused to frazz off and leave us to face the rioters. Jesus, I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“I take it this isn’t a normal display in a house of the future?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Nothing about this place is normal. But especially not this.” He paused. “Many Japanese people have something in their house called a butsudan – a small shrine to honour dead ancestors. I have one myself in my flat. You know, for my parents. But people do _not _have a whole room with someone’s funerary urn inside.”

“He’s quite distempered, this Boris, is he not?”

“You could say that. And as picked as I am at him for what he did to you, I still can’t help but wonder how alone he’s been, for how long, and what he lost when his wife died. Maybe she was all he had. Her, and…this place.”

“I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.” Victor shifted his hold on Emil. “Two more flights of stairs, and then I’ll let you down – you’ve been very uncomplaining.” He gave a little laugh.

“Believe me, sir, I appreciate your assistance.”

An explosion followed by a loud clang and a chorus of voices that reminded Yuuri of the crowd at a football match reached his ears – much higher up than expected. “Shit, they aren’t on the fifth floor, they’re near here! They must have picked a random floor to break out of the lift!”

He caught a glimpse of Victor’s wide eyes before he began to hurry up the stairs, holding Emil firmly. Yuuri followed, aiming his gun down the stairwell. No one was _on _the stairs yet that he could see; but for the first time, he was able to discern words underneath the yells and whoops.

“Hey, jack, what the fuck is this?”

“This place is fucked up.”

Loud gunfire. Shattering glass, explosions, falling debris. Shouts of _flink, shazam, swit, fucking juke. _

“Catch!”

“What the fuck you throw a fucking shrunken head at me for, ya daft minger? I’ll shoot your fucking fingers off, you try that shit again!”

The tang of smoke and ozone reached Yuuri’s nostrils. They must be wrecking the museum; it would go up like tinder under sustained gunfire. “They’re only two floors down,” he warned Victor.

“Almost there.”

After passing what looked like a ballroom, the stairs came to an end at what appeared to be a car park for Boris’s private vehicles. The floor was covered with huge cream-coloured tiles that were so glossy they reflected the glare from the round white lights in the ceiling. Brick pillars in light earth tones supported terra-cotta-coloured rafters. There were bays for eight cars, all full. A raised platform at the back displayed a small gold sports car that gleamed as if it were the trophy of the collection.

“Zounds,” Emil breathed as Victor helped him to stand. “What are these things, sir?”

“Flying cars,” Yuuri answered. “There’s a motorbike over there – ” He pointed.  
“ – and that large one would be more properly called an airbus, but I wouldn’t want to try to fly that. I need something simple.” Though _simple _didn’t really describe anything here. There was a polished elegance to each vehicle that marked it as a luxury possession. And if the controls in any of them were sophisticated, as might be the case even for fifty-year-old tech, he would struggle to make sense of them with his limited flying experience.

“Yuuri, this is incredible,” Victor said, as much in awe as Emil.

A barrage of laser-gun fire erupted from the stairwell. “Come on,” Yuuri shouted, running for the smallest of the cars, a white Impresario Principe with a curved grey-tinted carboglass top that looked like half an eggshell. “I hope we’re not locked out,” he said mostly to himself as he approached. “You might have to have security or Cloud access to open any of these, but we might stand a chance, since this is the fourteenth floor of Boris’s private car park. I doubt he expected thieves to get in.” He skidded to a halt next to it and wondered what to do. In 2121, you would have a computerised connection that would open a door or a cockpit for you. He ran his hands over the sleek carboglass. Tapped, pushed, looked for a lever.

“How do you get inside?” Victor asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to work out.”

The shouts and gunfire were intensifying. They must have found the chapel. Yuuri didn’t want to imagine what they were doing in it. But there also wasn’t much on that floor, or the one above, for them to destroy – and then they’d come here.

“How would these have worked back then?” he muttered. “It can’t be that hard.”

As he passed his hand over the gleaming white side of the vehicle, an oval button of the same colour popped up. Yuuri quickly pressed it, and the carboglass retracted to reveal a black leather seat in front and one behind it, each long enough to comfortably fit two people. “Get in,” he said, vaulting over the top and into the driver’s position. Victor helped Emil into the back, then got in next to Yuuri, giving a start as a seat belt automatically wrapped itself over him.

“It’s all right,” Yuuri said as he touched the dashboard, which lit up, thank God. “Those straps are there to keep you safe.”

The scream of gunfire was clear now, as were the shouts, which were becoming intelligible again. Victor let a breath out, looking toward the stairwell, then back to Yuuri and the dashboard.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Yuuri said. “I just need to figure out how this works.”

“Do we have time for that?”

“Have you got a better plan?”

Victor fell silent, aiming his gun across the car park at the stairs.

_…ordinarily they’re very safe. But accidents happen once in a while…_

Yuuri’s words to Victor entered his mind while he stared at the dash. He’d been making an unconscious effort not to think about that, as he always did around flying cars. But particularly now, when it was their only hope of escape.

_We could all be killed. Like _Okasan_ and _Otousan_._

His fingers began to tremble, and he couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking a moment ago.

“Yuuri?” Victor said gently, despite the urgency of the situation. Maybe he’d seen his hands and understood. But it didn’t matter – he had to pull himself together. He was _not _going to be responsible for their deaths today.

He forced himself to concentrate on the glowing orange and blue numbers and symbols, hoping the intruders would take their time wherever they were, not daring to look up and discover they were no longer alone. “OK,” he said as he tapped the controls, “these old models still had manual override. I should be able to tell it what to do. But without a Cloud connection, we won’t be able to contact air traffic control, and that’s going to be dangerous. Maybe not so much in the 2070s, though; there weren’t as many flying cars back then.” He tapped another icon, and a steering stick emerged from the floor. Examining it, he decided it should be fairly simple and easy to use.

He heard a gasp from Victor, and he and Emil began firing at the same time. “Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed.

Heart racing, Yuuri knew he had to finish what he was doing _now_ if they stood a chance of getting out of here. “Looks like we’re juiced up – if we weren’t, we wouldn’t be going anywhere. I think these models were solar-powered.”

“Sir, look out!” Emil cried, and Yuuri ducked as a blue beam shot over his head.

“Fuck,” he bit out, digging for his gun.

“No, Yuuri, let us handle them,” Victor said, continuing to fire. “We have to leave – can you control this vehicle?”

“Yes…I think. Yes.” Explosions, cries; one of the other vehicles burst into flames. “Jesus Christ, how do I…” The carboglass slid smoothly over their heads, but it would not be proof against gunfire.

A hole was shot through the body of the car near Victor’s side; he shrank back in alarm from the small smoking black pit. Yuuri knew that if he didn’t get them out of here soon, they would all be dead. His fingers skimmed frantically over the dashboard. _Where _was the control for the hatch? There had to be one here, somewhere, there _had _to be –

“Yuuri,” Victor said with a constricted throat, “are you – can we – ” Another blue beam struck the floor directly next to the car in a lightning flash.

“_There._” Yuuri slapped his hand on the icon, and sunlight spilled into the room as a metal door lifted and a large opening appeared in the wall. Another tap, and the car was humming. He grabbed the top of the stick and guided them up into the air, none too smoothly at first. But they were turning toward the hatch.

The car was a target now, however, and another smoking hole appeared near Victor. Two separate beams hit the carboglass – a webwork of cracks appeared, but it held. Yuuri wanted to weep in terror as he guided the vehicle toward the hatch; another hit and they might be plummeting to death by riot squad or from a crash landing on the street below.

“You can do it, my love,” Victor said, turning to look at him, his face pale but resolute. And the belief was there in his eyes.

Yuuri jerked the steering stick and held the accelerate button in – they shot forward at an angle that meant almost certain collision with the wall above the hatch, but he heard the gunfire passing harmlessly underneath them; they’d managed to dodge it. Then he jerked the stick once more, and they flew out of the hatch with centimeters to spare into the open air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The museum in Boris Blessington-Stewart’s house was inspired by the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, UK. It’s amazing and unique, well worth a visit if you’re in that corner of the world. And yes, they really have shrunken heads on display!


	132. Chapter 132

Victor gripped the edge of his seat, his heart swooping in fear as he saw the building opposite, a tall, solid-looking grey edifice, hurtle toward them. His instinct was to cry out; to squeeze his eyes shut and prepare for the worst. But he did neither. _I trust you, Yuuri…I trust you…_

“Sir – the building!” Emil called from the seat behind.

Yuuri’s eyes were huge, but he’d set his mouth in a determined line and was pulling at the stick next to him for all he was worth. Victor’s stomach felt as if it were being left behind as his body tilted, the car moving on a steep trajectory – steeper, steeper…they juddered briefly as they clipped the side of the building, but then they were clear of all obstacles, climbing more gently, cruising through the air. Silence hung in the car, and Victor’s shoulders slumped as he took in the fact that they were finally free of danger for the time being.

Sometimes words weren’t enough. He smiled at Yuuri, hoping to convey the whirlwind of emotions inside of him. Chief among them, relief and gratitude. And love. It was not to his own credit, Victor thought, that despite the near panic they’d been in, he hadn’t remembered about Yuuri’s parents until they’d got into the car and he’d seen an anxious look cross his face.

His beaming smile softened into something warm and knowing. Yuuri smiled back, and it might have been the first smile that had truly lit his eyes for days…even weeks. The beauty of it went straight to Victor’s heart.

“Master, Sir Victor, look at that!” Emil enthused. Victor turned to observe him gazing out of the cracked glass beside him. They were far enough above the buildings to see for a good distance now. The tall ones stood in clusters, reminding Victor oddly of gravestones, silent and unmoving, weathering every storm. From here, there was no indication of the turmoil on the streets below. The warm evening sun glistened on the glass and metal surfaces, and a large river flowed beneath them, crossed at intervals by bridges.

“Is that the Thames?” he said.

“Yes,” was Yuuri’s answer. “I’m no expert on London geography, but I can confidently say that much.”

“Oh…” Victor said softly, smiling at him again before looking back down at the city. “This is London. From above. Only an angel would be able to see this.”

Yuuri said nothing, but gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

“It’s so big. There must be many thousands of people who live here.”

“Millions, in this time.”

“Really?”

That smile again, with a nod. “There’s something else down there I recognised. You might, too, in a way. Though it was only built in the 1600s. St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

As Victor scanned the buildings below, he said, “But London does have a St. Paul’s Cathedral in my time.”

“It does?”

“It’s very impressive. And – oh, is that it down there?” He pointed.

Yuuri leaned over to look. “Yeah, that’s it. With the big dome.”

“The cathedral I’ve seen looks nothing like that – it has a tall spire. Perhaps they rebuilt it?”

“Maybe they did. My London history’s about as good as my geography.”

“It’s very pretty. I like it more than the buildings around it.”

“Actually, so do I.”

Yuuri was very close while he was leaning in like this. “You’re amazing,” Victor said, hooding his eyes. Yuuri smiled again, this time with a blush, and Victor gave his cheek a tender kiss. “You’re very good with this car. I wish we could see York. Or the castle.”

“The game wouldn’t be programmed for that far away from London,” Yuuri replied, “or I’d say I wished we could, too. But we’d better work out where we’re going.” He paused. “At the moment, we’re headed west, roughly along the Thames. We’re still above the main part of the city. My guess is that’s where we need to be, so we’d better not go much further.” Turning to speak to Emil, whose expression was rapt as he continued to gaze out of his window, he said, “We could look for a hospital where not all the personnel have been evacuated, and see if we could get your leg treated.”

Emil considered this. “Sir, did you not say my injury isn’t real – that it would disappear once we were out of the game?”

“That’s true, but while we’re in it, it’s going to feel and behave as if it was.”

“I don’t believe it’s worsening, sir, and I would have thought time was of the essence. If we could find a way to stop the game, then Julia will be somewhere near us, will she not? And perhaps we’ll be able to deal with Ailis as well.”

Turning his attention back to steering, Yuuri said, “Victor and I also talked about trying to find the dungeon and turning the Immersion off at the source. If you feel up to it.”

“It’s the best news I’ve heard in some time, sir – but how would that be possible?”

“I think we’d have to find a prison.”

Victor watched the immense city pass by below. He doubted anyone from his time would dream that London could grow to become like this. “But how would we find it out of all those buildings?” he asked. “And how would we know it was the correct one?”

“It’s how Immersion works,” Yuuri answered. “We won’t physically have gone far from where we were, even though our minds believe we’re flying across London. And if we choose a prison and land nearby, then no matter how many others there are in the city, it’s likely to be the analogue for the dungeon. The game configures itself to bring things you need close to hand, or it wouldn’t be very playable.”

“But in the last environment,” Victor added, “you said there was no knowing which area of the trenches the prisoners were kept in.” 

“That’s because they were close together. Here, the prisons would be spaced so far apart that we wouldn’t be expected to be able to investigate them all.”

“Are you certain it’s a prison we need to find?”

Yuuri paused to consider. “Well, it seems a perfect match for a dungeon. I suppose if you got more creative, you could include places like Windsor Castle or the Tower of London, even tourist attractions like the London Dungeon that still existed at this time…” Shaking his head, he said, “My instinct still tells me to try a prison.”

Victor gave a nod. “You understand this game. And I’m pleased to see that you’re trusting your instincts more. We should look for a prison, then.”

“You sound like my trainer,” Yuuri said with a smile.

“I _am_. You were expecting that to change after a single duel?”

Yuuri looked at him for a moment, then said quietly, “Thank you.”

Victor held his gaze with a touch of a grin, then turned back to the city. “What does a prison from this time look like?”

“Large, probably. It’ll have high walls, and maybe courtyards. I don’t know if there’s any kind of direction and navigation facility build into the dash of this car, or if it just expects you to look these things up on the Cloud.” As he swept his hand across it again, he said, “I wonder where Ailis is this time. Maybe the program made her the queen of England or something.”

Victor gave a quiet gasp and turned to him. “I was going to tell you, but with everything that happened in the house – ”

“Tell me what?” Yuuri asked, stilling his hands and giving him his full attention.

“I saw a hologram in Boris’s house. It showed Ailis receiving an award – it was definitely her, but it called her Megan Huxley of Crystal Clear Water.”

Yuuri’s lips parted and his eyes widened as he took this in. “Jesus Christ. She was Randall Flanagan’s deputy – the second most powerful person in the company, from what I can remember. And the prime suspect as his killer, though nothing was ever proved. She’d probably be even harder to get to than an empress or a field marshal.”

“Then perhaps we ought to pursue this plan of finding the dungeon.”

“I was hoping the computer control of the car would help us with that, but it might take more time to figure out how it works.” Yuuri looked out of the glass next to him, and after a moment he said, his voice brighter, “Actually, I think I may have spotted one, off in the distance next to a park.”

“A park?”

Yuuri’s brow clouded for a moment. “Come to think of it, I never saw any in medieval York. It’s a big patch of green space, usually covered by grass and trees. Anyway, the game might’ve brought us this way, or it’s possible it’s overwritten the historical details in order to give us what we needed. The large white building surrounded by fences – can you see it?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Victor replied. “Do you think we could just land in the car and walk inside?”

“I don’t see why not. The prisons would have been emptied; that was one of the main aims of the protesters when the riots broke out. And I doubt Megan Huxley is likely to be hanging around a deserted prison in London.”

“That’s wonderful news, sir,” Emil said. “It sounds as if we’ll be able to leave this game soon.”

“Is something wrong?” Victor asked Yuuri, reading the look of concern on his face.

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It just…well, it’s too easy. Immersion wouldn’t do that on any of the more challenging settings. There’d be some catch.”

Suddenly a woman’s voice erupted from the screen in front of them. “You’re flying a vehicle registered to Boris Blessington-Stewart, in violation of air code 42a. State your name and purpose, and give your reason for failing to communicate with air traffic control.”

Victor looked through the glass next to him and saw another flying car approaching them from his side, rapidly climbing to match their height. It was white, with the word “police” emblazoned in blue across the side.

Yuuri stared distractedly at the screen.

“I repeat – ”

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he blurted. “My friends and I were under attack by rioters and trying to escape. We have wounded – a passenger who’s been shot and needs urgent treatment in hospital.”

“Is Mr. Blessington-Stewart with you?”

“No, but he gave us permission to borrow his car. So that we could get my friend to hospital.”

After a pause, the woman replied, “In light of the emergency situation in the city, Mayor Lord has declared temporary martial law. Any unauthorised vehicles containing suspect criminals are to be shot on sight.”

Victor sucked in a breath while Yuuri spoke frantically at the screen, “We’re not criminals! Can’t you see us – do we look like criminals to you? We’re bankers!”

The only reply they received was a beam aimed directly at the front of their car. All three of them cried out as a blinding blue flash accompanied a booming noise, and the screen in front of them burst into sparks. Black smoke obscured their view through the glass. The vehicle began to plummet. Victor had never experienced such a sickening feeling of falling. Buildings below were rushing up to meet them. The interior of the car filled with the acrid stench of burning metal.

“Yuuri…” Victor said. It was almost a plea. Emil made no sound, but stared ahead in horror.

“I know, I _know_!” He was wrestling with the steering stick as the car plunged almost straight downward, the ground spiralling closer and closer.

Victor was suspended by the strap that held him to his seat. He wanted to cry. Vomit. Pray. They were helpless – and they were going to die.

“Yuuri…”

Gritting his teeth, tears spilling down his cheeks, Yuuri used both hands to try to wrest the steering stick in the correct direction. He grunted with the effort. And somehow through it all, their angle of descent began to ease, until they were no longer pointing straight down. But there was no doubt they were still headed for an abrupt meeting with an obstacle – either a building or the stone streets.

“Come on, damn it – just get me to that park!” Yuuri yelled, still attempting to force the steering stick to obey him. They neared a large patch of grass and trees, and quickly lowered to the branches and leaves, which bumped and scraped against the underside of the car. The ground loomed up – they were hurtling toward it – and a series of juddering impacts shook the vehicle as it made contact. Victor was flung about underneath his strap, half strangled as it held him tight. With one extra-hard knock, the glass above them shivered and then collapsed, showering them with shards. The car skidded across the grass…and halted with a jerk near a lake, where a great flock of white birds took fright and winged away.

The three of them sat in silence. Victor could neither move nor speak; he simply stared at the dissipating smoke from the front of the car, the rippling blue waters of the lake, the grass and trees surrounding them.

Yuuri moved first, with clinking noises as he brushed glass off of his hair and suit. “Victor, Emil, are you OK?” he said in a small voice.

The sound shook Victor out of his daze, and he brushed the glass away from himself as well. “I…believe so.”

“How…” was all Emil said before his voice trailed off. Victor turned to look at him in alarm, but he did not appear to have sustained further injuries. There was amazement on his face.

Yuuri stood, then vaulted out of the car; the straps holding them in had retracted once they’d come to a stop. While he attended to Emil, assisting him out of the car, Victor tried out his legs, then his arms, which seemed to be functioning as they should. Then he stood and joined Yuuri and Emil on the grass.

“Somehow we made it,” Yuuri said, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket. A few small pricks of blood smeared where the broken glass must have scratched him. “I…I honestly thought we were gonna be ghosted.” He took a deep breath.

Victor touched his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You saved us.”

Yuuri’s voice wavered as he said, “Fuck, Victor, I’ve never been so frightened in my life.” He swallowed. “But, well, we’re alive.”

“Yes. Thanks to you.”

“I’m a mite dizzy,” Emil said as he tightened his grip around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“I’ll carry you,” Yuuri told him. “The prison I saw can’t be far from here.”

Victor looked across the green space to where a road lay. He saw a flash of movement there. “The riots are continuing, I think,” he said. The sound of glass shattering in the distance caught his attention. “I have an idea. You two stay here out of sight, and I’ll be back.”

“Why – what are you planning to do?” Yuuri asked.

“We can’t show ourselves to anyone in these clothes, can we? Not you or me. They’ll attack us. I’m going to find us something new to wear.”

“How?”

Victor held his gun up. “Let me take care of that.”

“Bloody hell, Victor, I’m not – ”

“It’ll be faster that way.”

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Yuuri said quietly. “If something happens to you, or the environment changes – ”

“Then we have a solution to that now,” Victor replied, brushing his love’s cheek with a finger. “We go to the nearest prison. One of us will succeed in turning the game off.” When Yuuri hesitated, he added, “You’ve been looking after us all this while. Now let me do the same.” He gave him a little grin. “I may not be from this time, but I know a thing or two about surviving in battle. Trust me.”

Yuuri met his gaze; and though the concern was still plain to see in his eyes, he nodded. “Be – ”

“Careful. I know.” Victor gave him a brief kiss and another grin, then nodded to Emil, and turned and trotted off across the grass.

As he went, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been reckless in his desire to help them all, especially since he was the one who’d declared he didn’t want to let Yuuri out of his sight. Was it brave of him, or foolish? _Could _he cope with what this game sent against him from this time period? He’d asked Yuuri to trust him, and he clearly did. But could he trust himself?

_After all these years, my courage can’t be deserting me. I will not let him down._

He used the trees to conceal himself until was near the street, then he ducked into an open doorway, listening for sounds of the rioters. They weren’t long in coming. Five of them, all young men, emerged from a shop across the way, carrying large boxes. Where they intended to take them was anyone’s guess. Victor changed the setting of his gun to stun and aimed.

Pain lanced through his right hand as a foot smacked into it, and his weapon skittered away. He was grabbed from behind and spun around. Before he could move to defend himself, his attacker brandished a gun in his face. He was tall, taller than Victor, and thick and muscular underneath his dark clothing, like the charred stumps in no man’s land. His hair was purple and spiky.

“Well, what do you know,” he said in a low voice. “I found me a wanker. What are you doing hanging out here, I wonder?”

“I – ”

“I don’t need an answer to that,” he said, slipping a hand under his soft hooded jacket. “What matters is, I got you.” When his hand emerged, it was gripping a knife. He held both weapons poised, as if unable to decide which to use first, and laughed.

Victor instinctively began to assess weak points where he might be able to strike. Then he checked himself. He possibly stood a chance if the man only had a knife – but with a laser gun, all it took was the press of a button to kill. A flutter of fear passed through his chest as he wondered what the man wanted; if it was just to rob him…

“Maybe I’ll cut that pretty face of yours before I fry you. Cut it right up. What do you say to that?”

Victor forced himself to muster some quiet dignity as an idea struck him. “If you kill me with your gun,” he said, “you won’t get my gold or diamonds.”

“Then I’ll just _take _them from you first. I’ll stun you if I have to, and then you won’t be able to complain. But if I do that…” He shrugged, smiling. “…you won’t be awake to appreciate what I can do with my knife. _That_ will be more fun than nicking your bling. Maybe I’ll start with one of those big baby blues, you reckon? Right in the eye.”

Victor swallowed, searching desperately for a strategy. If the man came at him with a knife, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on aiming the gun at the same time. Perhaps there was a slim chance of knocking it away or even taking it. If he could avoid being sliced open first. _God in heaven_…

“Oi! What the fuck you doing with the wanker, jack?” a voice shouted from across the street.

The man glanced briefly to the side. “This is _my_ turf,” he called back. “You got your gear. Spatch off.”

It was the group Victor had seen emerging from the shop with the boxes; they must have noticed what was happening. But they were unlikely to be any more concerned about his welfare than his attacker, and so he decided to remain quiet and look for any chance that presented itself.

“Bring him out here and giz a look at him,” the man across the street called.

“Fuck off, the lot of you.” He kicked the door and it slammed shut – and he and Victor were inside the building together.

Victor opened his mouth to attempt to start a conversation, anything that would engage his interest – but the door, mostly made of glass, exploded inward with a blue flash and a crash of flying slivers. The beam didn’t stop there, however, and struck his captor full on the shoulder. The man bellowed and crumpled to the ground, clearly alive but groaning. Victor scrambled to grab the gun from his hand, but that put him within the sights of the gang outside, however briefly. He leapt away from the door – almost in time to avoid another volley of blue beams. One of them seared past his arm, slicing through his coat and shirt and into his flesh. His eyes watered in pain.

Ignoring it, Victor did the only thing he could do, because he was not going to run further into this shop and give those men a chance of hunting him down inside. He changed the gun’s setting to stun, took a quick peek around the corner, spotted a moving target, and fired. One man down. A blue beam chased him, but he pulled back, and it blew a hole in the far wall.

“Give it up, you gonk!” he heard someone cry, unsure whether the words had been directed at him until he heard the reply.

“Are you kidding me? Let’s get the wanker.”

“He’s got a sodding gun, ya pillock. It ain’t worth dying for.”

“The shit in this box is worth a fortune. Come on, jack, let’s clear off.”

Victor heard the sound of footsteps trailing away outside. He would have been more than happy to allow them to leave and take no more risks, but he needed to stun one more of them. Peering around the corner, he saw they had their backs to him now, and he picked one of them and fired, pulling back into cover again before the inevitable blue beam sought him in retaliation.

Waiting a moment, listening to his own hurried breaths slowing, Victor noticed that the man on the floor had vanished…died. Edging around the doorway once again, he was relieved to discover that the street was deserted apart from the two men he’d stunned; their companions had left them where they lay. There was no honour among thieves, so the saying went. 

“By God and all the saints,” he sighed, leaning against the wall.

His arm stung, and his sleeve was ripped where he’d been shot. Removing his jacket and the other layers underneath, he saw that it was a worse injury than he’d received to his left hand; not deep like a wound from a blade, but the skin had been charred, and a constant hot pain radiated from it. He took his white shirt, and after struggling with it for a moment, succeeded in tearing off a thick strip, which he tied around his arm, flinching as the cloth touched the injured area. Then he paused to look around.

What kind of place _was _this? He hadn’t even noticed as he’d walked in. _Babushka_, a large gold sign on the wall said. There was a desk with a stack of slim leather books nearby; Victor took one and opened it, his mouth gaping when he saw that some of it was in English, some in Russian, though this version of Russian was as foreign to him as Yuuri’s English. It appeared to be lists of food. _Zharkoe_, he read. A meat and vegetable pottage. _Stroganoff_ – what was that? Or _borscht_? _Blini_,_ pelmeni_,_ golubtsky_. Oh, and they had vodka. Clearly this was an eating place; there were tables with white cloths draped over them.

A curiosity, however; no more. Yuuri had said the game would sometimes give you what it thought you needed. But even if the two of them had been at their leisure to come here when the place was serving food, there would be nothing nourishing about it. Victor picked up his jacket and returned to the doorway, glass crunching under his feet, and after checking there was still no one about, walked cautiously into the street.

Both of the men he’d stunned were sprawled on the hard surface, their boxes of goods lying nearby where they’d been dropped. The first one Victor approached was young, perhaps eighteen, and tall and slim, yet his clothes were all loose-fitting. He would do, he supposed. Working as quickly as he could, and ignoring the kerchief around the man’s face, he removed a long-sleeved top with a hood, a short-sleeved black shirt, and trousers that tied at the top, all of them black and stretchy, reminiscent of Yuuri’s clothes from the future. Then he shed his own remaining garments, apart from his shoes, which fit well enough, his trousers and belt and…_what _was he wearing underneath? Victor pinged the short clingy material. The future version of a loincloth? No wonder he’d felt so constrained in those trousers, if these underthings kept his codlings squashed together. Was this what Yuuri was used to wearing?

But it was dangerous to stand here in the middle of the street in such a state of undress. Keeping his gun in one hand, he donned the man’s clothes, then transferred the contents of the suit jacket to the pockets of this new one, and ran to the other man lying on the ground; it looked like his clothes ought to fit Yuuri. They were quite different from Victor’s new ones, however. The trousers were made of a thick, rough light blue material that wasn’t stretchy, and had a belt woven through loops at the hips. Matched with this was a lighter blue shirt with buttons down the front and a collar that ended in flat triangular shapes. Victor took these, deciding that since the men were holograms, it was all right to leave them like this; they were fortunate he’d only needed to stun them.

It wasn’t far from here to the green area Yuuri had called a park, and as he ran, Victor prayed that his companions had remained safe. Thank God the environment hadn’t changed yet. Once on the grass, he wove around the trees and could soon make out the dented, blackened remains of the car, still with a wisp of smoke trailing out of the front. But where were Yuuri and Emil? There was no sign of them.

_Dear God, don’t tell me I’ve made a blunder. I thought they should be safe here while I was gone – there are no buildings, nothing for rioters to want to pilfer or destroy. Nobody about. _

His legs were weary and his arm throbbed, but he nevertheless sprinted toward the car. Gasping for breath when he arrived, he looked inside – and discovered Yuuri lying on the front seat, Emil on the back, both of them holding their guns. When they saw Victor, they each sat up, relief spreading across their faces.

Clutching the side of the car, Victor said between breaths, “I…I thought something had happened to you…couldn’t see you…”

“God, Victor, I’m sorry,” Yuuri said. “We decided that was the best way to avoid being noticed. The last thing I want is for someone else to attack me because they think I’m a banker.”

“There’s no love for them here,” Victor agreed.

“You…wow.” A small smile crossed Yuuri’s face as he looked at him. “You’re wearing a hoodie.” Then he laughed. “I never thought I’d see that. Where did you get these clothes?” He eyed the bundle Victor had been cradling.

“I stunned some rioters,” he replied, handing it over. Yuuri examined the trousers and shirt.

“This isn’t exactly riot gear. He must’ve been an opportunist who joined in when everything went to hell.”

“Can you wear the clothes, do you think?”

“I’ll try.” Yuuri removed his jacket, then the sleeveless garment underneath. Victor turned to keep a lookout, while Emil lay back down.

“Victor – what happened over there? I was sure I heard gunfire. I didn’t know if you were involved, and I thought about coming to see.”

The hiss of sliding material and the clink of a belt buckle accompanied Yuuri’s words. Victor considered his reply, then said, “You remained with our injured man, as you should. But, ah, I was ambushed by someone in the shop where I took shelter. It was the strangest place; they appear to serve Russian food there.”

“A restaurant. What happened – were you hurt?”

“They started fighting over me, and the rioters shot the man, then I shot them. Some of them. One shot me – just a graze. The others decided to take their stolen goods and leave.”

“Shit. I thought you looked pale. Where were you hurt?”

“I’ll be fine; there’s no need to – ”

“Let me see,” Yuuri said firmly.

Victor turned reluctantly, to discover that Yuuri was in the blue clothes; he’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, and when he jumped out of the car, the bottoms of the trousers almost touched the ground. The look on his face was the one Victor remembered from the day he’d had toothache. But this time he thought he understood it, and could even predict the gist of the conversation. _My death date – is it today? I shouldn’t take unnecessary risks. But in this situation, it’s impossible not to. _

“It isn’t like Emil’s wound,” he said. “It’s not bad.”

“_Please_, Victor.”

He pulled off the hoodie, as Yuuri had called it, to reveal the black top and the strip from the shirt which he’d torn off and tied just above his elbow, more for cushioning than anything else, since people didn’t bleed here.

Yuuri reached out to feel it gently, and Victor winced. “Sorry. How bad does it hurt?”

“It’s bearable, and I tied the cloth as tightly as I could. I think I have to say, as Emil did, that the best way to deal with my injuries is to turn the Immersion off. We should go find that prison.”

“I’d fully support that notion, sir,” Emil said, sitting back up. “Though if you don’t mind, could I walk with you there? I daresay you both will wear yourselves out carrying my weight, if you haven’t already, and I’m capable of moving, even if I’m a little slow. You’re no longer dressed as you were, so perhaps we won’t attract as much attention.”

Yuuri helped him out of the car as Victor put his hoodie back on. “I think we can manage that, though it’ll still be a good idea to move from one area of cover to another, to conceal ourselves as well as we can.” He looked at Victor. “Are you sure…?”

“Don’t fuss,” Victor told him with a grin, giving his nose a light ping. “Emil and I are fighters, are we not?”

“All right, then.” Yuuri assisted Emil in bracing his arms against their shoulders. “I think it’d be a good idea to hold our guns out so people can see them. They might think twice about bothering us then. And at least we got rid of those suits. I think you’re the most stylish one of us now, Emil.”

As they began to walk, Emil said, “That’s a rare thing to hear, sir. But you realise your com still appears to be a thick gold bracelet?”

“Shit, I didn’t think about that when I rolled my sleeves up. They were awfully long, so…”

“Come,” Victor said, “there’s no one here to notice.”

They soon arrived at the buildings, and this time the street was quiet. Victor pointed out the Russian place where he’d been waylaid. They hadn’t got far, however, before the sound of gunfire echoed down the street, and Victor saw a gang of rioters breaking into a shop; one of them also set a stationary vehicle on fire. The three of them ducked together into an alleyway and stood silently, waiting for the people to depart, which they eventually did without having seen them.

“A bit of luck,” Yuuri said as they resumed their walk. “Though I can’t help but think we’ve only ended up in almost the same situation we were in when we first got here. We should never have accepted Boris’s invitation.”

“As I remember it,” Victor replied, “we were outnumbered and fighting for our lives. If the Devil himself had offered me shelter, I might have shaken his hand.”

“Oh sir, don’t speak so,” Emil said quietly. Then he added, “Though I daresay I’d be sorely tempted by a drink if he had it to give.”

Victor huffed a laugh. “The point stands that we might not have survived if we’d remained outside. It was a good decision to enter the building, Yuuri.”

Yuuri gave him a quiet glance and the ghost of a smile.

“These people here are angry,” Victor continued. “I believed I understood when you told me about the Water Wars for the first time. But now I think I have a better idea of how it feels for them. The luxuries Boris possessed – what good did they do him? He didn’t even seem upset about leaving them behind to be destroyed. It makes you wonder how many other people his money could have helped.”

Yuuri looked across Emil at him and raised an eyebrow slightly. There was no accusation there; no opprobrium. He knew that Victor’s words could be applied to other circumstances closer to home. And Victor acknowledged it by meeting his gaze with a slight nod and compression of his lips.

“Did you say you believed the prison to be nearby, sir?” Emil asked, his voice betraying some weariness. Victor had felt his own strength draining from him with the wound in his arm, and realised he was just as keen as Emil sounded to find this place and hopefully stop the Immersion for good.

“It was definitely in this direction,” Yuuri replied. “There might even be signposts for it when we get closer. Do you need a rest?”

“No…I’d rather keep moving.”

Victor kept his eyes open and listened for any signs of a disturbance; he’d learned that the silences here could be deceptive. Then when Yuuri shifted his hold around Emil’s back, Victor was pleasantly surprised to feel his hand on his arm. He moved his own hand to rest on Yuuri’s bare forearm, the warm solid muscle there somehow reassuring him. Despite the dangers here, it felt as if a new strength were flowing through the three of them. If only Julia could be here, too.

_We’ll have you safe and well soon, my girl. _Victor gripped his gun, refusing to consider the possibility that they were already too late.


	133. Chapter 133

Ailis had regretted her decision to join Li Wei and friends almost instantly. They wanted to talk about market trends and financial projections, and she’d got the impression they were attempting to elicit insider information from her about Crystal Clear. If she knew any, she wouldn’t have had any qualms about telling them. So she made things up or turned questions back at them, slightly amused and sickened by their sycophancy. It was so astoundingly like being the baroness at a meal in the great hall that she half expected servant boys dressed in colourful tunics, hats and hose to come hurrying in with roasted meats and pottages on platters.

Now she was standing near a bush covered in fairy lights with a man called Nathan Peterson who had thick flame-red hair, blue eyes, and a shiny emerald-green tunic teamed with an ankle-length black skirt and embroidered slippers similar to the ones Natalia had been wearing that day. Rouged cheeks, though the red lips appeared natural, and quite inviting. An unfortunate dusting of sparkling green powder over his coiffured hair, which looked to her like it had been on the wrong end of a glitter gun. The ridiculous high fashions of fifty years ago. She wondered for a moment if any of these people were still alive in her time, and whether they’d laugh at how they used to look.

Still, he wore it well. He’d told her he was the son of the owner of Aerostar, a company that manufactured space vehicles. Then, like Li Wei, he’d started talking business, trying to get her to agree to a deal in which his company would transport water mined from an asteroid back to earth. It sounded impractical to her, though she didn’t understand the logistics of any of it. However, he’d seemed to take her silence as intractability rather than ignorance. She’d allowed this man to escort her away from Li Wei’s table because he had a nice face, but now all he seemed to want was a good deal from Crystal Clear, like everybody else.

“You’re aware that this would be the first offworld water product on the open market?” he pressed. “You could charge a premium price for it. The rich and powerful would want it at all their parties. They’d want it coming out of _taps_. You – ”

“What about the people who can’t afford bog-standard earth water?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“While people are guzzling the water equivalent of champagne, what will everyone else do when they can’t buy enough ordinary water for themselves?”

With a little huff behind a frozen smile, he replied, “Well that’s hardly our problem, is it? We have good business models, that’s how we’ve got ahead. We cater for a market. If customers want a cheaper product, they can go elsewhere.”

For a moment, Ailis was tempted to challenge him; to play out the fantasy of the average person who longed to explain to one of these disgustingly privileged nobs how most other people lived. She’d tried it on a few occasions with Andrei, though he’d simply regarded at her as if she were mad, then told her about all the things he did to look after his tenants. Probably it would be the same with this bore whose only redeeming feature was his face, though he didn’t even have any tenants to give a damn about. Did she feel like picking an argument with him? Not really. Come to think of it, he might have some useful information, which he’d be less willing to share if she didn’t play nicely.

“My talk is boring you.”

Ailis’s attention snapped back to his words. “No, it’s all fascinating. Really.”

“Oh, now, you’re being polite.” He gave her a smile; a much more charming one than when she’d challenged him about the water that people couldn’t afford. “Perhaps now isn’t the best time for a business discussion. You know, even _I’m _boring myself.” With a little self-deprecating laugh, he waved to a passing waiter with a tray of glasses of red wine. “Nothing but the best for Ms. Huxley, I hope,” he said, examining one of the sparkling glasses.

“Château Latour 2009, sir,” the woman answered. In the same rehearsed deferential voice, she continued, “Selina Haddad of _The Wine Advocate _describes it as an extraordinarily flamboyant bouquet of black fruits, graphite, crushed rocks, subtle oak and a notion of wet steel. It hits the palate with a thundering concoction of thick, juicy blue and black fruits, lead pencil shavings and a chalky minerality. Full-bodied, but very fresh, with a finish that lasts over a minute. Two weeks ago, a gentleman from Hong Kong bought a bottle from Sotheby’s for over twenty thousand pounds.” Her blank smiling face gazed back at them as she held what Ailis thought must be one of the most expensive trays in history. For a second she had the perverse desire to knock it to the floor.

“Well that sounds pleasant,” she said instead. “So if I took a rusty hoe into the forest and scraped around a puddle with some rotting blackberries, I daresay I might have a flavour match. At a bargain, as well.”

The waiter tittered politely, while Nathan gave her another appealing smile; this one wasn’t fake, either. He took two crystal goblets and dismissed the woman, giving Ailis one of the drinks.

“It is a lot of stuff and nonsense, isn’t it?” he said, holding his glass out for a toast. “Some people do carry on about these things. Anyway, congratulations on your award. To a bright future – and one, I hope, that will involve close collaboration between our…businesses.”

_Award? Whatever. _Ailis clinked her glass to his, recognising his foray into rather clumsy flirting. She’d dealt with it from professors at Cambridge. Even some students. Brian had never flirted; he hadn’t made any pretence of what he wanted, or that he was anything other than her ticket out of a miserable life. And Ian…Ian was just Ian. What she’d ever seen in him…

“Cheers,” she said, holding Nathan’s gaze for a moment before sipping her wine. It was rich and smooth, and you could tell it had been aged in some lovely old oak cask. But it was still just wine, and not worth however many thousands of pounds per glass, and anyway she still preferred Guinness.

“A very pleasant taste,” Nathan observed as he considered. “What do you think?”

“I think it’d taste better on your lips,” she replied seriously, just to see what he did. It wasn’t something she’d ever say in real life, but the stakes felt lower with a hologram, and besides, they were fawning over her here.

She struggled to keep a straight face when she saw the surprise in his eyes. Then he looked as if all his Christmases had come at once, but he forced this away too, and finally managed something more sensual, with hooded eyes and a gentle smile. Ailis leaned in to meet his lips. They were plump and soft, just like she’d imagined. But he didn’t move them much; he clearly wasn’t going to risk anything other than something quite chaste, and she wasn’t inclined to try to coax it out of him. It was like eating a cream puff, she thought. Light and pleasant and largely without substance; ultimately unsatisfying, just like all the other kisses she’d ever had. Ironically, the nicest ones she’d ever got were from Andrei, and he didn’t even know who she was.

Nathan looked pleased enough as he drew away, however, and she felt a flash of resentment, wondering how she could quickly get rid of him. But then she recalled why she’d decided to play up to him in the first place.

“Nathan,” she said with a touch of a syrupy smile, “I’m sure there are a lot of ways you could help me.” And there was the excitement in his eyes again. Pathetic. If she’d taken on a specific role in this game, maybe Victor and Yuuri and the squires had, too. If they had different names as well, that could make this difficult. But she could try and see. And now maybe this man would be invested in giving her some honest answers.

“Name them,” he replied, his eyelids still hooded.

“I was wondering if you’d ever heard of Yuuri Katsuki or Victor Nikiforov.”

The disappointment on his face was clear for a moment, but then he erased it. “Of course,” he said as if he couldn’t understand why she was asking. “I thought most people in our world had heard of them, why?”

Now it was her turn to stifle her excitement, despite the _our world_, which prickled. What had the program done to them this time around? “I was wondering what you knew about them. Please, will you humour me?” She gave him what she hoped was a fetching smile.

“Well, they’re the best advisory bankers in the City. Nikiforov is the MD of Goldman Sachs’s London industrial mergers and acquisitions team, and Katsuki’s the senior MD of Morgan Stanley’s London team. There’s a bit of rivalry between them from what I hear, but they’re rumoured to be good friends.” He gave her a bemused smile. “Were you thinking of taking on the services of one of them? Depending on your financial needs, either would be an excellent choice.”

Ailis wondered for a moment why the Immersion program had allotted them roles as powerful bankers – that was _her _side of things, as Megan Huxley. Then she thought about what was happening on the streets below, despite the little bubble these people lived in, and smiled to herself; maybe they’d been caught up in it all. However, she knew enough about them not to become complacent.

“Randy was considering their services, yes,” she told Nathan. “In fact, my main reason for coming to London was to find them.”

Nathan drank his wine, then answered, “I doubt they’d be here, not with…” He glanced at the surrounding buildings, as if to indicate the rest of the city and the unsavoury turmoil it was experiencing, then turned back to her with his self-deprecating smile again. “I must admit it’s a trifle eccentric of us, having our little celebration up here while Rome burns, wouldn’t you say? If I didn’t have any confidence in the ability of the police to get the rabble under control, I might be worried.”

“I see.” She paused. “I don’t suppose…” Hooding her own eyes again, she tilted her head and gave him a smile.

“Tell me to fetch the moon and it’s yours,” he laughed.

_How unbelievably naff. _“My Cloud connection seems to be down. I don’t suppose you could trace where Nikiforov and Katsuki are, could you? Just for me? Would your connection let you do that?”

He took this in. “Now?”

“It _is _what I came here for. And I’d be…very grateful.”

The _oh my God I’m in _smile again, which Ailis had quickly decided was a complete turnoff. But at least she seemed to have him eating out of her hand.

“You wouldn’t be able to do this with an ordinary connection,” he said. Then, with a sly smile, he continued, “But we’re not ordinary, are we? There are certain privileges to be had if you know the right people. In my line of work, it just so happens I know a few. Look, I’ll show you.” He moved to her side, quite close, so that they were touching. Then he pushed his left sleeve up to reveal a gold wristband with a BCI box. It had old-fashioned buttons on it made of glittering stones that might be diamonds, which he pressed. “It’s telling me that neither one is currently connected to the Cloud,” he said, “which is unusual but not unheard of. People like them have secrets to keep. If they’re out and about, it’s possible that security cameras have seen them; otherwise…”

Ailis’s stomach sank. But after all, it had been a long shot.

“Well knock me down with a feather,” he said.

“What?” she asked eagerly.

“They’re together – not very far down this street, in fact, and coming this way.” Ailis quickly processed this while he added, “How very daring of them to go about on foot just now. Are you certain you didn’t arrange for them to meet you here? Perhaps your secretary – ”

Ailis tossed her glass to the side, where it shattered, while she dashed to the edge of the rooftop, trying to ensure she didn’t fall over in her high heels. There at the white-painted concrete ledge, she leaned over and looked down, but all she noticed at first was a couple of burned-out vehicles. They both were the type of alien-looking super-sleek cars that people with enough money to wipe their arses with tended to buy, but of their owners there was no sign. And nothing of Yuuri or Victor.

Soon Nathan rejoined her, holding a pair of small binoculars – quaint, since people in her time had hi-res glasses. He pressed a button on the side and looked over the ledge. “Ah,” he said, straining to lean far enough, “there’s more going on down there than at first meets the eye. Positively ghastly. I’ve spotted them, though, I believe – a light-haired chap and a dark-haired chap supporting someone between them who seems to be injured. I wonder what happened to them. Do you think their car was shot down?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Looks like they’re attempting to avoid the great unwashed; they’ve rounded the corner of an alleyway, but you can just see – ”

“Give me those.” Ailis took the binoculars from him and scanned the street. There was no missing the large group of dark-clothed people who had broken into a jewellery shop and were ransacking the place. She scanned further away, little by little, until – _there _they were. The mob might not be able to see them, but from this angle, she could. They were obviously awaiting their chance to move once the coast was clear. She wondered where they were headed. Perhaps they’d even found out somehow that she was here, and were hoping to assassinate her.

“It’s compelling in a way, isn’t it?” Nathan commented. “We’re quite safe here, out of range of any laser guns. I do hope the police turn up soon – then maybe we’ll see some real excitement.”

Ailis had had enough of this man; of this whole gathering. Maybe the three were attempting to go on the offensive, or maybe it was a coincidence that they were down there just now – but either way, they didn’t know she’d seen them, which gave her the advantage. Instead of leaving everything for the program to take care of, maybe it was time that she went on the offensive herself. That wasn’t something she’d attempted yet, preferring to sit back in safety – but had that been as much of an illusion as the actual Immersion? She’d nearly been killed in the colosseum, and her office in the trenches had been bombed. It seemed she was learning the hard way that even if the game favoured her, she was vulnerable here.

She could go down to the street, ensure she remained hidden, and try to pick them off; after the hunting she’d done around the castle, she knew she wasn’t a bad shot. And if she got in trouble, she was still ultimately in control, and could change the environment. World War One again, perhaps. She groaned silently, not having anticipated that it would be necessary for the program to continue so long. Get Yuuri killed, she’d thought, and that would be the end of it. She was tired, she had to admit. And hungry and thirsty. But if she switched the console off, it would be an instant situation of four against one, and they had at least one real gun among them.

_It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Nothing was supposed to happen like this. But I can still win. _

Nathan continued to stare over the ledge in fascination. She handed the binoculars back to him. “Where are the lifts?” she asked.

He looked at her in surprise. “Don’t you like it here? I thought we were getting to know each other.”

Ailis bit back a rude retort. “I have business to attend to,” she said.

“Well, I seem to remember being told that the only way down to the lower floors is the stairs; the lifts aren’t functioning, just as a precaution in case – hey!”

But Ailis had spun around and was dashing toward a compartment with a door at the corner of the rooftop. Her ankle twisted at one point and she had to slow down. These damn shoes.

Nathan ran part of the way after her and called, “We may be boarding the car soon! You won’t want to miss it – where are you going?”

She ignored him and flung the door open to discover a set of white marble stairs covered with a red carpet; whatever type of building this was, then right up to the roof, they clearly insisted on doing things in style. Not relishing the idea of racing down stairs in high heels, she removed the shoes, holding their glittering straps in one hand while she drew her gun from her pocket with the other, then hurried down.

The stairs had elaborate landings on a couple of floors, where security guards dressed in black had been posted. They called for her to stop, wanting to know where she was going, shouting that it was dangerous down below. She ignored them, her thoughts focused on Yuuri and Victor and their injured squire. Perhaps Emil and the mobs would hold them back long enough for her to get outside, conceal herself, and take aim.

The ground floor was lit by bright white artificial lights; huge steel security shutters had been lowered over the front door and windows. Scanning the lobby, Ailis spotted a security guard at a desk, watching a screen which was mostly grey apart from a single square in the corner that gave a black and white view of an empty street.

Hearing her approach, the guard turned around. He appeared to be about sixty, with salt and pepper hair, but was still beefy-looking for an older jack. “Madam, you shouldn’t be down here,” he said. “If you’re lost – ”

“I need to leave the building.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“There must be a door somewhere.”

“I’m not opening any of those. I can’t even see what’s going on outside – only one camera is still working.”

“Just show me to a side door and let me slip out – you can do that, can’t you?” When the man didn’t answer, she added, “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Madam, you could be the queen of the universe and I wouldn’t risk letting those hooligans in.”

“Maybe this will help you cooperate.” She pointed the gun at him, and he stared. “Unlock a door for me.”

The man swallowed. “All the side doors are on a central mechanism. I open one, they all open – easy access for anyone who wants to get in here and…and hurt those people upstairs. You can’t want me to do that.”

“Then raise the shutters in front. There wasn’t anyone nearby when I was looking from the roof just now. I’ll slip out a door and – ”

“You must be mad,” the man said in a trembling voice.

These delays could prove costly; in the time this was taking, Yuuri and Victor and Emil might be getting away – or approaching, hoping to break in. A small voice in Ailis’s head told her that Nathan and Li Wei and the others weren’t really so bad; she could go straight back upstairs, get into the hovercar, and wait to discover what the game did to her four opponents. But they kept getting away, that was the problem.

Yuuri had been tracking her for months. They knew who she was, so there was no returning to the castle without dealing with them first. Immersion had made the odds better. But when she thought about how long they might be forced to play cat and mouse with each other, another voice inside of her spoke up – the one that had cast in its lot with Brian in an attempt to get away from the house where she and her mother had been enslaved; the one that had urged her to invent something that would stun the world – and then be the first to test it. The one that had told her she could, and should, take advantage of the Immersion console she’d brought to not only create one of the cleverest defence fields that had ever existed, but to also ensnare the people who wanted to harm her, and ensure they would never be a threat to her again. _Be bold, _it said. _Take a chance and fly. _

And it told her to get the hell out there, _now_, and _finish _this; no more running and hiding. She had a gun, and they weren’t expecting her to show up and use it – and damn it all, she was going to do it, no matter what stood in her way, and that included this idiot of a security guard. 

“Press the button,” she commanded him, “or whatever it is you need to do to open that shutter, or I’ll shoot.” 

He did something behind his desk, and the shutters made a clanging noise and began to slide open, daylight spilling underneath. Just as she’d expected – an ordinary hotel front, no more. And no gang of yobs pressing their faces to the glass.

Turning to the security guard, she shot him, and he vanished. No more trouble from that quarter. Then, leaning against the desk, she paused to think. If she were going to be prudent about this, she ought to change her clothes. No time or opportunity right now, but perhaps when she was outside, she could stun someone. Contingency plans if things went wrong, then. She brushed a finger over her earring. Change the environment, however loath she was to revisit one they’d already been through. In the most desperate situation, get to the lab without turning the Immersion off, and use the final option she’d been saving there.

Some sixth sense told her to turn her head, and she did – to discover that a sizeable group of young men and women in dark clothes and bandanas had been walking past the front of the hotel, looking through the windows. They seemed to spot her at the same time she spotted them.

Ailis aimed and fired, shattering the glass, then dropped the shoes she’d been carrying and turned to dash up the stairs, at the same time hurriedly bringing up the BCI for the Immersion control. With adrenaline lacing through her veins as she ran, it was like trying to repair a tech component on the back of a runaway horse.

And even in that frantic moment, she finally realised one thing about that voice she’d chosen to listen to: it always seemed to end up getting her into trouble.

She turned again, with the intention of firing wildly behind her – but the gun was shot out of her hand, and she cried out. Footsteps, voices, nearing.

“It’s her! _Get _her!”

Her foot was grabbed and she lost her balance. Hands forced her to her feet. She was turned around, there on the stairs, to confront ten young people whose eyes, as they gazed upon her, were filled with wonder and hate.

“Jesus Christ, it really is the kilo-bitch herself,” a woman wearing a black T-shirt with a skull and roses on it said. “Megan Huxley.”

“Do you think there are more of them up there?” someone else asked. “We could try – ”

Gunfire sounded from above. “Clear out of the building!” came a shout. It was only one voice – one of the security guards from upstairs who’d heard the commotion, perhaps, and was trying to make a stand. Ailis wanted to call out for help, but it would only make her look desperate, and be futile besides; there was nothing a lone person could do against this mob. They’d just fry him.

Was that going to be her fate as well?

“We’ve got her,” someone said. “Let’s take her outside and have a look.”

She was surrounded by “Let’s go,” “Come on,” “Get her outside,” and similar comments as she was pushed and pulled out the front, no one taking any care to see that she wasn’t stepping on broken glass.

“Let me go,” she told them once they had her out in the street.

“Are you kidding?” the woman with the skull T-shirt said. She had brown hair in a ponytail and flinty eyes lined in black. “You’re, like, the main prize. I never thought in a million years we’d find _you _here.”

Ailis brought up the BCI again. If she could get them to World War One, these people would either be shocked beyond belief or disappear entirely, being only holograms that might not transfer from one environment to the next. She willed herself to concentrate. _Menu._

Fingers searched through her pockets. They wouldn’t find anything.

_Live-time changes._

They got bolder, beginning to pull the ornaments out of her hair. She struggled, but her arms were held fast. “Leave me alone,” she spat.

_Environment. _Too many sodding things on the menu. She remembered her com on her arm – they’d find it next…they couldn’t take _that_… 

A searing pain shot up her right ear, and she cried out again, tears springing to her eyes. It overpowered her thoughts in one moment full of red. “No,” she whispered when she could get her mouth to work. Then, forcing the words out, “Give that back! It’s not just an earring, it’s an important piece of tech!”

But she couldn’t see which one of them had taken it, and her ear stung like fury. They’d ripped her earpiece straight out of her lobe. _It’s not real, it’s not real – but it’s real enough to no longer be in my possession._

She _had_ to get it back – it was the only way she had of controlling the game.

“Shoot her.”

“Let me.”

“We can all fry her at the same time.”

“No – we should beat her up and leave her recognisable, as a statement. A protest.”

“Hold her hostage. It’ll make them listen to us.”

“Just shoot her and have done with it.”

Ailis listened to them argue. And surprised herself in that moment when the thought of her likely death at the hands of these yobs evoked not terror, or even anger – but sadness. Her mother’s words from long ago drifted into her mind.

_Oh Ailis, _she’d said in that disappointed tone of voice she had, as if the weight of the world was upon her shoulders, _what am I going to do with you? How can such a clever colleen have so little common sense? _

_Is that what I’m left with at the end? _she thought, a tear trailing down her cheek. _A mother’s thoughtless words to her daughter years ago – words I was determined to live down. I’m not sure I ever did._

She vaguely took in the gist of their conversation. They seemed to think they could get Randall Flanagan himself to come here if they announced they’d captured her, though several of them wanted nothing to do with it. The woman with the skull shirt seemed to be their leader, and her suggestion was that they film Ailis’s death and put it on the Cloud.

“I need that earring back,” Ailis said to her quietly. “I…I’ll pay you. Anything you want.”

They laughed, and someone said, “What, with tanks of water?”

Skull T-shirt stood centimeters from her and pressed her gun against her cheek. “OK, hen,” she said in a low voice, “give me one good reason why I shouldn’t ghost you right now.”

* * *

Yuuri kept a firm grip on Victor’s arm as they supported Emil between them. It was strange to feel the soft modern material of a hoodie on him, but comforting, too. They were making slow but steady progress down the pavement, quickly disappearing into shops or alleys when they spotted rioters; Yuuri was certain they’d been seen on occasion, but no one seemed to want to pay them much mind. He’d stopped early on to unroll the long flapping sleeves of his shirt so that they covered the chunky gold wristwatch that was his com, and hopefully nothing else about them stood out.

“There’s something happening ahead,” Victor observed, and the three of them hurried through the nearest doorway. It was a deli, its interior intact, strings of sausages hanging in the window. Yuuri was in a position to peer around the edge of the frame, gun in hand, while the others waited for news of what he saw.

“More looting,” he said quietly. “Wait – they’re dragging a woman in an orange dress out of that hotel. She looks like one of those late twenty-first century oligarchs, with the crazy clothes and hair.”

Victor risked joining him in the doorway, and his jaw dropped. “That looks like Ailis, the way I saw her as a hologram in Boris’s house.”

“Ailis – ? Shit, I think you’re right. What the hell’s going on over there, I wonder?”

“They’re no friends of hers, that much is certain.”

“Jesus, we can’t just let them kill her.”

Emil had moved to look now, too, bracing an arm against Yuuri’s shoulder. “There are a lot of them, sir, and some have guns. I doubt many would mourn her passing.”

“There…there’s more to it than that,” Yuuri told him, though just now he couldn’t put it in quick, easy words. “If we got closer, we might be able to shoot – ”

“I have an idea,” Victor said, withdrawing a dark egg-shaped object from the pocket of his hoodie.

“A hand grenade?” Yuuri breathed, staring at it.

“I have three. I was keeping them for an emergency.”

“Were they in your World War One office or something? But when we changed environments, the Immersion program would have turned them into something else – and that’s definitely an old pineapple grenade.”

“Actually, I took them from one of the cases in that museum room in Boris’s house. There were weapons in it, some of which I recognised from World War One. My laser gun still seemed to be the best option, but I thought these might be useful if they work.”

“He’s a complete idiot for keeping them at all,” Yuuri said. “They’re bloody dangerous. Well, let’s hope they are, now that we need them. But Victor, we have to make sure Ailis doesn’t get hurt.” Two people were restraining her as he watched, while the others in the group argued.

“Then we’d better aim well,” Victor replied.

“I’ve seen war holograms. You pull the pin out and throw, then duck down behind whatever shelter you’ve got. We can’t use this doorway; we need something more out in the open. That burned-out car over there, maybe.”

“All right,” Victor agreed. “As quickly as we can, and hope they don’t notice us.”

With Emil between them again, they left the protection of the doorway, all three of them with guns poised, and crossed the street to stand behind the smouldering remains of what had once been a shiny red luxury sports car. When Yuuri peered out at the gang over the mangled top, they seemed intent on their prisoner, and on the debate they were having amongst themselves; they didn’t appear to be aware that they weren’t the only ones in the street.

“Lucky so far,” he whispered. Keeping the group in their sights, they spent a moment putting together a hurried plan of action. When they were done, Victor gave Yuuri a grenade and held one himself while Emil fingered his gun. “Ready?” Victor nodded. “On the count of three, then. One…two…_three_.”

They pulled the pins at the same time, stood and threw, then quickly ducked back down behind the car. Yuuri’s grenade went deliberately left while Victor’s went right, so that the blast radius of each would only touch on the group. Even that was a risk to Ailis, but if it took out some of the holograms on the periphery, it would help.

In seconds the grenades exploded, and Yuuri, Victor and Emil were ready to follow up with their guns, picking out targets through the drifting smoke and firing. Several of the gang were running for shelter in the buildings, and those were the first ones they aimed at. They ducked as fire was returned from an invisible gunner behind a bank of smoke, and Victor threw the final grenade in that direction.

Yuuri wondered what they would see once the smoke cleared. Had they taken too great a risk? Ailis might have been killed by a grenade blast or by one of her captors. But then he saw flashes of orange clothing behind clouds of black and grey, which parted to reveal two other people with her.

The following moments were a blur. A woman with a ponytail shot at Ailis, who leapt behind a bewildered-looking heavyset man next to her; bright blue light engulfed him, and he vanished. Before the woman could fire again, Ailis sprang at her, and they hurtled to the ground. She made a determined attempt to wrench the gun away while the woman kicked and thrashed and tried to wrap her other hand around Ailis’s throat.

“That woman attacking Ailis seems to be the only one left,” Victor said to Yuuri. “Stay here with Emil and cover me, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Yuuri nodded, swallowing back another _be careful_. Holding his gun poised, with Emil doing the same beside him, he watched Victor approach the fighting women and was relieved to see he’d veered to the side in an attempt to avoid being an easy target for whoever got control of the gun. It went off at a wild angle, shattering a shop window and skittering away. Victor took careful aim, and when the attacker’s back was to him, he shot her and she quickly disappeared. Ailis blinked at him, then made a grab for the gun lying on the ground.

“Oh no,” Victor said, dashing over and pointing his gun at her while giving the weapon at his feet a powerful kick that sent it flying well out of reach. “You must have little regard for your own life, doing that when I could shoot you any time I choose.”

“Let’s go,” Yuuri said, and Emil put his arm around his shoulders once again. Ailis stared at them as they approached, then at Victor, eyes glittering. She was barefoot, her hair was dishevelled, and one of her earlobes was torn.

“I suppose I ought to thank you for saving me so I could be your prisoner instead of theirs,” she said with a humourless smirk as she eyed Victor’s gun. “Seems we’ve been through this already today.”

“Before you locked me in the dungeon.”

“Don’t try to tell me you didn’t deserve it.”

Victor glanced at Yuuri and Emil as they joined him. “If she dies, will the Immersion stop?” he asked.

Ailis put in first, “You don’t stop a program just by killing the person who’s running it. I need my earring back.”

“Your earring?” Victor echoed.

“It just _looks _like an earring. It’s my earpiece control for the Immersion console. The bloody rioters ripped it off my ear. Are you going to help me try to find it or what?”

“Can you stand?” Yuuri asked her, holding out a hand. She waved it away.

“I’m not helpless,” she said under her breath, standing and taking slow steps around the street as she looked downward, flinching and massaging her ear from time to time. Victor kept careful watch over her, but Yuuri was alarmed to see him sway for a moment. His face seemed especially pale against the black hoodie; presumably wounds like the one to his arm and Ailis’s ear were as harmful as the real thing, even though there was no blood to be seen. Emil had borne his own injury longer, and his movements had been slowing as well. They all needed to get out of here fast. But there was no sign of Ailis’s missing jewellery.

“If someone pulled your earring out and kept it,” he said to her, “and then they died, the earring would’ve vanished with them.”

She stopped and glared at him. “I know I’m still wearing it in real life. If I got near enough to the dungeon, out of the Immersion field, I’d find it still hooked around my ear.”

Yuuri shook his head. “That isn’t how it works. Your physical body will have removed it and probably tossed it somewhere. If you managed to get it back, it’s because in real life you would have found it and picked it up.”

“What the hell are we even _doing _in reality, then? Just standing there staring at each other?”

“We move; we just don’t go far while we’re in the hypnotic field. And we don’t have any control over what we do. If someone from outside saw us, they’d probably think we looked like kids in a make-believe game at a playground.”

“Fine. Listen to the expert.” She paused. “Then I suggest we head toward my lab until we’re out of the field.”

“Something we agree on, then.”

“One problem with that. There was a ‘home’ command on the BCI menu of my earpiece that’d lead me through the Immersion field and back to my lab. If I started walking or got in a vehicle, it’d take me straight there. That’s gone now, and I don’t know where my lab is – it could be anywhere, anything – ”

“Can I ask you,” Yuuri said, his blood beginning to race, “what gave you the idea to tinker with an Immersion console, and put us all inside the field, when you didn’t understand some of the most basic principles it runs on? Why you thought it’d be juke to play with people’s lives like this?”

“I hadn’t _intended _to do this – not yet, anyway,” she shot back. “I’m a scientist; I’m methodical. Until someone comes along and points a gun at me.” She darted a glance at Victor before returning her attention to Yuuri. “Or attacks me. I had the soldiers ready just to scare people away from my lab when they got too close. Then I had them guard Victor. But with you coming after me, armed, I had to protect myself. My work on the Immersion program wasn’t finished, but you didn’t give me much choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Yuuri rejoined. Then he briefly explained to her about the dungeon having an analogue in Immersion that was likely to be a prison. Victor escorted her as they started down the road once more, while Yuuri walked immediately behind with Emil. Ailis had three guns trained on her, and she knew it.

“So what does it mean if Ailis no longer has a control for the Immersion?” Victor asked as they went along.

“It means she can’t turn it off, or switch the environments, or anything else, because she doesn’t have access to the menu,” Yuuri answered.

“I’ll warn you,” she spoke up, “that the game is programmed to favour me. Keep me prisoner like this, and you’re likely to get shot or kidnapped yourselves. I’ve heard about you – seems your names are household words among the oligarchs. You can’t tell me you landed in this environment dressed like you are now. Borrowed some togs from the rioters, have you?”

“We’ll take that chance,” was all Yuuri said.

“The hovercar that brought me here is waiting at the top of that hotel I came out of,” she continued, “ready to take all the spivs partying on that roof to safety. If they noticed what’s going on down here…” Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath, and she turned her head to look at him. “What?”

“Don’t you know what happens to them?” he asked her.

“I’m not extensively versed in Water Wars history, no. Why, what – ”

“The Hinduja Suites Massacre – you’ve never heard of it?”

“No.”

“It’s one reason why they started calling this a war early on; one of the events that sparked it off. Someone hijacks a hovercar and kills most of those people up there, who seem to think they’re immune to the riots. Megan Huxley only just got away in her private car. Dozens of the world’s most prominent businesspeople died.”

“Oh my God,” Ailis said quietly.

“So if this game is true to life, which the other environments seem to have been, I wouldn’t look for help from there. And…” As his thoughts touched on the historical chain of events he’d studied as a boy, Yuuri realised the implications, and couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. “_Shit_, I know what’s going to happen next. Victor, we’ve got to get out of here – _now_ – and get to that prison.”

“Yuuri?” he said, sounding puzzled. 

But before Yuuri could explain, an announcement blared from the sky back the way they’d come and a few streets over; he could just make out the speck of a hovercar in that direction.

“You have ten minutes to cease criminal activities and disperse. I repeat, ten minutes. Then bacteriological agents will be released. That is all.”

Ailis stopped, along with Yuuri and the others. “The red death,” she whispered. “And we’re down here on the street.”

_Trust you to know about that. _“The prison might be more than ten minutes away,” Yuuri said. “And there’s no guarantee it’s the dungeon. We’ve got to find shelter.” He looked around.

“What’s the red death?” Emil asked.

Ailis replied, “A cloud of sickness that would kill you in minutes. You might have nanobots in your system, but it won’t matter, because it’s your _mind _that will think it’s being poisoned, and shut your body down. You’ll die.”

There was a trace of awe – admiration, even – in her voice, Yuuri thought, which made his stomach turn. Victor and Emil stared at her in horror, then looked at him.

“It’s true,” he said. “But the cloud is heavier than air, and it’ll sink. We need to make sure we’re well above it; go into one of these buildings and wait it out.” He picked a skyscraper nearby. “That looks good. Come on.” He led them to large glass double doors set within a grey stone archway. “It doesn’t seem to have been touched by the rioters.”

“What would they want with it?” Ailis said. “Looks like the HQ of a sugar company.”

Yuuri saw Victor and Emil take in the sign above the door with confused looks. _Richards Sugar Merchants, _it said in fancy gold nineteenth-century-style writing, at a slant with curlicues, against a red background. Steaming coffee in a white cup with a saucer and spoon was painted next to it, and underneath was _Sweeten your day the Richards way. _Yuuri tried the door, which was locked, then shot it, the glass shivering onto the terra-cotta-tiled floor of the lobby. He entered along with Emil, kicking the glass aside so that Ailis’s feet would be unharmed. Outside in the street, he could hear distant cries and screams.

Victor lingered, worry knitting his brow as he looked left and right. “Julius,” he mumbled.

“I know,” Yuuri said.

“I can’t leave him. What if – ”

“We’ll have to hope he’s in a building too.” Yuuri felt his own heart constricting as he thought of Julia caught out there, alone. “We have to get to safety. I’m sorry.”

Victor turned to Ailis, his face thunderous. “If he dies,” he said to her, “it will go very hard with you indeed. Murderous villain.”

Ailis was silent as Yuuri, Emil at his side, led them to the lift. It arrived with a ding, and the steel doors slid open to reveal a mirrored compartment. The number 10 had a gold circle around it, and Yuuri pressed it, thinking that should give them plenty of distance from the toxic cloud. He was trying and failing to banish gruesome images of Julia smothered and dying from his mind, and could well understand Victor’s fury; shared it, in fact. But in dealing with Ailis, he knew he had to try to keep a sensible head on his shoulders.

“How did you get out of your cell and away from the guards?” Ailis asked Victor, but his eyes sparked and he said nothing, continuing to keep her covered with his gun. Then she said, “I’m sorry about your plucky squire. I didn’t mean for her or Emil – or you, for that matter – to get mixed up in this. She visited me in my office in the trenches; they brought her in, and we listened to music and had coffee. I always liked her. Now I know why. All this time, just to be one of you, she’s been pretending to be a boy. I told her I’d let her leave the game, you know. There was a way on the BCI menu to send her back to the outside of the field. We all could’ve gone, in fact.” She shrugged. “Though it would have put the Immersion field between us and my lab, which wouldn’t have been ideal, but…it’s all academic now, anyway.”

Victor had been staring at her while she spoke, as if weighing her words and trying to decide what to believe. Yuuri had a suspicion there was truth in them.

“Your claim not to have wanted to hurt us rings false, madam,” Emil spoke up. “If what you said were true, you could have sent Julia and myself out of the Immersion at any time. Instead, you allowed us to participate in these killing games.”

“On your own head be it, squire,” she countered. “You chose your friends and your loyalties. You stand by them, you die with them.”

“I would be proud to do so.”

Yuuri gave Emil’s back a pat as the lift dinged and they exited into a grey-tiled lobby with an elaborate round wooden desk, next to which were large wood-framed double doors leading to a red-carpeted wood-panelled hall.

Ailis looked at Yuuri and gave a small laugh. “It’s all like stepping back in time, isn’t it? Ironic, that. So many of these jobs were still done by people – secretary, security guard, waiters and waitresses. Have you explained to your medieval friends what robots are? Do you think they’d have any grasp of the concept at all?”

Yuuri led them through the doors, looking for someplace where they could wait out the red death in relative comfort. Ailis’s words grated on him when he considered what was going on outside, what tasks remained to them, and what on earth they were going to do with her. These seemed to be executive office suites branching off the hall, though they didn’t appear to have been made to accommodate four people.

“What do you miss most about home, Yuuri?” Ailis pressed. “I’ve asked myself the same thing sometimes. Chocolate, climate control, and bathrooms with all the mod cons is what I decided. Also the fact that women don’t have to wear ridiculous getups. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have to go around all the time with your head and wrists and ankles covered, like a nun?”

“If you expect any sympathy from me – ” he began.

“Oh, hardly. I was just curious.”

Finally they approached a heavy wooden door with a bronze plate that said _Boardroom_. There was no handle, just like the other doors they’d seen, but a small hole in the door covered by rounded glass indicated that a retinal scan might be required; the antiquated ID system fit the time period, Yuuri seemed to remember.

“How do we get in?” Victor asked.

“Friday?” Yuuri called, his voice loud in the silent hallway. “Hello?”

Ailis laughed. “I wish we could talk to one. It’d be so primitive. But if nothing’s answered you by now – ”

“Open the door, please,” Yuuri tried again.

“Who are you talking to?” Victor asked him.

“Before things were controlled and integrated by computer,” Yuuri said, “there used to be these AI units in buildings with voice interfaces…um, well that means artificial personalities who you could tell to do things, and they’d let you into a room, turn the lights on, open and close windows, send messages to people, and so on.”

“Like servants?”

“Sort of. There’s probably a Friday in control of this building, but the people who work here would’ve shut it down when they left. Nothing else for it, then.” He pointed his gun at the door and fired, blasting out a hole large enough to step through. Charred splinters flew while the aroma of burning wood filled the air.

As he entered the room, Yuuri saw it would be an ideal place for them to wait. The central feature was a long, dark, solid wooden table that would easily fit into the décor of the castle, apart from the fact that in the middle of it was a dais for projecting holograms. It was surrounded by matching wooden chairs with red leather cushions, and a red carpet with intricate gold-leaf patterns.

“Andrei would love it in here,” Ailis commented, and Victor darted a sharp glance at her.

A blank white screen was mounted on the wall, along with bulletin boards covered in papers and maps, information about the sugar company, and advertising campaigns. Across from them was a large floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the surrounding tall buildings. A typical boardroom of the time, Yuuri thought, or at least what he imagined it would be like.

“Boris disappeared through one of those,” Victor said, gazing out. “It opened for him.”

“Who’s Boris?” Ailis asked.

Ignoring her, Yuuri said, “They’re for people who use flying vehicles; they can enter and exit directly on the floor they want. I suppose with this being a boardroom, the members probably arrive by hovercar sometimes and walk straight in.” He thought for a moment. “Let’s rearrange it a bit. Emil, if you don’t mind – ?”

He leaned with his hand on the table. “Of course, sir; don’t let me detain you.”

Yuuri pulled four chairs across the room toward the window and pushed the table against the wall. “Have a seat,” he told Ailis, and she sank down, watching him. Then he helped Emil to a chair and chose one himself across from Ailis, pointing his gun at her. “Victor?”

He was looking downward through the window. “I can see the prison from here, I think – the one we spotted from the flying car. No red cloud yet, though.” But Yuuri detected a buzzing noise, faint at first, and growing, until he was certain a hovercar was coming. They all watched as a police car identical to the one that had shot them down flew over the street from high up, heavy crimson smoke billowing from its belly and trailing down like blood through water. It didn’t pause, but carried on with its business, and Yuuri could see several other cars doing the same in the distance. He knew Victor would be thinking of Julia again; that they all were, apart from the woman across from him whose thoughts and motivations were still largely a mystery. As distasteful as it was, he was going to have to question her, and then hopefully with Victor’s help, decide what was to be done with her once they were out of Immersion.

“You can sit down – ” Yuuri said to him, but Victor interrupted.

“I prefer to stand…thank you, Yuuri.” He was a few paces to the side of Ailis’s chair, almost touching the window, glancing out of it. Yuuri saw him move his injured arm briefly, as if trying to ease stiffness or pain.

Silence had fallen in the room; it was obviously expected that he would be the one to begin and guide the interview. Emil appeared weary, but his gun was still in his hand as it rested on the polished arm of the chair. Victor’s face was somewhat drawn, though his weapon also remained assiduously trained on Ailis, who had dropped all attempts at light conversation and was staring at Yuuri sombrely.

He put his own gun down for a moment in order to roll his sleeves back up; then he made a call on his com. He’d spoken to Phichit briefly while Victor had disappeared to get the clothes, but that had been their last communication, and he needed to be here for this.

“Yuuri – what’s happening?”

Holding his watch near his mouth and looking ahead at their captive, he said, “Victor, Emil and I are in a building with Ailis. We’ve got her under arrest, I guess you could say, and since we have to wait til the red death clears outside, it seemed a good time to try and sort a few things out.”

“Oh my God,” Phichit breathed. “The red death? And you’ve got Ailis?”

Yuuri took a moment to explain their situation while the others in the room looked on.

“Wow. I need to tell Celestino.”

“Sure.” He reached to pick his gun up again from the chair arm but decided to leave it, affording Ailis the dignity of being questioned without another weapon pointing at her face; perhaps she’d be more willing to cooperate. He rested his elbow on the chair instead and leaned his head against his hand, returning her gaze. And realised he wasn’t sure how to start. The performance anxiety in those Immersion musicals hadn’t been like this. Or before the contest with Julia, or the competition at Stamford Bridge. The duel with Tyler was different; his life had been on the line. This time it was words that counted – words that would decide the fate of Ailis, and possibly of himself and Victor.

“Well?” Ailis said, hands folded in her lap, green eyes meeting his steadily. “What are you going to do…kill me?”


	134. Within the Fire (Part 17)

She was like a spectre, sitting across from him in her fire-coloured clothes with the ripped ear and dishevelled hair. Where had her shoes gone?

“I’m sorry there’s nothing here to clean your wounds or help with the pain,” Yuuri said.

Ailis gave a small huff. “It’s not even real.”

“It is to your mind.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” She paused. “I asked you a question just now. _Are _you going to kill me?”

“I’ve been given the green light to do that if I feel it’s necessary.”

“Really.” She raised an eyebrow. “Look at you, holding your own manorial court. Judge, jury and executioner. What an example to set for your friends here of the standard of justice in the future.”

“I could say the same for you,” he rejoined, “considering everything you’ve done since you got here.”

She pressed her lips together tightly. “And who made you and your team in 2121 the self-righteous time-travel police? Phichit, are you listening to this?”

After a pause, his voice answered, “Sorry, are you talking to me? I was trying to get hold of Celestino; he’s in London right now – ”

“Anything you have to say, you can say to me,” Yuuri told her. “Don’t bring Phichit into it.”

Her eyes glinted. “He’s already _in it_. And before you judge me for what I’ve done, who’s to say you and the other agents Celestino sent haven’t altered the course of history yourselves?”

“I haven’t killed anyone. You killed a scientist, Dr. Quincey, and a boy, Arthur Farmer. If anyone had died of plague at the castle, you would’ve been responsible for that. You tried to kill me, Victor, Emil, and Julia. Is that enough of a list?”

“I had to kill to protect my identity. I only do it when it’s necessary – isn’t that what you just said to me? I’m not the only one here who has, either. Victor knows all about that – don’t you?” She turned to look at him. He took a breath but remained silent. “Have you forgiven him his misdeeds, Yuuri? He even tried to kill _you _when you first arrived. I watched.”

“My father gave me no choice,” Victor said firmly.

“Yuuri gave _me _none. See how this works?” To Yuuri she said, “And for your information, I decided there was no need to kill the laundress, though it would’ve saved me trouble. In fact, when she turned up at the castle after her little escapade in the future, I went to a great _deal _of trouble over her.”

“Why?” Yuuri asked.

Her eyes narrowed. “So that’s what you think of me – that I kill unless I have a reason not to?” She paused. “Fine, I’ll explain it to you. She’s a harmless thing. And useful. I was sure Celestino would give the third and last time-travel sphere he thieved from my lab to another agent and send them after me, so I had a servant listening for anyone who came looking for her and asking questions. Careless of you, wasn’t it, mentioning Mexican food. You’re not as clever as you like to think.”

“Really?” Yuuri said, deciding to go with this topic for now. “Then here’s what happened when Ethelfrith returned from the future; correct me if I’m wrong. You heard her screaming when she ran out into the courtyard, about a professor and a body. You realised that Celestino’s agent at the castle, Dr. Croft, had taken on her identity and had just died, pulling Ethelfrith back to her own time. You knew there’d be a body to dispose of, and you weren’t keen for Ethelfrith to say too much to anyone about her experience. So you rushed down to the sickroom while Ethelfrith was in the courtyard with the other servants, and hid the body – in the wardrobe, perhaps?” Yuuri took her silence as confirmation. “Once you’d done that,” he continued, “you appeared as Lady Nikiforov and went to sit with Ethelfrith in the sickroom along with your ladies-in-waiting, where you put dwale in her drink so that she’d go into a deep sleep. During which, you removed her translator and com, replaced her modern clothes with her own medieval ones, and took the body away. Then you encouraged the belief that Ethelfrith had been having hallucinations while she was ill, so that no one would take her seriously, and even she would begin to doubt the reality of her own experiences.”

“Bravo, Sherlock,” Ailis said flatly.

“Where did you bury Dr. Croft, Dr. Quincey, and Arthur?”

“I burned them so there’d be no trace. I cover my tracks.”

Yuuri rubbed his cheek in thought. Some questions answered, then, but it didn’t feel like they were making much progress. “What were you planning to do to the king?” he asked. When she did nothing but rest her arms on her chair and run her finger distractedly along the smooth curled surface of the end of the wood, he added, “You said you weren’t planning to kill him.”

“No, I’m not keen on killing the king of England. The history books won’t be recording that.”

_They won’t be anyway, because you’re not going back to the castle as the baroness. _When nothing else from her was forthcoming, he said, “I originally thought, before we knew who you were, that you wanted to kill Lady Nikiforov and try to get Andrei to marry you. But then there was that fake message from the Duke of York, telling him to leave the castle and join the hunting party. You sent that, didn’t you?” Another silence. “At first I thought it was because you wanted to protect him from catching plague at the castle. Then I suspected it might be because you didn’t want him to be injected with nanobots, so that he’d be vulnerable to an illness like the plague later.”

When Ailis gave a start, Victor said to her, “You wanted to kill my father?”

She tilted her head while she looked at him. “I wanted to have a degree of control over him. Being a woman in your time, I don’t have much myself. For example, I was keen to go to Doncaster and meet the royal couple without being on the end of Andrei’s leash. So I brewed up a bug that kept him bed-bound for a few days, and you let me come with you.”

The thunderous look was back on Victor’s face. “You seem to have a liking for bedevilling people with blights. If others here discovered it, you’d be executed for witchcraft.”

She shrugged. “You could say I have a specialty in the study of diseases, yes. But only as a means of control. I haven’t killed anyone that way.”

“But you were planning to, weren’t you?” Victor pressed. “Why else would you have been brewing more plague?”

When she fell silent, Yuuri said, “What _were _you planning to do with it?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said under her breath.

“I’d like to.” He looked at Victor. “Is the red cloud still out there?” When he nodded, Yuuri said, “We’re not going anywhere yet, then. Try me.”

She shook her head and smirked. “The man who came from the future and thought he could be a knight. How brave did you feel, Yuuri, when Tyler challenged you to the duel? I was there then, too. Did York end up being far enough away for you to run?”

Yuuri could see that Victor was struggling to hold his tongue, and he supposed he’d feel the same if she were insulting Victor instead of himself. As it was, he remembered how anxious he’d been that day Tyler had challenged him, and was proud of the progress he’d made since, with Victor’s help.

“I didn’t know how to fight,” he said. “I do now.”

“What were you doing in all those Immersion games if you weren’t fighting?”

Yuuri stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“You and your cheat codes. Know what I think? You’re nothing but a fixture. A loser who Celestino pulled out of his hole and talked into going on a one-way mission to a time and place he knew hardly anything about, searching for someone who could fry him with a gun in a second.”

That _did _hit close to home, and Yuuri felt the sting, but then Phichit’s voice said, “That’s not true. Yuuri’s the bravest person I’ve ever known.”

“Thanks, Phichit,” he said quietly.

Victor stepped toward Ailis, grimly aiming his gun at her chest. “You will cease the insults and attempts to change the subject when you’re asked a question, or you may find this interview ends very quickly with an unfavourable outcome for you.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden commotion outside caught their attention – buzzing and the scream of laser-gun fire; bright blue flashes through the air. A black hovercar emerged in the sky from behind the building at speed, followed by a police car opening fire. The driver of the black car was clearly a skilled pilot, however, and dodged and wove around the laser beams. When it flew over the roof of a building that was in a likely position to be the Hinduja Suites, gunfire shot from all four of the car’s open windows, strafing everything below it. Then the vehicle rapidly disappeared from sight, pouring on speed, with the police car continuing in pursuit.

A funereal silence followed. Eventually Ailis broke it. “They’d naturally be hijacking cars to try to get away from the red death, wouldn’t they? And the tiny number of filthy rich people in charge of it all don’t care. I can tell you from firsthand experience as Megan Huxley and the baroness. All they want is to soak the commoners for whatever they can get so that they can compete with each other over who has the biggest place to live, the most expensive jewellery, the most servants. Depressing, isn’t it, how this society seems to go full circle in almost 700 years. What do you say, Yuuri? Does it disgust you to drink out of gold goblets, wear silks and dyed fabrics that cost more than many people make in a lifetime, and dine on medieval haute cuisine twice a day every day? Or have your delicate modern sensibilities been overridden by the pleasures of it all?”

Victor was still pointing his gun at her chest. “I haven’t noticed you turning any of it down, madam,” he said.

“Well I hardly could as the lady of the manor, could I? My point is that it could all be stopped in 1393 by someone with enough knowledge and power to do it. The stupidity, the unfairness, the abuse of the lower classes. And yes, that person could be me. I intended to become queen of England.”

The three of them stared at her. Victor backed up to lean against the window, disbelief on his face. It was Phichit who spoke first, his voice cutting through the stunned silence.

“No way – are you serious?”

“The exact response I expected,” she replied acidly. “But this is what you wanted to know, isn’t it? What I was planning to do. I’m telling you now. Being a baroness is a wealthy, pampered existence, but it’s not real power. Why settle for that when I could see it’d be possible to set my sights higher – as high as they could go?”

Victor straightened, rubbing at his injured arm, while Yuuri took this in. Could she really have done it – become queen? He glanced at Emil, who looked back with a mystified expression and a small shake of his head.

“And how exactly was this meant to come about,” Victor asked her, “when the king already has a queen, and you’re ostensibly married to Andrei?” Then understanding chased across his face, at the same time as it struck Yuuri as well. “You weren’t going to – ”

“Kill them with the plague,” Yuuri jumped in. “The perfect murder weapon. Isn’t that right?”

“A sacrifice for the greater good of the people,” she answered; and Yuuri heard a faint _Oh my God _from the com. “My assistant Ian, while he was still cooperating, told me that Queen Anne dies of plague next year. It’d hardly make a difference to move it forward a year; the only thing of real historical significance she ever did was marry the king.”

“It’s said that the king loves his queen,” Victor told her sternly. “As for my father – you’ve lived with him all these months, however distasteful it is to say. And this is how you would deal with him?”

She looked at him levelly. “After everything he’s coerced you into doing over the years, would you honestly mourn for him?”

Victor blinked. “He’s my father.”

Yuuri asked her, “So how does your idea of encouraging Victor to ‘develop an interest in the king’ fit into all this?”

Victor wrinkled his brow, turning to him. “What?”

“That’s what she told me over the com while I was in the sickroom, when she said she had you at her lab and wanted me to come.”

Victor faced her again, eyes flashing. “Is that what you were referring to when we spoke in my tent in Doncaster? You seemed disappointed I hadn’t paid more attention to the king. Were you…did you expect…”

“You were meant to be insurance,” she told him. “If the king was more inclined toward you than me for his pleasures, I was going to offer you to him, on the condition that he marry me.”

Yuuri leaned forward in his chair, a hot bubble fit to burst in his chest. “You were going to _offer _Victor to the king – like a sacrifice?”

“You talk as if it’s some terrible crime, Yuuri. It’s politics. In case you hadn’t noticed, most every marriage between nobles in the Middle Ages is an arranged one. Besides, Victor’s only a little older than the king, and he’s very striking – aren’t you?” She slanted a look at him, but he frowned and held his silence. “I thought at first that it was a realistic possibility, since he didn’t appear to have a regular partner. The potential to have one of the most powerful men in the world, young and handsome, as a lover – why would Victor refuse? Of course, I’ve learned since then that he has no ambition. But that wasn’t the main problem.”

“The main problem,” Victor said, “as I perceive it, is sitting in front of me.”

“Very witty. You see, Sir Justin showed up and caught his eye,” she continued as she looked at Yuuri. “I should’ve realised it wouldn’t take much, if the rumours are true about him having a string of lovers a mile long.”

Victor appeared affronted by this, and Yuuri shoved it to the side. For someone with three guns trained on her, Ailis didn’t seem to be worried about stepping on anyone’s toes; in fact, she was taking bone-crunching aim. Could it be possible that she didn’t much care whether she lived or died?

“I hoped he’d just get tired of Justin like he had with the others,” she continued. “But as time went by, that looked less likely. I would have killed him myself, and if I had, oh how different things would have been. An obvious mistake. But I thought the upcoming duel was handy, that you had no chance against Tyler, and that he’d tidily do my work for me. I was continually reassessing the circumstances in the meantime, and unfortunately it was clear that Victor had no interest in the king, or anyone else apart from Justin – he even scorned that pathetic earl who was chasing after him in Doncaster. While I was waiting for my unwitting assassin to get rid of the competition, then, Justin had obviously gone deeper in Victor’s affections than I’d anticipated. Very inconvenient.”

Part of Yuuri was pleased about this, part was uncomfortable with these revelations of what had happened in Doncaster, and yet another part was wondering how to speed the interview up. True, he was interested in what had been going through Ailis’s mind all this time; but having been allowed the scope to elaborate on that, she was also finding opportunities to strike back at them.

“So at that point,” she said, “I knew any hope I had of Victor being instrumental in gaining the king’s favour was gone. Besides, as I was increasingly suspicious that Justin was you, that became my main reason for wanting you killed in the duel.”

It was a strange experience, Yuuri thought, having this conversation with someone who’d wished him dead in both of his identities for months; listening to her explain how she’d planned it and why. He wondered if it felt the same to Victor, who’d received similar treatment from her. And what Emil was making of it all. He was following each speaker with wide eyes.

“You told me you let me live as long as you did because you wanted a ‘harmonious family’,” he said.

She gave him a grim smile. “A delightfully dysfunctional one, wouldn’t you say? A brooding son grieving for his lover was no use to me; best to delay that as long as possible.”

“All you see in people is how they could serve you, as if you were planning moves on a chessboard,” Victor said to her.

She huffed a laugh. “That’s how the rich and powerful _run _this society, as if you weren’t in a position to know full well. They all plot and scheme. Don’t try to tell me it surprises you. Or that you haven’t done it yourself. I heard how you both pulled that snow job on the Duke of York and the archbishop. Nice work, by the way. Congratulations.”

Victor shifted his injured arm again and said, “I find it difficult to understand why you were so confident that the king would marry you once you’d killed his wife and my father – let alone how you could contemplate such evil deeds in the first place. You do realise that Natalia is more than twice Richard’s age?”

She shrugged. “My projection may be fifty-odd years old, but I – the real me – don’t look a day over thirty, do I?”

Victor raised his brow. “You were going to show him who you are?” 

“Reveal myself, along with my tech, yes.” She looked at Yuuri. “Like you obviously did to my son here.”

“Don’t call me that,” Victor said.

“Besides,” she went on, “if Richard was immune to my personal charms – unlikely as that may be – I brought quite a few laser guns with me.”

Victor’s mouth dropped open. “You were going to put those at his disposal? How could you contemplate such an act?”

Yuuri added, “I’d like to know, too. If anyone is living proof that it’s dangerous for people to travel in time, it’s you. I don’t know if I could come up with a more irresponsible idea than going back 728 years and arming a king with laser guns. Were you just keen to find out what would happen? Did you consider the possible consequences? Because some of them are already occurring to me – ”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Ailis snapped, her cheeks flushing red as she gripped the arms of her chair.

Victor stepped forward with his gun. “Control yourself, madam. I wouldn’t hesitate to stun you and carry you all the way to the prison once the streets were clear.”

She trembled, her eyes sparking. “Don’t bloody remind me of the pitiful disregard your time has for women.” Then she turned back to Yuuri. “I told you – I intended to become queen. So yes, believe it or not, I did think it all through before I acted.” With a deep breath, she settled back into her chair. “I’d be the one in charge of the tech, including laser guns. The king and his men would only get what I gave them. He and I would be armed, and we’d have an armed guard. Any other guns that went astray – ”

Yuuri interrupted, “A single one that went astray could be enough to change the course of history.” 

“You’ve hardly been worried about sharing guns with your feudal friends, have you? Anyway, I’m already talking about changing history myself – for the better.” She glanced around the room, and her gaze settled on Victor. “You don’t know what sugar is, do you?” Then Emil. “Or you.”

“What’s that got to do with this?” Yuuri asked.

She continued to look at the others. “It may surprise you to hear that this little island is going to be the head of a worldwide empire one day.”

“Yuuri explained that to us,” Emil said.

She turned to Yuuri with a raised eyebrow. “Educating them about the future, are you, time cop? I wonder what else you’ve told them.” Then to Emil and Victor, “That empire was built on the backs of millions of slaves. Many of them Africans forcibly taken from their homes and sent to be worked to death in other countries.” She gestured around the room. “Companies like this made a fortune from it, extracting the sweet juice from crops that were planted in tropical places, though of course sugar wasn’t the only commodity involved.” Seemingly satisfied with the looks of horrified astonishment on their faces, she addressed Yuuri again. “As queen, I’d be aware of these things and could try to prevent them; initiate changes that meant this country followed a completely different path and never developed an appetite for empire. Can you seriously tell me the world was a better place for the torture and genocide of countless people?”

“Of course not,” Yuuri replied. “But even if that was possible, Britain wasn’t the only country that had an empire. Other countries could just step into the vacuum. Spain, Portugal, France, the Netherlands – ”

“Maybe this one could become such an inspiration to the rest of the world that they’d reconsider too. Who knows how it would play out?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Anyone could travel back in time with the aim of trying to make the world a better place. Maybe they’d even succeed to an extent. But there’s no telling how future events would rearrange themselves, or what terrible things might happen that were completely unforeseen. The world and its history aren’t a playground for a single person to experiment with, Ailis.”

Her expression soured. “Listen to you, as if you’re their custodian. I’m the foremost authority on temporal physics. You’re nobody. And I say I could make this country a beacon of egalitarianism.”

Yuuri wondered how a genius could be in such denial of the reality of a situation. It was surely an indication of mental illness – as if that hadn’t been clear by now already. But while they were stuck here together, he might as well make another attempt to point out the flaws in her logic.

“How would that even work if you were queen? Aside from the fact that the position itself is by definition non-egalitarian, the most powerful people in the country are nobles who wouldn’t want to give up their positions or money.”

“One day at a time. I’ve got the guns. They don’t. I’d say that would be some pretty powerful persuasion. Can you imagine how many knights one laser gun alone could fry?”

“And how exactly does this go along with what you said about not wanting to kill anyone?”

“They’re deterrents as well as weapons.”

Yuuri gave a small huff. “You can’t plot to kill a baron and a queen and claim you did it to defend yourself. You weren’t defending yourself, either, when you let the plague loose at the castle. You know what I see from where I’m sitting? Someone who likes prodding a stick into an ants’ nest, just for a bit of entertaining mindless cruelty, just because she can. That’s what you think of the people here. You complain about how the wealthy treat others, but there’s no humanity in your own actions – which Victor also made a point of telling you.”

She gripped the sides of her chair again, her face a mask of fury; Victor stiffened his posture, keeping his gun poised. “Then maybe you should get off your sodding high horse for a moment,” she bit out, “and look at it from _my _point of view, which I’ve been trying to explain to you the whole time. I don’t _want _to see all these extreme inequalities in the Middle Ages, or in the 2070s. I know how much better it is in our time, in countries like this one. It shouldn’t have to take 728 years, and so many wars, to get there. You don’t believe I have what it takes to be a queen?” She folded her arms across her chest. “I say I do. I have a brilliant mind. I’m able to make difficult decisions – sometimes people get hurt, and that’s regrettable, but necessary. I know what’s going to happen in the years to come, and can capitalise on that or take preventative measures; guide this country into better times. Not bad for someone who’s been shovelling shit for most of her life, is it?”

Yuuri felt he’d heard enough about what a wonderful queen she’d make, but her final sentence caught him off guard when he considered what he knew about her. “What do you mean?” he asked.

In a calmer voice, she said, “Didn’t Celestino debrief you before you went on your little trip? Or did he not even pay me that much courtesy?”

Yuuri dredged the information from his memory. “You lived in Surga most of your life. Your father died when you were young, and you and your mother lived with a wealthy British expat family. You married Dr. Brian Sanderson, a British epidemiologist, when you were seventeen, and you travelled around the archipelago together, but four years later he died, and you almost did. Of an unknown disease you described to me at the cottage as being worse than the plague; you only got updated nanobots just in time. You used the money your husband left you to return to England and study at Cambridge. That’s…what I know.”

She eyed him. “You sound like a potted encyclopaedia. Read between the pages.” Sitting back, she continued, “I always missed my childhood home back in Portsmouth. Things would’ve been very different if we’d stayed there, I think. But Dad took us to Surga with his job as a botanist. Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad, apart from the fact that he was shot dead by a jack he owed money to, because he’d made some shady investments – without telling us, of course. Which meant _we _owed the money, to him and several other people besides. We practically gave them the shirts off our backs, Yuuri, to pay it all off.” After a pause, she continued, “Do you know what Surga’s like? It’s one of the last outposts in the world where the super-rich are allowed to exploit people and resources with impunity. If you’re stuck there without an income, God help you. I’d be surprised if a rebellion didn’t start there soon, just like we’re seeing here in Immersion.

“By the way, I’m telling you private stuff that no one’s ever heard about in its entirety before. Maybe I shouldn’t; I doubt you really understand much of what I’ve already said. But it’s about time someone knew, if all that’s available in my bio is what you parroted back to me.”

Yuuri considered what she’d said. They’d been impoverished? But then they’d met the expat family…He asked himself why any of this information was of interest to him. And the answer that came to him was that he’d been wondering the whole time what had driven someone with so much potential and talent to become the person sitting in front of him now, who was willing to kill with plague bacteria. And maybe it would be important in making a decision about what to do with her. 

He glanced at Victor and then the window. Victor looked out, then back at him, shaking his head. It seemed they had time. “I’m listening,” Yuuri said to her.

“How magnanimous of you. Well, there was certainly no money left to go back to England; my parents sold the house when we moved to Surga. We couldn’t even afford plane tickets. My mother, bless her lazy soul, had hardly worked a day in her life up to that point, and jobs were scarce. So what she did in the house of that wealthy expat, she and I both, was become servants – though in actuality we were slaves. Because that was how they were free to treat their staff. They beat us; made us go without food or water when they were…displeased. No authorities there would’ve been interested; my mother’s Irish and I’m English, and the nearest consulates were I don’t know how many hundreds of kilometers away.”

A chill tingled through Yuuri as he listened. He’d imagined her and her mother perhaps feeling glad that they’d found other expats to live with in Surga, and being content with them to a degree, though the fact that she’d married at seventeen had hinted at a desire to leave. She had to have got some interest or background in science and tech, and he’d assumed the family had encouraged her, perhaps even acted as patrons or foster parents. But this…?

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She appeared momentarily surprised, as if she hadn’t expected to be interrupted. “What for?”

“No one should be treated like that. I’m sorry it happened to you.”

“The last thing I need is anyone’s pity, especially yours,” she returned, looking down and fiddling with a bracelet – no doubt her com – underneath her sleeve. After a moment, she resumed her story. “So when Brian came to visit the family I worked for, I made sure he liked me. Enough to want to take me away. My teenage brain thought it had done something clever, when in reality he was the one who’d scored. You want to know why? Because he treated me like shit, too. He was just waiting for the chance.”

There was venom in her voice now, Yuuri thought. None of this information altered any of the things she’d done at the castle, but it seemed to offer a glimpse into her rationale. Not everyone who suffered as she had ended up becoming a criminal, but he wondered what chance there’d ever been of her living anything like a normal life.

“What’s more,” she was saying, “he didn’t take me back to England like he’d promised; instead, he dragged me to the poorest parts of the region so he could study infectious diseases there. Some rescue, huh?” She looked at them all, and they returned her gaze silently. “You did ask what I’d meant by shovelling shit most of my life. Can’t you imagine how a girl who’d lived through all that would want to dream big, when she knew she was intelligent and had potential? Despite his many grievous faults, Brian began to unlock it. The money he left for me in his will, which I used to return to England and study at Cambridge, did the rest.”

“What do you mean, began to unlock it?” Yuuri asked her.

“He was my first real teacher.” She gave him a humourless smirk. “In oh so many ways. The main thing he did was teach me how to be a scientist. I was his assistant.” She huffed. “He was impressed by what a fast learner I was. As if studying diseases was anything complicated, once the information was there in front of me. Given a little more time, I might’ve even worked out how not to be killed by one, without nanobots. But as you know, once I discovered my affinity for working with tech, that was my chief interest. Brian didn’t have much to do with that, apart from the fact that I was able to use his lab apparatus, and he bought me things like qubit processors to play with. Even a pet gets a toy once in a while.”

“But…” Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “You studied electronics and physics at Cambridge and got a doctorate in four years.”

She stared quietly at him, then said, “Yes, I did. Amazing what you can learn from the Cloud and a few textbooks, and taking things apart and putting them back together. I realised in Brian’s lab just how good I was at certain things.”

“That’s incredible.”

The corner of her mouth quirked; the beginning of what was perhaps a genuine smile, though it quickly faded. “Maybe to you. But to bring this back to the point I was making before, which obviously filled all of you with such horror.” She turned to Victor. “You’ve lorded it over the peasants all your life, but do you know what it’s like to live as one? I have a pretty good idea myself. And I have the brains, the means, and the ambition to help them in ways you never could or would, if I were queen.”

“You’re making a great many assumptions,” Victor murmured.

Yuuri could guess at much that lay behind his remark; Ailis knew very little about the man whose mother she’d pretended to be. He said to her, “So your solution is to kill whoever stands in your way.”

“Two people, yes.” She paused. “You and I are from a more civilised time. Don’t you see what’s around you at the castle and beyond, and wonder how people could live and behave like that? I wouldn’t say I’m stirring up an ants’ nest, as you put it. But you can’t tell me you haven’t been astounded by the ignorance and horrific actions they’re capable of.”

“No more so than anyone,” he replied. “Take someone from our time, put them in another environment, and it might bring out the worst in them.” He gave her a pointed look.

“Speak for yourself, knight.” Another pause. “You know we have things to teach them. You’ve obviously done some of that already with these feudals here. We can _lead _them, Yuuri. You could almost say it’s our natural place to do so.” 

Victor raised an eyebrow and appeared to bite back an initial remark. Instead, he said, “Yuuri’s shared his thoughts with me about being here, and how different it sometimes is from what he’s used to. I like to think I’ve learned from that. But I must say I’m finding it difficult to reconcile this…superiority you profess to have with your desire to kill in order to usurp power.”

Her mouth twitched. “Usurp? Hardly. Besides, I keep telling you, it’s for the greater good.”

“Whose, other than yours?”

“Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?” she replied heatedly. “I insisted from the beginning of this wretched interview that you wouldn’t understand. _None_ of you do.” Settling back into her chair, she took a deep breath and made a distracted attempt to straighten her hair. Yuuri was deliberating on his next words when she met his gaze, her features more composed, and said, “Well, gentlemen, we’re back to my opening question. What are you going to do with your…captive monster?”

Yuuri looked at Victor, whose face was drawn. “I’m not a killer,” he said quietly to him. “I never intended to be. If the alternative is to make sure she doesn’t cause trouble in this time period, so be it. What do you think? As long as she’s here, your mother’s trapped in the future. She was going to kill you, your father, and the queen.”

“And you and Julia and Emil,” Victor added. He gave a quiet sigh, shutting his eyes and considering.

They should have discussed this before now, they really should have, Yuuri thought; but there had been no telling what the circumstances would be when they finally caught up to her. Was that a legitimate reason for leaving a decision until now…or an excuse?

Victor opened his eyes, looking at Ailis, then back at Yuuri. “I could’ve shot her after she gave me the antidote to the poison. I decided then that I wouldn’t, and I haven’t changed my mind. I don’t want to be a killer, either. But, Yuuri…it _is _my belief that she should be brought to justice.”

“We can’t hold her captive.” He’d already imagined the horrors of trying to make such a scenario work.

“I agree.”

“But who else would deal out justice here, and how? She’s not one of the villeins on your estate.”

“Take her com. She won’t have a projector then. Take all of her guns and tech away, too. Then we banish her from the castle to fare how she will.”

“But she still has knowledge of the future, and one of the brightest scientific minds in history. She could still cause trouble.”

Ailis quickly said, “You’re talking about me as if I weren’t even here. Don’t I get a say in this?”

“I don’t see why you should,” Victor replied. “You’re the prisoner.”

“Prisoner?”

“And you’ve done many villainous things.”

“Flatterer,” she shot at him.

“Ailis,” Yuuri jumped in, “what _do _you want?”

She scowled. “What I’ve always wanted. To be left alone.”

“But what you’ve done and what you intended to do involve criminal acts. You must realise that’s why Celestino sent three agents after you.”

“If you kick me out of the castle with nothing, like _he_ suggested, you’ve as good as killed me anyway. What am I supposed to do in order to live, go pick up a hoe and start ploughing a field? I’m a scientist, not a peasant.”

Yuuri rested his forehead against his hand. He was tired. His mouth was dry, his muscles aching. And he was the only one of them who wasn’t injured; he expected they were faring rather worse. How could they resolve this impasse? He had no experience in making decisions of this kind. Which gave him an idea.

“Victor,” he said, “imagine she’s been brought to your manorial court. What would you take into consideration in her case, in order to make a judgement?”

He shook his head. “Realistically, I’d give the case to someone else, because I wouldn’t trust myself to be unbiased.”

Ailis chuckled grimly. “A bit of honesty. How refreshing.”

“_You_, madam, are the queen of lies,” Victor rejoined, his jaw set. “You took my mother’s place, everyone around you unknowing, and sent her to do the same thing you fear for yourself – begin a new life in a strange place with nothing. Only, her position was more desperate, because this time period is history to you, which you knew about beforehand.” His voice grew louder. “But that was only the beginning of your crimes, which have impacted myself, the people I love, my comrades, everyone around me. You’d have me dead. And Yuuri. Before I met him, if I’d sat in judgement of you, I would not have hesitated to sentence you to death.”

Silence fell. Yuuri could feel Victor’s simmering anger through his words and expression, and his own answered it.

Eventually Ailis said to Victor, “I didn’t have any strong feelings against you before today. But I’ve learned what I should’ve realised in the first place – you’re merciless and cruel. A true Nikiforov, I might add.”

“You do me an injustice.”

“Like you’re not doing the same to me?”

Yuuri said to him, “So putting aside as much bias as you can, what would your judgement be if death wasn’t an option?”

The anger that flashed in Victor’s blue eyes was aimed at _him_ this time, and it pierced Yuuri to his heart. “Why do you ask me such a question?” His voice was quiet, but betrayed his emotion. “This is your mission; what you were sent here to do. You have an understanding of her that eludes me, both of you being from the same time.”

“I’m not trying to pass responsibility for this onto you,” Yuuri said, feeling his cheeks pink as they exchanged these words in front of two other people. God, they really should have discussed this before now. And come to think of it, he _had _just asked Victor to decide this himself, in a way. “She’s been here, living in this world. You know more about her now; we both do. You’ve presided over serious cases, and you understand how that process works.” _I really need your help with this._

To his relief, as Victor held his gaze and seemed to read the plea there, the blue eyes softened. He appeared to reflect for a moment, then said, “You’ve told me something of how justice works in your own time. Attitudes toward criminals, even the ones who do the most terrible things. But if we decided she was a danger to other people, we couldn’t keep her in isolation. You may have such facilities where you come from. All we have are dungeons.”

“Don’t you dare think about it,” Ailis jumped in. “You both agreed you wouldn’t lock me up.”

“I’m not,” Victor told her shortly. He ran his bandaged hand through his hair and looked at Yuuri. “It seems to me that there are two perspectives from which to approach such a case: vengeance and compassion. I don’t believe vengeance is the same as true justice, or as effective. So I’d ask myself what she’s done to earn compassion.”

Yuuri thought about his words, and had decided on a reply when Victor continued, “But you’d tell me that compassion isn’t earned; it’s freely given. Would you not?”

His heart suddenly lighter, Yuuri gave him a small grin and nodded.

After a pause, Victor turned to Ailis. “Your life up to now has featured cruelty and hardship, and I’d hope you’d be willing to take this as an opportunity to cease inflicting those things on others yourself, and start over in some way that would be beneficial to you and those around you.” Then he said to Yuuri, “But I confess I don’t know how we can go about arranging this for her. There are possibilities for learning a trade, though they’re limited for women.”

“Learning a trade?” Ailis echoed, glaring at him. “You mean making quack potions, or spending my time brewing beer, or shivering in some market stall all day? I invented _time travel_, and you expect me to want to spend the rest of my life doing that rubbish and be happy about it? I’ll tell you where you can stick your _compassionate justice_.”

Wracking his brain for answers, through the fatigue of the day and the impasse with Ailis, Yuuri wondered if there might be the germ of an idea in Victor’s suggestion. Something bold and new that no one had mentioned yet. “You said you wanted to help people here; make their lives better,” he said to her. “There are ways you could do that which don’t involve seizing power, or violence or threats.”

Ailis smirked. “What have you got in mind now? ‘Get thee to a nunnery’?”

“Think, Ailis,” he said, leaning forward. “There _are _alternatives. Make use of your knowledge to enable the people here to use electricity. Solar power. Even the internal magnetic coil.” Imagining it, he felt excitement swell inside of him. “You could bring clean power to the world before it goes down avenues that will pollute the planet and cause climate change and mass extinctions.”

Phichit’s voice jolted him. “Yuuri, are you serious?”

“Why not?” he said, swept up in the beauty of it. A way forward at last; one that just required some lateral thinking. “Maybe changing history isn’t such a bad thing if it goes in a positive direction.”

“Well, because you said yourself that anyone could travel back in time hoping to make the world a better place, but there’s no telling how future events would change, what unexpected negative consequences there might be. ‘The world and its history aren’t a playground for a single person to experiment with,’ you said. Speaking for myself, I thought that sounded really sensible.”

Yuuri felt deflated as he listened to his own logic repeated back to him, and his cheeks pinked as he looked around the room. Victor and Emil’s expressions were contemplative, while Ailis had raised an eyebrow. “I…did say that,” he finally answered. But the part of him that had latched onto the possibilities he’d spelled out, and loved them, didn’t want to give up just yet. “Maybe there can be exceptions. I mean, clean energy – enabling the world to bypass all the terrible consequences of digging fuel out of the ground and burning it – ”

“Just hear me out, Yuuri, OK?” Phichit said. “I mean, can you tell me how that’s any different from Ailis saying she wants to be queen so she can prevent Britain from building an empire? Because on the face of it, your suggestions sound pretty ting. But what if, I don’t know, people used the clean energy to make really powerful weapons that didn’t exist in the Middle Ages, and wiped each other out with them? What if the nobles used it to turn the country into some kind of totalitarian state, where they really did keep people as slaves?”

“You’ve been watching too much sci-fi,” Yuuri muttered, his cheeks still stained.

“I’m serious – ”

“I know. I…you’re right. I was right. Of course. It’s just such a wonderful idea, you know? When you think of how this society could be transformed – in good ways.”

“If I may dip an oar into this conversation,” Ailis said, “I’d argue that you’re finally seeing some sense, Yuuri. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make people’s lives better.”

Which only served to evoke a flutter of unease in his stomach. _I know why I’m here. To stop Ailis from tinkering with time. But then,_ _I’ve already done it myself in small ways. Just the fact of my presence here takes that risk. There’s no preventing a time traveller from changing things. The question, then, is where to draw the line at making those changes, and what they should be._

It would take wiser philosophers than him to wrestle with this; he and Ailis were floundering in uncharted waters. _I just have to do the best I can. I hope Phichit understands._

“But I prefer my way to yours,” Ailis was saying. “The tech here is primitive. Can you imagine what kind of uphill struggle I’d have to go through in order to create the simplest machines, and then convince people they’re not witchcraft? No, that’s not an avenue I’d want to pursue.”

But another option had already presented itself, which might appeal to her particular interests. “If you don’t want to make things, then,” Yuuri said, “why not become the country’s – the world’s, even – most enlightened doctor? Teach people about hygiene and bacteria. Build the first microscope and show them. That’s one way you could stop the plague from spreading. Be the angel of life.”

She took this in, staring at him, then said, “You blow hot and cold, don’t you? I don’t think you and your friends in 2121 even agree with each other about what you think it’s OK to do or not to do while you’re here. All these noble deeds you’re suggesting to me – would you honestly do any of them yourself?”

Yuuri considered. He _had _done them, several of them, on a very small scale. Would he attempt them on a larger one? And when he thought about the practicalities and implications, should he really have been telling Ailis to do them? There was a vast chasm, he saw, between the dream of a better past and its realisation.

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Ailis spoke into the silence. “For the same reason you haven’t told all the people here whose fates Phichit can look up for you on the Cloud when and how they’re destined to die, and given them a chance to avoid it. Because you’re afraid of altering history. So don’t give me advice you wouldn’t follow yourself. Makes you look a wee bit hypocritical.” 

Yuuri could feel the loss of the moment; the bright star of possibility that had blazed across the sky and quickly faded. There would be no magnetic coils, no common knowledge of bacteria in 1393. He massaged his forehead as it rested against his hand.

_Of course there won’t be. All I’ve done is make an ass of myself. Because I was desperate to find a solution, desperate to get out of here, desperate to have a drink and a rest. And desperation isn’t exactly conducive to good decision-making._

_Fuck. Are we ever going to resolve this?_

He looked at Ailis. “You were willing to make huge changes yourself,” he said, “but none of the options that have been mentioned appeal to you. Why is that?”

She thought about this, then said, “I suppose I didn’t believe anyone would listen to me unless I was in a powerful position.”

Victor, who had been following the conversation keenly, said, “You could be. My family would be able to set you up so that you lived comfortably and could petition the king.”

She laughed heartily. “You’d trust me that much, would you?”

He had no answer and looked somewhat abashed. Yuuri wondered if the wildly optimistic brainstorming he’d engaged in had inspired Victor to try to come up with new ideas too, and he loved him for being willing to so tenaciously involve himself with the problem before them. 

“Besides,” Ailis continued, “there’s something to be said for showing this world that women are just as capable as men. I don’t want _sponsors _or _chaperones_, I don’t need a husband giving or withholding permission for me to do something, I don’t even need a king or his silly laws to tell me what’s best for this country. Queen Ailis – that’s where the real power is. Only, that’s not going to happen now, is it? If you get your way.” She shifted her gaze between them both. “So for the third time, what’s it going to be for me? A _compassionate _hanging? Stoning? Drowning? Sword through the gut? Or just a quick and easy gun blast? There are endless creative ways to kill a person here.”

“We’re not going to kill you,” Yuuri told her.

“You didn’t seem so sure of that at first. You had the green light, you said.”

“Yuuri,” came Phichit’s voice, “um, I’ve been able to get hold of Celestino in London and arrange for him to listen in. He’s with Anisha Shaikh, the head of MI8, and she says she wants to talk to Ailis.”

Yuuri was taken aback by the revelation of an invisible network of people who’d been party to the conversation. If he’d known they were there, he was sure he would have had difficulty finding the confidence to deal with this in his own way. Perhaps Phichit knew him well enough to guess the same, which was why his com had been silent most of the time.

“She wants to talk to _Ailis_?”

“Yuuri, hello,” came a voice he recognised as Celestino’s. “We think we might be able to help you find a way forward. OK if I put Anisha over the connection?”

Yuuri scooted his chair closer to Ailis’s. “Go ahead.” He extended his arm so that his hand was gripping the edge of the wood, but he wasn’t about to give his com to her.

“Ailis? This is Anisha. I understand you’re in the custody of Professor Celestino’s agent, Yuuri Katsuki.” Her voice was smooth and polished; she’d clearly rehearsed what she was going to say.

“He and his friends are pointing guns at me, if that’s what you mean. I’ve been harassed the entire time I’ve been here, and I’d like to know by whose authority they’ve done it – Celestino’s? Yours?”

“We’ll get to that in a moment. Are you otherwise safe?”

“We’re in an Immersion program. It’s going to take some time to extract ourselves. What do you want?”

“I’d like to say, before anything else, that I’ve seen your lab, and Professor Celestino and his assistant have told me about your achievements. I’m in no doubt that you’ve invented a time machine and are in the year 1393, and I have to say it’s incredible to be talking to you like this.”

A smile twitched at Ailis’s mouth. “Someone who appreciates me for once. Thank you. But you didn’t arrange with Celestino to speak with me just so you can tell me how juke my tech is.”

“In a way, Ailis, I did. We recognise your extraordinary talents and the great benefit they could be to the world. And while we’re aware of allegations of various crimes committed in the time you’ve travelled to, no court of law would be able to try you, much less convict you, for them, as you’re 728 years in the past. It’s an unprecedented situation. But now that you’re in a position to consider an…arrangement, shall we say, I can tell you that we’re willing to offer you amnesty if you return to this time.”

Yuuri glanced at Victor, whose eyes had widened. Amnesty – if she returned?

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Ailis asked.

“I’m rather limited by this method of communication, as I’m sure you can appreciate. So I’m going to have to ask you to take my word that we’d rather you were here, where humankind can benefit from your inventions, than that you were imprisoned or killed, or any of the other options the agent has given you.” A hint of awe crept into her voice. “We’ve been examining the notes and tech you left behind, but frankly they’ve been beyond us so far. What you’ve accomplished is quite possibly one of the most important inventions of all time.”

Ailis made a small throaty sound of acknowledgement that sounded mildly amused. 

“Do you, or could you, have the means to return?”

After a silence, Ailis said, “Possibly.”

Yuuri gave a start, and Victor did the same. Was it true? Was she bluffing?

“That’s good to hear. Ailis, at the risk of giving you a less than ideal connection, I’d like to let one more person join this conversation. She’s on a call with me from Portsmouth.”

“What?” Ailis whispered. “No, it can’t be…”

“Your mother, Grace. Is it all right if I put her on?”

Eventually she said, “A-All right, fine.”

Yuuri wondered what Anisha of MI8 was trying to achieve by this. From what Ailis had said, her relationship with her family had been complicated, and he wasn’t sure how well it would work as an incentive to make her want to return to 2121. It was also not the sort of thing people usually did in front of an audience; not one that was pointing guns at them.

“Ailis? Are you there?” The voice was soft and high; breathy. And Anisha was right – after passing through however many transmitters, there was also a muffled, staticky quality to it. “It’s…um, it’s Mum.”

There was a long silence. “Well,” was all Ailis said eventually.

“How are you?” came the tentative response. “The lady from MI8 said you…you travelled in time, into the past. She was serious. Is that really where you are?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…well. I don’t know what to say.”

“Why did Anisha find you to put you on a call with me, Mum? Did she tell you?”

“She thought I’d like to talk to you. I can’t believe we’re doing it across all those years. And you invented this calling device, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m proud of you, colleen,” Grace said with a sigh. Yuuri thought her accent sounded like a mixture of faded Irish with possibly an Indonesian lilt. But an emotional reunion this was not, and the discomfort in the voices of both women was seeping into him as he listened.

“I’ve been living in Portsmouth for several years now,” Grace continued. “With an Indian man, Dalvir Singh. We got married in Surga and then came here. He’s a good man, Ailis. I’d like for you to be able to meet him, and I know he wants to meet you.”

“You…married a Sikh? But you’re Catholic.”

“He’s a good man, colleen. And kind. I’ve never been happier.”

She told Ailis more about her life in Portsmouth with her husband, while Yuuri felt his stomach knot itself. Grace spoke as if she had to force the words up and out, raw and exposed, waiting for censure; they quivered uncertainly in the air. Emil and Victor were both pale, their postures slumped. _What I wouldn’t give to be in our room in the castle with you right now, _Yuuri thought. _Both of you. Away from all this. _But they had Ailis at gunpoint, and surely they’d be able to leave Immersion soon.

_Then what, Yuuri? Then what? Where will Ailis be tonight? Locked somewhere in the castle? Sent back to 2121, if she really does have the means? And how would that work? Could she go on her own without me?_ His mind spun with half-formed possibilities, all of them biting at him. He wished he could talk to Victor alone; his face was giving nothing away, but Yuuri thought he could see a shadow of worry in his eyes.

Grace had moved on to the time she and Ailis had spent in the expats’ house in Surga, and her voice wavered occasionally. “I’m so sorry it happened, colleen. All of it. If I’d been able to afford a translator, maybe I would’ve stood a better chance at getting a job; I never did speak Indonesian or Hindi very well. Dalvir and I talk in English most of the time. But I wanted you to know that I could always see it was hard for you, and I felt like such a failure. I didn’t blame you for going with Brian.”

“You don’t need to apologise, Mum,” Ailis replied quietly. “We were poor, and stranded. Dad left us in impossible circumstances.”

Another silence. Then Grace said, “Why haven’t I heard from you for so long? Did you…did you not want to find me? I didn’t know that Brian had died, or that you were back in England. The MI8 lady told me.”

“I was angry. I wanted to get away. If you could understand anything, I thought it would be that.”

“And you’re still running, aren’t you? Oh, Ailis.” A papery sigh. “You ran so far this time that there might be no coming back, from what I hear. But if you can, if there’s any possibility, then I’d give anything to see you again, pet. Give me the chance to try to make things up to you. I promise I’ll do my best.”

Anisha’s voice emerged from the com next. “Ailis, when we heard about your trip through time, we managed to trace your mother to her current whereabouts in Portsmouth, and she expressed a wish, as you’ve just heard, to see you. And my own offer of amnesty still stands. It’s my hope that these things will give you the incentive to return to this time. Does that interest you? You said you might possibly have the means – would you be willing to elaborate on that?”

Ailis considered, then said, “There are several damaged time-travel spheres in my possession. I believe I could repair the necessary component if I cannibalised some parts from the other tech I brought with me.”

Yuuri’s heart began to race. She’d never hinted at this before. Was it the truth? If repairing the spheres had been a possibility all along, why hadn’t she done it? Had she been waiting to see where her plans for the baroness went first?

“Can more than one person use a sphere?” Anisha asked.

“No; according to my research, it would interfere with the flow of the timestream, and they’d both be ripped away and thrown into the vortex. This is all hypothetical until it’s been tested, of course, but I wouldn’t want to be the one to try it out.”

“Then can you repair two spheres?”

_You can’t expect me to go back with her, _Yuuri thought, swallowing in a dry throat. _But then, she’d need someone with her to ensure she remained in custody, wouldn’t she? Which is what I always knew, if I’m honest with myself. Shit…_

There was a pause, and Ailis replied, “I don’t see any reason why I couldn’t repair them all, given time. I have the two damaged spheres I brought; the one I used to get here, and a spare in case something went wrong with the first. The spheres that the previous two agents brought with them were either incinerated or lost, but presumably Yuuri has one, which makes three.”

_Three. _The word echoed in Yuuri’s head. _Three spheres. Three…_

“But as I understand it,” Anisha said, “there’d be no need for the third sphere, would there? If anyone used it, they’d swap places in time with someone. I hope you’ll agree it seems best to have a moratorium on that until – ”

Ailis huffed a laugh. “Do you really think I’d allow my timeline to keep getting tangled with someone else’s when I wanted to travel if there was a way to avoid it? None of you give me credit for the scientist I am; no one ever has. I haven’t spent all my time in this place making witch’s brews and sewing with my ladies-in-waiting.”

“You mean a swap would no longer be necessary?”

“While I considered how the repairs might be made,” Ailis answered, “I was also continuing my temporal studies with the limited means available to me in this environment. My most valuable research instrument, my brain, is still here and very much intact. Let’s just say I have reason to believe there are ways to establish temporal synchrony between point of origin and destination without the exchange of two physical bodies.”

“That’s good news,” Anisha said, this time with a hint of excitement in her voice. “Very good news indeed. Will you come back, Ailis?”

“I need some time. The repairs won’t be easy to make in the conditions here. I’m also placing a great deal of trust in you, for someone I haven’t even met.”

“I understand. Thank you. We’ll be in touch – I understand you have a com of your own that you can use to contact Professor Celestino or his assistant, and they’ll be able to put you through to me, or to your mother if you wish. In the meantime, however, you’ll need to accept that you’re in the custody of the agent there.”

“I don’t seem to have a choice.”

“I’m going to end the call now, Ailis. The professor’s assistant will remain on the line, and I’d like for you or Yuuri to keep him updated on your progress there today; he’ll pass the information on to us.”

There were other parting words before Anisha was gone, but Yuuri wasn’t listening. He had an idea. One he’d never thought possible. It grew in his mind, stirred his heart, and bounced around in his chest until he couldn’t contain it any longer. He looked at Victor with fire in his eyes. “Come with us,” he blurted. “Me, come with me.”

Victor gaped at him. “Come…come with you?”

“To 2121. I have to take Ailis back. But you could come, too. If…if you want.” His breath stuck in his throat as he awaited an answer.

Victor’s jaw worked, but sound came out. He looked down, and at the others in the room, and at Yuuri.

_Please, Victor, please. Then I can make sure Ailis gets to the authorities, and we can stay together. I know this is abrupt, it is for me too, but…oh God, please just say you’ll think about it…I know it’s a lot for you to give up, but…_

“Yes,” Victor said with a sudden surprised smile, as if he couldn’t believe the emphatic word had just escaped his lips. The smile widened as he continued to gaze at Yuuri, his eyes alight. “Yes. Yes, I’ll come with you.” He laughed. “Oh my love, how could I ever say no?”

Yuuri’s hand flew to his mouth and his eyes filled with tears. If one of them had proposed marriage, he didn’t think he’d be any more awash with relief and love and excitement. When he was able to speak, he lowered his hand and beamed at Victor. “I – I’ll be able to show you everything. Share all of it…” He laughed. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Begin with me. Together.” Victor’s chest rose and fell, and his cheeks showed some colour for the first time since he’d been injured.

“Does that mean you both would be accompanying Ailis back to the future?” Emil asked, looking from Victor to Yuuri.

_Oh…Emil, I’m sorry. _“It may be the only way,” Yuuri told him gently. “If Ailis went on her own, she could end up anywhere.”

“Ye of little faith,” she said. “I’d end up exactly where I meant to. And as for me being a ticket home for you and your boyfriend, the thought sickens me.”

There was a faraway look on Victor’s face as he leaned back against the window and gazed idly out. Yuuri smiled as he watched him, then turned back to Ailis.

“What did you think of – ” he began; but he didn’t finish the sentence because Victor had given a small gasp and stiffened.

“Yuuri, the red death is gone – and I can see Julia.”

“Emil, keep your gun pointed at Ailis,” Yuuri said quickly as he sprang out of his chair and dashed to the window. And it was true – he could see Julia’s blond bowl haircut, along with a white sleeveless sweater-top and marbled leggings. She clutched a laser gun in one hand while she darted down the street, flitting into doorways when she was presumably concerned about being seen.

“By all the saints and angels,” Victor breathed as they watched her. “She’s alive.”

Yuuri felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. “I wonder where she’s going. She seems to be moving with a definite purpose.” He considered. “The prison’s in that direction. She understands about Immersion; I explained to her and Emil both. Do you think – ”

“That she might have the same hope as we do? She’s a clever girl. It’s possible.” Victor smiled as he watched her.

Ailis called to them, “We have to go there, then – now! She can’t be allowed inside, all guns blazing.”

“She doesn’t have a gun,” Yuuri said. “Not a real one. Last I knew.”

“Even if she only has a sword – ” Ailis choked her words off. “Look, there are things in those cabinets that she mustn’t lay her hands on. Including real guns. She could wreak havoc.”

“Is your tech in there?” Yuuri asked. “The time-travel spheres?”

“Yes, all of it.” She glared at Victor. “It was bad enough when _he _started on it all earlier. Phichit told him to shoot, and he could’ve caused an inferno that incinerated every piece of tech I own. None of you feudals know what the hell you’re doing in a place like that.” To Yuuri, she added, “Even you wouldn’t.” She tried to stand, but Emil held his gun higher. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get over there!”

Yuuri went to Emil’s chair while Victor trained his gun on Ailis again. “Sir, you should go,” Emil said. “All of you. I daresay I’ll be safe up here, and if you’re able to turn the Immersion off, I’ll join you, uninjured. That’s correct, isn’t it?”

Yuuri nodded. “Yes.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I can’t keep slowing you down – not now.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to reply when a loud buzzing noise filled the room, accompanied a crash of glass and a blue flash. Victor jumped back from the exploding window while Yuuri and Emil shielded their eyes. When he lowered his arm, Yuuri’s heart leapt into his throat as he took in what had happened. A police van with an open side hatch had dropped down from above to hover immediately outside the shattered window. Three male and two female police officers stood in attack stances inside, armed and ready to fire. Victor, on the floor on all fours, twisted around to look.

“All of you, stay where you are!” one of the men shouted. “Madam Huxley, step into the van, please. The rest of you, drop your weapons and kick them away from you!”

They obeyed the instructions, Emil still in his chair, while Victor stood slowly and brushed glass out of his hair.

It seemed to Yuuri that the world collapsing around him. Everything he thought they’d had just a moment before – Ailis as their captive, a way to send her back to the future, himself accompanying her there with Victor – vaporised in a moment. So close, they’d been so close…

Would they even get out of this with their lives?

“You took your time,” Ailis said to the police as she picked her way carefully around the glass and entered the van. “I was beginning to think no one cared what was happening to me.”

The policeman next to her replied, “Two local security cameras took footage of you walking into this building with these gentlemen, who were holding you at gunpoint. You appeared to have been injured. Considering who you were with, however, we assumed it was a private matter until Mr. Flanagan contacted our department and, ah, insisted that we retrieve you. I’m sorry it took so long, madam, but rioters have been hijacking vehicles, and we’ve been shot at on several occasions. We had to ensure it was safe before we went in.”

Ailis gave Yuuri a cold smile. “I’m still in a privileged position in this game, it would seem.”

“If you please, madam,” the policeman said, “we need to leave. When I said it was safe, I meant for the moment. There’s a situation outside.”

“I’ll need you to drop me off down the road, but I want some time to talk to these people first.”

“Down the road?” the policeman echoed. “If you mean the Hinduja Suites – ”

“No, I mean the prison. Don’t ask me why, just do it.” She turned to Yuuri again as the police glanced uneasily at each other. “Did you really think I’d be happy to return to my own time?” she said, raising her voice, eyes sparking. “And with _you _as an escort? To be a slave for that condescending MI8 bitch or whoever wants to use my tech? They’d try to make me develop it, but I wouldn’t be free to use it myself. I wouldn’t have any say in who else uses it, either. If they’re even being honest and don’t plan on arresting me the minute I get back, which I doubt. That’s the last place I want to go; I’m astounded you could ever have thought so.”

_No, _Yuuri’s brain kept saying. _No, this isn’t happening. _He wondered what else she’d been bluffing about. With Ailis, there were always lies to be separated from the truth – but how to know which was which? Would she actually be able to repair any of the time-travel spheres, or had she just been saying that to get everyone off her back?

“And how _low _was that,” she carried on, “to put my long-lost mother over the com? I haven’t been in contact with her all these years because I didn’t _want _to be. I’m sure it didn’t take a genius to find out where she was. I didn’t give a damn. She never stood up for me when they were having a go at me in that miserable house, when I really needed her. And as for your other ideas about my _welfare_ as your prisoner – ”

“Listen to what she’s saying!” Yuuri shouted at the police. “Does it make any sense to you? She’s out of her mind! Give her back to us; we know what we’re doing with her.”

“What,” she snapped, eyeing him.

“Haven’t you heard of me – Yuuri Katsuki? Or my colleague here, Victor Nikiforov?” He prayed the answer was yes – they’d been important people in the previous environment, and were obviously very wealthy in this one.

“Of course we have, sir,” the policeman answered. “But – ”

“We were all caught in the riots,” Yuuri made up desperately, hoping to capitalise on this piece of information, “and we came here to get away from the red death. Tell…tell Randall Flanagan. Say we’re looking after Megan while she’s poorly, and we’ll contact him ourselves. You can’t take her away in this condition.” He forced a laugh. “She wants you to take her to a prison; you heard her say so. She even thinks she’s from a different time period. This man here – ” He indicated Emil. “ – is one of the world’s foremost psychiatrists. You take Megan away from his care, and you’ll be answerable for the consequences. To the highest authorities. And I’m not talking about the government.”

The policeman paled, and the others glanced at each other. Attempting to build on the doubt he seemed to have planted, Yuuri continued more hopefully, “Do as I say, and Mr. Nikiforov and I might just decide to forgive you for spraying glass in our faces, pointing guns at us and treating us like dogs. But we’d have to be in a very good mood. The first thing I suggest you do is lower your guns. Then bring Megan back over here, and be on your way.” He tried to put together an expression of affronted confidence, suggestive of a man who was used to being in calm control, though his heart was hammering.

Two of the police officers actually began to lower their weapons, while the others looked for guidance to the policeman who had been talking. It sent a shiver through Yuuri to see the stark fear on their faces as they appeared to believe they were caught between the wrath of two powerful groups of people. Whatever courage had possessed them to swoop in and take Ailis in a quick raid had vanished.

The policeman slid a glance at her. “Madam,” he said uncertainly, “I – ”

“You can’t tell me you’re buying that bullshit,” she bit out. “All three of them had guns pointed at me. Since when does that count as ‘looking after’ someone?”

“But – ”

“Shoot them,” she commanded. “_Now_.”

Yuuri’s breath hitched. The police stared at Ailis, some of them with open mouths.

Now Victor joined in. “If you dare,” he said in a commanding voice, “my family will find you and hunt you down. I suggest you do as my colleague said.”

_You are brilliant, _Yuuri thought as he glowered at the people in the van. A distant buzzing noise reached his ears – another hovercar.

“What are you waiting for?” Ailis demanded of the policeman.

“We can’t shoot them, madam,” he said quietly. “They’re unarmed. And it’s more than my badge is worth to arrest them, let alone kill them. You’re safe now.”

“Sir,” one of the other officers said to him, “perhaps in light of the circumstances, we ought to let Mr. Katsuki and Mr. Nikiforov resume, ah, their activities here. If that man with them is a psychiatrist – ”

“He’s nothing of the kind,” Ailis replied, then turned to the policeman again. “You threatened to shoot them when you got here. Wasn’t_ that_ more than your badge is worth? Would you rather cross me and Randall Flanagan?”

The buzzing was louder now, Yuuri noticed. A vehicle was coming, but the view beyond the window was blocked by the police car.

“No one would have shot them,” he answered more quietly still, as if hoping Yuuri and Victor wouldn’t hear. “We were just ensuring they were disarmed so that we could collect you.”

“How _brave_ you all are.”

“Madam, please – ”

Ailis made an attempt to wrest his gun away, but he pushed her back and two of the other police grabbed her arms.

Yuuri dived for his own gun while they were distracted. When he turned to fire, however, he saw that the hatch was closing. Victor had mirrored his actions, and from their positions on the floor, they both shot futile blue beams through the narrowing gap.

“Fly us out of here!” he heard a shout before it closed. “And immobilise that bloody vehicle!”

The police car manoeuvred away just as a blue beam blazed from the open window of a shiny gold car that was rapidly approaching; the gunfire barely cleared Yuuri’s shoulder before blowing a chunk out of the wall behind him. As he and Victor scrambled for cover, the police car shot it at close range; a blue web of light momentarily engulfed it before the buzzing noise cut out, and the vehicle, charred and smoking, began to plummet. Standing and hurrying to what remained of the window, Yuuri saw the police car speed away while a black cloud rose from further down the street and a loud metallic crash echoed against the buildings.

“God’s bones,” Victor said beside him. 

“We might’ve stood a chance if that other car hadn’t showed up,” Yuuri said, raking a hand through his hair.

“Or we might have been shot.”

Phichit’s voice emerged tentatively from the com. “Is it OK to talk?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri replied. “They’re gone. I’ll explain everything in a minute – but we’ve got to get to that prison.” He dashed to Emil, slivers of glass clinking under his shoes. “Are you all right?”

Emil nodded. “Go, sir. As we said before, speed is of the essence. I have a gun; I’ll wait here.”

“Take care,” Yuuri said, giving his arm a quick squeeze.

“I’m sorry about what happened just now, sir, but perhaps there’s hope yet.”

Yuuri exchanged glances with Victor. “We’re going to sort this out,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

Emil wished them luck as they ran from the room, Yuuri speaking rapidly into his com.


	135. Chapter 135

_This must be the final part of the journey now,_ Julia thought. Straight down this road would be the prison, just a little further. Following the directions Ash had given her, she’d been careful to conceal herself inside a building or within a door frame if she saw anyone. At first the streets had been deserted; the red death must have cleared the area. But then people had begun to emerge from their shelter inside tall buildings, and some were raiding shops again as if nothing had happened. Though there were more flying cars marked “Police” passing by overhead now, too, and Julia avoided them just as carefully.

She wondered how many people had been killed by the cloud. There were no bodies to give an indication, for which she was glad. It also appeared that no one else in this area had had Ash’s idea of tapping the underground water and releasing it as a protest. She had a sudden longing to return to him and his group, and stay; they couldn’t have gone far, not if they’d been intending to plant more pipes.

But they weren’t even…no, she couldn’t bring herself to think it, let alone say it. This Immersion device of the future was cruel in what it offered but at the same time couldn’t give. The master, Yuuri, and Emil needed her now. Yet as she ran, it seemed she could still feel the tingle of Ash’s kiss on her lips.

A white building stood out from its surroundings a little further ahead: a large rectangle with several storeys and regular rows of windows, guarded by a tall wall. The dungeon wouldn’t be anything like that size in real life, she thought, so this must be an illusion. If her guess about the building had been correct in the first place. If it wasn’t, then what? How would she ever find the others?

_Something will happen, just like it did in World War One. As long as it isn’t Ailis who captures me again._

She was forced to retreat into a shop as a group of ten people emerged from the shattered remains of a shop front a little further down the street, carrying boxes of different sizes. As she watched from her place of concealment next to the window, she wondered again what the containers were made of, as she’d seen many. It was a brown material, but didn’t look like wood. Paper could never be so thick or durable. They must be hollow, and she wondered what valuables were inside.

The function of this particular shop was difficult to determine; she took a moment to look around, but wasn’t any less baffled by the closer inspection. Small glass phials of paint in an amazing array of colours lined many shelves – perhaps they sold artists’ supplies? But there were no canvases or brushes, just long tables where stools had been placed at intervals. Out of curiosity, she took a phial of bright red and opened it, discovering a little brush attached to the underside of the lid. She dribbled a bit of shiny paint onto the smooth tabletop and trailed it along. It got sticky and dried almost at once into a gleaming gloss.

“Zounds,” she whispered. What sort of painting would anyone be able to do with this quick-drying substance? But it was pretty.

Peeking out again at the street, she saw that the way was clear and emerged, trotting toward the white building while on the lookout for possible danger. Yes, this must be the prison. Thick metal gates in the wall hung at strange angles on their hinges, blasted and mangled and charred. There must have been a great deal of violence here, Julia speculated, but thankfully it was past now, and there appeared to be no one about.

If this was the dungeon, she wondered, would the Immersion last all the way inside? How would she be able to find the master in that case, if he was here at all? Panic spiked through her, and she suddenly wished Yuuri was here; he understood these things and would know what to do. But there was no telling where he was, either.

_Don’t be such a coward. _She clutched her gun and peered between the gates. The only thing to do was to enter and look, and pray for guidance.

Taking a breath, she stepped through – and was viewing not a tall white prison, but a grass-covered hill with a heavy wooden door set into its side. With a gasp, she spun around. Instead of a pair of twisted metal gates leading through a white wall back to the modern city street, she saw a fog bank suspended in the air. The same one she’d seen before she and Emil and Yuuri had entered Immersion. Only this time she was on the inner side of it, with the real dungeon at its heart.

“God in heaven,” she whispered, and then looked down. Gone were the joined-up clinging trousers with swirls of colour and the sleeveless white top. Holding her arms out in front of her, she saw her own green tunic. Moved her legs and felt boots, hose and braies. And – her gun was gone, vanished straight out of her hand. But her sword was in its scabbard, as it ought to be. The solid, reassuring weight of it was back. She drew it and swung it, taking comfort in the familiar ease of the strokes.

Yet it would avail her little if she met an attacker with a real gun. Perhaps Ailis had one. She must be very careful.

Oh – and her quiver was still strapped to her. But where was her bow? Back in the Immersion fog? She reached her hand behind her and discovered that her arrows were still there. Thank God she hadn’t been unknowingly aiming them at her colleagues while her mind had been overcome by the Immersion.

_How will I destroy whatever is controlling it with a sword, or arrows without a bow to fire them?_

_There will be a way. I must try._

Approaching the door, she saw that a shiny open padlock was hanging from the latch. Perhaps that meant Ailis was inside. Julia pushed the door open slowly, and was met with a bright light like those she’d encountered in the city, illuminating the long grey-stone corridor. She entered and made her way along, listening all the while for any sound that might betray who was there and what they were doing. But swallowed up by the hill as it was, the interior reminded her of a tomb.

_Don’t think such things, _she told herself. _The master may be here._

She encountered another heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor and pressed her ear against it, but heard nothing. This too was unlocked, she found as she depressed the latch. Sword poised at shoulder level, she opened it far enough to peer inside.

“By all the saints,” she muttered. There appeared to be no one else here, and she stepped in, wondering for a moment if she could still be in Immersion. But no, she’d left that behind in the fog; and as she gazed at the curious array of alchemical items on the large table in the middle of the room, she recalled seeing similar things in Ailis’s cottage. However, there’d been a set-to here; broken glass and ceramic fragments were strewn over the table and the floor, and oil and other liquids mixed in small puddles and rivulets that dripped slowly onto grey stone. An odour as of singed wood, mixed with something sharper, hung in the air.

The rusting gate to one of the cells had been left wide open. Julia went to investigate but found no clues inside. Her guess was that the master had been incarcerated here and had escaped somehow; Ailis wouldn’t have let him out herself because she’d been in Immersion with them, and would have wanted him to remain her prisoner. But in that case, where was he? Why hadn’t she seen him in Immersion? Had he been the one who’d created this mess? Then why had he destroyed some of the items but not others?

She returned to the table and examined half-burned wicks lying in the oil spills, glass containers filled with different liquids, small iron trivets, metal utensils. Many unlit candles had been placed around the room, their sides painted with frozen drops of cream wax, though the future-light mounted on a shelf near the door provided more illumination than any flame, its eerie white glow like the full moon.

There were several cabinets in the room, and she went to the largest one, which stretched the length of the wall between several cells and the door. It, too, was covered with oil and broken glass. She grabbed the wooden handle on one of the doors and tugged, but it was locked. In a dungeon, of course, everything would have been fashioned with security in mind. Ailis probably had the keys. But it wasn’t impossible to break into wooden furniture, and this cabinet looked as if it had been drinking the moisture from the air and warping for many a year.

Julia worked the tip of her sword behind the cabinet door, then gradually wedged it down further, knowing the master would usually disapprove of putting her weapon to such a use, though suspecting he’d make an exception in this case. Then she threw all her weight into attempting to pry the door loose. Once it had budged a little, she levered at it with the toe of her boot as well, until sweat was springing out on her brow.

“Come, you!” she grunted with the effort. “Recalcitrant whoreson wretch – _give_!”

After a final determined heave, the door flew open with a splintering crack as the lock busted, and Julia landed on her back with her sword clattering to the floor. Huffing in disgust as she brushed oily shards of glass off her tunic, she stood and examined the inside of the cabinet. A stack of ceramic bowls. Stoppered phials. Spare candles and flasks of oil.

“_That _wasn’t worth breaking my back for,” she said, disappointment sinking into her chest. But there were yet two more doors in this cabinet to open. She hoped she had time, because ever since she’d entered the dungeon, she’d feared being joined by Ailis at any moment. Whether it was a reasonable fear or not, she knew her time might be very limited.

The second door was even more difficult to open than the first, and her body was aching with the effort when she finally heard the satisfying crack. But on the shelves inside were only more ordinary supplies for Ailis’s work. If the third and final door didn’t reveal anything useful, there were smaller cabinets mounted on the walls; she’d try those as well.

“There must be something here,” she said aloud as she wedged her sword behind the door once more. “There _must_.”

She kicked so hard that she was probably on the verge of breaking a toe, and pushed and pulled with all her might, her face flushing with the exertion. And when _this _door flew open at last, she knew her efforts had been rewarded. From where she’d landed on the floor, she could see gleaming silver and gold inside the cabinet and scurried over, sheathing her sword and brushing debris off her arse.

This compartment had obviously been reserved for devices from the future. She recognised a toolkit like Yuuri’s. A stack of what appeared to be paper crossed with evenly spaced horizontal lines and writing, and pointed sticks lying next to it. She picked up the paper stack and studied it, but it appeared to be full of incomprehensible diagrams. Glints of metal caught her eye, and she ran her fingers over more strange objects. She thought she knew what some of them were, thanks to Yuuri, but others were mystifying; though many of the small metal items were parts rather than wholes, she surmised, having counterparts that were scattered across the table. If only she could examine it all at her leisure.

And yet it was entrancing somehow, as if she’d opened a gateway onto Faerie. Surely a moment to indulge her curiosity wouldn’t hurt. Her fingers skirted across the bewildering array of items.

_The others may be risking their lives right now. They may even be dying, or dead. And I’m idling here, playing with Ailis’s possessions. For shame._

When she stood, a laser gun was in her hand, this one very real and useful; she made sure it was on the highest setting. Now she just needed to find the source of the Immersion. She was by no means an expert, but the cabinet only contained small items – and shouldn’t something that produced whole worlds to explore be larger than what could be held in the palm of the hand?

She straightened and cast her eyes about the room. Could it be concealed in one of the other cabinets? Or – what was that, sitting on the shelf high above the fireplace? A silver box with blue and white flashing lights. It was the only device of its kind here, from what she could see. What did the lights mean? Could they be indicators of thought while the Immersion environment was woven around the real people caught within the fog?

_I don’t want to destroy everything I don’t understand, like the barbarians who sacked Rome. _

But the master, Yuuri and Emil were depending on her to end the illusion, whether or not they knew she was poised to do it. The four of them would then deal with Ailis. Pray God they were all alive and well.

“For you, master, wherever you are,” she spoke into the stillness of the room as she raised her gun.

_Ash and the others are in there, and unlike us, they won’t exist when the illusion ends – because they’re part of it._

Not real. But they _were_ real to have relationships with, however short. If that silver box was the Immersion control, and she destroyed it, it would be like killing them.

She had to make it stop. Was there a way to turn it off? But that would mean Ailis might be able to turn it back on; she must have some way of commanding it. There was no other choice, then. 

“I’m sorry, Ash…Kranti,” she whispered, aiming the gun. She pressed the button.

The blue beam was like lightning – and the explosion as loud and bright. Bits of burning metal flew across the room; Julia flung an arm across her eyes to shield them. A noise as of a sudden gust of wind caused her to lower it and look at the table – in time to see a high flame lick across it, spreading greedily to every place the oil had spilled, feeding on the wood.

She jumped away – only to find that wherever a burning chunk of the metal box had landed, if there was oil, it leapt into flames. They began to scale one of the thick posts holding up the roof, and were eating into almost every piece of wooden furniture in the room. There would be no beating it out, not if several people tried – and as the bright heat surrounded Julia and her nostrils filled with acrid smoke, she realised she should have left the room by now.

Coughing, eyes watering, throat dry and sore, she saw there were flames between herself and the door. But they were only fuelled by oil spilled across the floor – they couldn’t be that harmful, could they? She could already feel the heat in the room, and sweat trickled down her forehead.

_One, _she said to herself, eyes fixed on the open door on the other side of the flames. _Two. I can do this and I will be fine. _She coughed again; the oil stank as it burned._ Three. _And she dashed forward.

The searing heat hit her before the actual flames, and she reflexively dropped the gun to shield her face with both arms as her momentum propelled her. She smelled singed wool and leather, and – hair? Hurrying out the door, she pulled her tunic over her head and patted it thoroughly. Her hands stung; when she dropped the material, she held them out in front of her and saw that the backs of them were pink. But if that was the only hurt she’d received, she had much to be thankful for.

Her heart fluttered in hope as she imagined what she might find outside the dungeon. But she’d lost her gun, and Ailis probably still had hers. What good would her own weapons be against that?

An explosion in the room behind her made her start and spin around, though all she saw was orange light and flames through the doorway. Perhaps that was the gun she’d dropped. This was no safe place to be, and she must help if she could – 

Something bumped into her from behind. Whirling around, she gasped when she saw Ailis standing next to her in a green and gold tunic and black trousers, breathing like she’d been running. She was staring at the doorway to the burning room as if a baby had been trapped inside and she were its mother.

“_What have you done?_” she cried. 

* * *

_They really did believe I was mad, _Ailis thought as she watched the police car fly away. _Bare feet, ripped earlobe, wild hair – and Yuuri and Victor, damn them, making those ridiculously desperate claims._

The police had also been wondering why they’d taken her from there only to put her down a few blocks away, back in the middle of the riots. A raid had been going on not far down the street, they’d said, and they couldn’t risk depositing her anywhere near it, so she was facing another walk across concrete in bare feet while they went off to shoot at more hooligans. This was some side street rather than the main one, but hopefully that would mean there was less chance of meeting anyone here.

At least the police hadn’t done anything more aggressive than restrain her, and once she’d promised to behave herself, they’d taken their hands off her. A mistake, she’d said. Yuuri and Victor were full of lies, and they’d driven her to distraction. They’d stared at her as if wondering what a face-off between an oligarch and two bankers and their sidekick could possibly involve, and whether they’d still have jobs in the morning because no matter what they did, someone powerful was going to end up being thoroughly picked.

Here at the very beginning of the Water Wars, then, the authorities were not yet completely in the pockets of companies like Crystal Clear. They’d even refused to give Ailis a gun; and the thought of going unarmed on the street with rioters around, Yuuri and Victor most likely in pursuit, and Julia doing who knew what, was not an appealing one.

She began to walk briskly down the pavement in the direction of the prison. It was impossible to run on the raw soles of her feet, and she was forced to be extra-aware of possible attackers; her clothes were a loud broadcast of who and what she was, and to add insult to injury, she didn’t have the means to defend herself.

She passed a butcher’s, an office, a Chinese restaurant. So far she’d spotted no one else in the street; perhaps the red death combined with the police presence had acted as a scourge, or a deterrent. But she couldn’t help imagining what Julia might be doing to her lab, and panic bubbled up inside of her when she thought about everything she stood to lose. Her ear was hot and throbbing as she walked.

_Using the Immersion program before I’d finished working on it was a bad idea. But I never anticipated I’d end up like this – it was unthinkable. _

She should have taken better advantage of Victor being her prisoner. Yuuri would have done whatever she’d wanted. The two squires were a complication, but they were young and obedient and surely could have been handled as well. The problem was that she’d been too swept up in the possibilities that the Immersion program had offered; her imagination had been alight with them while she’d been reprogramming the console. Enthusiasm was counterproductive if it wasn’t tempered with a good dose of down-to-earth pragmatism.

She had, however, given some thought during her stay at the castle to what she could do if all else failed. The solution she’d arrived at, and succeeded in preparing, would be a life-preserving abandonment of everything she’d attempted to achieve in this place, though the knowledge of its existence had been a comfort. Because Yuuri and Victor’s suggestions for what to do with her once they’d caught her had run a gamut from impractical to horrific. No, none of those fates were going to be hers.

However, what she needed was in her lab. If Julia or anyone else found it…

She tried to walk faster and winced as the bottoms of her feet burned.

_There _was the prison, in the distance. The police must have cleared up any looters or rioters. _Just keep walking. _

Her thoughts tumbled around her brain as she picked her way through more broken glass, wondering what Julia was doing – she hoped she didn’t have to kill her – and seething in reflection on that session in the sugar building. She knew she ought to simply be thankful she’d got out of there. But what they’d put her through…Yuuri’s high-handed morality speeches. That awful head of MI8, addressing her as if she were a child with a dangerous toy. Bringing her _mother _on, like that would somehow make her want to go back and visit. And then Yuuri and Victor being so certain they’d be accompanying her to 2121. What a pair of lovestruck idiots, talking like that in front of her, lapping up everything she’d said about repairing all the time-travel spheres. Emil had been the most sensible person in the room, and that was only because he’d hardly opened his mouth.

_Almost there. _The tall white walls with a charred steel door hanging off its hinges beckoned like a flawed heavenly vision. That _had _to be her lab. The program was supposed to favour her, after all, and this was what she needed most.

She wondered as she walked if she still fancied 2050 as a good year – a vintage one. It had been something of a random choice when she’d first begun to speculate about whether she’d eventually have to leave and if she’d be able. Past societies no longer had the appeal for her that they once did, because living as a woman in them, even a powerful one, was rubbish. Aside from the misogyny, there was also the primitive offering of tech. However, the future – _her _future – didn’t appeal either, because that was unknown, and she didn’t want to take that kind of gamble yet. In 2050 she would have a workable amount of tech at her disposal and no one would know who she was. True, she might have to live through the Water Wars, but she could establish a lab in a location that was relatively unaffected by droughts, climate refugees and fighting. And she could ensure she had as much wealth as she needed – just place bets on long shots based on her knowledge of the future. She could have the company of a Friday she programmed herself. And repair and refine her time-travel tech. Once she’d done that, she wondered what the paradoxical consequences would be if she travelled back to this place, met herself shortly after she’d arrived, and told that version of herself to shoot Justin on sight. No more of Celestino’s agents; no Victor grieving for a man he’d never met. Oh, if only.

Cautiously, she approached the door. If Julia was here, she’d gone inside. Stepping forward, Ailis passed the tall thick walls – and found herself looking at a grassy mound surrounded by grey fog. A yellowing sun hung over the trees beyond; at a guess, it was a couple of hours before sunset. On a pleasant June evening in 1393.

She let out a breath, tempted for a moment to sink to her knees in relief. Knees that were clad once more in sensible trousers. She felt her hair. As it should be. No aching feet, no ripped ear; the lobe was smooth. Her com was secure on her wrist. But the remote control for the Immersion was missing from her ear, as Yuuri said it would be. It must be lying on the grass within the Immersion field, then. She could go inside, make sure she was armed again, quickly pack whatever she could round up in a short space of time, then turn the console off. And if she met Julia, she’d deal with that.

She’d emerged from the field at the side of the hill, and walked around it until she spied the open door, wondering where the Roman guards had gone. Perhaps Victor had “killed” them when he’d escaped. She was still curious about how he’d managed that. But maybe she’d never know. It didn’t matter. She pulled her keyring out of her pocket, sniffing at the air as she entered. Did she smell…_smoke_? Then the sound of someone coughing, and a loud, sharp pop echoing along the walls.

_Bloody hell, what’s happening?_ She pocketed the keys and sprinted down the corridor, heart fit to burst. _No, no, no – all my tech!_

She rammed into Julia almost before she saw her, intent as she was on the open doorway full of flames. Large green eyes stared at her. But only one thing occupied Ailis’s mind: her possessions, and the loss of them. “_What have you done?_”

There was no answer from Julia. Ailis didn’t need one; the catastrophe was obvious. But there wasn’t _that _much wood in the lab. The floor and walls were made of stone. If spilled oil was burning, it would burn itself out soon, if it hadn’t already. Yes, it was worth the risk. Cabinet along the wall, left of the door – in and out quickly. She could do it. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she held it against her mouth as she raced into the room, heedless of the flames; of Julia’s shout of “You can’t go in there – you’ll get hurt! Come back!”

Stupid girl. But how had the room gone up in flames so quickly? Even the cabinet was burning! She hacked in a dry throat, eyes streaming. The heat…her skin was roasting. All the doors were open – must have been Julia breaking in. Where _was _it? Everything in a mess, or alight. Breaths rasping, hard to breathe, hard to see –

A snap and a crack above, and a heavy weight crashed onto her shoulders. A high, shrill wail escaped Ailis’s throat before her fevered thoughts descended into darkness.


	136. Chapter 136

“Do you think you shot anyone while the hatch of that police car was closing?”

“No,” Yuuri said to Phichit somewhat breathlessly as he and Victor raced down the street, both on the lookout for trouble as they went. “It was stupid to even try, because they could’ve shot at us, too, but…”

“I can imagine – the last thing you wanted was for Ailis to get away again. Shit, after that whole talk, and you both deciding you’d come back together…”

“I know,” Yuuri said, unable to prevent a hint of bitterness from slipping into his voice.

“That got me excited too – I mean, I never thought I’d see you again. And Mari, and – ”

“Fuck,” Yuuri muttered. But even as he ran, he knew that he’d already made his decision, and stood by it. He was staying here; that hadn’t changed. But the possibilities that had filled his mind, just for a moment…glancing at Victor running next to him, he again felt the crush of disappointment. It came and went, however. They were together, and that was what mattered, regardless of where they were.

“Sorry, Yuuri. But you know, it’s possible she was just making the whole thing up. You need to find these time-travel spheres, is what I’m thinking, and see if she’s done anything to them. Have a really good check around her lab.”

“I intend to, once we sort out whatever’s going on over there at the prison. Julia and Ailis were both headed that way. I’m assuming it’s the dungeon, but there’s a chance I’m wrong.”

“Be careful, OK? There’s no telling what else Ailis has got in there. The Immersion was a big surprise as it was.”

“I don’t really want to think about that right now. We’ll take it a step at a time. Look, I’m going to cut the call for now – I’ll get back to you when there’s more to report.”

“I’m gonna be worried about you. All of you.”

“Victor and I both have a gun. We can defend ourselves.”

“Just be careful, OK?”

“Sure. Later, Phichit.” Yuuri ended the call and looked at Victor. “I can’t help thinking I fucked up back there,” he said, taking breaths between sentences. “I should’ve realised someone would come looking for Megan Huxley.”

“We had to get away from the red death,” Victor huffed in reply. “And we had to wait for it to leave.”

“If I hadn’t crashed that hovercar – ”

“We wouldn’t have found Ailis. Besides, that police car shot at us, and the vehicle was damaged.”

“I ought to have been more clever when I was talking to them. It’s my fault – ”

“Yuuri,” Victor said, slanting him a glance that mixed exasperation with a small smile, “you’ve been amazing. Don’t forget everything you did in the duel. You’ve saved our lives and guided us through these Immersion places. I’ve seen things today that nigh well unmanned me.”

A brief grin crossed Yuuri’s face. “You’ve been amazing too. The courage it’s taken to do everything you’ve done – even when it must’ve been so confusing…you and both of the squires.”

“Then the four of us make a good team,” Victor breathed with a wider smile, which dropped a moment later. “Spot of dizziness,” he commented as he slowed down. “These injuries are very convincing for not being real.”

Yuuri looked at him in concern. “Maybe we should stop for a minute.”

“No. We have to get to that prison.”

They continued for a few more blocks, passing offices and shops with no indication of anyone else around. But they did slow their pace as Victor had begun to flag, and Yuuri wasn’t going to push it. He didn’t like the chalky look to his skin. _Hold on, Victor. We’ll have you out of all this soon…I hope._

The prison loomed ahead of them now, and they stopped at the gates, Victor resting a hand on the wall and catching his breath.

“Are you all right to go in with me?” Yuuri asked, wishing he could take away all the hurt.

“Almost.”

Yuuri laid a gentle palm against Victor’s hoodie, over his heart. “I love you,” he whispered.

Victor placed a hand on top of his and pressed, blue eyes intense, the unspoken answer clear.

Drifting in the moment, Yuuri forgot everything else: a brief snatch of heaven where there was only the two of them and what they shared. But they couldn’t linger here, and Julia might be in trouble. He scanned the area beyond the gates. A grassy yard with a path leading into the building. No sight or sound of anything amiss.

“We should – ”

“We should.” Victor raised his gun, and side by side, they passed through.

Only, it was no longer a prison in front of them, but –

“It’s the dungeon,” Victor murmured. “I recognise it.”

Yuuri knew they were no longer in Immersion; the fog bank was just behind them. But he couldn’t stop himself from staring at Victor, whose modern clothes and injuries had vanished; he was covered in armour that gleamed in the clear sunlight of evening. Yuuri’s heart eased as he watched him take a long breath and stand up straighter.

“The pain is gone.” He gave Yuuri a grin, then caught a glimpse of something to the side and trotted to a tall patch of grass. “My sword,” he said, picking it up and holding it in wonder. “It must have been dropped there by the guard when we came out of the dungeon.” Then he sheathed it. “The laser gun will be better to use for now.”

Yuuri took a moment to look down at himself, relieved to finally see his own armour covering his blue cotehardie and hose. The odd juxtaposition struck him then; when he’d played _Swords and Sorcery _it had always been the other way around when he came out of a game, his armour dissolving to reveal his ordinary clothes.

“We ought to – ” He cut himself off, sniffing the air. “Do you smell smoke?”

Victor opened his mouth to reply – and the fog faded until it was gone completely. Emil was sitting on the grass perhaps ten meters away, in his linen shirt and maroon coif, a quiver of arrows strapped to his back, mouth hanging open. He turned to look at them both, and his face broke into a surprised smile, which Yuuri mirrored.

“Do you think someone inside might have – ” Victor began.

“Yes,” Yuuri said, looking at the doorway again, “but there’s always a delay between the game being turned off and the entire field disappearing; it takes time to get started and then shut down. Whoever did that might come out at any moment. Get on that side, and I’ll stay over here.”

They flanked the entrance to the hill, guns poised. They would watch for a moment, Yuuri decided, then go in. Something was definitely burning. Did Julia –

But that was who ran down the corridor and straight out the door, sword in hand, pinwheeling to a halt as she saw Emil walking toward her with a smile and two bows, then spinning around when she noticed Victor and Yuuri. Her eyes lit up.

“You’re alive! You’re all alive!” she exclaimed, her voice choking. “Saints be praised! I…I thought…” She gave Victor a quick, tight hug. “For you, most of all, I was worried.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, clasping her in return. “Did you turn the Immersion off?”

“I destroyed it. But – ” She stepped back to look at them both. “ – Ailis is inside. When the Immersion box exploded, it kindled all those flames, and she saw and ran in – ”

“What – she’s in there now?” Yuuri cried in alarm. “But the whole place must be on fire – I can smell it from here!”

“She was in high distemper. I couldn’t stop her.”

“She could be in trouble.” Yuuri dashed into the corridor, Victor following, while Julia shouted pleas for them to stop and come back, that Ailis wasn’t worth it, that she didn’t want them to die. It pierced Yuuri’s heart. But he couldn’t just leave Ailis inside, not if she were alive and possibly trapped.

“Yuuri, she’s right,” Victor said behind him as he began to cough. “We can’t risk our lives over this woman. Why – ”

“Is that what you’d do, Victor?” he shot over his shoulder. “Just leave someone to burn to death?”

“If it’s a choice between you and her – ”

“It may not be.” Yuuri sucked in a lungful of hot, dry, acrid air. _Maybe they’re right, _he thought as he saw the flame-filled room ahead. _Maybe. But I have to see; I have to try. I couldn’t leave anyone like that._

He entered, Victor calling his name behind him. Took everything in through streaming eyes. Roof burning, the table an inferno, cabinets all alight – this ancient room had obviously been a firetrap waiting for a spark – debris on the floor, and _Ailis_, immobile underneath a fallen rafter. They had to get out before the weight of the hill fell through the weakened roof and crushed them. Yuuri kicked at the beam with an armoured foot, but it was thick and heavy. He couldn’t touch it without burning his hands. Forced to take another breath, his lungs filled with hot smoke, and his throat constricted as he coughed.

Then another steel toe was kicking at the beam – Victor had joined him. _No. Not you, too. _But together they succeeded in hefting it off of Ailis, both of them gasping and retching. _We have to get out of here fast. _Yuuri scooped Ailis up in his arms and stumbled after Victor out the door, baking in his metal suit, sweat streaming and stinging his eyes. He heaved another breath, craving fresh air, his vision starting to go black. Then a metal-clad arm was bracing him around his back – and the air began to clear, the corridor brightening. They emerged from the hill, choking and gasping; and once clear of the doorway, Yuuri dropped to his knees, still holding Ailis in his arms. Victor knelt beside him.

“If…if she lives,” Victor rasped, “it would be the worse for her.”

Yuuri thought at first that it was a threat, or a foretelling of the problems they were going to face now that she was in their hands again with her lab ruined. As he examined what he held in his arms, however, he felt a jolt of surprise and disgust, and then the same sentiment that Victor had expressed.

The damage was terrible. Though it had become almost unbearably hot, the armour had given Yuuri and Victor some protection. All Ailis had were her modern clothes, and the shirt had melted in places from the heat of the beam. That wasn’t even the worst of it, because the burns…Yuuri felt for a moment that he would be sick on an empty stomach. She must have thought her tech was worth her life. Her hand fell to the ground, the partially melted com strapped to a blackened wrist. Yuuri had the sudden urge to cry, though he wasn’t sure why, after everything she’d done.

_It shouldn’t have ended like this for her. What she was capable of; those amazing inventions. I wonder if she ever even found anyone to love, who loved her in return. If we’d been in a better position to help her…_

And then, incredibly, she opened her eyes. It was a moment before she spoke, her voice a cracked husk. “Did you…salvage anything from the lab?”

“I…” Yuuri cleared his throat. “Only you. Everything else went up in flames.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, but opened them again soon afterward. “Story of my life. It’s gone. All of it…” She coughed. “…gone. You stopped me, Yuuri.” The words came intermittently between shallow wheezes and more coughs. “Happy now?”

He glanced at Victor, who met his eyes with a sombre expression and said, “We need to get you back to the castle, where your wounds can be tended to. There’s a barber surgeon, or we can send for my father’s physician – ”

“No,” came the whisper of a breath. “It’s too late for that. And…quacks.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “She means they don’t know what they’re doing,” Yuuri explained. He turned back to Ailis. “Phichit can look up whatever I need on the Cloud, and we could – ”

“No,” she repeated. “It’s over.” She tried to swallow.

“You…you must be in pain.”

“Can’t feel anything, now.” Another pause, and Yuuri had to lean over to hear her words. “I’m a time traveller. I did that…me. This was only my first journey. I didn’t want…” Her words trailed away, but her eyes remained open, watching.

“What you’ve accomplished is extraordinary.” Yuuri thought for a moment, then added, “I know you’re angry that I’ve been using your tech all this time. But I’ve appreciated it, too. Every day. It got me here and helped me to survive.”

She tried to lift a hand but gave up. Her eyes widened, and there was an urgency in them now. “Will you…make sure people know about me? Who I am, what I invented?”

Yuuri took this in. _I’m not sure anyone else should be travelling in time; I don’t know if humankind is ever going to be ready to handle that. Because if you got the credit you deserve for your inventions, people are going to want to try to replicate and use them. And I think you’re enough of a warning about what could happen. _But what he said was, “I promise. Your name will be up there with Albert Einstein’s.”

“I’m cleverer.”

Yuuri couldn’t help huffing a laugh, and he thought he saw a touch of a smile in her eyes as well. It was absurd, but he found himself wishing they could have spoken like this at any time before now, rather than aiming guns at each other. Maybe they could have found some common ground, especially if he’d known more about her past. Or maybe there would never have been much understanding after all. It was too late to know.

“I liked it here, in some ways…” she said. “But I should’ve been nicer to people. Andrei. My ladies-in-waiting. And…I even got to meet the king.” She struggled for breath, and her words came slowly. “Make sure they remember, Yuuri. My tech…tell them to take care of it.” A tear escaped down her cheek. “Tell them…”

“I will,” Yuuri whispered, an answering drop falling from his own. Her eyes closed, and she was still.

Victor was silent beside him. The squires stood together a small distance away, each holding their bow. Suddenly Julia looked to the side, eyes flying open wide as she sucked in a loud breath. Heart lurching as he wondered what could possibly be happening now, Yuuri turned his head in that direction – and gasped as well.

Natalia Nikiforov blinked back at them.

* * *

Victor’s jaw dropped. It _was _her – and yet it wasn’t. Because this was a version of his mother that no one in 1393 would ever have expected to see. Her head was uncovered, her long blond tresses in a loose bun at the back, secured in place with two ivory sticks. She wore joined black trousers, black ankle boots, and a thigh-length crimson dress which flared out at the bottom; it had a high collar and long sleeves, and was decorated with trees and flowers and dragons in bright yellow, blue, green and purple – like something Victor imagined Marco Polo might have brought back from his travels East. And a purple, pink and white butterfly had been painted on a cheek. Her lips were coloured to match the red of the dress.

“How…” he murmured. She’d been in mid-walk when she’d appeared – Victor had seen it – and the world must have suddenly changed around her. There was recognition in her eyes, of course, but they were also darting around as she attempted to make sense of her situation. “Mother,” he said a little louder, the word feeling stale from disuse.

“Victor…” There was a question in her voice. “I…I was…in a pub. In the future. I got up from my chair, and…” She shook her head and glanced about again. “Where is this place? Who…” She gazed at Yuuri. “Who is that knight who looks Asian? Who is _that_ in his arms?”

Yuuri carefully laid Ailis on the grass, then stood and came to Victor’s side, bowing to Natalia. “My name is Yuuri Katsuki, madam. There’s, ah…a lot to explain. But I think I can tell you what happened just now. The woman who died, Ailis – she swapped places with you in time. Her death pulled you back here.” He coughed loudly, throat rasping, then apologised.

Victor watched her take this in and struggle to decide how to respond. But out of Immersion now, he was in a familiar environment once again, and in a position to do what he did much of the time at the castle. He forced his mind to shift to that role, and it came easily to him.

“Julius and Emil,” he said, turning to the squires, who’d been following the proceedings in attentive silence, “I need your help. Hurry to the stables and inform them that I’ll require fifteen household servants, Master Steggles, and Father Maynard. They’re to be waiting in the courtyard when I return to the castle. Then ride here on Alyona and Vanya, my mother’s horse. Bring a sheet of canvas and a good length of rope.” He paused. “Any questions?”

“No, sir,” Julia replied, turning to Emil. “Come, then – race you.”

Emil huffed a laugh. “Really?”

“Why not? Aren’t you glad your leg is no longer injured?”

He gave her a little smile, then sped away, Julia in quick pursuit. A corner of Victor’s mouth twitched as he watched them. They certainly appeared to be more revived than he felt. Twenty-eight was not an old age. But this had been the longest day of his life. 

Yuuri had turned and raised his wrist to his mouth to talk into his com while Natalia watched. Victor was still adjusting to the fact that she’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere, looking like this. She would be taken for a witch or a prostitute by anyone here who didn’t know her, he felt sure. But he’d caught a glimpse of how people dressed in the future through the Immersion, and then there had been Ailis herself, content in similar garb. Victor decided he liked it, though that didn’t make it any less alien.

“That’s right,” Yuuri was saying, “she’s dead. And Natalia just, um, arrived.”

“What?” came Phichit’s voice. “Bloody hell. Have you talked to her?”

“No, we haven’t said much yet. I’ll explain later – but I’ll keep the call open if you want to stay.”

“Sure, Yuuri.” 

“Mother,” Victor said – he’d been in the habit of calling her “madam”, but that was how he’d been addressing Ailis, and it didn’t feel right just now – “Yuuri is…a sheriff of a kind. He was sent by the authorities in the York of the future to apprehend Ailis, the woman who died. Though what happened here was an accident.”

She looked at Yuuri. “You’re a time-traveller, like Ailis?”

He nodded. “We’re from the same time, yes.”

“Now that she’s dead, what will you do?”

Yuuri glanced at Victor. “I have no way back to my own time,” he replied. “I’ll carry on living here.”

Her brow wrinkled. “This burning hill,” she said, glancing at the entrance, from which smoke continued to issue, “is it…the old dungeon?” She turned to Victor expectantly.

“Ailis was using it as her hideout,” he replied with a nod. “She was posing as you here. She – ”

“I know.” She sighed. “Her helper, Ian, kept me prisoner in a flat – he ensured I had what I needed, but would never let me out. I spoke to that woman, Ailis, through a device on his wrist that looked like yours.” Her eyes alit on Yuuri’s com. “She made terrible threats about what she’d do to people here if I didn’t give her information, or said she would have Ian shoot me; he had a laser gun.”

Her voice was uninflected, but Victor was certain he could see the horror of it in her eyes.

“That must have been very distressing,” Yuuri said quietly. “Victor and I both know what she could be like. What kind of information did she want?”

“Things that would assist with her disguise, and convince others that she was me. Knowledge of past events in my life. Our enemies and allies. My relationship status with people at the castle. I never understood how she could travel in time or speak through a device across the years, but I didn’t doubt it was so. Or that she’d changed places with me, and I was living in the future. I was told that she was able to take on my exact appearance.”

“That’s what this com does,” Yuuri said, lifting his wrist to show her. “My friend Phichit can talk to me through it from 2121, and it also gives me the appearance of the person I swapped places with myself – Sir Justin Courtenay.”

She looked at him in surprise. “The baron’s son? So why do you not look like him now?”

“I can switch it off and on. Everyone here with me knows who I am. Justin is a disguise, I guess you could say, that I’ve been using at the castle, which protected me from Ailis and, well, gave me a life to live there.”

“The real Justin is in the future, then, just as I was?”

Yuuri glanced away. “Unfortunately, yes, because that’s how Ailis designed time travel. But Phichit and others are looking after him there, and the last time I spoke to him, he didn’t seem to mind it too much.”

“And you say you’ve been staying at Crowood Castle?”

“I’m a knight there, serving your family, ever since I arrived and lost a duel to Victor. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone who I really am.”

Yuuri’s voice, though still a touch rough from inhaling the smoke – as was Victor’s own – was quiet, polite, no doubt meant to put Natalia at her ease, while she herself wore the iron exterior of the baroness. It was no obvious thing that either of them had recently been through upset and confusion. But now was the time for clarification and action; feelings could be attended to later, when time and circumstances allowed.

“That duel had been planned for a while, I remember,” Natalia said. Then she looked at Victor, and her eyes warmed a little. “It was unjust, I can see that now. Such things shouldn’t be allowed here. They never would have been in the place where I was.” Her voice quietened. “I learned many things…it was like living another life.”

Sending her son into duels to win land, unjust? Perhaps he’d misjudged her, Victor thought. “Will you tell us what happened to you there?” he asked.

After a pause, she replied, “I was in my private room in the castle one moment, and the next, I was in an underground place like a cellar. Ian was there, holding a gun. He took me in a flying car to the city, and a flat in a small brick building. He said there was no one around to hear if I called for help, and the glass in the windows was unbreakable, and there was…electronic security on the door. Don’t think I didn’t try when he wasn’t present, but I discovered he was correct. I’m not certain how long I was there; perhaps a month, maybe less.”

“Did Ian…did he treat you well?” Victor asked.

“He never harmed me, you needn’t worry. But he was a peculiar fellow, and his relationship with Ailis seemed volatile. Sometimes he called her on his device when he was in the flat, and I heard what they said to each other. I was hoping for news of what Ailis was doing disguised as me, or what she was planning, which I never got; but if I were the sort of person to be entertained by household disputes, I would have had my fill.”

Victor wondered if he would have been as cool in that situation as she seemed to have been, though it was worth remembering that intuiting the thoughts and feelings of nobles could be a difficult task, because they were schooled to be impervious to such scrutiny. He’d been spoiled with his lovely Yuuri, so unaffectedly _himself_. Yet he could well imagine how his mother must have felt, alone in an unknown place and time, dependent on a man she didn’t know. Somehow she’d escaped, though – and quickly, if she’d only been in the flat a month. There were many things he wanted to ask her.

“Ian held Ailis in high regard,” Natalia continued. “He was in awe of her intelligence and inventions. He was less happy with how she was conducting herself at the castle; she said she was stranded in that time, unable to return, and might have to live out her life as the baroness, married to the baron. Her words to him were harsh as well. I think he was jealous, and very angry. So I looked for opportunities, seemingly in innocence, to feed those feelings in him and encourage them to grow – though in truth, I had no liking for the woman myself, who had taken so much away from me.”

Victor felt a familiar mix of admiration and uneasiness at her words, having been party to her charming machinations in noble company on numerous occasions. But no one could fault her for putting those skills to use in that particular situation; it had probably been the most astute thing she could have done.

“Eventually,” she said, “I suggested to Ian that releasing me would be the ideal way to get revenge on Ailis. There was nothing she could do about it from where she was, after all. In the end, it wasn’t difficult to talk him round, and that was exactly what he did.” A grin flitted briefly across her face.

“You talked him into letting you go?” Yuuri said.

“At first, yes. I caught him in a violent distemper after they’d had an argument. He flung the door open and ordered me to go, just as I was, and I took my opportunity. I’d hardly left the building before I heard him calling for me to come back, but I ran out into the cold, even knowing he had a gun. Fortunately we were in the middle of the city, and I was able to quickly lose him among the buildings and people. I don’t think he would have dared try to fire at me there, either; it wouldn’t have been allowed, and the police would have taken him.”

A voice spoke up that Victor recognised with a jolt as Phichit’s; he’d forgotten Yuuri had kept him on his com. “But there were people looking for you ever since we discovered Ailis’s lab and were able to talk to her,” he said. She stared at the com with a frown, perhaps thinking of the one Ian had worn. “Were you in York all that time?”

“Yes,” she answered. “The minster is still there. As well as other places; but that’s the most recognisable one.”

“OK. So what happened when you got away? If you don’t mind my asking.”

She looked at Yuuri, then Victor, as if to ascertain that they were interested in her answer as well, and said, “I met a police officer who wanted to help me. It led eventually to more extensive assistance from the city council. There were some very kind people involved.”

“But we _asked _the council about you,” Phichit pressed. “We gave them your name, nationality, description…”

“I used a different name – Kristina Golubin. She was my nursemaid in Russia. The surname means ‘Dove’; I always liked it. I was concerned, you see, that Ian would find me. I also asked the people from the council not to tell anyone else about me. As they seemed quite protective, I thought it was worth trying, and they agreed. Perhaps that was why I eluded your people who were searching for me.” 

“But what were you _doing _all that time? Um, your ladyship – sorry, is that the right title?”

Yuuri was stifling a smile, which Victor found contagious. He opened his mouth to answer, but Natalia spoke first.

“This has been a great deal to take in.” There was a note of weariness in her words as she looked at them both. “I’d prefer to talk further about this another time. You’ve had some answers from me, and I’m in need of the same from you. By my estimation, I’ve been away from the castle for seven months; I need to know what events have been transpiring there before I return.”

“The main piece of news you’ll be interested in, I think,” Victor told her, “is that the king is visiting the castle.”

Her eyes opened wide, and she searched his face. “You speak truly.”

“Of course. He’s here for a week.”

“Who did he come with, when, and what’s happened so far?”

Victor answered her questions, with the occasional comment from Yuuri. It was difficult to force his mind to concentrate on things that seemed so trivial now. But nothing to do with the king was ever trivial, he reminded himself, because the wellbeing of everyone in the castle and on the estate ultimately depended upon him. When he was finished, he said, “I’ll get a full schedule of the week’s activities from Matt, if it pleases you, and save you the embarrassment of asking for something you’d be expected to already know.”

“I shall want to speak to Matt myself as soon as I may, but very well. So before the king arrived, please tell me what…” Her voice trailed off as the squires returned on their horses, drew near and dismounted.

“Madam, I thought you might appreciate this,” Julia said, reaching into one of Vanya’s saddlebags and pulling out a long maroon hooded cloak, which she presented with a quick bow. “Until you’re able to change into something more, um, ordinary.”

Natalia smiled for the first time since she’d arrived. “That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.” She put the cloak on and tied it in the front. “You may find this incredible,” she added, turning to Victor, “but I’m used to this appearance now. It’s normal for women of the future – is it not, Yuuri?”

He nodded. “You certainly wouldn’t look out of place, madam.” Then his eyes lit up when he saw what Emil was taking from Alyona’s saddlebag. “Oh my God, you are _brilliant_.”

Victor turned to look, and discovered that Emil had had the presence of mind to bring full bags of thin wine. Natalia declined, but Yuuri and Victor each took one and drank as if it were the essence of life itself.

“Easy, sir,” Julia said with a smile. “Drink it too fast and a fog may settle upon your senses.”

“It’s very thin wine,” he answered between gulps. “I daresay I’ll survive. Besides, don’t tell me you and Emil didn’t do the same yourselves as soon as you arrived at the stables.”

She gave him a smile and didn’t answer. Victor watched Yuuri drink, enjoying the expression of pleasured relief on his face. “Jesus, that was divine,” he breathed once he’d drained the entire bag. It made Victor feel warm inside, and he struggled to pull his gaze away.

“All should be in readiness as you requested when we return to the castle,” Julia told him as he finished his own wine and handed her the empty bag.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He turned to Natalia. “I need to attend to…” Tilting his head, he indicated where Ailis lay. “It isn’t a sight you’d want to witness.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied, mounting her horse. “I’m no ghoul, but nor am I a stranger to injuries and death. I was at the Battle of Poitiers with your father at the age of twenty-one.”

A story she was fond of telling. “Indeed.”

She stroked Vanya’s chestnut neck fondly. “I didn’t ride a horse the entire time I was away. In fact, I began to wonder if horses even exist in the future.”

Yuuri helped Victor remove the rolled-up sheet of canvas from Alyona. “You’d still find a few people working with them, if you knew where to look,” he said. “The western states of America, California, Texas, Argentina, Mongolia…out-of-the-way places where traditional ranches still operate. But mostly, people ride them for pleasure.”

“I’m not familiar with all the countries in the world,” she replied, watching them.

“Well…” Yuuri uncoiled the rope from Alyona. “…my guess is you know more about them than anyone else in 1393.”

Victor heard a small huff of a laugh from her, then went with Yuuri to Ailis. The squires stood with Natalia; it seemed to be the assumption that Yuuri was in charge of this task because of his mission, and that Victor was the natural one to help him. They spread the canvas out on the grass.

“I’m…not sure what to do,” Yuuri said quietly.

“Then if you’d like to follow my lead…? It’s not difficult.”

Yuuri looked at him for a moment, the question in his eyes: _You’ve done this before, haven’t you? _Victor allowed the answer to speak for itself as they wrapped the body, then carried it to Alyona and draped it over the saddle, securing it with the rope. He guided his horse by her reins, the four of them on foot while Natalia rode. They were like a funeral procession, he thought, with even Phichit saying nothing. Victor broke the silence shortly after they re-entered the woods, following the little leaf-strewn path.

“I believe, Mother, you wished to know how we came to be with Ailis at the dungeon, and what happened there.”

She gazed down at him. “Indeed, yes. Please tell me.”

Victor turned his attention to Yuuri, walking at his side. He’d said little so far, but he had more knowledge of this topic than anyone. And Natalia was going to have to get used to his presence in their lives. “Would you like to start?” he invited him.

“Oh,” Yuuri said, somewhat startled. “Sure.” He tilted his head up at Natalia and raised his voice. “I don’t know if you heard about Immersion where you were, but – ”

“I did. I tried it.”

Victor and Yuuri both stared at her. “You did?” Yuuri said.

“Oh yes, a few times. We went to a special building. I wasn’t interested in complicated adventurous games, as my new life was rather enough of a challenge for me not to desire more. But I was shown programs that I could use for relaxation and travel. I went, or it seemed I went, to warm beaches with blue skies. Hiking on a mountain. A musical show.” A smile crossed her face as she looked ahead. “The music they have there…Victor, our time has never experienced the like.”

“I agree,” he said with a smile of his own. “Phichit plays it for us.”

“An obliging fellow to entertain you from the future, then. And I saw places around the world – there’s much more to it than people here know. Entire continents that have yet to be discovered. A great white temple in India. A natural wonder called the Grand Canyon. The things I learned – ” She broke off and looked down at the path with a little grin before speaking again. “So the answer is yes, I’ve heard of Immersion.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Yuuri said. “That’ll make it easier to explain, too.” He paused. “Ailis brought an Immersion console here with her, and at some point decided to reprogram it…”

Most of the remainder of the journey to the castle was taken up with the four of them sharing stories about what they had experienced in Immersion. Natalia was mostly silent, sometimes appearing to listen keenly, while at others staring straight ahead, keeping her own counsel. The greatest benefit of the conversation, Victor suspected, what that he, Yuuri and the squires were learning what each other had been doing while they’d been separated. He had known the least about Julia, and was interested to hear that she’d been brought to Ailis’s office in the trenches and escaped; but she didn’t share the details of the encounter, and he purposed to ask her more about it when he had the chance. He was fascinated, as well, by her account of how she’d joined a group of young people in the Water Wars who were tapping into the underground water supply and flooding the streets in protest. It seemed as though she’d made some fleeting friendships, if the feeling in her words was any indication.

“They’re gone now, though,” she finished, her voice dropping into a sigh. “I had to shoot the machine.” Victor wondered what to say. She knew they’d only been holograms; it obviously hadn’t made any difference.

“It can happen in Immersion,” Yuuri said. “People having such an intense experience that it’s more real to them than their own lives. The designers are supposed to modulate the programs so that there’s always a slightly artificial feel to them, but the regulations aren’t as strict as they could be. What we were doing today felt very real to me.”

Julia nodded. “I imagine some people must want to spend their whole life inside Immersion, if it’s better than what they have on the outside.”

“Yeah…it, ah, has been known.”

Victor wanted to take him in his arms. He could hear the hurt in his voice, even after what his knowledge of Immersion had done for them all today.

“So what happened when you were waiting in the building with Ailis while the red death was outside?” Julia asked. And Yuuri began to give a summary of the conversation.

“They got her _mother _on?” Julia interrupted to ask incredulously. “Ailis’s mum – what was she like?”

Phichit, who had largely been silent while they’d been walking, said, “Actually, she struck me as a little creepy. Do you have that word there?”

“I don’t think they do,” Yuuri replied. “Maybe ‘unstable’ is a better one.”

“I still don’t understand,” Julia said.

“In a permanent distemper. Her humours were out of balance.”

“Oh – why didn’t you say so?”

Yuuri continued with brief information about the ensuing trip to the prison, Julia adding to it; this was obviously for Natalia’s benefit, and possibly Phichit’s, as the outcome was known to everyone else. Victor wondered how much she was taking in, though it wasn’t crucial for her to know or understand, and she would be more concerned with the king’s visit to the castle. He had also noticed that Yuuri had omitted from his account of events the fact that the two of them had briefly believed they’d be travelling to the future together.

_I would have gone, my love_. And now he had proof that he would have been all right there, because his mother had survived her journey, and her circumstances had been desperate, which would not have been the case for him. He wondered if she’d be willing to talk about what she’d done once she’d escaped from Ian. Victor had never known her as the most forthcoming of speakers, though she must surely also be shocked, with much to try to take in and understand. 

They were reaching the end of the woods now, and Natalia pulled her hood over her head while Yuuri turned on his projector. She stared at him for some time, but when no one else reacted to the transformation, she relaxed.

“I’ll call you later, all right?” Yuuri said into his com.

“Sure. I’ll let Celestino know what happened, and I guess he’ll tell Anisha Shaikh, and someone will have to let Ailis’s mum know, too.”

“Will you tell Mari we’re all OK? I’d like to talk to her soon.”

“Sure thing.”

They said goodbye, and Yuuri lowered his wrist, falling silent. Natalia was scrutinising their surroundings as the path took them across green fields, with the castle perched atop its hill in front of them. “They’ve built a village,” she said, looking at the wooden structures that housed the king’s retinue. “Dear God, the acreages that must have been chopped to produce it. We shall have to consider what to do with all that wood at the end of the week.”

“I feel sure that Matt and John will have the matter in hand,” Victor replied, “but you can certainly ask them.” After a pause, as they approached the hill, he knew he had some additional explaining to do. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to go to your room straight away.”

“Whyever not? I need to change my clothes and wash my face.”

“I was searching for the laser gun that Ailis had hidden there, and it was necessary to make rather a mess. If you’d be willing to accompany us to my room, you’re welcome to have a wash and a bite to eat while your own is being tidied.”

She considered. “It’s a sensible suggestion. Thank you.”

Alfric said a cheerful good evening to them all as they passed through the gate, and asked where they’d been. Victor skirted around the question, asking in turn how the porter and the other men who regularly guarded the gate had been coping with the huge influx of travellers to and from the castle. He’d struck an unexpectedly rich vein, however, and the garrulous man would have told them a tale or ten if Victor hadn’t cut him off with the genuine excuse that seventeen people were waiting to see them in the courtyard.

Percy, Father Maynard, and the servants looked at him expectantly as the party entered, and they greeted Natalia. Victor had seen her eyeing the stalls to either side of them, as well as the edifice as a whole; it was a homecoming for her, of course. Yuuri’s fingers brushed in brief affection across the front of his hand.

Victor was passing familiar with the staff assembled here, which helped. He beckoned to six of them. “I’d like you to fetch enough food and drink for five people, including the lady, to be served in my room as soon as can be arranged. Plenty of good thin wine, nothing strong; I daresay anything else would put some of us to sleep for the night.” They bowed and hurried off to the kitchen.

“Master,” Julia whispered near his ear, “Emil and I are always glad to serve you and Yuuri. Please allow us to – ”

He shook his head. “Thank you, but no.” Looking down into her green eyes, he gave her a small grin. “You both have earned this, and will be guests at the table.” She blinked and was silent.

Next he sent two servants to draw a bath in his room; the tub always took some time to fill, and could be ready and waiting for as long as necessary. The thought of sliding into the warm scented water with Yuuri, the two of them finally alone together, was the most soothing balm Victor could conceive of after the ordeals of the day. 

Percy, naturally confused as to why he’d been summoned to wait in the courtyard, brightened once Victor explained that Natalia needed his help to put her wardrobe back in order. He was dispatched to her room with four servants and a request to see a carpenter and a locksmith on the morrow about fixing the damage, which Victor admitted he’d done himself in the process of searching frantically for something to aid his mother when she’d been so poorly earlier in the day. Unfortunately, this had the effect of convincing Percy that she’d been at death’s door, though at least he could see now that she was feeling better.

Victor had chosen the servant he thought to be the most reliable and astute to entrust with three messages for Matthew Everard, wherever he was tonight. “Tell him that Lady Nikiforov has been with me and Sir Justin while she recovers from her illness, and that he should pass this information on to her ladies-in-waiting, the baron, and anyone else who needs to know of her whereabouts,” he instructed her. “Have him send me a copy of the week’s events schedule for his royal majesty. And tell him to order the building of a funeral pyre by the lake, to be put to use tomorrow evening. Is that all clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said with a curtsey before turning and scurrying away to the great hall.

That left two servants and the priest, whose hands were clasped together underneath the sleeves of his robe while he silently looked askance at Victor, though his gaze also strayed to the canvas-covered form on Alyona. The top of his tonsured head gleamed in the westering rays of the sun

“Father,” Victor said, “I’ve brought the body of a woman who was caught in a fire in a cottage today and died. Please allow these two servants to help you remove it from my horse and lay it to rest for the night in the chapel.” He turned to address the lads. “When you’re done, return our horses to the stable and ensure that they’re well watered and fed.” They bowed to him.

“Did you mention something about a…funeral pyre, my lord?” Father Maynard asked him.

“I did. You wouldn’t want her in the castle cemetery. But I do need her to remain in the chapel overnight.”

The priest lingered, obviously hoping for more information; but when he saw that none was forthcoming, he nodded. “As you say, my lord.”

Victor held his hand out to his mother and helped her off her horse, her cloak billowing around her. He suddenly realised he couldn’t remember the last time she’d visited his room. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said lightly as she stepped down.

“I believe I am,” she replied with a small smile.


	137. Chapter 137

“Turkish delight.”

Yuuri laughed. “Everyone seems to love roses here. Is that partially your influence?”

“And Victor’s. But it’s a popular flavour in the cuisine of this time, which you may not have known, though I expect you do now. And yes, it was my favourite food in 2121. Perhaps Fernand can create it for me if I describe it to him.”

“What _is_ Turkish delight, madam?” Julia asked as she dipped a hunk of bread in her pottage.

Victor half-listened to the discussion of future and contemporary foods as he cut his mother a slice of bread, then another for himself, which he buttered; they’d been served a first course and plenty of thin wine while other dishes were hastily prepared. The squires were clearly delighted to have been asked to share a meal with them, and it was testament to the fact that his mother had undergone a change of some kind that she was willing to sit at the same table as her social inferiors without demur. She was still reticent in the conversation, but not unwilling to answer questions; and her manner, if not warm as such, was pleasant. 

But what sheer joy and relief simply to be back here in the room, Victor thought. He’d longed for it today more times than he could remember. Familiarity, safety, comfort; and little reminders that Yuuri lived here, too. His razor, comb and soap near the mirror. A shirt and cloak hanging on a peg. The phial of oil they both used – _that _was sitting on the table next to the bed; Victor hoped his mother wouldn’t decide to examine things here too carefully, though why should she? He’d given her a cloth and she’d duly washed the butterfly off her face, then sat down to his left at the table, seemingly more interested in the food than anything else in the room. He was glad she hadn’t complained about not being offered the chair on his right. That was Yuuri’s place, and always would be. 

“Did you actually _drink _coffee, madam?” Julia was asking Natalia, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, yes,” she replied with a touch of amusement. “Many people in the future drink it. Milk and a sweetener make it more pleasant. And how do you know what coffee tastes like?”

“I had it in Immersion.”

“I recommend tea and scones,” Victor said with a smile.

“I’d do anything to have them for real,” Yuuri said next to him between mouthfuls of sops. He’d hardly stopped eating since the servants had brought the food, which Victor was pleased to see, considering his recent loss of appetite. He placed a hand on Yuuri’s metal-clad knee under the table, evoking a small secret smile. The armour had come to feel like a second skin, for all the time Victor had been wearing it today; they’d been too keen to partake in the meal to take the time to remove it.

“I did have good food in 2121,” Natalia said. “Some very interesting things. But I didn’t care for the nutri-pills.”

Victor recalled Yuuri telling him that people in the future sometimes replaced meals with pills. The thought of it had been unpleasant then, as it was now.

“They can be handy if you’re busy or just don’t want to bother with food,” Yuuri said, taking a gulp of wine. “But I’d usually prefer a meal instead.”

“What are nutri-pills?” Julia asked. Yuuri didn’t get the chance to answer, however, because a veritable army of servants arrived just then, some carrying silver platters that trailed aromas of roasted meat, onions, garlic, saffron, and galangal, while others brought buckets and turned the taps on to pour more water for the bath. It wouldn’t be prudent to speak openly in front of them, and so they ate and drank quietly in what felt to Victor like a contented atmosphere, until the servants departed.

There was a distant look in Natalia’s eyes as she dipped a piece of bread in her venison pottage. “Is the food to your liking?” Victor asked her.

She smiled down at the little silver bowl. “They weren’t in the habit of soaking bread in juice or sauce where I was. And they rarely ate with their hands, and only used a knife for cutting with. They commonly used an implement called a fork; it was like a spoon, but divided into tongs.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “How peculiar.”

“She’s right,” Yuuri said, spearing a chunk of meat with his knife and studying it. “if you tried to eat like this where I’m from, people would wonder what on earth you were doing. You’d definitely use a fork.”

“You never told me about this.”

“Should I have?” Yuuri said, raising an eyebrow and popping the meat into his mouth. “Should I also have told you…” He chewed thoughtfully. “…that we have hoses to spray water with? Refrigerators and freezers to keep food cold? Would you like a list?”

“I’d love to hear about all of those things, and more.”

Yuuri smiled. Then the door opened and several servants appeared, bearing trays of custard tarts with violet petals and dishes of honeyed pine nuts. Once they’d gone again – for the remainder of the evening, Victor hoped, as they needed no more interruptions – Natalia looked at him with a piece of bread poised in her hand and said, “No one ought to be without a knife here, yet that’s exactly what happened to me. It was in my purse, attached to my belt. I wasn’t wearing it when I was brought back here.”

“I’ll arrange to get you another one,” Victor replied as he took some pine nuts.

“There’s no need; I can do it. Just as I can communicate with Matthew, and dismount from my horse. I have agency of my own, Victor.” After a silence, she said quietly, “I apologise for my sharpness.”

Yuuri paused in the middle of devouring a custard tart. “You’ve had quite a shock today, madam,” he said to her, his tone gentle. “I remember what it’s like.”

“That’s true,” Natalia answered, examining the remainder of her bread and then putting it down on her plate. “I’d been sitting in a pub, a tavern, with some…yes, I think I can call them friends. Commoners, would you believe? I was going to buy everyone a drink. Because it was my turn, and I wanted to participate in the ritual.”

“Ritual?” Victor repeated.

“I think she means buying a round,” Yuuri said. “You take turns – ”

“Ah yes, I know.”

Natalia gave Victor a little smile. “You’ve been to taverns with the fighting men. I’m not familiar with these things. There was so much still to learn.” She looked at Yuuri, who had finished his tart and was sitting back in his chair, sipping thin wine. “Do you not miss it there? All the conveniences. Food, travel…information at your fingertips.”

_Everything he’s lost for the sake of his life here, including friends and family. _Victor shifted in his chair, hoping his mother’s words weren’t opening a wound.

“I do sometimes, madam,” Yuuri said. “But my life is here now; I can’t go back. I’m a knight, and that’s what I’ll stay.” Victor was surprised to feel fingers entwining with his own under the table, and took a long breath, savouring the touch.

There was a finality to the statement that seemed to satisfy Natalia, and she turned to Emil and Julia. “Noble squires, how did you fare today? Those were brave deeds I heard tell of on the way here.”

Julia offered more details about destroying the Immersion console, and Emil was questioned about his injury and saving Yuuri and Victor from being marched off to a firing squad. A chill ran down Victor’s back as he recalled that moment of desperate fear for both their lives.

“I was pleased to be able to help,” Emil said with a grin. To Julia and Natalia, he added, “They didn’t leave me behind until I insisted, when they needed to go to the prison. I was even carried when circumstances required it.”

“Like a sack of grain,” Yuuri said apologetically.

Julia glared at Emil. “_I _would’ve carried you if I could.”

“I told you to go, too – there was no sense in us both staying where we were.” He turned to Yuuri again. “I’ll be forever grateful to you and Sir Victor for what you did for me today.”

“I could say the same thing,” Yuuri said with a smile. “We’re comrades. We have each other’s backs.”

Victor gave his hand a squeeze. _I love you._

As more drink was shared around, the main courses revisited, and custard tarts and pine nuts nibbled at, the four of them who’d been in Immersion relived moments of surprise, wonder and fear together. There were too many pieces from the day and too many emotions for one evening, Victor knew. But it was a start.

Yuuri wanted to know how Victor discovered that Ailis was pretending to be his mother, and he related what Tyler had said about her part in the poisonings. “But how did _you _know?” Victor asked him.

“I found out that she’d insisted on not drinking any of the wine that night,” Yuuri replied, examining the contents of his cup, “but she still got ill – I guessed she might have put something on her face, make-up maybe, in order to fake it, so that suspicion wouldn’t fall on her. Then I thought about all the other bits of evidence we had, and collectively they pointed to her. I ought to have realised sooner, really.”

“When did you?”

Yuuri looked at him. “In the tent in the arena, after you left.”

Victor took this in. “When you emerged, I was worried that you might have been…anxious. About the duel.”

“I was worried I wouldn’t be able to tell you what I’d worked out.”

Yuuri asked him next about how he’d got the antidote to the poison from Ailis, so Victor explained, also informing him of what had transpired with her in the sick room, and how she’d discovered he was wearing a com.

“So I have you and Emil to thank for taking care of me,” Yuuri said with a fond smile.

“That’s nothing you ever have to thank me for,” Victor replied quietly. Then he turned to Julia. “While we’re speaking of Ailis again, will you tell us what occurred between the two of you in her field marshal’s office?”

She’d been eyeing a third custard tart, but sat back now and returned his gaze. “Ailis was listening to strange music from black plates called records, which spun around on a device. And she gave me coffee, and biscuits, though they tasted odd and didn’t look like any biscuits I’d ever seen before. She seemed to like me. In fact she said she’d allow me to leave the Immersion, but I refused.” She looked at Yuuri. “You told us to wait outside when you went in. Are you going to tell me I was being stupid this time too, and should have gone?”

After a pause, he answered, “I’m glad you stayed. We needed you.” He glanced at Emil. “And you. You both saved our lives.”

Victor nodded and said to them, “if I could tell the king of your valorous deeds today, he would knight you while he was here. You both are truly worthy of the honour.”

“Thank you, master,” Julia said, and her cheeks pinked. After a pause, she added, “There’s something I’ve been wondering, though; it’s a question for Yuuri. About the Water Wars.”

“Sure,” Yuuri said. “What is it?”

“Well…have you ever heard of someone called Ashleigh Mitchell? Maybe he was never mentioned in your history books – in fact I would guess not, but – ”

“Ashleigh Mitchell.” Yuuri stroked his chin. “Not sure. It rings a bell, though.” He held his wrist up to his mouth. “Phichit?”

“Hey, Yuuri. Just got out of the shower. For once, I’m not worried you’re going to tell me something catastrophic has happened…it hasn’t, has it?”

“No,” he replied with a smile. “Though there are four other people here who now know that you’re freshly showered.”

“I’ve got a robe on, if that makes the conversation more decent.”

Julia snorted, and Yuuri said, “No, but anyway – just a quick question for you. Can you look up a jack called Ashleigh Mitchell for me on the Cloud?”

“Hmm, OK, just a moment.” After a pause, he answered, “Got it. Ashleigh Mitchell, born in 2057, still alive. Well, here in 2121. Leader of civil protests during the Water Wars, later elected as the youngest of three ambassadors from England to the newly formed World Council in 2081, see also, etcetera…Became an instrumental policymaker in the aftermath of the wars. Has been an enthusiastic supporter of egalitarian legislation throughout his life, both for the World Council and English Parliament. Now semi-retired, he is a respected consultant on civil policy. Lives in Camden, London with his wife Sasha.”

Julia’s eyes were wide. Victor felt he could hazard a guess at what this was about, though Yuuri spoke it aloud.

“You met him in Immersion, didn’t you?” She nodded. “Which would make him, what – eighteen?” Another nod.

“Oh yeah,” Phichit said, “he granted permission in 2115 for his persona to be used in _Immersion: Water Wars London. _So what was he like?”

“Very…passionate,” Julia answered. “I mean, about his cause. He was a warrior, too – he fought his own battles by protesting on the streets and writing tracts. I wished I could…” But then she seemed to notice the stares of everyone else in the room.

He’d obviously had quite an effect on her, Victor thought, and he was sorry he hadn’t had a chance to meet the man himself. Instead, he’d ended up with Boris Blessington-Stewart. Perhaps Phichit would be able to find information on him as well, but Victor deemed it best to allow that particular ghost to remain at rest.

“World War One and the Water Wars make the battles of this time seem small and almost civilised,” Julia said in an obvious effort to change the subject.

Yuuri thanked Phichit, said goodbye, then met her gaze. “No battle that involves killing is civilised. But there’s a lot to look forward to as well. It isn’t all bad.”

Natalia, whose attention Victor noticed had periodically withdrawn to her own thoughts, was clearly listening now. “Truly,” she said. “You come from an enlightened society, Yuuri. Though it’s one that also produced Ailis.”

“She had a hard life,” Victor told her, thinking back to what Ailis had said to them in the building before the police had arrived. “It doesn’t excuse what she did. But from what I understood, she had no siblings or nursemaids; she and her mother lived in difficult circumstances, and there was no love lost between them. I imagine it must have affected her deeply.” He looked at Yuuri. “She was angry, wasn’t she. As if she was burning to take her revenge on someone for all the slights against her.”

Yuuri considered this. “I think that’s a good way to put it, yes.” He added, “It sounds like you found some sympathy for her, despite what she did to you.”

“And to you, and many others.” Victor took a deep breath. “Yes, I did, though it wasn’t easy.”

“It never is with people like her.”

“I believe I can see that,” Julia commented. “She was…kind to me, in a way.” Digging into the pocket of her tunic, she pulled out a small black object, displaying it over the table in the palm of her hand. “I found this lying in the grass near the dungeon. It belonged to her, I suppose. It’s certainly not natural.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, eyeing it, “that’s the Immersion controller – she would’ve worn it hooked over her ear.” Settling back in his chair, still nursing his cup of wine, he added, “There’s nothing left for it to control, but I can’t see any harm in keeping it as a souvenir, if you want.”

She continued to stare at it. “But I already have – um, thank you, sir.” She tucked it back in her pocket and turned to Natalia. “I wanted to say, madam, that I liked your face paint – the butterfly. It’s a shame you removed it.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “An interesting custom, displaying designs on one’s face. I liked it, too, though I didn’t have the time to acquire much skill. The lady who shared my flat painted it for me.” The distant look appeared in her eyes again for a moment. “I just realised that was the only thing I’d kept of her. Perhaps I shouldn’t have removed it so quickly. I feared the servants would be tempted to gossip.” 

“They’d think you’d been visiting with one of the travelling troupes here to entertain the king, madam,” Julia said with a wry smile. Which, Victor knew, would be fuel for scandal, since most people regarded actors as barely above prostitutes.

“Quite,” Natalia agreed. She looked at Yuuri. “Did you paint your face too, in the future?”

“Usually, yes, a little,” he answered. “It’s what everyone does.”

And Victor knew full well what he looked like with face paint – not Justin’s visage, but his own. Beautifully enticing blue swirls, with pink lips and rosy cheeks. The things they’d done together when he’d taken on that appearance…

“I wonder what they’d make of it here,” Natalia said with a quiet laugh. “Perhaps one day we could start a new custom, you and I.” Yuuri simply smiled and took another sip of his wine.

After a relaxed silence in which they finished their drinks and idly sampled the remaining food, Emil confessed that he was struggling to keep his eyes open. “A feast like this after such a day has defeated me where fighters and weapons failed,” he chuckled. “It was very generous of you, my lord, to invite us to eat with you, but Julius and I will be planning to undertake our usual duties in the morning.” He gazed pointedly at Julia, who was reaching for a few more honeyed pine nuts.

“Oh – yes,” she said, pulling her hand back. “We’ll clean your armour in the morning, master, and Yuuri’s too, if you won’t be requiring it straight away.”

“For once, I intend to lie abed for a while, even though it’s not Sunday,” Victor replied. “I wouldn’t blame you if you both wanted to do the same.”

“I’d prefer to keep to my usual schedule, if it’s all right with you, my lord,” Emil said. “And you, master. It would be refreshingly normal, if you understand me, after today.”

Yuuri nodded. “Of course. If that’s what you want.”

“Then if you would both care to leave your armour outside the door, Julius and I will collect it first thing.”

The squires rose to leave, saying a more formal good night to Natalia, and Victor and Yuuri thanked them again for everything they’d done. It seemed a thin, wholly inadequate way to express the emotions he’d felt over the course of the day, Victor thought; but he also knew there was already an unspoken understanding between them. The simple fact of experiencing a battle in each other’s company obviated the need for many words and explanations.

Once Emil and Julia had departed, they rejoined Natalia at the table, though Victor pulled his chair out so that they sat in a triangle and could easily speak together. He offered her another drink, but she insisted she’d had plenty. Into the silence, he said, “I’m trying to imagine how it must feel to have gone from one life to another in a heartbeat. Yuuri’s told me about his own experiences, but you – ”

“It’s quite unsettling,” she interrupted to answer, smoothing her cloak over her thighs. “I haven’t seen Andrei in seven months, yet he thinks his wife has been with him all this time, does he not?”

He nodded. “Would you like me to accompany you when you see him?”

“No, I can handle Andrei. I’ll handle everything here; it may just take some time.” She glanced at the table. “Thank you for hosting this pleasant meal. I’ve never dined with squires before, but I suppose you could say I’m used to this sort of thing now. Everyone I met in the future was…ordinary. There was no other kind of person to associate with, and no one knew the truth about me; how could I tell them? But they were good people, for the most part.” She smiled briefly. “You’d never believe who I’ve broken bread with. I’m still not certain I believe it myself, now that I’ve returned here.” She didn’t elaborate on this, and her voice quietened. “I hope I don’t wake in the morning and feel it was nothing but a dream.” Before Victor could reply, she stood. “Well, I imagine Percy and the servants must have made something usable out of my room by now. I should go and see.”

Victor got to his feet as well, and so did Yuuri. She couldn’t leave without knowing. “Mother, there’s something else I need to tell you.” He gazed at Yuuri, who was waiting curiously, then gave his metal-clad arm an affectionate brush with a fond grin before turning back to her. “Officially, Yuuri’s room is next door. But we live together in here most of the time. He’s…he’s my lover. More than that. There’s no single word to describe how much he means to me, but I would lay down my life for him.” When he glanced again at Yuuri, the warmth in his eyes infused him from top to toe.

Natalia’s face was impassive. “I guessed as much when you introduced him to me,” she said.

Victor had never expected approval from his parents for his lifestyle; it was as much as he could hope to receive no outright condemnation, though they’d never made a secret of their disappointment. But he still wanted her to know more than just that about Yuuri. “He’s as brave and strong as any knight,” he continued, “and he’s uncommonly talented. We’ve been going on the wheel together. I helped him prepare for the duel that Tyler Beaumont challenged him to, which he fought today before we were in Immersion, as you’ve probably gathered.”

She nodded and looked at Yuuri. “You must be tired after so much today.”

“We’ve all been through a lot, madam,” he replied. Then he glanced at Victor, as if contemplating something else to say. When words seemed to fail, he did something that spoke for itself, deliberately reaching for Victor’s hand and lacing their fingers together, holding tight. His gaze at Natalia was direct and unwavering.

_I really want to tell you how much I love you. Right now. _Victor couldn’t help a grin sliding across his face.

Something in Natalia’s own expression eased, and she said, “I’d like for the three of us to go riding tomorrow, if that suits you. It will give me a chance to see this land again that I’ve been missing. And we’ll talk.”

“I don’t have the king’s plans committed to memory,” Victor replied, “but – ”

“It doesn’t matter. As important as this visit naturally is, he’s here for a week; I daresay we’re expected to live our lives around it. I suggest we ride together after dinner.” She adjusted her cloak, ensuring it completely covered her bright clothes.

“You ought to know that everyone believes you were in a swoon earlier,” Victor told her. “They’ll be asking after your health, I’m sure, which means that if you appear a trifle disorientated, they’ll think they understand why.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Oh – and I sent Sophie and Rohesia on a mission to the Eatons’ farm to procure butter and honey for you.”

This elicited a surprised laugh. “Whatever for?”

“I told them they’d be restoratives.”

“But that farm is across the estate.”

“Exactly. I needed to get them out of the way for a spell.”

She regarded him. “My poor doves. I shall endeavour to make them believe their journey was worthwhile. It will be good to see them again after all this time. But Andrei…that will take more thought. For now, he can believe I was ill today. He won’t know any differently, I’m sure.”

That was another important point, and Victor could see the concern on Yuuri’s face as well. “Were you hoping to eventually tell him the truth about what happened to you?” he asked her.

“Does he know about Yuuri?”

“He thinks he’s Justin. The only people here who know who he really is and where he’s from are you and I and the two squires.”

She considered. “I assumed that was the case. And I ask myself: would Andrei want to know that the woman he lived with for the better part of a year wasn’t his wife? If I hoped to convince him that I spoke the truth, what would I have that I could show him – strange clothes?” 

“Yuuri and I have physical evidence that could be presented – but I’d strongly advise against it,” Victor said, for it didn’t require any depth of thought to guess how his father would react once he was convinced of the veracity of their words. “If you told him, Yuuri would have to become involved, and I fear that Andrei would demand information from him about the future – our immediate future, more specifically, and that of other nobles. There could be much that would be to his advantage to learn. Which factions to support and when. Who the next kings will be, and so on.”

Natalia raised an eyebrow. “Would you not expect me to seek to discover that information myself? It was one of the first subjects I researched in the future.”

There was a long silence; then Yuuri spoke. “You can’t tell the baron all those things – ”

“Did you hear me say that I would?”

He continued to look at her, then took a small breath. “What _would _you do, then, madam?”

“Unlike your time-travelling criminal, I have some sense of responsibility, and no desire to see this realm descend into chaos. I believe it would be prudent to keep my knowledge to myself – but I also intend to use it to help Andrei make good decisions. When Henry Bolingbroke returns from exile with an invasion force, intending to usurp King Richard, we’ll be on the winning side. But until then…we have a reigning king to host.”

Yuuri nodded, seemingly content with this. There was another knock at the door, and the servants reappeared to clear away the remains of the meal. Victor thanked them and said he wished not to be disturbed again until morning. Once they’d gone, Yuuri turned his projector off.

“Chinese?” Natalia asked, studying his face.

“Japanese. Though I’ve lived in York since I was five.”

“I had so little time to learn about the peoples of the world.” To Victor, she said, “I should go; I imagine there’s a great deal yet for me to arrange before I rest for the night.”

“Would you like me to escort you to your room?” he offered.

“No,” she replied with a small grin. “I do remember my way.” She touched his arm, holding his gaze before letting her hand drop. “Good night, Victor. Yuuri. Until tomorrow.” Then she pulled her hood over her head, turned and let herself out the door.

Staring after her, Victor murmured, “It’s difficult to know what to reveal to her and what to remain silent about.”

Yuuri moved closer. They were still holding hands. “We haven’t told her about Ailis wanting to be queen, hoping to kill Queen Anne and your father.”

“I didn’t think there was any need. It’s unpleasantness that will never come to pass now.”

“And the plague that Ailis gave to everyone? The nanobots? I tried not to elaborate on that too much, either.”

“None of it is a secret, though, is it? If it became necessary to tell her. But again…”

“Sure. She’s got enough on her plate for now as it is, I imagine.”

Victor was briefly lost in the tide of his own emotions, and realised it was hopeless to try to pick them apart just now.

“Are you glad she’s back?” Yuuri asked softly.

_Of course, _he wanted to say. An automatic dutiful reply. To Yuuri, however, who deserved nothing less, he gave the honest one. “I…don’t know. This is her rightful place, and all is as it should be now. But if you’re asking me whether I missed her?” He paused. “I wish I could say so. The truth is, though…” His throat hitched. “I hardly know her. I wish it were otherwise, but…”

“She doesn’t help things along, I noticed. Maybe she’s changed, though. Give her some time.”

Victor sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. I don’t know.”

“There’s one thing _I _know,” Yuuri said with a small grin.

“Hmm?”

He was gathered into Yuuri’s strong arms. “I love you, Vitya.”

_Oh._ Oh yes, this was_ exactly_ what he needed. Victor’s thoughts and worries began to drain away as he returned the embrace, his cheek resting against Yuuri’s hair, the feel and smell of him such a relief that he was sure he’d melt into the floor if those arms let him go. “I love you, too,” he whispered, shutting his eyes.

They stood that way for some time, quiet, breathing softly against each other, their hands and faces islands of warmth amid metal plates.

“Yuuri, my Yuuri,” Victor mumbled. “It feels so long since we were able to do this – just be alone, be with each other.”

Yuuri drew back, eyes shining. “It was this morning,” he said with a little laugh. “Unless you count when we were in your office in the trenches. But yeah, I feel the same.” He paused, looking Victor up and down, then glancing around the room. “And after all that, we’re here. We made it.”

“We did,” Victor said, smiling. “And there’s a bath, if you’re interested.” He paused. “The water is deep enough to stay warm a while yet, though, if you’d like to sit together and talk first?” He surprised himself with the request, because a bath with Yuuri sounded like the loveliest thing in the world. But there was so much that had happened today – and now, at last, they had a chance to discuss it privately. Victor needed that, he decided, just for a little while. Perhaps Yuuri did, too, because there was understanding in his eyes as he slumped back into a chair and poured himself a cup of wine.

“Want some?”

“Please.”

Yuuri poured a second cup and Victor sat down across from him, wondering where to begin. 

After mouthful of wine, Yuuri said, “The duel, Ailis, Immersion…my mind’s spinning with it all.”

“I feel the same.” There was a small silver bowl of crystallised ginger left on the table, and Victor ate a piece. He wanted to feed one to Yuuri, but that would be a flirtation, and that wasn’t what he was after right now. It felt as if they needed to begin to help each other heal somehow.

“Thanks for what you did earlier in the dungeon,” Yuuri said. “Getting the beam off of Ailis, making sure I got out of there.”

“I could hardly have let you go in alone.”

“I could’ve got us both killed.”

“Perhaps. But you also wanted to try to help Ailis.” The ghost of a grin played across Victor’s face. “Even when I think I’ve learned so much about compassion, it seems there’s more for you to teach me. And you’re right – it’s difficult to feel it for people who have done terrible things, especially when they’re unrepentant. I attempted it more seldom than I’d care to admit, before I met you.”

“I’m clumsy about it myself sometimes,” Yuuri said, swilling the wine around in his cup. Then he looked at Victor with concern in his eyes, and it was a moment before he shared his thoughts. “I feel bad about making you angry in the boardroom,” he said quietly. “I pushed too far, didn’t I, asking you to say how you’d arrive at a judgement on Ailis if you were trying the case at the manorial court. What you said was true – it was my mission, my decision. But I was struggling to find the confidence I needed, and with Ailis sitting there in front of us while we were discussing what to do about her…” He bit his lip. “We should’ve talked about it beforehand, before we were even in that situation. I should’ve made sure we did.”

Victor leaned forward, resting his cup on the table. “It was just as much my fault as yours that we weren’t prepared. We were working together, remember? I admit your questions caught me off guard, though more than anything, I felt flustered because I’d found it difficult to think of ideas myself for what to do with her. But putting it in the context of the manorial court as you did…well.” Victor gave an amused little huff. “It was a challenge, and I wanted to take it on if I could. You never do let me off lightly, and I’m glad.”

“Really?” Yuuri said in surprise.

“Oh, yes. I had to choose between vengeance and compassion, remember?”

“You said it’d be hard to make an unbiased judgement.” Yuuri gave him a soft smile. “But you did. You wanted to find a way to give her a fresh start in a new and better life. I loved you for saying that.”

Victor returned Yuuri’s smile, feeling his cheeks warm. “And you took that idea and encouraged her to change this society for the better.”

“Well…yes.” Yuuri had another drink of wine. “But you knew Phichit was right, didn’t you? Like I was myself, before I got carried away. That we can’t interfere too much with events here, or we might risk unravelling what’s supposed to happen afterward. Maybe even the fact of my birth could change, and no one knows what effect a paradox like that would have.”

“That may be so.” Victor ran an idle finger over his cup. “But it’s difficult to resist the temptation to speculate about what it would be like to benefit from the boons of your time. I confess to a certain sense of excitement when you suggested it to Ailis. She _could _have done great things, if she’d been so inclined. You have a big heart, Yuuri, and I delight in hearing it speak.”

Victor could see Yuuri was flustered by this, cheeks pinking adorably, and he regretted the fact that they were sitting apart; they’d been forcibly separated too many times today as it was. The bath was there, ready for them…but it could yet wait.

“Perhaps it’s just as well that we didn’t get the chance to put any of our ideas about redeeming Ailis to the test,” he said. “Could we ever really have trusted her?”

“No,” Yuuri answered quickly, then huffed a laugh.

Victor selected another piece of ginger, staring down at it between his fingers, hesitating. He knew what he wanted to bring out into the open himself, now. It bubbled up inside of him, black and cloying. Maybe speaking about it would cause it to lose some of its power.

“There’s something else I think we would have discussed straight away, if things hadn’t happened the way they did today,” he said, deciding he no longer fancied the ginger and returning it to the bowl.

Yuuri’s brow clouded. “What’s that?”

“The date of my death.” Yuuri flinched at the words. “You’ve known about it for some time, haven’t you?”

“I…yes,” Yuuri said quietly.

“I’d got the impression at times that you were anxious about my safety, though I wondered if perhaps that was just your way – ”

“I’m always worried about that, Victor,” was the fervent reply. “Always. The more I loved you, the more I worried. But I got used to it. You just do.” He let out a breath, then took a gulp of wine. “You might have to put up with me being, um, overprotective a while longer. Situations like the ones we were in today don’t help.”

Victor was touched by this, but there was more to be said. “I wish you’d told me, and we could’ve dealt with this together. It was an important secret to share, wouldn’t you say?”

He wondered if Yuuri had any significant ones left that he was still holding close to his chest, and thought perhaps not. But the way that this one, and the one regarding his identity and mission, had been prised out of him by urgent circumstances hadn’t been ideal.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said, sounding sincere and rather abashed. “I didn’t want us both to worry.”

Victor gentled his voice. “There you are, protecting me again. But it’s not your task to perform alone, my love. You also trust by now, I hope, that I won’t act rashly if I have knowledge of the future?”

“Of course I do. But…” Yuuri put his cup on the table and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, what if certain things are fated to happen? I keep telling myself I don’t believe that; I don’t _want _to believe it. Especially not now. But my thinking was that I’d either change your future, or I’d find out I wasn’t able to, and in either case there was no need for you to know.” After a pause, he continued more firmly, “None of us come into this life knowing what’s going to happen, anyway. Maybe there’s a reason for that. Maybe if we did know, we’d waste a lot of time worrying and trying to change things, just to discover it was impossible. Who wants to live like that – do you?”

“That’s quite a pessimistic idea,” Victor couldn’t help commenting. “Do you honestly think it could be true?”

Yuuri looked down. “I can’t say.” Then when his eyes met Victor’s, there was a fire in them. “But the knowledge has been killing me for months, ever since Phichit told me. Maybe I didn’t think it through like I should have, but I didn’t know you as well back then, and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Did it occur to you that I might be able to take some kind of preventative measure myself, once I knew?”

“Like what?”

“Just generally being more cautious, perhaps?”

Yuuri looked at him. “You don’t do stupid things.”

“You mean like jumping into an ice-filled lake in only my braies and trying to swim to the other side on a dare?”

“You did that? How old were you?” Yuuri asked, wide-eyed.

“Seventeen, I think. Old enough to know better. I was with Alex and some others. He wasn’t the one who dared me; he tried to talk me out of it, in fact. But I’m afraid I rather enjoyed showing off to my little brother. I almost didn’t make it.”

“Jesus.”

“Anyway, I know now. We can both be cautious, I suppose, as far as that goes.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Victor,” Yuuri blurted in a shaky voice.

“Nor I you,” he replied, then swallowed, his chest tight. “And to think, I believed for a moment that I might be embarking upon a new life with you in your future world.”

Yuuri took in the subject change; Victor couldn’t see what more could be gained from discussing his looming fate, and so had chosen another topic that had been sitting close to his heart.

“If I’d had time to think,” Yuuri said, “I’m not sure I would’ve asked you; everything was just happening so fast. This is your home, your – ”

“Has it not occurred to you that I’ve considered the idea before?”

Yuuri stared. “You have?”

“Whether it could ever be possible or not, it’s tantalising in many ways.”

He seemed surprised by this. “But it’s so different from what you’re used to here. And you’d be giving up so many things. Friends and family – ”

“Who, exactly?” Victor paused to let this sink in. Yuuri would know if he thought about it for a moment, and his silence seemed to indicate as much. “Julia? I’d miss her, certainly. But she has her own life to live.” He took a sip of wine. “I know it’s hypothetical now, after the fire – if Ailis was telling even a small part of the truth to begin with. But you know what the drawbacks to living here are, Yuuri; we’ve spoken of them frequently. Even with the duel past, and Ailis dead, there will always be threats to us.”

_Including the one that haunts me most_, he added silently as he gazed at his love._ That you’ll be pulled back to the future if anything happens to Justin there, just as we saw with my mother. I wonder if you worry about it yourself. But perhaps you’re right to say that secrets like this aren’t always helpful to share. _Aloud, he continued, “These may not be violent times by the standards of most who are living through them, but I know you see it differently – as do I. If I had the chance to be with you in a safer place and experience the wonders of your world…meet Mari and Phichit face to face…” The ghost of a grin played over his face.

“It’d be incredible,” Yuuri enthused. “Well, if it could ever really happen. But, Victor – all your wealth, everything you’re used to – ”

Victor looked at him pointedly. “Do you believe it’s so important to me? The longer I’ve known you, the more I’ve been aware of what truly matters, my sweet. As if Boris Blessington-Stewart wasn’t enough of an example.” 

Yuuri’s soft smile touched his heart. “Oh…well, um, it’s not so much that. Victor, this is all you’ve ever known. Do you have any firsthand experience of being treated like a…a commoner, without luxuries? No matter how much you wanted – ”

“Carry on like that and I’ll start to believe you wouldn’t want me to come with you. Is this who you think I really am?” But his voice was gentle. If this was something Yuuri still didn’t understand about him, it was time to put the matter right.

Yuuri’s mouth hung open, brown eyes searching his own. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quietly. “Of course I’d want you to come.”

“Then I daresay I’d cope with any discomfort I discovered along the way, as my mother seems to have done.” He held Yuuri’s gaze, wondering if he’d ever spoken so purely as he said, “My heart knows what it wants.”

Yuuri gave him a radiant smile as he gazed back. “You’re wonderful.”

“Well.” The tiny grin again as Victor looked down. “It would seem that this remains our home.”

“Could be worse,” Yuuri said with a wink. “My heart knows what it wants, too. I daresay I could cope with any discomfort.”

Victor burst out laughing. It felt good. “Well, we don’t need any more of it now. I’d very much like a soak in the bath, I think.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“We have a few layers to remove.”

“Let me take your armour off,” Yuuri suggested softly.

Victor smiled and stood, and then Yuuri was there in front of him, angling up for a kiss, light and slow. Humming into it, Victor tasted wine and honey on his lips. His heart eased, then started to race as the rhythm of their kiss sent a thrill through him. Yuuri pulled back and lifted Victor’s arm, fingers skating as he found the ties to the vambrace and undid them.

Victor knew Yuuri loved this; had sensed it about him before they’d become intimate. One piece on the table, then a second, their gazes meeting, holding, breaking away, reconnecting. As utilitarian a process as this usually was, Yuuri could make it into a more sensual experience than Victor had ever dreamed possible; but his touch was different tonight – gentle, reassuring, reverent even, rather than attempting to fan the flames of desire. His kisses, brushed over Victor’s skin, were soft and delicate, sending liquid warmth through him. Victor closed his eyes and sighed as Yuuri removed his breastplate, then the cuisses on his thighs. As his fingers worked further down at his greaves and sabatons, Victor saw that Yuuri was kneeling at his feet; he smiled up, brown eyes sparkling.

“You’re so good to me,” Victor whispered. It occurred to him that he must smell of sweat and grime, but Yuuri seemed untroubled by it. His heart filled with love for this man. And yes, by all the angels and saints, he wanted him, how could he not? But he could enjoy the moment, which he’d craved all day – himself and Yuuri alone, a wonderful thing in itself.

Yuuri stood and put the last pieces of armour on the pile on the table, and Victor gave him a smile, then took the plates and put them outside the door ready for Julia to collect in the morning, though he wouldn’t have asked it of her. And while he was at it, he would shed these clothes as well, which were much in need of a wash. Yuuri’s gaze followed his actions as he pulled his boots off and placed them in a corner, removed his belt and put it on the table, and unbuttoned and untied everything else, dropping it into the basket. The locket was all that remained, gleaming in the candlelight, and this he carefully unlatched and placed next to his belt. “Your turn,” he said with a small grin.

“You’re going to do it like that?” Yuuri said, looking him over.

“We’ll be getting into the bath, after all.” Victor’s grin widened. “I’m not distracting you, am I?”

“Of course not,” Yuuri replied, his voice hitching.

Circling round to stand in front of him, Victor decided to mirror what had been done for him and captured his lips, this time with a slip of tongue. Yuuri moaned as they pressed and circled. He could take this further, he knew, and light a fire in them both until they were gasping. But that wasn’t what Yuuri had done; he’d obviously wanted him to feel relaxed and loved, after the day they’d had. That, then, was what Victor would give him in return.

He took a step back, and Yuuri obligingly lifted an arm out to the side, silently inviting him to start there, silver plates glinting in the candlelight. Victor gave him a warm smile and stepped behind him, removing the pieces from his forearm, upper arm and shoulder, caressing and kissing without seducing, a comforting touch, sweet press of lips on smooth skin. It was salty, and simply smelled of Yuuri, and it was intoxicating. Victor nuzzled the nape of his neck, eliciting a gasp. Reminding himself to behave, he divested Yuuri of the rest of his armour until only the greaves and sabatons remained. Then he copied Yuuri’s earlier action of kneeling on the floor to remove those, and his boots as well, massaging the soles of his feet.

Yuuri watched with dark eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice syrupy. “You feel so good. You make _me _feel…”

Victor chuckled. “Relax, my love.”

“Oh, I am.”

Kissing the arch of his foot before releasing it, Victor stood and gathered his armour up, then walked to the door. 

“Victor, what if someone sees you? Some of the king’s men are in rooms along the hall – ”

“What do I have to be ashamed of?” he responded in all honesty, opening the door and putting the armour on the floor in a separate pile from his own. Returning to the room, he watched Yuuri remove his remaining clothes, then reached out and took his hand and led him to the bath, where he dipped his fingers in the water. It was no longer steaming, but would provide a pleasant soak. Breathing deep, he could detect lavender, basil, mint, and roses.

“The servants put chopped herbs and flowers in, didn’t they?” Yuuri said, looking at the water. “It smells like one of Fernand’s desserts.”

“Do you not care for it?”

“No, it’s lovely.”

“Come then, my darling.” Victor got in, still holding Yuuri’s hand as he climbed in himself; then they both sat down on the white cloth-covered bench. Yuuri closed his eyes and slid forward so that he was almost floating, the back of his head propped against the wooden side of the tub. A curious tremble passed through him.

“Are you all right?” Victor asked in concern.

“Yes…fine,” came the faint response as Yuuri opened his eyes and looked at him. “I don’t know, it just feels…I’m a bit overwhelmed. Like every pain and worry from today wants to pour out into the water.”

“I’ll wash you, if you like?”

Yuuri nodded, and Victor did, forging a tender connection through their skin as he cupped and poured the water, ran the soap over tense muscles, smoothed it around with his fingers. He thought back to Yuuri fighting the duel, the courage and strength it had taken after months of training, while he took a cloth and cleaned the red scratch on his cheek where Tyler’s weapon had released the poison into his system. Victor didn’t think he would ever stop being relieved that it was over and his love was alive. Yet so many things had happened afterward, too. The simple intimacy they were sharing now felt like a salve on those wounds, and he hoped Yuuri felt the same.

Eventually Yuuri was stretched in front of him, back to chest, Victor soaping and rinsing his front while nuzzling next to his ear and placing light kisses against wet hair. Then he felt more than a tremble this time; Yuuri was shaking. They’d been so quiet, talking through touch. What did it mean? He heard Yuuri heave a breath.

“What’s wrong?” Victor whispered near his ear. To his surprise, Yuuri reached up and clutched the arms encircling his chest. It was a moment before his grip eased and he spoke.

“Victor, I – I’m sorry…stupid of me…”

“What is it, my love?”

He swallowed. “I…tried to be strong today. To not think too much, not let the anxiety come to the surface. I just pushed it all away so…so I could function.”

“You _were _strong,” Victor said, gathering Yuuri more snugly in his arms.

As if he hadn’t heard, Yuuri continued, “After Ailis, your mum was there, and it was important to sort that, and the meal in here – which everyone needed – and then I wanted us to have a nice time together once they’d all gone.”

“I have been. But you know you only ever need to be yourself around me – isn’t that what you told me once? If you’d wanted to go straight to sleep, do you think I would have been upset? I’m sure I would have joined you.” He ran a palm back and forth over Yuuri’s chest.

“But what I mean is, I don’t think I’ve had a chance til now to…to _feel_ everything I – we – went through.” He turned his head briefly to glance at Victor, eyes brimming. “I almost lost you today.” And his hands gripped again. “So many times. I’ve been trying to count how many, and I think I forgot…”

“I’m here now. We’re both here now, and it’s…OK.”

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, tears running down his cheeks. “When I think about it, once is too many times. But all day…you in that prison, and Ailis, and the riots, the guns, the bombs…” His voice wavered, and he began to sob. “I thought _I’d _die too, and I’d never see you again.”

When he put it like that…Victor felt a tear slip down his own cheek. His natural inclination was to keep his thoughts to himself while Yuuri was distraught. But perhaps on this occasion it would be better to share, as painful as it was. “I feel the same,” he said quietly. “I just…hadn’t really considered it yet myself, not in that way. Maybe I never wanted to. I love you so much; I don’t want to lose you either.”

They remained as they were for some time, arms and hands tight. Yuuri’s tears slowed and eventually stopped, and Victor brushed his own away. “It’s all right,” he’d been saying. “Shhh, it’s all over now.” As much to comfort himself as Yuuri. He felt limp; drained. But underneath, it seemed a new sense of peace was beginning to emerge too, as if a storm had passed and things were settling again, albeit in new patterns.

Yuuri had stilled, there in his arms, and Victor began to suspect he might have dozed off. With a fond grin, he deposited him gently on the bench; he half sat up, eyes opening, while Victor began to wash. By the time he was done, Yuuri’s head was leaning against the side of the tub, eyes closed, breaths slow and deep. It seemed a shame to wake him, but he couldn’t exactly spend the night like this. 

Victor spoke his name and shook him by the shoulder just enough to rouse him from his slumber. “Let’s get you dried off,” he said. “Then bed.”

Yuuri’s lids opened slightly. “Bed…sounds good.”

“It does to me, too. Woe betide anyone who comes knocking at the door in the morning before the terce bells.”

“Seven o’clock…this time of year,” Yuuri mumbled as Victor guided him out of the tub. He stood there dripping as Victor took a towel and began drying him off. “Silly times you have here. Terce is…almost ten o’clock in winter.”

“Hardly anyone uses a clock here,” Victor said with a small grin as he slipped an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders; without it, he seemed in danger of dropping to the floor and spending the night there. “So what’s normal for you, my sweet Yuuri, is something rather different for everyone else.” Victor steered him toward the bed and pulled the sheets down. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Yuuri climbed in, lying on his side while a hand tucked itself under his pillow, and Victor pulled the sheets over him. “Night, Vitya,” Yuuri mumbled, eyes closed. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Victor kissed his cheek and stared down at him with a grin, then went to towel himself off and blow most of the candles out, the resulting smoke from the wicks drifting through the air.

_Clocks, _he thought. He went to Yuuri’s room and found the one he’d built sitting inside the wardrobe. Carefully he picked it up by its wooden frame and carried it to the main room, where he put it in pride of place on the table. Yuuri had explained to him how the weights and gears worked, and how to wind it, which was required twice a day – but that was weeks ago. Perhaps he would still be able to remember.

He went to the window and opened the shutters, moonlight spilling into the room and across his bare skin, and took the astrolabe from its hook, calibrating the time by the stars. After replacing it, he returned to the clock and moved the hands – a quarter of an hour past ten – then reached inside to turn a wheel; he couldn’t remember its name, but it had to go around to the left until the mechanism felt tight. The pendulum began to swing, and a soft rhythmic ticking wove with the sound of clinking embers in the fireplace. Victor watched, feeling lulled by the steady beat. It truly was a marvellous thing that Yuuri had created.

“My man from the future,” he whispered into the night. “How could I ever have been so blessed.”

He crossed the floor, the tiles cool on his feet, and climbed into bed next to Yuuri. He hadn’t stirred, and Victor listened to his even breaths; some part of him wanted to ensure that Yuuri still lived, though he chided himself for being so silly. A grin played across his lips as he watched Yuuri’s back rise and fall…the soft tangle of his dark hair around his face…his long lashes where they rested on his cheeks.

Thank everything in heaven that they were together like this now. Despite lingering worries, perhaps they could finally look forward to the days ahead, full of hope and promise. Victor wanted to make the best of them with Yuuri, and wondered how he could. Perhaps some of the ideas that had been shaping themselves at the back of his mind could be put into action. But would Yuuri like them? There was time yet to consider before anything was said.

He dipped his head down and placed a light kiss on Yuuri’s temple. “I love you,” he whispered. “Sleep well, my sweet.” 


	138. A Life With You (Part 18)

_Run. Don’t turn back, don’t look, don’t stop._

His feet weren’t fast enough. Tall faceless buildings, endless windows and grey concrete rushed past, indifferent silent witnesses.

Victor, Emil, Julia – all the residents of this city – where were they? He was alone. Something was pursuing him; something so terrible that if he turned to look, it would shatter him like the windows the rioters had vandalised.

_Run, run!_

The hard soles of his shoes pounded the pavement, his ragged breaths muffled by the heavy warm air. What was behind him, what was he so frightened of?

Nothing to hear, nothing to see. But the skin on his back crawled. No shelter, nowhere to go, no _time…_

He tripped and spilled on the concrete, palms scraping raw. It was bearing down on him, lower, closer –

_It’s coming, it’s coming, coming!_

Trembling, he threw his arms over his head with a cry –

And sat up.

_I’m not in London, I’m in bed. _

_Nothing’s chasing me._

Exhaling forcefully, Yuuri wiped the back of his hand across his clammy forehead and looked around, expecting the nebulous thing that had been after him to somehow be lurking in a corner of the room.

_Jesus, that felt so real. _He swallowed, counting his breaths and willing himself to stop shaking.

Tyler and the duel. Victor held captive by Ailis. The colosseum…He shook his head as a tear slipped down his cheek. _All that fighting. So worried that Victor was going to die, that I would, that Emil and Julia…_

_It’s OK, Yuuri. You’re all right. It’s over._

Victor lay next to him, his features serene in sleep in a way they never quite were when he was awake. Lying back down and nestling into the pillows with a sigh, Yuuri watched him awhile.

_You’re beautiful. I love you. We’re alive and well, together and safe._

Nothing was wrong; it was just the anxiety creeping out of its corner in the small hours, after feeding on everything that had happened yesterday. No more real than Immersion. Yuuri’s brain understood, and eventually his emotions would follow as his heart quietened and the rest of him relaxed. 

The first faint rays of dawn were only beginning to seep through the window – funny, he was sure the shutters had been closed last night – which meant it must be very early yet. The time…

_The time? _A steady ticking noise trailed through the silence of the room. His eyes followed it to the table, and widened when he saw his clock. _That _certainly hadn’t been there before. Victor must have got it out for some reason, and reset and wound it up. Yuuri could just make out the reading on the hands. Ten to five.

_Fuck. _This wasn’t an hour meant for humans. He buried his head further into his pillow, pushing his thoughts away. Breathe. In, out. Soft covers, warm bed. Victor slumbering next to him. No more nightmares. No more…

He drifted, slipping into shadows.

_It’s back._

The feeling was in his gut this time; a fretful fluttering. Whatever had been chasing him through the deserted streets of London was in the room with him right now.

Yuuri willed himself to open his eyes and prove that it was nothing more than a dream. And kept them squeezed shut, because if something _was_ there…

He shivered, and more tears leaked onto his cheeks.

_What the hell is happening to me? What is it?_

_Have to open my eyes. Have to…have to know this isn’t real. Wake up properly._

His lids were so heavy. But was this what Victor had taught him to do? Imagine he was hiding and wish danger away?

_There’s no danger. _

He forced his eyes open. And choked back a cry.

Ailis was standing in front of the table. Dark clothes, shadowed eyes, skin red and black and welted and ruined. She didn’t move or make a sound. Beyond words, Yuuri held his breath.

_Why is she staring at me like that?_

Her eyes burned into him. _It’s all your fault_, they seemed to say. _My unhappiness. My misfortunes. My death. Everything I could have been and done, wasted. Because of you. _

“No,” he whispered, finding his voice at last; wondering what she had the power to do, whether she could hurt him, or if fear alone might be enough. “I did what I had to do. I could’ve shot you, but I wanted to try to help you. You can’t blame me for what happened.”

Her pale, still body was like a spectral finger, and yes she did and would blame him, regardless.

“Go away and leave me alone.” Then more loudly, “Go!”

And suddenly he wasn’t looking at Ailis at all, but Natalia in her crimson dress with flowers and dragons, a butterfly on her cheek, fair hair in a bun – and _she _was pale, silent, staring, with Victor’s blue eyes. There was no accusation in them, but no warmth either; a marble statue waiting for the breath of life.

_I don’t even know you. But I do in a way, through Victor. A noblewoman who had more important things to do than take an interest in her children. _

If _Okasan_ and _Otousan_ had appeared like she had outside the dungeon, they would have hugged him and told him how much they’d missed him, and he would have done the same in return. Clearly Natalia was not that kind of person.

_Go away. I don’t want you in here either._

He closed his eyes with a shudder. And when he found the courage to open them again, there was nothing but the clock on the table. Half past five.

Which was worse, trying to get back to sleep and possibly encountering more nightmares, or lying here and counting the minutes to a more civilised time to get out of bed, trying to convince his overheated brain that Ailis and Natalia _were _nightmares, and not ESP visitations or ghosts?

_I’m not going to let the anxiety win._

_Dreams, it was all just dreams. Calm down, Yuuri. _

He allowed the tick-tock of the clock to lull him, watching Victor while his breaths slowed. Then he looked around the room as it gradually revealed more of itself in the watery dawn light. The bath bucket was still full.

His desire to be alone with Victor, here like this, had pulled him through more difficult situations yesterday than he thought he’d encounter in a lifetime. But once they’d finally had the chance to relax and embrace, he’d…

Cried. Shit, yes, that was what he’d done. In the fucking bath. As if his body had been trying to purge itself of all the poisons of the day. Even though Victor must surely have been dealing with his own.

_But he was OK about it, wasn’t he? He held me. And I think he dried me off and put me to bed. It’s hard to remember. _

_Like a child._ When he must have needed Yuuri to be strong enough to support him in turn. And they ought to have ended the day as close as they could be. He’d wanted it, Victor must have wanted it, too…but he’d been as fragile then as he was this morning, with his fears chasing him out of sleep.

_What must he think of me?_

Yuuri turned his head and looked at him…and knew that those features would never fill with the censure he was piling upon himself.

_He’s stood by me through everything. Believing at first that I was an enemy. The lack of training, the anxiety. My mission. __He doesn’t just say he loves me; he shows_ _it every day in what he does. I hope I’ve managed to do the same. _

_Victor, I had to travel hundreds of years into the past, but I found you, I found you, and I’m so glad…_

He shifted further under the covers, eyelids drooping once more. Seeking comfort but wanting to let Victor sleep, he rolled over and loosely hugged his pillow, thoughts stretching out and trailing away…before disappearing entirely.

He was in a cocoon. Held. Cradled. Loved.

The sensations filtered into Yuuri’s consciousness before his brain could make sense of them. Still in bed. So very warm. And that was because Victor was lying against his back with an arm draped around his waist. Pressed against him, but motionless. Yuuri grinned languidly and placed a hand on his arm, wondering if he was awake. An awareness slowly dawned that the heat inside of him was not just from lying together in bed, but because Victor’s erection was slotted against his backside, and his own body was very aware of the fact.

“Victor,” he hummed, squeezing his hand and snuggling backward just a little, though it was enough to send a pulse of desire through him.

A kiss against his hair. “Yuuri,” Victor said softly, and it sounded as if he was smiling. “Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning.” Yuuri ran his fingers along Victor’s arm, fair hairs and hard muscle.

“I think I decided to wake you with a hug.” Victor’s voice was gentle; groggy. “But I must have fallen asleep again.”

“Me, too. You weren’t there, and then you were.”

“I hope it’s all right. You were upset last night.” Yuuri felt his breath just under his ear, then his lips there, and he trembled.

“More than all right.” He pressed backward more firmly this time, eliciting a gasp from Victor, his own need building. Twisting back to cup his chin, rough with stubble, he sighed, “Want you.” 

Holding his gaze, pupils wide and dark, Victor gave him a little catlike grin, then met his mouth, slow and lazy. Yuuri quickened it, the rhythmic wet press and slide of their lips fanning the flames inside of him. Victor moaned, moving his hand to stroke his neck, and licked into his mouth. Answering with a throaty noise of his own, Yuuri canted his hips back, and Victor thrust against him.

Yuuri gasped, running his fingers through sleep-mussed hair shining gold in the morning light. “Victor, please…”

“Vitya,” he mumbled against his cheek.

“Vitya – will you…do you want to – ”

“Yes,” Victor said, finding Yuuri’s lips again before adding, “I want you too, my sweet. So much.”

Yuuri pushed the sheets out of the way, then grabbed the phial of oil and handed it to him. Taking it, Victor said, “Between your thighs?”

Sometimes they had, when one of them was sleepy. But Yuuri was awake now, and he knew it wouldn’t be enough; he needed a deeper connection. “No – inside me,” he said, the quiet plea in his voice edged with need. Victor’s cock twitched against him, and he caught Yuuri’s lips again, taking quick breaths between kisses, before pulling the stopper out of the phial.

Yuuri shifted a leg, giving him access, then bore down onto his busy fingers, matching their rhythm, his head on the pillow. He’d once taught Victor how to turn this into a pleasure that would make a man’s senses reel, and it was a lesson he’d never forgotten. By the time he was finished, Yuuri was writhing and panting, clutching at the sheet, aching to be touched and filled.

“Vitya, please,” he breathed. “I need you.”

“You’re so sexy when you’re like this.” Victor positioned himself at his entrance. “You’re always sexy,” he added in a sigh, beginning to push in. “Oh, Yuuri…” Soon both his arms were wrapped around Yuuri’s chest, their bodies moulded together as he thrust, building to a steady rhythm. Yuuri tilted his head back, soft moans and gasps spilling from his lips.

Victor nuzzled against his neck, whispering endearments, and licked a trail of kisses down his throat. “Vitya…oh God.” Yuuri bucked against him, then took his hand and guided it to where he was desperate to be touched. When those long, clever fingers pleasured him there, he arched his back and cried out. Victor kissed into his hair, then nibbled the shell of his ear. His breaths were quick, his hand firm as he pumped Yuuri’s cock.

“I’m close,” Yuuri gasped out.

“I am, too,” Victor said into his hair. “Yuuri, my Yuuri…my joy…my love. Lord, you feel so good.”

He thrust harder and faster, and Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut against the waves of pleasure. “Vitya, yes,” he bit out, clutching at Victor’s arms. “Fuck, _yes_…”

His orgasm slammed into him and rocked him in its wake, his jaw falling open, fingers grasping. With a final firm thrust, Victor called out his name, quivered, and stilled.

The tide slowly rolled back, its warm waves lapping at Yuuri as he lay enveloped in bliss. Their breaths and bodies stilled.

“I love you,” he whispered. Victor tightened the arm that was still wrapped around his chest. 

They lay as they were for a time, and Yuuri wanted to stop the clock; bottle the moment and keep it forever. Then he felt soft lips on the nape of his neck.

“Yuuri.” It sounded like a delight on Victor’s tongue.

Yuuri placed his hand over Victor’s on his abdomen, their fingers sliding together. “Mmm.”

“Good morning, my love. I said that already, didn’t I?”

Turning onto his back, Yuuri smiled up at him. “This is a good way to say it, too.”

Victor’s own smile was radiant. “Indeed.” He leaned down and kissed him, warm and lingering, then sat up, his gaze roaming over Yuuri’s body. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Yuuri swallowed, his cheeks suddenly flaming. He wanted to automatically deny it, but Victor’s expression was sincere.

“How do you feel this morning?”

Yuuri couldn’t help smirking. “Thoroughly and happily fucked.”

Victor laughed.

“You should do that more often. I love to hear you laugh.”

“Maybe I will, now.” Victor’s smile faded to a warm grin. “I’ll get us cleaned up.” He stood and went to the washstand, fetching a cloth and returning. Noticing Yuuri’s eyes on him as he stood next to the bed, he lifted his hand and slowly licked at a little of the come there, gazing at Yuuri from under hooded lids. Heat pooled in Yuuri’s groin as he watched. They both enjoyed pleasuring each other with their mouths, but he’d never seen Victor do _that _before.

“You’re going to make me want you all over again,” he said hoarsely.

“Is that a promise?” Victor purred, getting back on the bed and running the cloth over his hand and Yuuri’s abdomen before handing it over. “Unfortunately, it’s quite late, and I expect there’s plenty yet for us to do today. But, you know what I would like?”

“Hmm?” Yuuri finished with the cloth and laid it aside.

Victor’s eyes gleamed. “A whole day in here together. Just you and me. Making love and having our meals brought to us.”

Yuuri smiled at the thought. “You really are turning me on again, you know.”

“It’ll be fun. Maybe once the king is gone.”

“I’d like that,” Yuuri said softly.

Victor glanced at the clock.

“Did you bring that in here last night?”

He nodded. “It’s safe to put it there now, isn’t it? There’s no longer any danger of word getting back to Ailis that you have it. I expect everyone else would admire it. If you don’t mind it being there. I think it’s remarkable. Just like its maker.”

Yuuri’s heart fluttered. “Do we have time to lie here and hold each other for a while?”

Victor looked down at him with a grin. “I always have time for that.”

Getting back under the covers, they wrapped their arms around each other, legs tangling. “This is good,” Yuuri sighed as he nuzzled against Victor’s neck. “It’s perfect.”

He could go back to sleep like this. It already felt as if a constant weight on his shoulders had been lifted with Ailis’s death, though it wasn’t the end he’d wished for. And he knew that he wasn’t yet whole, either; the events of the previous day would remain with him, as his nightmares had already indicated. But the time he’d spent with Victor since then was the most wonderful balm. A little more of that would go a long way. He kissed Victor’s cheek gently, and Victor kissed the top of his head, moving his hands in small, slow, affectionate caresses along his arms and chest.

Eventually Yuuri said, “I hate to say so, but I suppose we ought to do things. Start the day.”

“_My _day started very well indeed,” Victor replied with a grin.

Yuuri snuggled against him. “Mine, too. But there’s a king who’ll probably want to see you.”

“Oh, how tiresome.”

Yuuri snickered. 

Once they had reluctantly left each other’s arms and were following their morning routines, Yuuri had to admit that Emil had made a good point about normalcy being a comfort. He pulled on a long linen night shirt in order to open the door, not keen himself to inadvertently flash any passers-by, and brought in a tray of thin wine, grapes, cheese and bread that one of the squires must have left earlier. Then he took a turn in the garderobe and had a quick wash in the tub, as did Victor, since it was more convenient than the pitcher and basin. A shave, tooth-clean and comb through his hair, and then he was helping himself to some grapes while Victor searched inside his wardrobe.

“The king will expect us to attend to him sometime today, I’m sure,” he mused. “But I don’t want to be wearing my best linens if I decide to do anything more physical. I think I’d suggest the same as yesterday – ordinary hose and a good tunic underneath our armour, once Julia and Emil return it.”

They both dressed, and while Yuuri was buckling on his belt, he recalled that he’d put his laser gun in his purse the day before. Was that really something he needed to walk around with? Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad defence if a horde of angry fighting men came at him, though fortunately there seemed little chance of that right now. More probably it would only put him on edge, knowing it was always there and he was poised to use it. People in his time did not walk the streets with guns…but they didn’t have swords or bows and arrows, either.

He pulled the silver oval from his purse and held it in the palm of his hand, feeling its weight. And it seemed like the room and the peaceful ticking of the clock vanished, to be replaced with the scream of laser-gun fire, flashing blue beams blowing holes in the streets and walls as he ran and fired back. _Protect Victor. Take Emil to safety. Where’s Julia? How will we get out of here? The red death…_Tumbling together with this, the terrible image his mind had conjured of Victor chained in the dungeon – and silhouettes aiming at them from high in a muddy wasteland…

“Yuuri?” The voice and touch on his arm made him jump, and he gasped. His heart was racing, and sweat had sprung out on his brow; he wiped it away with the sleeve of his tunic. _Victor, it’s only Victor. What’s got into me?_

“I’m sorry,” he said hastily. “I, um…was remembering yesterday.”

“You’re holding your gun.”

Yuuri stared at it. “I was just wondering…what have you done with yours?”

“I thought I’d store it in the chest where I keep my livery collar and a few other things.” He knitted his brow. “Do you think I ought to carry it with me?”

“Um, no, I can’t imagine we’d need them anymore here at the castle. I’ll put mine away, too.”

“Yuuri,” Victor said more softly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. Then he leaned over and kissed his forehead, and it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. _How do you do that?_

“My memories of yesterday are fresh in my mind too,” Victor murmured. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

Yuuri took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you. Same goes for you.”

He’d bought a small velvet-lined wooden box from the castle carpenter not long after Victor had given him the precious gold livery collar, which he kept in the wardrobe in his room, and he was stashing the gun alongside it when there was a loud knock on the door and Victor admitted the squires. Yuuri heard Victor greet them, and Julia said the king wanted him to be present at court, which was due to begin at any moment.

“An exciting morning, then,” he said wryly as Yuuri joined them, noticing that their gleaming armour had been left in two piles on the bed. “You needn’t have gone to the trouble of procuring food as well, my girl; I hope you’ve had a chance to rest after yesterday.”

“I’m fine, master,” she answered. “We all survived, did we not? It’s past now.”

Yuuri would have been tempted to admire her show of stoicism, but he’d seen the night before how moved she’d been by whatever had happened with the group of protesters she’d joined in Immersion. While she and Victor spoke, he went to Emil, who was standing next to the bed, examining the ties on Yuuri’s breastplate.

“Good morning, master,” he said with a sunny smile. “I hope you slept well.”

Yuuri blinked, at a momentary loss for what to say. They were back to being master and servant, it seemed.

“I did, thanks. Is there something wrong with my breastplate?”

“Oh, it’s perfectly serviceable,” Emil replied, putting it down. “I’ll just need to take it to the blacksmith soon for some new ties, and there’s a small dent he can hammer out.”

“I haven’t had it that long.”

“You use it a great deal. As any knight would.”

“Emil,” Yuuri said in a confidential tone, “how are you? A lot happened yesterday, and – ”

“I’m quite all right, sir. Glad to have been of service to you and Sir Victor, and very appreciative of your assistance. It’s certainly a relief that my leg is working as it should. Would that all injuries could be cured so.”

“Well, yes, I agree.”

“You should rest as much as you can after your exertions, if you want my opinion. But when you and Sir Victor are ready to train again, I’d like to watch.”

“Sure. You’re always welcome.”

He and Victor allowed their squires to put their armour on them; it felt to Yuuri like he – or rather, Victor – had only just removed it. “Ready?” Victor asked him, strapping his belt back on over the metal.

“Um, do you think the king would mind if I came a bit later? It’s you he wants to see, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but what is it – are you feeling all right?”

“Sure. I just have a few things I’d like to do here first.”

He nodded. “Join us in the great hall when you’re done?”

“I will.”

Yuuri watched them go. Then he took a chair at the table and lifted his wrist to speak into his com.


	139. Chapter 139

“So much has been happening. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to give you a proper call.”

“Believe me, I can imagine. I’m amazed you can keep your head on straight after yesterday.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “I’m not sure it is, entirely. But there are some big things I won’t have to worry about anymore. I’m still getting used to that.”

“I’m happy for you, Yuuri. Really.”

“Thanks.” He paused. “I don’t suppose…well, that you’ve had a chance to check your book with…” 

“Oh, that. No, but give me a minute.”

Yuuri waited, hearing the ruffle of paper, only realising he’d been holding his breath when Phichit spoke again.

“Sorry, Yuuri.”

“Shit,” he exhaled. “What the fuck is it going to take…?”

“Well at least you know Ailis won’t have anything to do with his, um, his death. Not that it’s still inevitable – ”

“I know,” Yuuri interrupted, not wanting to prolong the topic. As he rubbed his forehead, his gaze wandered across the face of the clock in front of him. “Well. I guess my mission is officially concluded, then.”

“Yeah. Celestino will want to congratulate you soon, once he’s sorted everything out at this end. You did what you went there to do, and you were brilliant. Don’t tell me otherwise, because I heard through your com what was going on.”

_Even with all the crazy things I was urging Ailis to do? If you say so. I hadn’t intended for her to be killed, either._

“Yuuri, you there?”

“Yeah. So there’s no need for you to be ready to answer every time I call now, is there? There hasn’t been a single time you weren’t, and I appreciate that more than I can say, but…well, I want you to be able to get on with your life. You deserve it.”

After a silence, Phichit answered, “Maybe. But I’m your friend, Yuuri. I want to stay in touch, you know? It’s not as if you’ve got a way of contacting anyone else here.”

“I want to stay in touch, too. But all this time, I must’ve really been tying you down; you can’t tell me I haven’t. I needed you, and you were there. And those nights I was by myself downstairs in my room, you played the radio for me, and music – ”

“Seriously, it wasn’t any problem just leaving it on like that next to the com.”

“And you’ve done that for Victor and our squires, too. Plus all the stuff you’ve looked up on the Cloud. Putting me in touch with Mari. I wish I could explain how much it’s meant to me.” He sniffed as a tear threatened to escape. This almost felt like goodbye, but it wasn’t, he knew that.

“Thanks,” Phichit said quietly. “It’s been my pleasure, Yuuri. I felt bad for you at first, because you were really alone, weren’t you? And I know shit kept happening, but you’re living with some amazing people there now.”

Yuuri swiped at his cheek as the tears got the better of him. “Yeah, I am.”

“So I’ll keep doing those things for you. It’s no great hardship, you know? I like Victor – I think it’s absolutely juke that you two got together – and if I can bring some modern tech benefits to your ancient medieval lives, all you have to do is call.”

“That’s really kind of you. Thanks, Phichit. But I want you to promise me that you’ll do normal stuff, too. Go out, meet people, have a good time.”

“I’ve been doing that now and then, but yeah, sure.” After a pause, his tone was more businesslike. “I’ve got a few pieces of information to pass on while you’re here, actually. Celestino told Anisha Shaikh that Ailis was dead, and she said she’d break the news to Ailis’s mum. MI8 weren’t very happy – Anisha told him it was a big loss, and she thinks that Ailis’s tech was so far in advance of what anyone uses or understands that they may never suss it out, certainly not without one of her time-travel spheres to study. Apparently she had a big argument with him about how he sent you into the past with the last one. We should’ve kept it here, she said.”

“Wow. Well I can understand them wanting to get hold of her tech, but I’m inclined to say it’s a good thing they aren’t going to. Besides, Celestino made the right call, sending me here. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if Ailis had gone on to do everything she was planning?”

“So do you think it’s fair to say you’ve saved the world?”

Yuuri huffed. “Don’t put it like that; it sounds silly. And I had help.” But a flush of pleasure warmed his cheeks. _I really did do something worthwhile. Victor and Julia and Emil and me, we stopped Ailis from changing history._

“It’s still juke, don’t you think? But with it all done now, plus your duel, what will you do, do you know?”

“Be a knight? Live here with Victor and try to keep him safe. That’s what I already chose to do anyway. I’m looking forward to it. Most of it. Unless we’re put under siege, or end up in a war with France, or…well, I try not to imagine those things. And I suppose you could say my in-laws, if you want to think of them like that, aren’t going to be the easiest people to try to get on with.” He propped an elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand. “It’s strange having the real Natalia here. She hasn’t said much about what she did in the future.”

“Actually, that’s one of the other things I wanted to tell you,” Phichit said quickly. “I’ve got some information about that, too.”

The enthusiasm in his voice made Yuuri suspect he’d been holding this back until now just to spring a surprise on him. He sat up. “You do?”

“Yeah – I contacted the city council and asked them about Kristina Golubin. I let them verify my identity, and told them that Celestino and I had been working with her through the living history museum before she’d disappeared; that was where Arthur and Ethelfrith were, and I figured Natalia would probably fit right in too, so I gave it a try. And I was in luck – they put me through to a case worker called Mandy Reynolds who’d been assigned to her. _Then _I got some information. You won’t believe it, Yuuri.”

“Try me. What did you find out?”

“Well, she was living in secure council flats with a roommate called Eva Vasiliev, twenty-two. Her family had been abusive to her, so she ran away and became a sex worker; apparently she was struggling to make ends meet. She and Natalia were put together because they were both Russian, or at least they thought Natalia was, though she hardly gave them any information about who she was or where she came from. In fact, Mandy started asking _me _stuff, and that got a little difficult – ”

“A sex worker?” Yuuri echoed. “They put Lady Nikiforov, Baroness Crowood from the Middle Ages, with – ”

“I know. But Mandy said they got on after a while and were quite friendly.”

Yuuri shook his head. “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for her.”

“A good thing, don’t you think? Maybe she learned something about how the other half lives.”

“Maybe,” Yuuri said, rubbing his chin. “Victor and I are going riding with her after dinner.”

“If she wants, I can put her in touch with people who knew her here. They’ve been worried about her since she disappeared, apparently. I ought to tell them something, but I’m not sure what. Oh – and you won’t believe what she was doing as a job, either.”

“The council got her a job?”

“Yeah, they let her try a few things, and this was what stuck in the end. She was working as one of those historical guides in the middle of town – you know, the ones who dress up like they’re from different historical periods.”

“What?” Yuuri laughed. “You’re joking.”

“I’m serious. They gave her medieval clothes to wear, and she took to them like a duck to water, Mandy said.” Yuuri laughed again. “She mostly worked with this jack called Jamie, who trained her. Apparently her knowledge of medieval York bowled them over, but they couldn’t understand why she kept making things up, because some of it couldn’t be found in historical records, and no archaeology existed to verify it.”

“Bloody hell. Makes sense, I suppose.”

“The best part of it all is, I’m sure I _saw _her once or twice myself. But I didn’t think anything of it, you know? Like those jacks who stand at the top of Stonegate every night trying to get people to join their ghost walk. You get used to it and you hardly notice. Mandy said the tourists really liked her because she was such a convincing noblewoman and had so much to tell people about every place they went to.”

Yuuri was trying to match the woman he’d met the evening before to this image of a helpful, if aristocratic, tour guide. It could possibly fit if he stretched it. Perhaps she was better at entertaining strangers than she was at speaking to her son, or about personal things. Then he asked himself why he should expect her, as a noblewoman in the Middle Ages, to have been raised to be otherwise.

“I also told Mari what happened to you yesterday.”

Yuuri grinned. “You’ve been busy. But thanks – what did she say?”

“That she’d better hear soon from this brother of hers who beat a knight in a duel and got everyone out of hyper-real Immersion in one piece, and is probably strutting around the castle now like the cock of the walk.”

“Yeah, because that’s completely me,” Yuuri said with a laugh. “But you didn’t tell her I _won _the duel, did you? I mean, I collapsed and blacked out, and if Victor hadn’t come to help when he did – ”

“Well, it sort of seemed to me like you _did _win, in a way? Anyway, it’s probably best if you explain to her yourself. I can see if she’s around right now, if you want.”

“I’d better get to court. The king’s there, and probably most everyone else, so I should be there too. Maybe you can try Mari for me tonight. Unless you’ve got plans.”

“Does watching Wimbledon count?”

“You want to sit and watch the tennis?”

“Why not? I didn’t say I was doing it alone.”

“You invited a _date _to sit and watch the tennis?”

“I didn’t say that, either. Anyway, Chatri Jachai from Thailand is playing, and I’ve got a bet on that he’s going to win this year. If the evening turns out to be any good one way or another, I’ll let you know.”

“OK. Good luck.”

After he cut the call, a smile lingered on Yuuri’s face, then faded as the clock ticked into the silence.

* * *

He tried to make his entrance into the great hall as unobtrusive as possible, slipping through the archway while the king, dressed again in crimson and ermine and wearing his crown, was in conference with John of Gaunt and other advisers. Victor was standing silently to the left of the throne, his expression impassive; though when he saw Yuuri, his face brightened for a moment. A small grin touched Yuuri’s lips, and then he spotted the squires among the several dozen people lining either wall and made his way toward them, avoiding the middle of the room.

“Ah, Sir Justin.”

Yuuri sank down on one knee as Victor had instructed him, wondering why the king seemed to be taking an interest.

“Come here, my good knight.” Richard beckoned, gold rings on his fingers glimmering. Yuuri got to his feet and approached.

“God grant you good morning, your royal majesty,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him.

“And the same to you. I wanted to speak with you and Sir Victor.”

Victor looked at him in surprise. “Me, your royal majesty?”

“Unless there’s another Sir Victor here whose presence I was unaware of. Now.” He lowered his voice; this was clearly a conversation meant only for the three of them. “In regard to the rather unusual performance I witnessed in the arena yesterday.” He looked at Yuuri. “I do hope your health is quite recovered after the injury you sustained? Sir Tyler disgraced himself utterly in his dealings with you.”

“I’m…well today, thank you, your royal majesty,” Yuuri answered.

“And you,” Richard added, turning to Victor. “It was a dramatic display you treated us to, taking up the duel on Sir Justin’s behalf and hoisting Sir Tyler with his own petard, as it were. I’ve decided to forgive you for your injury to his person for that reason, and I understand he lives and is recovering well. He’s under instructions to leave the castle today and return to his father while I decide what to do about the rascal.”

Victor nodded. “Thank you, your royal majesty.”

“What interests me, at the heart of all this, is why two such able knights have been shutting themselves away here, instead of performing deeds of renown. It’s obvious to me that you’re in no hurry to win glory and honour for yourselves, and your king and country, in battle.”

Yuuri felt the blood drain from his face, and a look of alarm crossed Victor’s as well. Was this it – was the king going to send them out to fight? _Not after I thought we were finally safe here, for a while at least. Please, God, no._

“While I must confess I’m mystified by this, I can see even now that neither of you is keen to prove yourself; your expressions say as much. Ordinarily I’d hazard that there’s a cowardly streak in you both, but after witnessing your deeds in the arena yesterday, that obviously isn’t so. Sir Victor, I’ll speak plainly – your father has ill used you for his ambitious ends, sending you to fight other knights to seize their families’ lands, and it’s no education in the finer points of chivalry. Therefore I can perhaps understand why you developed no liking for an honest fight. And Sir Justin – you and your family were wronged by the Nikiforovs. But since you insist that you remain here by choice to serve them, I see no reason to intervene. These may be the reasons why neither of you have desired to attend to me in London, or perhaps there are more personal ones.”

_Come out with it, then, _Yuuri urged him silently, holding his hands tight to prevent them from shaking. _Just say it. What are you going to make us do?_

“There’s one thing I want to make clear,” Richard continued. “You’re still my vassals, and would do well to remember it. And after what I’ve seen here at this castle, _I _will remember _you_ – you can depend upon it. If I require your skills in combat, I trust you won’t disappoint. I may summon you to aid me or my men one day.”

They stared at him. Yuuri was still expecting him to give them some command to fight for him in France or Scotland.

“That’s all I have to say upon the matter. Sir Justin, you may retire to the side of the hall.”

Yuuri bowed low, then went to stand by the squires, both of whom nodded in greeting. The worst hadn’t happened, then. Yet. But he and Victor were known now – Ailis’s final revenge on them, he supposed, since she’d arranged the royal visit. But if he and Victor had to live with that cloud hanging over them, they would, and he’d get used to the anxiety simmering in the background; that was nothing new.

Despite that, however, the thought of being caught up in real-life battles – where injuries and deaths couldn’t be sanitised with cheat codes, and he might have to be the cause of them – made him shudder. Suddenly a memory of men with guns trying to force him and Victor to march to a firing squad rose up in his mind, and his throat tightened. He took several deep breaths, watching the king, reminding himself that it was only Immersion, and it was over with now. Richard was speaking to Victor, and Yuuri focused on his words as he strained to hear.

“…your father didn’t know where you’d gone. For the son of my host, I’ve seen precious little of you. One could almost take offence at this.”

“My humblest apologies, your royal majesty,” Victor answered quickly. “I was looking after my mother, who was indisposed. And Sir Justin was also unwell for a time after the duel. Did my father not inform you? I sent a message last night – ”

“I haven’t seen him yet this morning.” He looked long at Victor. “You’re a curious choice of nursemaid.”

“They’re both dear to me.”

Richard nodded. “I’d like you to stay by my side as a representative of your family while I oversee this court, as your father has informed me that he has castle business to see to. Then spend the day as you see fit. But I hope you won’t make yourself as rare a sight as a ghost during the remainder of this week; it doesn’t please me.”

“Of course, your royal majesty.”

_Leave him alone, _Yuuri thought angrily.

“I also hear a hunt has been organised for this weekend. I’ve heard tell of some impressive Russian archery skills you and your father possess, and I’d very much like to see them, if you both would be so kind as to give a demonstration.”

“It would require taking the hunt out to a more open stretch of land where the horses can pick up speed, but I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Good. See to it.”

Soon the king began to receive visitors, most of them richly dressed nobles and knights from around the country, and some who had recently returned from travels abroad. They spoke about people and events Yuuri had never heard of, the king’s advisers taking active part, while Victor was seldom asked for a contribution; it seemed he was there more for show than any practical purpose.

_He’s not a performing monkey, _Yuuri thought at the king again. _We’re together, and you’re a guest here. I’m a time traveller; I don’t have to answer to barons or kings. _

That was how his thoughts had run until recently. But things had changed, and the fact of the matter was that he was a knight who served both. As Yuuri the time traveller, he’d be able to command the attention of the entire court if he wanted, and they’d listen to him. As Sir Justin la Rose, he was expected to know his place, like Victor. Maybe he could understand better, now, the temptation Ailis had felt to take back some control.

When the final guest at the court departed, the servants flocked into the hall with trestle tables and settings for the meal. The king remained on the throne while chairs were hurriedly brought for his advisors and Natalia and the queen, who entered the hall together with their ladies-in-waiting. Yuuri saw Victor pause to speak to two of the women.

_All I want is to sit next to him and be with him. I should stop getting so annoyed with the king and the whole pantomime surrounding him; he’ll be gone by the end of the week._

And after that? The king would go to sit on a throne in another castle, on and on until he was back in London – where he might one day summon an army to fight for him.


	140. Chapter 140

Once Victor felt he’d repaired things between himself and Sophie and Rohesia, who were kindhearted enough to simply be happy that Natalia was feeling well again, he scanned the room for Yuuri and spotted him lingering near the fireplace. His pale face during their earlier discussion with the king had told him all he needed to know. Victor waved for him to join him at the high table, while Andrei and the castle officials entered the hall.

Smiling warmly, Victor sat on the bench, his love taking his place at his side. He relished the memory of what he’d known of Yuuri earlier that morning, the side of him that no one else got to see – the heat and passion, the vibrance, the spark. They might have caught a glimpse when he’d danced in the competition, or sparred. But they’d never had the sublime experience of being consumed by the unfettered flames of his eros. Even now, he was like a lantern whose shutters were closed, and Victor couldn’t wait to see them open for him again. A whole day spent making love in their room would be the most blissful luxury. He was determined to make it happen when he could. 

John of Gaunt and Edward the Duke of York’s son were their neighbours; Victor exchanged greetings with them, and Yuuri did the same. Servants brought bread, butter and sops, and while Victor cut a piece from a manchet loaf for Yuuri, he sought to meet his gaze. He was staring at his empty goblet, running his thumb absently up and down the stem, lost in thought. Placing the slice of bread on Yuuri’s plate, Victor scooted closer on the bench and spoke near his ear.

“Penny for them, my love?”

Yuuri looked at him, seemingly startled for a moment. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Too many things on my mind. I, um, was talking to Phichit before I came here.”

“How is he?”

“Fine. But…” He paused, staring down at the table, and his voice was solemn when he spoke. “The date of your…” Another pause. “Um, it hasn’t changed. I thought maybe it would, now that Ailis can’t threaten us anymore.”

_Oh. _The possibility had crossed Victor’s mind while he’d been gathering his thoughts during the long, dull moments in court, and he’d been meaning to ask. But there was never an ideal time to broach the subject; it gave him a feeling as of ashes in his mouth. “There are still threats from other quarters,” he made himself say, following the direction of Yuuri’s thoughts.

Yuuri bit his lip and nodded. “Richard knows what we can do, and he was clear about what that means.”

Victor placed a hand on his knee under the table. “It’s to be expected, the king reminding us of our duties to him. But you’ve said there will be no major battles in the years to come, correct?” Yuuri nodded again. “Then there’s little we need to fear.” He added in a soothing voice, “Try to put it behind you for now, my sweet. Enjoy the meal with me?”

Yuuri’s gaze was incisive. _Don’t pursue this, _Victor thought. _I’m trying to comfort you – and, if I’m honest, myself._

“Do you really believe that?” Yuuri whispered.

“Well…yes. I’ve lived here all my life, and the king has never felt the need to call me to fight.”

“But we’ve attracted his attention now. What if he decides he wants us to, I don’t know, go to London and joust or duel in front of him?”

“There’s no shortage of knights who are already willing to volunteer. He wouldn’t order us to go there just for that.”

“You don’t think he’d do something like send us up to Scotland, then? It isn’t that far from here, and there’s always trouble on the borders; Sir Charles used to tell me about it when I sat next to him during meals.”

“The king has men like Harry Percy who will lead an army there.”

“Harry’s your friend, isn’t he? Wouldn’t he expect you to – ”

“He never has before,” Victor answered, silently conceding that his effort to put the subject to rest had completely failed. 

“I know you’re worried, too. I saw the look on your face when Richard spoke to us.” He continued earnestly, “But I realise that’s how it’s going to be, since we’re knights. And I want you to know I’d follow you anywhere, Victor. Even into battle.” He appeared momentarily taken aback by the words that had just come from his mouth, but then he pressed his lips together and his eyes shone in affirmation of them. “I just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Victor gave a small sigh and nodded. “That’s my hope as well, Yuuri my love.”

Yuuri’s hand found his own on the table and gave it a quick squeeze before he withdrew it to pull apart a piece of buttered bread, which he seemed uncertain he wanted to eat. Victor turned around and gestured to Julia, who had been pouring drinks for the royal couple. She approached with a large ceramic jug, and when she told Victor it contained hypocras, he asked her to fill his goblet and to leave some in his room after the meal; he’d missed it the day before, and this seemed like a good time for the two of them to become reacquainted. Yuuri asked for his goblet to be filled as well.

_I owed him more than empty words in the first place, _Victor thought as he sipped. It was true that the king had never called him away from the castle before, and his royal majesty wasn’t oblivious to the fact that two knights had been born and raised here; he’d given them their titles in ceremony, after all. Neither of them had wanted to attract attention, however, and the renown they’d earned locally for their performances on the wheel would not have caused their praises to be sung to the king at court; it was considered an eccentricity in men of their social standing. Victor felt the ghost of a grin cross his face as he remembered, though grief pulled at his heart. He’d enjoyed being eccentric. It suited him.

However, he’d always had the concern at the back of his mind that he and Alex would be called to fight, though he’d worried more for his little brother than himself, of course. Victor fingered his signet ring as his thoughts drifted there. But it was worse now with Yuuri, because despite the natural talent he’d been honing, he hadn’t been raised with the mentality of a fighter.

For an awful moment, Victor imagined them both in the midst of a great battle. It wouldn’t break Yuuri as such, he felt sure; there was a rod of steel inside of him that would weather many a tempest. But it would change him irrevocably, and he would incur some very deep scars indeed.

_Perhaps I would as well. I haven’t proved myself in such a situation. And I hope I’ll never have cause to._

Really, the best approach would be the one he’d originally suggested. _Try to put it behind you. There’s little we need to fear. _However, in the long term, there must be more constructive ways to address the problem.

_I ought to tell Yuuri about what I’ve been considering. Soon. Once the king has departed, and we can relax more. _

But would he like it? Perhaps a man from the future would find it off-putting. Many nobles of this time certainly would. Then again, Yuuri wasn’t a noble, not really… 

“Penny for them,” Yuuri whispered with a little grin, a piece of meat poised on the end of his knife.

Victor started, then sighed with a grin of his own. “There’s much to think about just now,” he said vaguely; then he snatched the meat from Yuuri’s knife and popped it into his mouth.

“Oi,” Yuuri laughed.

“We’re neighbours, aren’t we? We’re supposed to share.”

Yuuri speared another piece of meat; it was egredouce – pork cooked with verjuice, cinnamon, rosemary and saffron. Instead of eating it himself, he raised it to Victor’s mouth. It was an intimate gesture for so public a setting. But Victor had his back mostly turned to the royal party momentarily, and everyone else at the castle knew what he and Yuuri were to each other. He closed his eyes and mouthed the meat off the knife, savouring the taste. When he opened them again, Yuuri was giving him a small and curious grin, part sad, part knowing.

The spell was abruptly broken by laughter erupting around them; the mealtime entertainment had commenced with a comedy trio dressed in motley, tripping each other up and juggling. Yuuri fed the next piece of meat into his own mouth, then leaned toward Victor and said in the same low voice he’d used before, “Phichit told me some other interesting things. He’d done some research and spoken to a few people, and was able to find out what Natalia had been doing most of the time she was in the future.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “He did?”

“Mm. Once he heard her mention the name she’d been going by, he was able to give that to the local officials.”

“And?”

Yuuri summarised what Phichit had told him, while Victor’s eyes grew wider still. When he was finished, Victor blinked and tried to take it in. “She had a _job_? But people like my mother don’t…they don’t work. Not like that.”

“Most people in the future have to, in order to make a living,” Yuuri replied. “The city council was helping her, but they would’ve encouraged her to become more independent, too.” He gave a little laugh. “Can you imagine her showing groups of visitors around York?”

After a pause, Victor said, “Actually, yes I can.”

“You know what? So can I.”

“And you say she had a…” Victor leaned over further, and whispered in his ear, “…_prostitute _for a roommate?”

“Well, yeah. Though there isn’t the same stigma attached to them in 2121 as there is here. There aren’t even that many, because of holograms.”

“But that’s still incredible. I wonder what she made of it.” Natalia would never attempt to find common ground with such a person, not here in this time. She might distribute food to the woman at the castle gate, if she were one of the villeins come to receive scraps after a meal. It would be considered scandalous, however, to so much as have a conversation with her.

“Don’t say anything about it to your mum, OK?” Yuuri whispered back. “She’ll tell us what she wants to.”

“Of course.” Victor shook his head. “I just can’t imagine…”

Yuuri grinned and glanced toward where she sat. “I get the idea she did all right.”

* * *

Victor stroked Alyona’s sleek white neck, then gave her an affectionate pat as he placed the grooming brush on the shelf in her stall, glancing over at Yuuri, who was doing the same with Lady. Natalia had gone to change into a lightweight dress for riding.

“The king’s going to be watching you this weekend,” he said to his fair mount. “Be swift and sure while I shoot my bow.” The words were in Russian; he usually spoke it with his horses, as the language would otherwise be in danger of withering in his mouth from disuse, since he didn’t often have long private conversations with his parents. Yuuri could speak it, of course, but he never seemed to realise when Victor used a different language with him; French or Latin as well, he responded seemingly without thought. Somehow it wasn’t the same as if he were consciously choosing his words, which was why Victor loved it when he turned his translator off, even if he couldn’t yet say much. Maybe he could be persuaded to do it more often now.

The stable hands had wanted to tack Alyona up, but Victor had waved them away, preferring to do it himself, and they’d left to see to other animals outside in the pasture. He ought to spend more time tending to his horses, he decided, and not just as a comfort when he was distempered. A knight’s mount could save his life, and also be an enduring friend.

“She’s a beauty, but I can’t remember her name,” a woman’s voice said in Russian.

Victor turned and saw his mother standing on the other side of the gate to the stall in a sky-blue gown that was fashionably tight around the bodice; a white veil fell in loose folds around her head, and her hair was pinned in a roll at the back of her neck. It was hard to believe she’d been wearing trousers the night before, because this was how Victor had always known her.

“Alyona.” He stroked her smooth mane affectionately. “I’d just been thinking about how I’d been neglecting her of late.”

“They always took good care of the horses here. Andrei is particular about who he hires. I’ve missed it – the smell of the hay, the leather, a good-natured animal.”

“How has it…” Victor began in a low voice, then was unsure how to carry on. “Has it been all right with him? Father?”

“I’ve barely seen him since I returned, but he was his usual self at dinner. And quite garrulous with the king, especially after some of Ingrid’s fine hypocras.” She sighed and smiled. “Yes, I’ve missed it all.”

Yuuri approached with a polite grin, stopping next to the empty neighbouring stall. “God grant you good day, madam,” he said in Russian.

Natalia stared at him in surprise, and Victor chuckled. “He has a translator from the future in his ear that enables him to use the language.”

“Sorry, what?” Yuuri asked in confusion.

“You were speaking Russian,” Victor told him.

“Oh…is that all right?”

“Perfectly,” Natalia said. “Though it’s already beginning to wear on me like day-old bread; English suits me better. If you turn your translator off, perhaps I could try speaking in your own tongue?”

“Of course,” Yuuri replied with a surprised smile.

Victor listened while his mother used the future version of English that sounded so peculiar and familiar at the same time. At a guess, she was asking Yuuri how he found life at the castle, and he was telling her about what he liked. He laughed several times, but never in derision; Victor thought he was rather enjoying being able to speak to someone here like this, though the mood of their conversation soon became more sombre.

_It should be me. I should have made more of an effort. _Yuuri had taught him some words, but that was as far as they’d got. It was difficult when there were no texts, and Victor rarely heard it spoken.

“We ought to use 1393 English while we ride,” Natalia said eventually. “That will be the easiest thing to do, I believe.”

As she went to have Vanya saddled, Victor moved closer to Yuuri. “What did you say to her?” he asked with a wrinkled brow.

Yuuri smiled. “I said I’m honoured to be staying here at the castle. That I’m proud to be a knight of Crowood. And…” He thought for a moment. “That the food is fantastic, the weather not so much. She agreed that climate control is a wonderful invention. Then she said she hoped my intentions toward you are honourable, because your heart had already been broken once.”

Victor stared. “She said that?”

“More or less. Her modern English isn’t perfect, but…”

He glanced at his mother, who was at the door, speaking to a stable hand. “I wouldn’t have expected her to say such a thing.”

“I assumed she was referring to, um, Alex.”

Victor nodded. “There wouldn’t have been anyone else.”

“I told her I love you with all my heart and want to stay with you always,” Yuuri said, placing a hand on top of Victor’s, resting on the gate of the stall. “She seemed to be satisfied with that.”

Victor looked into his eyes, throat hitching. He wanted so much to kiss him. Never mind that he looked like Justin, or that others could see. But it would be a foolish thing to do here. He would make up for it ten times over later.

“I love you, too, Yuuri,” he said softly.

Soon Natalia was mounted on her horse, and Victor and Yuuri led their own out of their stalls, then vaulted into the saddle. It was a warm day, bordering on hot, for which armour was not ideal, though a breeze cooled exposed skin. Scrappy white clouds chased each other across the sun, and the gardeners had recently scythed the grass; the air was filled with the fresh sweet scent, while blackbirds and magpies pecked at the ground. They rode in silence, three abreast with Natalia in the middle, until they were some distance from the castle. Then Natalia spoke.

“I spent the morning with the queen,” she announced, riding side saddle as her veil fluttered behind her. “It was rather trying, because apparently Ailis befriended her, and I know nothing of what was said between them. But she commented on my cheerful disposition today.”

“I can imagine,” Yuuri said with a little laugh.

“Although I’m glad to be home, you cannot fathom how difficult it’s been to readjust to it so quickly.” She looked at Yuuri. “Or perhaps you can.”

“I imagine it was a shock,” he replied. “And in my case, I knew it was going to happen. Both times when you travelled, you had no warning at all.”

She nodded, then turned to Victor. “And the things you did to my room yesterday…” But a corner of her mouth turned up. “In a good cause, I concede. Percy and the servants did well to tidy it quickly, and I expect everything will be mended soon. Also, it seems I have a generous supply of honey and butter, thanks to the errand you gave Sophie and Rohesia.”

“It was necessary to prevent them from following me into your room,” Victor answered somewhat sheepishly, before returning his gaze to the distant fields, where villeins were pulling ploughs and cattle grazed.

“I understand.” After a pause, she continued, “You and Yuuri and your squires had a difficult time of it yesterday, and your deeds were valorous. It seems unjust that no one else at the castle can know of them.”

“That’s the way it must stay,” Victor answered.

“Indeed. I admit I would never have believed such stories if I hadn’t experienced similar wonders myself.”

They were passed on the road by a party of people in cloaks on horses, possibly pilgrims heading to York. Victor guided Alyona onto a path which he knew would take them on a loop around the outskirts of a wood, along a stream, before rejoining the main road further south.

“I…apologise for being brusque yesterday evening,” Natalia continued after a short time. “It was a great deal to take in.”

Victor answered, continuing to look ahead, “It was good to have you at the table as our guest.”

“I was glad to be there.” She glanced around. “This is a beautiful place. You’ve chosen a good route, Victor.”

“Irene used to take Alex and me out here often.”

“God rest their souls.”

Victor looked away. He felt her eyes on him for a moment before she spoke to Yuuri. “Do you know anything of the man who was assisting Ailis? Ian?”

“They had a falling out,” he replied, “and he left. No one knows where he went, though they’re looking. The com – the wristband – Phichit’s using is the one he left behind.”

“I see. I would have rested more easily if I could have known he was no longer searching for me.”

Victor turned to her. “Would you tell us more about the life you were living in the future?” he asked. “What did you do all those months?” Phichit might have given Yuuri some important details, but he was curious about what she would reveal herself.

She considered for a moment, then said, “I received unexpected help from the city officials, and met some kind people.” A distant look entered her eyes as she spoke. “The government in that place is a benevolent one. The difference between that, and rule by king and lord…” She shook her head. “If I’d come here with only the clothes on my back, I daren’t think what might have become of me. But they took me in and assisted me in starting a new life.”

Yuuri said, “Ailis told me you’d been given a translator, just like mine.”

“Yes; Ian gave me one so that I could understand him. I kept it after I escaped, but began removing it now and then in order to learn the version of English they speak there. I knew that if I turned it off while it was still in my ear, I’d only be tempted to turn it back on if I met a challenge. Eventually I was confident enough to leave it out most of the time, though I knew there was much yet to learn. They deemed my speech odd and quaint, but I think they believed it was simply a quirk of my nationality; I never revealed exactly where I was from. Who would believe it was medieval Russia and England?” She grinned. “It’s an incredible place, Victor, the York of the future. I presume Yuuri has told you about it?”

Victor nodded, and there it was again: that little stab of jealousy. Natalia had firsthand experience of Yuuri’s world. She could speak with him in his own language. That gave her a certain understanding which surpassed anything he himself could ever achieve.

_But that’s silly. I know him intimately in other ways. _

“Then you’ll know there are no kings or queens – no nobles,” Natalia said. “Everyone is a commoner. Some are wealthy, some less so, but they have many more opportunities than most people here.”

Yuuri jumped in to add, “That’s true for England, and many other countries, but not all of them.”

She paused and looked at him. “I had the impression that it _was _true for all countries in the world. I admit, however, that I didn’t make it my priority to research every one. And I never heard otherwise on the news.”

“Depends which source you were using. The mainstream media treats places like Surga as an embarrassment; they generally don’t mention it.”

“I’ve never heard of Surga.”

“It’s where Ailis is from.” Yuuri explained while their horses walked at a leisurely pace along a trickling silver stream, and Victor pictured it for the first time since Ailis had spoken about it to them in Immersion. Yuuri described the islands as one of the last major enclaves of very wealthy exiles who were exercising all their powers to preserve their way of life while the world government gradually attempted to change it. And Ailis and her mother and husband had been caught up in it all. 

“I stand corrected, then,” Natalia said quietly when he was finished. “I’m glad I found myself in York rather than a place like Surga. And I perceive that you were drawing some parallels with the society in which we’re living now.” Yuuri paused as if searching for words, but she continued, “There’s much you won’t understand about overseeing an estate like this one, though I assume Victor has taught you something of what he knows. For my part, however, I shall reflect on what you’ve told me.

“However it is in Surga,” she continued, addressing Victor now, “future-York is full of good people. Those who are unable to look after themselves are assured everything they need; they’re not left on the streets, or in the hands of church or charity. I’ve seen that care extended to myself and other people I lived with.” She paused. “You asked me to tell you about it. The finer details can perhaps wait for another time, but…they put me in a building of flats. I had a roommate; a girl. She worked as a gardener. I found it difficult to…to associate with her at first. However, she was kind and friendly, willing to share and teach. And I learned a trade – can you believe it? The people of the future are interested in the past, and I was able to tell them about it. In fact, I was paid to do so. I guided them through the streets, explaining what was once there and had gone, and what remained; events that had occurred there, people who had made it their home. I enjoyed it,” she laughed.

A smile lifted the corners of Victor’s mouth. She deserved respect for what she’d done, and he wondered how his father might have fared in such circumstances. Rather less well, he guessed.

“I was even asked to wear clothes as I do here,” Natalia added. “Inferior versions, of course, with modern contrivances. But they lent me a convincing appearance. So that’s what I did four days a week. And I was taught to cook and shop, though they also have mechanical servants made of metal called robots.” She looked at Victor again. “It’s a wondrous place, truly.”

One that Yuuri had left in order to come here. Victor wondered how it felt for him to have forever given up the comforts he’d been used to all his life – and having done that, if he could be asked to give up still more, once Victor found the opportunity to put his idea to him.

_But I would be doing the same, and I know I could bear it. _

His mother was saying, “I was beginning to wonder if I was destined to live the rest of my life in the future, which was an unsettling thought; but I was also starting to feel as if I had a place there. When I think of it now, I’m going to miss my friends. They were unlike any I would ever have met here at the castle.”

“Madam,” Yuuri said, “Phichit’s told me that certain people in his time are worried about Kristina Golubin and hoping she’s all right. He could put you in touch with them over my com, if you want.”

She fell silent as they rounded the patch of woodland to their right; the ribbon of the main road lay amid green hills not far in the distance. “It’s a kind offer, and please thank him,” she said eventually. “But I think it would only prolong the goodbye we’d have to say. Tell Phichit, if you will, to let them know that I was unexpectedly taken back home, but that I’m quite all right – ”

“You can do something better,” Victor interrupted, “if you wanted to consider it.” She waited for him to explain, and he continued, “Phichit can record what you say. You’re familiar with that, I assume?”

“Sight and sound, captured and played back. Yes, it’s one of the things I discovered there that seemed like a miracle.”

“You could leave a message with him, then, and ask him to send it to whoever you wanted.”

She grinned as she thought about this. “Yes…perhaps that would be best. Yuuri…?”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll ask him.”

As they turned away from the stream in the direction of the main road, the trickling noise faded, in its stead the soughing of the boughs in the breeze and the chattering of birds. The clouds were scattering and fading, and the sun warmed Victor’s face. This was something else he must do more often, he decided. Especially with Yuuri. Riding could be very relaxing at this time of year, perhaps with the destination of a lake in mind.

After a silence in which his thoughts pursued pleasant courses, Natalia spoke, and her voice this time had a quiet gravity. “There’s something else I feel I must say, and there’s no easy way to put it. I considered keeping it to myself, but I think it best if you know.” She took a deep breath, and Victor was filled with sudden trepidation.

“You’ll both recall,” she carried on, “that I said information about the future was one of the first things I researched.” She paused. “I know when Andrei and I will die. It made me hopeful that I might return here so that it would become true; though I don’t know if history would have somehow remained as it was always meant to be even though I’d been absented from it – perhaps there was a version of myself in the past who yet lived to see out that particular destiny. It’s confusing to imagine.”

“Ailis told me that information as well,” Victor said.

Yuuri leaned forward to look at him across Natalia. “She did?”

Victor pressed his lips together. “She was attempting to provoke me at the time. But yes, it was one of the many things I learned yesterday.”

“Andrei will die in 1405, age 76,” Natalia stated in the same quiet voice. “And the year for myself is 1410, age 75. Both of us appear to have passed on peacefully.” She huffed and shook her head. “Strange to discover one’s own self in the annals of ancient history.” Turning to Yuuri, she asked him, “If we made a political blunder, do you think those dates could change?”

“I wish I could tell you,” he replied, “but I don’t think even Ailis would know the answer to your questions. If I had to guess, though, I’d say my instinct tells me that nothing is set in stone, and the future can be changed by what occurs in the past.”

Of course he would believe that, Victor mused. He wanted to believe it himself; that either or both of them could alter his own fate.

“My son,” Natalia said to him, “this is going to be difficult for you to hear – it grieved me when I learned it – ”

“My death is this year,” he finished for her.

“You’re aware of it?”

“I told him,” Yuuri said. “We don’t know how – unless you…?”

She shook her head. “No, there seems to be no record apart from the date.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to prevent it,” Yuuri said with quiet conviction.

Victor added, “We both will.”

“Good,” Natalia said, breathing out. “That’s good. It’s not long since I lost one son. I hope God wouldn’t be so cruel.”

There were things Victor wanted to say but perhaps never would, even if they were in privacy, just the two of them. _This was not a concern of yours when you and Andrei sent me to duel on the family’s behalf, _he thought, and the bitterness of it rankled. _Nor did it bother you all the years we’ve lived here, while you took so little interest in my life or Alex’s. How can you talk about God being cruel to you?_

He wondered what she really did feel. How aware she was of the things that were passing through his mind. Whether they would ever be at a place in their relationship where it could all be discussed freely. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that. But then, how much had her time in the future changed her?

Yuuri was gazing at him in concern. Victor looked down while Natalia said, “Your father will hear none of this, of course, as we agreed.”

They were back on the main road; a lone traveller in a liripipe hood rose past on a donkey, followed by two men pulling a cart loaded with strawberries. When they saw Natalia and the two knights in armour, they bowed and said good day.

“Victor,” Natalia said hesitantly afterward, “I’d…like to spend more time with you, if…if it suits. Not only because of what we were just speaking of. But…” She paused. Victor had seldom seen her at a loss for words. “While I was away, I realised just how little I know about my own son. It’s too late for Alex, bless him, but not for you. Not yet.”

He swallowed, then he gave a small nod. “That would suit me,” he said.

After a pause, she continued, “You seem lighter of heart than you were. I think I can guess why.” She glanced at Yuuri with a small grin, then looked ahead while she spoke, presumably to address them both. “I won’t lie – I would have been critical of it before. But I’ve seen an astounding variety of companionships in the future, all of which seemed to be accepted as normal. I was shocked at first, yet the people who were friendly with me were also friendly with them, and it made me think.” She paused. “Father Maynard would tell us how such sins would bring God’s wrath down upon entire cities and peoples. But it wasn’t so, and I don’t believe it will be for either of you. My wish is that you continue to bring each other happiness.”

It was more than Victor could ever have hoped for from either of his parents, and he was surprised to feel relief spreading through him, though he’d stopped longing for their approval for anything he chose to do years back. He heard Yuuri thank her with quiet warmth, and again wished he could take him into his arms here and now and kiss him.

“It’s kind of you to say so, Mother,” Victor said to her as the castle on its hill came into view in the distance. “And we will. I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life.”

He caught the sparkle in Yuuri’s brown eyes before looking to the road ahead with a smile.


	141. Chapter 141

Natalia approached Victor in Alyona’s stall after she’d left her horse to be stabled. “I enjoyed our ride today,” she said.

He lifted his saddle off and turned to her. “I did, too.”

“We must do this again soon. You and I.”

“We will.”

“I should join Andrei and the king, wherever they are, so I shall say goodbye for now, Victor, though we’ll speak again. God give you good day.” She waved once at Yuuri, who waved back from Lady’s stall; then with a final glance at Victor, she left the stable.

Yuuri finished with Lady, then came to stand outside the gate, leaning on it while Victor gave Alyona’s mane a final brush. “That seemed to go well.”

A small smile flitted across Victor’s face. “I suppose it did.”

“She doesn’t seem to want to kick me out of the castle. That’s something.”

Victor looked at him before resuming his brushing. “My darling Yuuri, who would ever want to do that?”

“Your father, for a start.”

“He’s changed his mind since then, as you know.”

“Maybe Natalia will be easier to get on with now, too.”

Victor shrugged. “I can hope, though no person changes completely overnight.”

“She had several months in the future. If you ask me, it seems to have done her some good.” Yuuri paused, then added, “I’m glad she wants to make things up with you.”

“I don’t know how far it will go,” Victor answered tersely. “But if she’s willing to try…I can’t see any harm in it.”

“Good,” Yuuri said softly as he watched. When Victor put the brush down, he added, “Let’s spar.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “After yesterday, that’s what you want?”

Yuuri’s lips parted in a smile. “Exactly. The perfect way to work through leftover anxious energy, wouldn’t you say?”

“I can think of other ways,” Victor purred, joining him at the gate.

Yuuri’s eyelids fluttered delectably, but he said, “We’re next to the training field, and we ought to limber up a bit before our muscles get sore. Isn’t that what you should be telling me as my trainer?”

“As your trainer, I’d advise rest – and enjoyment.” Victor drew little circles on the back of Yuuri’s hand. No one was nearby to watch. “The duel’s over. There’s no reason to drive yourself so hard now.”

“I want it,” Yuuri whispered. “With you.”

Victor was mesmerised by his voice; his eyes. A dart of desire passed through him.

“Sparring. Now,” Yuuri said with a smile. “You do know that’s what I was talking about, don’t you?”

It wasn’t often Yuuri was this bold, especially in a public place, though there were times when something inside of him seemed to push its way past his self-consciousness and go on a wild, gleeful rampage. Victor wondered if he realised just what it did to him when that happened. There were many facets to Yuuri that he loved, of course, which made up the whole of him. This just happened to be a rather special one.

“Do I get a reward when I beat you?” Victor asked coyly.

“Who says you’re going to beat me?”

“Who says I’m not?”

Yuuri smirked. “Just try, and I’ll show you.”

“Come and taste the edge of my blade, then, prating knave.”

Yuuri lifted his eyebrows and laughed, then drew back and pulled his sword from its sheath with a flourish, walking out to the training field. Victor mastered the desire to instantly rush out of the stall and join him like an over-eager boy, and sauntered in his wake instead, drawing his own weapon and swinging it to loosen his muscles. Yuuri had a point; it _did _feel good.

Abelard was working with the squires further down the field, Victor saw when he emerged into the warm sunlight. Chris and Charles were sparring and other fighting men from the castle were practising with swords, staffs and halberds, having been joined by perhaps two dozen of the king’s men. It was a busy day, but there was plenty of room.

Yuuri tilted his chin up in challenge when Victor joined him. “Still think you can beat me?”

Victor gave him a glittering smile. “See if you can _touch _me, cur.”

“Have at you, foul villain.” Yuuri took up the woman’s guard.

It was all Victor could do to stop himself from laughing. He felt like he was gliding on air as their blades clashed and they circled and danced. White sunlight spilled on silver metal and shattered into gleaming fragments. Plated feet scratched at the dry ground; swords clanged; their breaths and grunts filled the air as each angled for an opening, a weakness. Yuuri seemed to have gained a great deal of confidence from the duel yesterday, and he was a force to be reckoned with. Victor was full of pride on his behalf, and was having difficulty keeping a lid on the simmering desire that had been eroding his concentration since earlier that morning, which Yuuri had done nothing whatsoever to dampen; all of which meant that Victor was not on best form. Yuuri won the first round, hooking a leg around his calf and sending him to the ground, the tip of his blade poised over his breastplate.

The grim determination melted away from Yuuri’s expression, a smile taking its place as he held out a hand. Victor accepted it, jumping to his feet. “A suitable warmup,” he said in mock seriousness. “Thank you, I believe I’m ready now.”

“What are you like,” Yuuri laughed.

“Well done, my love,” Victor said quietly.

Yuuri’s cheeks pinked. “Just put everything you’ve got into it, so that I know I’ve beaten you fair and square.”

“You’re hungry today,” Victor commented with a quirk of his mouth. “I like that.”

Yuuri blew out a breath and took the woman’s guard again.

“Don’t make your moves too predictable – ” Victor began; but Yuuri slipped into a half-swording position as he spoke and came at him with a jab, which he only parried at the last minute by half-swording himself.

So he wanted it a bit rough. Victor could oblige. He shoved Yuuri out of the bind. Landing on his rear, Yuuri continued to hold his sword poised, scooting backward and quickly scrambling back to his feet, a fierce glint in his eyes. There was no longer any need to say _Fight me,_ because that was exactly what Yuuri was doing. And Victor felt himself challenged as he hadn’t been in many a long day. 

It was glorious.

An audience collected around them and grew, urging both of them on and clapping at the end of every round. Their energy was infectious, and Victor sensed Yuuri taking advantage of it, his movements swift and sure.

_You _are _a performer. I knew it from the moment you danced in front of me in the arena wearing your eros costume. _And suddenly he was no longer in any doubt about what he wanted to ask Yuuri after the king’s visit.

By the ninth round, Yuuri had won three times and Victor six. They’d only paused while they were circling each other, their foreheads gleaming with sweat. Victor dug deep for reserves that had been almost depleted inside of him, and he suspected that had been Yuuri’s idea; that part of his strategy had been to wear him down, knowing which of them had more stamina. No one could blame him for doing everything he could to beat his opponent. He’d been taught well, after all, and Victor wanted nothing less from him.

The final round began amid cheers and whistles of encouragement, and Victor felt the excitement racing through his veins. He fought, deft and precise, the usual mixture of feelings rising within him: he wanted Yuuri to win, but he wasn’t going to do a single thing to make it easier for him; it would have to be earned. Victor tried a feint, but Yuuri wasn’t fooled. Yuuri attempted to grab Victor’s sword and wrench it away while they were in a bind, but Victor expected the move and quickly turned so that he could shoulder Yuuri back. Recovering quickly, Yuuri raised his sword and stepped forward, shifting his weight, the weapon slicing downward in a graceful mandritto fendente cut. Victor’s parry wasn’t quite on the mark, which gave Yuuri the opening he needed to swing his sword around, gripping it by the blade. Too late to get in a position to do anything about it, Victor knew what would happen next – Yuuri thrust his sword upward, the blunt end of the hilt poised underneath his chin. In battle, the movement would be carried through, inflicting terrible damage. A touch and a win.

More applause. Victor spied coins changing hands; naturally some of the men had been betting on how many rounds each of them would win. He barely had a chance to congratulate Yuuri before they were each deflecting requests from the king’s men to spar. It would be good practice, he knew; but it might also draw the king’s attention to them once again, especially if word got around of what they were both really capable of. He sensed no disappointment, however; Yuuri had already won respect for his performance in the arena the day before, and they’d provided some momentary entertainment just now. Victor smiled as he heard Emil’s voice amid the milling people. “That’s my master,” he was saying. “Sir Justin la Rose.”

“You were wonderful,” Victor gushed as they sheathed their swords.

“Not wonderful enough,” Yuuri replied with a little smile. “You still won six out of ten rounds.”

“And you’ll win five or more one day soon. You’ve come so far, my love. I can’t say how happy that makes me.”

Yuuri looked at him with shining eyes, then huffed a laugh. “I suppose I did beat the pants off you in that last round.” 

Victor raised an eyebrow. “That’s an expression I haven’t heard from you before.”

“What, beating the pants off someone?”

“Yes, it’s peculiar. If they’re anything like what I was given to wear by the Immersion game while we were in the Water Wars…”

Yuuri gazed at him with a touch of a smirk. “What do you mean? You know that ‘pants’ to people in the future refers to – ”

“Your version of braies, yes; you told me once.” Victor glanced around; no one’s eyes appeared to be on them. “Only, they were made of a stretchy material, like the clothes you wore when you came here. And they were…” He bit his lip and briefly drew his fingers along the very tops of his thighs. “High and tight. How can anyone be comfortable in those?”

Yuuri’s brow clouded, though the smirk was still there too. “Bikini bottoms?”

“I’ve never heard the term before. Surely they’d cause any man to sing like a eunuch.” Yuuri snorted. “Do…did you wear them yourself?”

Those brown eyes were unfathomable for a moment. Then the smirk was back, quite fetchingly so. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Yuuri said in a low, quiet voice, flicking his tongue between his teeth.

Victor’s mouth fell open, and he stared, a pulse of heat travelling to his groin. 

Yuuri hooded his eyes. “Come back to the room with me and I’ll show you.”

Another pulse. Victor wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, and Yuuri chuckled. But he had to think of practicalities, too. It was about two hours before supper, judging from the position of the sun. They had obligations. “The king – ” he began.

Yuuri came closer and whispered near his ear, “Fuck the king. We went to his court this morning, and he told you to spend the day as you see fit. How would you like to do that, Victor?”

Yuuri’s breath against his neck sent a shiver through him, and his thoughts were beginning to scatter. This man in front of him was smouldering. They’d been flirting all morning, as if what they’d done when they’d awakened had only stoked the flames higher between them. And when he thought back to _that_, Victor was suddenly desperate for them both to leave.

“God, Yuuri, yes, take me back to our room,” he whispered in return. “Go anywhere and I’ll follow.”

Yuuri held his gaze for a moment with a satisfied grin, turned around, then looked back over his shoulder and said, “Follow me now, then.”

Victor obeyed as if it were his calling in life; he was surprised at how easy it was. Of course – Yuuri was being a dom. They hadn’t had that many sessions yet, or scenes as Yuuri called them, but Victor’s shift to submissive felt instinctive. They’d never started outside of their room before, either, but it felt safe enough here, just between the two of them. No one else was near while they walked up the hill to the castle, and Victor was sure that Yuuri was adding a deliberate sway to his hips. In full armour. It was driving him to distraction. 

They were silent during the trip back to their room, apart from exchanging greetings with the porter at the gatehouse. Victor was happy enough to take in the view in front of him, and occasionally Yuuri glanced back coquettishly with eyes full of promise, causing him to realise just how much of a tease his love could be, while frustration and desire swelled. By the time Yuuri was letting them through the door, Victor was half hard and wondering feverishly what he had in mind.

Yuuri locked the door and came to stand in front of him, cupping the back of his head, eyes burning into him. But his expression eased to a grin as he pulled Victor down into a kiss. Resting his hands on Yuuri’s metal-clad hips – the damn armour, getting in the way – Victor responded hungrily, moaning and licking at Yuuri’s bottom lip. But Yuuri pulled away and stepped back.

“Stay there,” he said with a playful glimmer in his eyes, and disappeared to his room. Victor missed him already; he _wanted _– but he also trusted Yuuri, and told himself to be patient. That was difficult, though, when every part of him quivered with anticipation.

He heard Yuuri rummaging for something, and he reappeared soon afterward with a small bundle of black fabric bunched in one hand. Stopping several paces away, he tossed it to Victor, who caught it. “Put those on – and nothing else,” Yuuri said, his voice now one of confident command, which slid down Victor’s spine and made his blood race. “Prepare yourself first.” He pulled a chair to the middle of the floor. “I’ll return in ten minutes or so, and I want you standing against the back of this. Understood?”

Victor nodded, knees quaking a little at the thought of what Yuuri wanted him to do.

“Good.” Yuuri slanted him a smile, then grabbed the jug of hypocras from the table, took it to his room, and closed the door.

Did he need a drink to strengthen his resolve for whatever he was planning? But if it was anything risqué, they’d talk about it first; Victor knew that. Then he was struck again by just how joyfully he’d fallen into the role of Yuuri’s willing slave – so fast and deep today that it kindled a spark of fear, now that he thought about it.

_“Slave” isn’t the right word. All I have to do is tell him to stop, and he will. Whatever power I give him, I can take it back whenever I want._

He briefly wondered what others would make of his behaviour – a baron’s son and a knight, who delighted in being subjugated.

_That’s not the right word, either. Yuuri wants me to find my own pleasure in relaxing and trusting, allowing him to guide us. No one’s ever done that for me before. It’s a gift, and I love it. I love this side of him, too. _

He held up the bundle that Yuuri had tossed to him and gasped with a little thrill as he saw what it was. Pants like the ones he’d been describing, though these would reach further down the thighs. They would also be clingy and leave little to the imagination, especially when he was excited…which must be the idea. That, and wearing Yuuri’s underthings from the future. Victor smiled. It was crazy – and hot. Yuuri hadn’t shown him these when he’d got his other future-clothes out.

In what was probably record time, Victor removed his armour and left it in a pile in the corner. His clothes came off next, but he paused to finger the gold locket with the intricate enamel vines, leaves and flowers, warm from his skin. Yuuri might like it if he kept it on, but he _had _said to wear nothing but the pants, so Victor carefully undid the clasp and placed the locket on the bedside table, then went to have a wash with the pitcher and basin.

Recalling with a fresh stab of heat what Yuuri had told him to do, he grabbed a clean cloth from the stand when he was done, went to the bed and took the phial of oil from the table, removing the stopper. As he poured some of the liquid into his palm, coated his fingers and then lay down, working one in, his thoughts drifted to Yuuri in the other room, and what he might be doing. Changing clothes? Preparing implements of some kind?

He gave up trying to guess. The surprise was part of the fun, anyway – and this whole tryst was a surprise; a welcome one. Victor had thought when they’d done scenes before that they were perhaps meant to be mostly for his own benefit; he’d been the one who’d inspired the idea in Yuuri, after all. However, perhaps this time Yuuri was the one who felt he needed it, tempting Victor up here as he had. That was new…and enticing.

In the days before the duel, and after yesterday, Yuuri had been… _fragile _was certainly not the right word. _Shaken_. Maybe taking on his role as a dom was his way of putting more of the pieces back together; feeling more in control. Victor was happy to oblige in that case. He’d been doing the work of helping Yuuri prepare for the duel, and supporting him, and was glad to do so. Last night as well. But to have the opportunity now to forget about everything else in the middle of the day, give over to Yuuri entirely, and let him do as he pleased, while accepting it willingly…

_Dear God, yes. _He slipped a second finger in, imagining it was Yuuri’s cock, and gasped, tipping his head back. _No – I can’t get too worked up yet. I’m only supposed to be preparing myself. _But he was growing hard again, and how was he supposed to wear those pants? Surely they would suit a woman better.

He wiped his fingers on the cloth, then stood and pulled the pants on. They stretched to accommodate him, with an obvious bulge in the middle, the material hugging every curve. He felt his cheeks flush. Yuuri _wanted _him on display like this, he was sure. He wondered what Yuuri would look like in them, and decided he’d very much like to see sometime.

Walking to the table, Victor wondered what to do while he waited. Should he eat something to sweeten his breath – a clove, perhaps? No, Yuuri didn’t like strong things like that. He poured a mazer of thin wine, since Yuuri had taken the hypocras, and was just finishing it when he heard the adjoining door begin to open. Putting the mazer down on the table, Victor hurried to the chair and stood against its back as he’d been ordered. 

Yuuri walked in slowly, his gaze lingering, approving. Victor drank in the sight of him. He was wearing his eros clothes, which Victor’s brain now seemed to instantly associate with sex, or the promise of it. The skin-tight black hose down to his toes, the codpiece laced between them, the maroon and gold doublet with the stiff black collar open halfway down his chest. He’d slicked his hair back, and his lips…oh God, his lips…the colour of hypocras, artfully stained with it. He’d be shamelessly wearing that colour on them for the rest of the day. They were so inviting that Victor wanted to kiss them _now_, but he stood unmoving against the chair.

The last time Yuuri had worn these clothes, he’d had his sword, but today his belt was missing; instead, he held a length of white silk in one hand. He stopped a short distance away and made a point of staring down; Victor knew there was still a bulge at his front, which began to swell under Yuuri’s long-lashed scrutiny.

Yuuri smiled and said in a low voice, “Someone’s happy to see me. You look better in those than I ever could.”

“I doubt that.”

“Don’t move,” Yuuri told him, coming closer and tying Victor’s wrists to the back of the chair with the silk. A shiver ran through him when the knot was complete, and he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Yuuri circled to one side, then the other, admiring, brushing his fingers across Victor’s skin in long, light caresses. “You’re gorgeous, Vitya.” It sounded like a prayer. He trailed kisses across the back of Victor’s shoulder, and he gasped, then exhaled shakily when Yuuri did the same on the other side. Lips lingering at the nape of his neck, fingers gently tracing his spine down to the small of his back. A puff of breath under his ear; a playful nip at the lobe.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered.

Coming to stand in front of him, Yuuri grinned softly. Victor expected a kiss, longing to share the heat of their mouths, tongues caressing. But Yuuri had other ideas. Placing his hands on Victor’s hips, he laved kisses across his collarbones, then dipped lower to suck at his nipples and flick at them with his tongue until they were hard and Victor was moaning. He felt the familiar tug of frustration – wanting to reciprocate, to kiss and caress and claim, while his restraints prevented him from doing just that. Mixed with it, though, was the bliss of knowing that his only responsibility was to do as Yuuri said; that his love would happily take care of everything else. Even if it involved teasing him to within an inch of his life.

But he wanted so much to thread his fingers through Yuuri’s hair as he licked and kissed his way downward, tossing him more of those mischievous glances. He knew what he was doing to Victor, it seemed, and was enjoying it immensely. When he reached the top of the material, he pulled it down just enough to mouth at his hip bone. Victor moaned again, tenting the pants now. “Please,” he breathed.

Yuuri stood, reaching to cup Victor’s cheek with one hand and his balls with the other, the sack neatly held by the stretchy fabric, just the right shape for a palm. Victor bucked his hips and tilted his head back, and Yuuri smeared open-mouthed kisses up his neck. “Gorgeous,” he murmured against his jaw.

“Christ, Yuuri,” Victor groaned, the tension pulling at him like a wire, between wishing he could move his hands and revelling in being Yuuri’s plaything. “_Please_…”

Yuuri kneaded his balls in a rhythm while stroking his cheek and running his fingers through his hair, and Victor could feel the thoughts being yanked from his brain, leaving a haze of lust in their wake. Mewling noises escaped his throat. _Kiss me, kiss me, please…_

He felt Yuuri shift his hand so that his whole palm was pressing against him exquisitely, and Victor made another throaty noise. Those red lips hovered close – and then Yuuri was kissing him hard, swirling their tongues together, a faint tinge of hypocras lingering. Victor thrust into his palm and moaned loudly, wanting desperately to reach around and pull Yuuri against him. It was like desire itself, the sharp pleasure of holding back like this, knowing he could probably undo the knot in the silk, but refraining. The _tease_, dear God…

He lost himself in Yuuri’s kiss, trying to say with lips and tongue and teeth what he couldn’t say through the touch of his hands. _I adore you. Make love with me. _Yuuri’s lips were soft and sweet…then Victor was shaken by a jolt of desire as Yuuri palmed him firmly.

Breaking the kiss, Yuuri sighed near his cheek, “Do you want me, Vitya?”

“You know I do,” he said huskily.

“I’m not convinced.”

Victor breathed out. “I’ll show you. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Yuuri pulled back and gave him a sultry smile. “I want to _see _how much you want me.”

“Look where your hand is,” Victor murmured.

The smile turned into a smirk. “I still don’t think you’re into this as much as you say you are. But you will be.”

Victor wondered what he meant by that as he stepped away.

“Stand still, just like you have been. Don’t speak a word, and wait til I tell you what to do next.”

Victor watched in heated curiosity as Yuuri slid a finger down his chest, the smirk having melted into a fond smile. Then he walked to the bed. Was he fetching something from there – the oil, perhaps? But he remained where he was, and turned to gaze back at him with hooded eyes. Slowly, he loosened the ties on his doublet and slipped it over his head, dropping it to the floor. Then he teased his nipples with the pads of his fingers and tilted his head back with a sigh. Victor’s breath caught as he watched Yuuri slide his palms down his chest and the fronts of his thighs, around and back up, gripping his arse through the black fabric. He swayed his hips, closing his eyes. “Vitya, yes…”

_I’m here, _Victor wanted to say. _I’ll do all that to you and more. Please let me. _

Yuuri slanted him a quick glance, then rested a foot on the bed and undid the ties at the top of one of the hosepieces, gliding his hands down his leg as he pulled the fabric with them, closing his eyes as he went and humming like it was the most pleasurable thing. Then he did the same with the other leg. As if a lover were doing it for him. As if he were pretending that _Victor _was there with his hands on him. Instead of in the middle of the room, tied to the chair, helplessly watching as Yuuri enjoyed the attentions of the invisible person who was undressing and touching him.

_You tease. You thorough, shameless tease. God’s bones, how am I going to survive this?_

Yuuri had been wearing braies underneath. With a foot still resting on the bed, he stroked a hand up the inside of his thigh, letting out a breath when it reached the sensitive area at the top, bunching the material back and moving in slow circles. Closing his eyes and tilting his head back again, he said “Vitya…please,” in a voice breathy with desire.

_Fuck. _A flame licked through Victor as his own need heightened. He wanted to join Yuuri but couldn’t. Wanted to touch himself but couldn’t do that, either. Wanted to call out to Yuuri and ask his permission to be untied, but Yuuri had ensured it wouldn’t happen as long as Victor stuck to his rules. He watched with parted lips, telling himself to be patient, knowing Yuuri would attend to him when he was ready.

That patience was soon tested when Yuuri palmed himself through his braies and groaned, hips making small thrusts. “Vitya,” he choked out, “that feels amazing. Fuck, don’t stop.” 

Victor leaned forward, breaths quickening. If Yuuri wanted him to watch in helpless blazing desire, that was what he would do – if he didn’t combust first.

Yuuri flicked him a glance, as if reminding him that he was still aware of his presence, then untied the rope holding his braies up and pulled them off in one quick movement. His erect cock swayed as he climbed onto the bed – _bed, is he not coming over here?_ He propped pillows behind him against the headboard, letting a leg fall open, then picked up the phial of oil.

_Without me? _Victor stared as Yuuri poured some oil into his palm, then slicked his cock and began to stroke, slowly at first, gazing directly at him with the ghost of a smile. He was beautiful. Thoroughly desirable. The waiting and the arousal were pleasures of a kind – but good Lord, they were torture too.

_I can’t say anything, I can’t say anything. Fuck. _

Yuuri quickened his strokes, hips shifting, brown eyes glazing over with pleasure. He closed them and tilted his head back. “You’re so good at that, Vitya,” he moaned. “I love the way you touch me. Please…more…”

Victor’s eyes were pinned to what Yuuri was doing. He desperately needed to touch himself. To touch Yuuri, for real. Yuuri’s breaths were loud enough now for him to hear easily; he slid down from the headboard to lie on his back, making little moans and cries as he began to writhe. Victor trembled, his entire being focused on Yuuri’s wanton display and his own throbbing, neglected cock. Seemingly lost to his own pleasure, Yuuri folded his legs up and thrust a slick finger into his entrance, then a second, while the hand on his cock became frantic.

“Fuck…Vitya, _yes. _Oh God, it’s so good.” Yuuri gasped several more breaths while Victor watched his fingers move in and out. “You…you’re going to…make me come…”

Victor wanted to himself right now. His mouth was hanging open, his knees buckling, and he was breaking out in a sweat. He’d never come before without being touched, but if it was possible…God, let it be possible; he couldn’t stand the tension. Wanting to beg Yuuri to let him be part of this, he bit it back and rode the waves of his own thwarted desire – a tight, insistent coil waiting to spring free. His cock strained and wept against the dark material. _Yuuri _was all he could think – a cry; a plea. _Yuuri…_

Hissing out a breath, Yuuri suddenly ceased his movements, wiped his fingers off and sat up, looking like sex embodied: face flushed, tendrils of dark hair escaping down his sweaty forehead, chest rising and falling. He hadn’t come yet, and he was looking at Victor with raw _want_. Victor jutted his hips forward lewdly, eyes half closed, silently begging Yuuri to claim him any way he wished, just _do _it, do it _now._

Yuuri got off the bed and approached, stopping just in front of him, looking him up and down as his breaths slowed. His gaze darkened as it lingered on the bulge at Victor’s front. “You’ve done so well, Vitya,” he said, his voice thick and heavy. “Everything I told you to do. Beautiful.” He leaned in and gave him a surprisingly gentle kiss, considering how aroused they both clearly were. The sweetness of it was both a joy and a tease. “Do you still want me?”

_Praise be to God, I can speak. _Victor gave him a shaky smile. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. By all the angels and saints, Yuuri, _please_…”

Yuuri fell to his knees in front of him, and Victor barely had time to gasp before Yuuri began to mouth him through the fabric. Victor pushed into him, groaning. A hand gripped his hip, and Yuuri started to stroke himself as he worked. Victor couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from his throat; he knew he was close, and having his wrists held captive while Yuuri pleasured them both was quickly driving him to a peak.

Suddenly Yuuri hooked his fingers into the waist of the garment and tugged it down, stretching it back from Victor’s jutting cock and continuing to pull until it was around his feet. Victor stepped out of it and kicked it away – and cried out, straining not to come, when Yuuri took him in his mouth while giving his balls a squeeze and a tug. After one long, hard suck, Yuuri drew back, letting out a shuddering breath, his face still pink.

“Jesus, I want you, too,” he said, half moaning.

He stood and circled behind Victor, who felt the silk around his wrists being untied and slipping over his skin to fall away. As he stared at his hands, free once more, he heard Yuuri sit down behind him.

“Come here, Vitya,” he said, soft and inviting, though there was an edge to his voice that spoke of desire and need.

Victor gladly did as he was told, blood racing as he stepped around the chair and looked down at his beautiful, lustful Yuuri. He _did _want, God yes.

“Onto my lap,” Yuuri said, meeting his gaze, lips parted.

Victor lifted a leg so that he was straddling him, looking down and resting his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders. His pupils were blown wide, but those brown eyes were brimming over with love, too. Victor searched their depths, hoping Yuuri could see all his feelings returned as he gazed back. His heart filled as he took it all in with wonderment, momentarily fighting the urge to quickly join with his love. He caressed Yuuri’s shoulders, then stroked a cheek. Yuuri briefly closed his eyes, leaning into it; and when he opened them, Victor saw a flame dancing there.

“Vitya, I need you,” he said, his voice quiet and strained.

With a shiver, Victor began to sink down. Yuuri held his cock ready, and Victor lined them up, feeling it nudge at his entrance and then push inside. He’d intended to take his time, but his body had other ideas after the teasing it had just endured. A momentary sting, which faded as he bottomed out, watching Yuuri’s eyes fly open in shock and pleasure. They both groaned at the quick, intense contact, Victor draping his arms over his shoulders and leaning forward, longing to capture those lovely wine-stained lips but leaving the decisions to Yuuri.

“Vitya,” he breathed; then he took him in a passionate kiss, wrapping him in his arms while Victor clasped him in return, his head swimming with the bliss of having Yuuri around him and in him and _everywhere_. As Victor fervently returned the kiss, tongues tangling, he undulated his hips, whimpers pulling themselves from his throat.

“Christ, Victor, I want you so much,” Yuuri said, and Victor felt his hot breath on his lips. Then Yuuri’s hands slipped down to his hips, gripping them tightly. “Let me fuck into you, baby.”

Victor blew out a shaking breath, wondering how much more of this he could take without coming undone completely. He raised himself a little, bracing his feet against the floor, and moaned at the slick feel of Yuuri thrusting up into him, pulling his hips down onto his cock at the same time. They soon built up a rhythm, Victor trying to resist the waves of pleasure that threatened to wash him away. He tilted his head forward, breathing against Yuuri’s temple, repeating his name like a litany. Their damp foreheads touched, and Victor stole a quick desperate kiss. He was stretched, and filled, and _needing_; and the glide of his leaking cock was exquisite against Yuuri’s hard abdomen.

“Yes, my love,” he gasped. “Take me…fuck me…I’m yours.”

Yuuri dug his fingers harder into Victor’s hips, slamming him down onto his cock; Victor felt it stiffen and twitch inside of him, his thoughts shredding, pulling away in tatters. He threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut, shuddering with almost unbearable pleasure as Yuuri guided them in an urgent, sensual rhythm. Lips pressed against the base of his throat.

“Victor…” Yuuri gritted out against his skin. “Vitya…I love you, I love you, fuck yes…”

The words tumbled out, punctuated by gasps. He fucked into Victor hard and fast, and there was no chance, no chance at all that Victor could hold back any longer. He hurtled off a cliff and crashed hard, spasming, clutching at Yuuri’s shoulders, calling out his name. Mouth falling open, Yuuri slammed up, pulling Victor onto him one last time as he thrust in deep with a loud cry. Victor’s seed jetted between them again and again; he thought he might swoon from the rapture.

They held each other tight as the aftershocks rippled through. Where one ended and the other began, it was impossible to say; there was nothing but heat, and skin, and breaths, and their joining. Everything was perfect and whole, a river without beginning or end.

Yuuri’s grip eased, and his head fell forward to rest against Victor’s collarbone while his breaths slowed. Victor felt almost drunk, limbs quivering. And as he relaxed into the moment, his heartbeat steadying, he knew what it was to feel a love that was too big to contain, that hurt when he tried. But oh, how sublime it was too. It was an absurd notion, but he felt as if he could spill onto the floor, or float up and join the clouds.

After a time, he caught a whisper: “Vitya.” Yuuri was looking up at him; he reached a hand out to caress his face gently. “My shining angel.”

Victor cupped the back of his head, damp with sweat, and smiled, then gave a breathy little laugh. Such sweetness after what they’d just done. Yet it felt so right.

A flicker of a smile in return. “Are you OK?” Yuuri asked, his palm on Victor’s cheek.

One of those words Victor had come to know and love from him, like _hey _and _nice_,_ turn-on _and _sexy_. “I’m more than OK,” he answered, still smiling. “I’ll always be OK as long as I’m with you.” Then he had an idea. “Turn your translator off?”

Yuuri nodded. After a pause, he said, “Ee lohv theh, Vitya – myne own hertis rote.”

Victor huffed another laugh, and this time a tear escaped down his cheek. To hear these things from Yuuri’s own lips, at such a time…“_Ya lyublyu tebya,_” he said, leaning down to kiss this beautiful man, melting into the softness and warmth.

“_Aishiteru_,” Yuuri pulled back to whisper.

Victor captured his lips once more. He tried to recall the little future-English that Yuuri had taught him, and wished again that he knew more. “Yuuri, mine…my joy. My dearest one. I love you.”

Yuuri smiled up at him as if he’d heard the most beautiful thing. Then he kissed Victor like he never wanted to stop. There must be some plane of existence, Victor thought, where people in love were forever united, beyond brief precious moments like this. _You in me, me in you. _But maybe there was a shade of it in ordinary life. Something called home – a place Victor carried in his heart, where Yuuri would always be.

He hung on to a thread of it while the room came back to his awareness: the cool tiles under his feet, the heavy summer air. Then the strain on his muscles, the trickle of moisture between his legs; the passing time measured by the gentle ticking of Yuuri’s clock.

Breaking the silence would be like undoing the spell, it seemed, but one of them had to do it. Victor thought back to how Yuuri had seduced him at the training field. “Nostou hoh shahmeless thoh err?” he said with a grin. “Hoh sal them thinkes of oss? Thoh err baldeli wantoun. Boht hit leekess mey wel.”

Whatever Yuuri made of this, his eyes lit up, and he laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Middle English translation:
> 
> “Nostou hoh shahmeless thoh err?” he said with a grin. “Hoh sal them thinkes of oss? Thoh err baldeli wantoun. Boht hit leekess mey wel.”
> 
> _You’re outrageous, do you know?” he said with a grin. “What will they think of us? You’re shamelessly wanton. But I love it._
> 
> Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html)


	142. Chapter 142

_Is he asleep?_

Yuuri lay nestled in the crook of Victor’s arm. The light kiss of a breeze drifted to him through the window; naked, Victor had flung it open before they’d gone to lie on the bed together. Yuuri still sweated where their skin touched, but he didn’t care. He was infused with bliss. It enveloped his senses like thick, drifting smoke.

_He’s asleep._

Sated, soporific, he verged on dozing himself, but his thoughts edged him just this side of wakefulness. They didn’t often cuddle in bed like this while the room was full of daylight. It felt like an indulgence – one he was thoroughly enjoying. If he fell asleep, he’d no longer be able to appreciate it.

He shifted carefully so as not to disturb Victor and propped himself up on an elbow, gazing at the form reclining in peaceful stillness next to him. The thin sunlight diffusing through the room fell soft and even across his pale skin, lending it a gentle glow. Hard bulges and knots, jutting bones and planes and angles blended with the sweep of his hair as it fell onto his pillow. The curl of his thick pale lashes. An arm and a leg carelessly flung aside. Pink lips slightly parted. Yuuri wondered if he could ever completely believe that this vision was real – and his.

_Ee lohv theh, Victor. _

He could keep thinking and saying it forever, and it wouldn’t express the breadth of what he truly felt. The jagged edges of yesterday were fading, largely thanks to this man, and the love and support he’d offered. 

_He made me into a real knight, _Yuuri thought, looking down at his own hands as if the truth of it was somehow branded there. But no, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Victor had helped, but ultimately Yuuri had done it himself. He’d been telling everyone for some time that he was a knight…but it had taken yesterday for him to _know _it in his bones. And while so many things had shifted in him, it seemed that a little of the anxiety which normally lived there, waiting for a chance to gather like a storm cloud and strike, had evaporated.

Maybe, he conceded, the incredible sex they’d just had was part of the reason for that. There was little room left for fear when they could lift each other to such heights. 

But the part of him that tended to doubt everything he said and did hadn’t gone away either, and it could always find that vulnerable chink to slither through. What it said to him now was, _I can’t believe you did that. Pulled Victor straight up here, then did those things in front of him. You should be burning with shame. What you must have looked like. Victor will just have to carry enough embarrassment for you both._

But the final sentiment was so ludicrous that he laughed it off, the soft sound carrying through the stillness of the room. That dark voice might linger inside of him, but he didn’t have to listen to it. Victor hadn’t been embarrassed at all; the evidence of his continued arousal had been obvious. In fact, his reactions to everything Yuuri had done, from their initial conversation in the training field onward, had emboldened him.

_You haven’t just helped me to become a knight, _he thought, lying back down on his side and sliding a hand underneath his pillow while keeping a fond eye on Victor. _You’ve helped me become more truly myself. _He had a sudden desire to caress Victor until he woke, and kiss him and tell him how much he loved him. But there would be time for that. Moments like this were precious, too. Time seemed to slow down somehow, and they were free to simply _be_.

Was his dom persona more a part of himself, too, than he’d thought?

He hadn’t chosen to channel it this afternoon so much as it had _wanted _to be channelled, and Victor had had no objections. Before now, Yuuri had seen it as a role that he’d taken on with more confidence as he’d explored it and played with it, while Victor seemed to be settling deeper into contented submission, each defining their own space with the help of the other. But didn’t actors bring part of themselves to every role they played? Even when he’d been singing and dancing in those Immersion musicals years ago, that was something Yuuri had been aware of, and felt free to test at the time because no one else could see him apart from the holograms.

_You need someone else to take charge once in a while, _he thought, watching the slow rise and fall of Victor’s chest. _Maybe I need to feel like I’m in charge sometimes, too. Maybe that’s more important to me than I realised. I’ve been anxious and afraid a lot of my life, and shit happened that I didn’t know how to deal with. But when we’re doing this, you make me feel…powerful. Sexy. You place your trust in my hands – you, as beautiful as you are, as experienced, as important here in this medieval world, you do that for me – and suddenly there’s nothing holding me back. I wonder if you know just how incredible that is. _

The ghost of a smile lingered on his lips as he watched Victor a little longer. Then he rolled onto his stomach, enjoying the slide of the sheets underneath his bare skin, and closed his eyes with a sigh. 

This dynamic was shaping up to be a permanent, important part of their relationship, it seemed. He liked the thought of it – once in a while, mixed with the other things they did. Maybe even, somewhere down the line, why not…they could try switching, if Victor was willing. Just to see what it was like, exploring the opposite role. He imagined himself tied to the chair with the silk while Victor had his way with him, and felt a frisson of desire. _Shit, _he thought, wanting to laugh again. It _was _sexy. He didn’t think he was ready for that just yet, not while this was still new. But one day? Oh yes, bring it on.

_One day…_He realised he was thinking about the future again. _Their _future. Because they had one now.

Placing his hand gently over Victor’s own, he held on to that idea, content to remind himself of it as many times as it took until the wonder of it became acceptance of fact.

_I love you so much. _The thought entwined with the air warmed by the summer sun, until it trailed pleasantly away.

* * *

Yuuri noticed as they approached the hill that there was something wrong with it.

“The roof’s caved in,” Victor said, jumping off Alyona and scanning what had once been the dungeon containing Ailis’s lab.

The top had a flattened appearance, Yuuri could see now. All that dirt and rubble, choking everything inside. He hadn’t expected to find intact tech after the raging fire – and it would have been dangerous to try, he knew, with the roof and its supports having been made of wood. Perhaps this was better, then. But if Ailis had indeed succeeded in repairing any of the time-travel spheres, wholly or partially, her secrets were gone with her.

It shouldn’t make any difference to him, not now. But he couldn’t help thinking about yesterday in the boardroom, when he’d believed for a moment that he could take Victor back to the future with him. There was no hope for that anymore; the only way ahead was here.

_We’ll live at the castle as knights. It’ll be all right. Today’s been wonderful. _

“Yuuri?” Victor stood next to Alyona, looking at him in concern.

“I was just thinking what a shame it is to have lost whatever was inside the lab,” he said, swinging off Lady and joining him.

“It would all have been burnt by the fire, wouldn’t it?”

Yuuri nodded. “If the components hadn’t melted, the circuitry would’ve been damaged beyond repair. Still.” He bit his lip, peering into the bright grey corridor beyond the door. “There’s a light on in there.” He strode forward.

“I remember that now,” Victor said behind him. “We were so keen to get back to the castle last night that we left it as it was.”

“Lucky no one seems to have stopped by to have a butcher’s. I wonder what they would have made of this,” Yuuri muttered, stepping inside the door and taking the white light from the shelf. It was thin and rectangular, about knee height, and its illumination fell flat and pale across their skin.

“A butcher’s?” Victor echoed as he watched Yuuri examine the light.

Yuuri grinned. “Sorry, cockney rhyming slang. It means to have a look. Rhymes with butcher’s hook.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll have to teach you some rhyming slang, then.” He turned the device over, lifting a black lid to expose fine glowing filaments within. Nothing remarkable, just a standard portable light.

“It’s wondrous,” Victor breathed, peering at the circuitry.

“It’ll be handy, anyway. Brighter than candles. We should take it back with us.”

“Where does its power come from?”

“A magnetic coil. I’ll show you later, if you want.” Yuuri held it high for a moment, illuminating the corridor; a sloping pile of debris completely blocked it several meters away, and the tang of smoke hung in the air, along with fresh earth. Turning, he went back outside and opened one of Lady’s saddlebags, making room for the light. “I wonder just how much stuff Ailis brought here with her,” he mused, packing it in. “She must’ve had some huge bags.”

“It would’ve made a strange sight,” Victor said, watching him.

“There’s a lot about her we’ll never know now, I guess.” Yuuri looked at the hill again, the expanse of grass surrounding it, the dark stand of trees behind, as the evening breeze lifted his fringe.

“Are you all right, my love?”

Yuuri glanced at him; his forehead was again creased with concern. Resting a hand on Victor’s sleeve, he swept his gaze around. “It just seems so…peaceful here, so normal, after everything that happened yesterday. Just a pleasant clearing in the woods.” He gave a mirthless laugh.

Victor leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then looked down at him. “We needn’t linger,” he said softly. “Come; there’s more yet to do.”

They vaulted back onto their horses and returned to the castle, dismounting again just outside the chapel. Victor hovered by the doorway.

“If you wouldn’t mind…removing her,” he said, “I’ll help you tie her to Alyona.”

There was a choked sound to his voice, and Yuuri studied him for a moment, placing a hand on his sleeve again. He hoped his expression was an invitation to share a confidence.

“I…I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Victor murmured. “I’m not ready yet.”

_Not ready? _But Victor didn’t explain further, and Yuuri had no intention of pressing him. Instead he nodded, then entered the chapel and spotted the canvas-covered form of Ailis lying on the flat marble top of a sarcophagus. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her outside, and Victor had no trouble with roping her to Alyona. They walked together, leading their horses by the reins, to the lake where the funeral pyre had been prepared, and organised what they needed. 

“It would seem fitting for you to do this, if it’s your wish,” Victor said, holding out a lit torch. Yuuri took it, watching the flames dance, the pinks and oranges of the sunset shimmering in the heat. He stepped forward and touched the torch to the high wooden frame, which quickly ignited, casting glimmering reflections on the darkening lake.

These ancient traditions lingered on, it seemed, despite the ubiquity of Christianity. Victor had explained that Ailis couldn’t be buried in the castle cemetery because she was a criminal, and the idea of the pyre had come to him because she must have done the same to three other people.

“Some say the spirit flies west to a new life on the tail of the sun,” he said pensively. The orange from the flames glowed on his cheeks and in his hair.

“Do you believe that?” Yuuri asked him, their voices softly drifting over the crackle of the fire. He planted the end of his torch in the ground; it threw a circle of yellow light over the green swath on which they stood.

Victor glanced at him with a small grin. “Father Maynard wouldn’t hear of it, but there are other cultures, other traditions. I like the idea.”

Yuuri did, too. The fading sun sank lower, bathing the surrounding clouds in flame. Victor slid an arm around his waist, and Yuuri leaned into him.

“It’s a shame someone with such a brilliant mind had such a troubled soul,” Yuuri said. “Maybe it was all too much for one person to contain.”

“Perhaps the world is better off for that, all told. She doesn’t seem to have done any lasting harm. If her inventions had been in someone else’s hands…who knows.”

“Like these?” Yuuri lifted his own, palms up.

“Well.” Victor gave his waist a squeeze. “Perhaps the world is better for that, too. I know I am.”

Yuuri rested his head against Victor’s shoulder, kissing it. The heat from the pyre warmed him through his tunic, though a chill was falling across the land as the night crept in.

“Did you leave her translator in?” Victor asked.

“Yeah. It would’ve seemed…disrespectful, I suppose, to take it out. I’ve got my own, and I can share it with you, though I want to learn Middle English – your language. If your mother learned mine so quickly, the least I can do here is try. I don’t have to worry anymore about Ailis hearing me.”

“That would be lovely,” Victor said with a smile, nuzzling at his hair. 

“I thought I should leave her with something functional of her own,” Yuuri continued, staring into the flames. “Something of hers that she made. So she has that. Her com’s ruined, so that doesn’t really count.”

Victor nodded, and they stood in silence for a while as the pinks on the horizon deepened to reds. “Just one person died after it all,” he said eventually. “Tyler was lucky he didn’t join her. You would’ve beaten him, Yuuri.”

Despite his pleasure at Victor’s praise, it also brought to mind something that had been bothering Yuuri since the day before, which he’d shoved aside when he’d entered Immersion.

“Victor…” he began tentatively, “in the duel, it felt like something changed inside of me. Like when you had me stab the boar’s carcase during training.” Victor wrinkled his brow, and Yuuri continued, “Tyler – I would’ve killed him, given the chance. I have no doubt of that.”

Victor took this in, then sighed. “Oh, Yuuri. It grieves me to see someone from a peaceful time such as yours being made to do such a thing, especially when you haven’t had the years of preparation that other knights here have received. It’s also a curse we must bear that the very talents we take joy in are designed to maim and kill.” His blue eyes were calm as he spoke, as of someone who’d come to terms with these things, even if they tinged his thoughts with sadness. “But you did what you had to do, what you were trained to do, and it meant you were able to stay alive. You might have to do it in battle one day, though it pains me to say so.”

“It made me feel less human,” Yuuri went on, wanting to bring the shadows to light, especially now that he could remember himself in the moment. “That side of me – angry, violent…Maybe it’s there in all of us, waiting to come out if we allow it to. But it frightens me. That I could be like that.” He took a step back as his voice began to shake. “In Immersion yesterday, the first gladiator I killed – it was so real. I used the cheat codes after that to make it better, but I still felt it, every time I had to kill someone. It was like some part of my brain could only see them as real people instead of holograms. Then on top of that,” he added, feeling his throat constrict, “I thought I was going to die. I was afraid for you, Julia and Emil. It all hurts, Victor. It hurts, and…and I feel sick.”

Victor threaded his arms around his waist and gently pulled until they were chest to chest. Yuuri took several deep breaths, a feeling of peace slowly entering his heart as he relaxed into Victor’s embrace. Whatever problems he had, however unsolvable they seemed, this always made him feel better.

“That’s as it should be, my sweet,” Victor said. “It means you’re a good person who doesn’t want to hurt anyone.” In a whisper, he added, “And I love you for it, Yuuri Katsuki.”

Yuuri looked up and met his gaze. “I love you, too,” he said, running the backs of his fingers down a cheek. “But – how do you live with it? As a fighter?”

A distant expression crossed Victor’s face for a moment, his eyes taking on a grey cast from the burning pyre and the dying sun. Eventually he said, “I apologise to God. Make amends where I can, and choose compassion whenever possible. It doesn’t change deeds that have been done, but it means I can live with myself.”

Not for the first time, Yuuri wondered about what Victor had seen, and what he’d been forced to do. And yet he could stand here, look him in the eye, and say beautiful things like that. Yuuri leaned in and gave him a soft kiss, and when he pulled back, they turned to watch the flames, now roaring into the indigo sky. 

After a while, Yuuri said quietly, “Maybe she’ll have the peace now that she couldn’t find in life.”

There was a long silence. He realised Victor must have been reflecting on his words when he asked, “Do you believe in heaven and hell?”

Yuuri looked up at him; Victor’s eyes were keen as he waited for an answer. “That’s what the Church here teaches, isn’t it?”

“I don’t go that often, as you might have noticed. But I was wondering about you.”

Yuuri thought of the glorious Sunday mornings they’d enjoyed wrapped up in each other; there was no other way he would have wanted to spend them. But he was aware that they had wandered onto dangerous ground with Victor’s question, because they had both lost people very dear to them.

“I don’t believe in hell,” he answered. “Because I can’t see how a loving God – if that’s how you want to describe whatever power or spirit it is – would send anyone there. Things like the Doomstone in York, showing devils roasting or boiling sinners – that’s the Church trying to make sure people do what they’re told. And heaven – ?” Victor’s eyes were keen. “I feel sure there’s something after this life, even if I don’t know what it is. And I’ll see _Okasan_ and _Otousan_, my parents, again someday.”

Victor blinked and nodded. “Then maybe I’ll see Alex, too. And Irene.”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t believe those things,” Yuuri said softly.

“Yuuri…” Victor’s voice was quiet and solemn. “…I’ll be there with them, too. Waiting. If…if anything should happen to me.”

“If anything should happen…?” Yuuri looked at him in alarm.

“I’m destined to die this year. Surely you haven’t forgotten.” His tone was gentle, even teasing, but Yuuri caught in it a hint of the tension underneath.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” he whispered.

“With the best intentions in the world – ”

“I’ll stop it, Victor, I swear!” Yuuri took a breath, then swallowed, and placed his hands on Victor’s arms. “I can’t lose you.” It came out as more of a plea than a declaration.

“Yuuri,” Victor said, clasping him in return, “my heart is yours. It always will be. And if the worst…if the worst does happen, I promise you it won’t change that.” A tear slid down his cheek.

Yuuri’s own face was suddenly damp, and he took Victor in his arms, holding him tight, breathing him in, daring fate to just try and rip him away. Victor smoothed his hair back and kissed his temple – consoling him through touch, though surely he was just as concerned about the possibility of losing his life.

_Why did I have to panic right before the duel? Look at what this knowledge is doing to him._

_But he wanted to know. I thought it might help._

“Victor,” he sighed against him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Victor drew back to look at him. “I…I just wanted to say. This is something we’ll have to face every day, is it not? I’m doing my best to accept it. The danger anyway, if not the fact just yet.” After a pause, he added, “It would be a hard thing for you to have to live out your days here after we’d been together for such a short time.” He gave Yuuri a little smile, and another tear traced its way down his face.

“I expected that would happen when I accepted this mission, before I met you.” Yuuri wiped the moisture away, trying to steel himself inside; these were the very things he’d been wrestling with over the past several months. “And I have no intention of letting you get away from me.” He huffed a small laugh, then said softly, looking into his eyes, “Anyway, no matter what happens…you’re worth it. I’ll never regret being with you.”

Victor searched his face, lips parting to speak words he couldn’t seem to find – then he was kissing Yuuri fervently. Yuuri’s eyes flew open briefly, but he soon relaxed into it, holding Victor tight, his heart full of love and sadness at what it was afraid of losing. Though Victor was right; the threat was part of the tapestry of their lives now, and they couldn’t allow it to spoil their time together.

Yuuri gentled the kiss, then glided his fingers across Victor’s cheek and stepped back, pulling the torch from the ground. “I ought to put this out in the lake, and then we can get back before it’s dark.” But he hesitated, watching the flames of the pyre leap into the sky.

Victor looked to him, then the burning platform. “You’re the only one here from her time. Perhaps she’d appreciate that. We don’t need to go until you want to. The horses will find their way back to the castle if the sun goes down.”

Nodding, Yuuri allowed himself to be hypnotised by the fire as he said a silent farewell. Despite everything Ailis had been responsible for here – every death, every petty cruelty – there had been a brilliant, creative person underneath who had been looking for her place in a world that was hostile to her in many ways; and so she’d gone searching for new ones to explore. He wondered if she’d ever found happiness here, however insubstantial or fleeting. And to his surprise, he realised there was a place reserved now in his heart for the gratitude he felt for the inventions she’d conceived of, built, tested, and left behind – the reason why he and Victor could be together.

_Thank you, Ailis._

He doused the torch in the dark, glassy waters of the lake, then rejoined Victor. “I’m ready.”

Victor smiled at him. “And where do you wish to go, my love? The men in the garrison will want to drink to your performance in the duel, even if its end was unconventional. But it’s not an expectation. We could return to our room instead. Or wherever you will.”

Yuuri’s instinctive desire was to return to their quiet room and try to relax. But how long had it been since he’d visited the garrison with any regularity? Julia and Emil would be there. He thought back to the days after he’d first arrived, when he was living by himself near the main garrison room and went there sometimes in the evenings, hoping to be joined by Victor, inevitably with Julia beside him – and how glad he’d been when they came. But even when they didn’t, it hadn’t been beyond him to enjoy having a chat with the other men once in a while.

“Now that I think of it,” he said, “I could do with a good drink. Or even a mediocre one. Come with me, and bring your citole?”

Victor gave him a radiant smile and took his hand. “Gladly.” And they strode together to their horses, two grey figures in the deepening night. 


	143. Chapter 143

The remainder of the royal visit passed in a blur of feasting, entertainment, and obligations to attend to the king. Yuuri also went to see Ethelfrith, informing her of Ailis’s death and reassuring her that there would be no more laser-gun fights, as his work was done. He told her he would be remaining in 1393, as would she, since there was no way back to the future for them. She wasn’t as upset about this as he’d feared, seemingly having come to terms with the fact that she’d had a wonderful adventure that was over; though it was hard to look at her worn pink hands, and eyes that spoke of loss, and take that remaining hope away from her. He considered telling her that he was Sir Justin, but could see no benefit in it for either of them, while there would be undesirable consequences if word of it got around the castle. It therefore seemed best to let her go about her business.

Despite the whirlwind of activity at the castle, however, Yuuri still managed to fit in some training and private moments with Victor. True to his promise, Phichit played music for them, and they had their first ballet session together in the room for some time. On another occasion, Victor asked him if he was planning to grow his hair out – Yuuri knew it was getting quite mop-like, but hadn’t decided what to do about it – and when he answered no, to his surprise Victor offered to trim it for him; he said he did his own as well, with Julia’s help at the back. Yuuri was impressed when he looked in the mirror, and declared they’d found him an alternative career as a barber’s surgeon. Victor laughed and said he could see himself doing it in another life.

But it was the nights that were truly theirs, when they joined in love and passion and comfort, and the rest of the world fell away.

While Yuuri’s heart felt lighter with no immediate threats looming, it was taking his nerves some time to settle as a deeper part of him struggled to accept that he and Victor were not going to be stabbed, poisoned, shot or blown up. Phichit reckoned he had a touch of post-traumatic stress disorder, but Yuuri didn’t need a new label for the anxiety that had always been there, waiting to feed on something. He knew there were other worries in the background contributing to it, which he and Victor both shared, but he was determined that they remain pushed aside.

The problem was, they seeped into his dreams. He and Victor, ambushed by knights with laser guns. Running endlessly through the deserted streets of London until the red death descended upon them. Gladiatorial battles against impossible odds. Bombs falling everywhere around them as the mire of no man’s land sought to pull them under. Sometimes Yuuri witnessed Victor’s death, and that was the worst of all. He knew his movements and cries woke him sometimes, and Victor was endlessly patient about it, enveloping him in his arms. It felt like more than he deserved, however, and he was concerned about dragging them both down. But eventually the day would dawn, and he’d remind himself that Ailis and Tyler were both gone, and Victor would either be lying next to him or doing something in their room. And it would be all right. Better than all right, he knew, as the shadows of the night faded. Wonderful, in fact, he would think as he and Victor shared their first kiss of the day.

And he wanted to make the most of it. He turned his translator off sometimes to listen to the talk around him, no longer concerned that he’d miss a crucial piece of information or give his identity away, though he didn’t like not being able to understand what was said. Some people had a knack for picking up languages that way, but he quickly realised he wasn’t one of them; he’d been speaking English and Japanese since he first began to talk, and whatever magic enabled toddlers to absorb such things must have left him, though he’d persevered with Mandarin off and on over the years for his mother’s sake. But if Natalia could do it, so could he; and there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t lose his translator one day, or that it would function for the rest of his life.

Phichit helped a bit, looking up words and phrases for him, though Yuuri was conscious now of not making too many demands on his time. Sometimes he played recordings of people pronouncing the words, which helped, because Phichit couldn’t begin to guess how to do it himself. Victor still taught him sometimes, but Yuuri wanted to progress without relying on him alone.

Emil was willing to speak Middle English with him, even if he ended up with that bemused look he used to have when Yuuri had revealed things like he didn’t own a knife and didn’t know how to ride a horse. He was as patient as always, though they only managed simple dialogue such as “the sky is blue,” “how are you,” and “I’m holding a sword.”

Julia was rather less accommodating when Yuuri first tried speaking to her in the room while Victor was out.

“How can you be so rubbish at this?” she said, frowning; and Yuuri understood her plainly, since by then he’d switched his translator back on.

“Because I’m trying to pick it up just from listening to people talk,” he said with a touch of petulance as he drank a cup of thin wine, though something stronger would have been welcome. “There are no textbooks. The printing press hasn’t even been invented yet. It’s hard.”

Julia pointed to the book sitting on a corner of the table. “What’s that, then?”

Yuuri glanced at _The Lover’s Confession _by John Gower. “I’ve read parts of it, but I don’t understand it very well yet.”

She rolled her eyes as she gathered up the cups and plates from breakfast and put them on a tray.

“What languages do _you _speak?” Yuuri asked her, suddenly curious.

“English, French and Latin, like everyone else here who’s had an education. Plus Italian and Greek.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

She shrugged. “I was taught them when I was younger.”

“You must be good at learning languages.”

“I suppose you could say so,” she replied, looking at him.

“Will you help me?”

Standing up straight, she eyed him critically – then seemed to make a decision, and her expression softened. “Well. You’ve taught me a lot of things, so I suppose it’s only fair. Just don’t offend my ears with your bizarre pronunciation and grammar.”

“I’ll try not to,” Yuuri promised with a smile.

As the days passed, it was clear that her enthusiasm for the task had grown, to the point where she would sometimes ask him to turn his translator off so they could practise. Yuuri learned how to say “Fetch me a jug of wine” and “I don’t like eels, please take them away,” among other things which he supposed might be useful once in a while, even though it made him feel like a tourist asking the way to the train station or for a hotel room with a bath.

“You’ll get there,” she said to him, which he assumed was praise of a kind. “But if you want me to teach you anything soppy to say to the master, you can forget it.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said in all seriousness; the thought had never crossed his mind.

“Of course not.” Another eye roll. “As if I don’t see the way you two behave with each other every day. It’s fair making my teeth rot.”

Yuuri laughed.

* * *

The day after Ailis’s funeral, once Yuuri and Victor had attended court and watched a second play performed by John Burbage and the Fulford Players – after which Victor disappeared to talk to Burbage; he seemed to be quite a fan – they sparred on the wheel. Julia and Emil took turns spinning it and getting up on it themselves, and Yuuri was convinced by now that it was the cleverest piece of training equipment for knights that had ever been devised. It also required skills that weren’t strictly necessary for combat, however, such as gymnastics. Victor looked on as Yuuri taught Emil how to better time his movements while the wheel was in motion; and while he thought it was clear that they were just having a bit of fun practising, he saw that Victor’s eye was keenly attentive. Not for the first time, he wondered what Victor’s history with this apparatus was, and what it had been like for him and his brother when they’d used it.

Once finished, the squires raced each other to the castle to prepare for supper while Yuuri and Victor strolled down the hill at a more leisurely pace, heading for their room to remove their armour and change clothes. At one point, Victor stared thoughtfully at Yuuri’s belt, and Yuuri wondered what was going through his mind; whether there was something wrong, or if his thoughts were tending toward more lascivious avenues.

“You’re still using Justin’s sword,” Victor said.

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “Well, yes.”

“It seems to be a good time now to have that situation rectified, wouldn’t you say?”

“I, um, never really thought about it.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to have one of your own?”

Yuuri considered this. “I suppose it might be…nice?”

Victor smiled. “Squires often receive the adult sword they’ll use once they’ve done a brave deed. You’re knight, not a squire, and you’ve done many brave things.”

Yuuri had to admit the idea was beginning to appeal. A sword just for him…maybe he _had _earned it.

“It could commemorate the experiences you had in Immersion when you were younger, which helped prepare you for what you had to do here as a knight, and taught you things that saved our lives in Ailis’s games. We could visit the blacksmith after supper, if you like, and place the order. I’ll pay.”

Yuuri darted a concerned glance at him. “I’d like that, but I’ve got money – ”

“So do I,” Victor interrupted. More quietly, he added, “Please let me do this for you, Yuuri. As your trainer. You could see it as a kind of initiation, perhaps.”

The sincerity in his eyes was plain, and Yuuri couldn’t resist it. “Thank you,” he said with a grin.

He thought about Victor’s words as they passed the stable and neared the castle hill, and couldn’t help but feel they put a gloss on his past that it didn’t deserve. “I couldn’t imagine you’d want someone who was a…a fixture,” he said, looking down.

“Fixture,” Victor repeated, and Yuuri could feel his gaze on him. “That’s what Ailis called you when we were in that building together. But I don’t know what it means.”

“It’s a derogatory term for someone who lives most of their life in Immersion,” Yuuri explained. “She must’ve realised how much experience I’ve had with it.”

“But that’s in your past, isn’t it?”

Yuuri nodded. “Years ago, yes. Mostly when I was a teen.”

“And you learned how to use a sword that way, you said. You brought your knowledge of it here with you. Whatever happened, Yuuri, it helped to make you who you are.” He added softly, “I love that person.”

Yuuri stopped and stared at him in wonder. “You’re more forgiving of me than I am.”

“What’s to forgive? A boy who was grieving and lost, looking for comfort?”

Yuuri placed a hand over Victor’s heart. How strange that he’d said so. Or maybe not so strange. Yuuri had never felt so completely _known _by anyone, even though Victor was from a different time and background; that didn’t matter. He was also speaking from his own experience, Yuuri suspected.

“Someone important to me said something similar, years back,” Yuuri told him. “Sam, my counsellor.”

Victor’s placid eyes gazed back at him. “What’s a counsellor?”

“A person who listens to you and tries to understand. Who…helps you make sense of your life when you’re struggling do it by yourself. And especially when you’re young, they give you advice. Like a parent, almost.”

Victor placed his hands on Yuuri’s arms. “Then Sam’s advice was good. And so is mine.” He smiled gently. “Perhaps it’s time to listen to it. I wish I could’ve known you then.”

Yuuri shook his head, recalling he’d once said something similar to Victor, who had shot the idea down. “No, you don’t. Really. I was shy, and anxious, and – ”

“I would’ve loved you.” Victor trailed a finger down his cheek.

Yuuri closed his eyes briefly as a frisson passed through him. If only he’d known then that this wonderful man was waiting in his future…in the past. He bit his lip, overwhelmed for a moment, then huffed a laugh. “Arise, Sir Yuuri – champion swordsman of England,” he said, quirking a grin. When Victor smiled back, raising a questioning eyebrow, he explained, “That was what the…god of war, I guess it was? Or maybe just God – in _Swords & Sorcery _said to me when I killed a monster. Ridiculous game.”

“I’ve heard more fanciful notions.” A spark leapt into Victor’s eyes. “You’d have to beat me first, of course.”

“You’re on,” Yuuri replied, jutting his chin out in challenge. “When can I try?”

Victor chuckled. “Tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after. Whenever you like, my love…I’ll be here.”

* * *

Yuuri went on his first hunt that weekend. It was like a scene in a castle tapestry come to life, with nobles in brightly coloured finery riding their horses, accompanied by many servants, and dogs and trained birds of prey. He rode next to Victor, who had a different bow attached to his saddle from what Yuuri had seen before – shorter, and curved back at either end. When he asked about it, Victor explained that it was less cumbersome to use than a heavy longbow when hunting on horseback. Yuuri wasn’t keen to watch the slaughter of any animals, especially after his session with the boar’s carcase, but he’d been curious to see Victor give a demonstration of mounted archery ever since he’d learned that it was a tradition in the Nikiforov family.

A light misty rain had been falling all morning, though it was easing into nothing more than a damp, warm film on bare skin. The trees dripped with it, and the moisture beaded on blades of grass and the petals of wildflowers. Yuuri rode next to Victor, the king not far in front of them; he wore a thick leather glove on his right hand, on which was perched a white bird speckled with black.

“It’s a gyrfalcon,” Victor said, following his gaze. “Only someone with royal blood is allowed to have one.”

Yuuri voiced what he’d been idly wondering for a while; now seemed like a good time. “I don’t ever see you going to the castle kennel, or the mews where the birds of prey are kept when they’re not in people’s rooms. Do you not – ”

“No, I don’t,” Victor said, shaking his head. “I’ve never cared to become fond of a dog that will tear its prey apart in a pack, and the same goes for birds. My father and I don’t consider it real hunting, anyway, when the animals do the work. It’s cruel and unnecessary, though I suppose it does leave the humans free to enjoy the pageantry – a hunt like this is mainly a social gathering.”

“But _you _hunt.”

“I’m able at it, just as I am with a bow and arrow, Yuuri; these are skills that almost every man in the land possesses.”

_Which I don’t, _Yuuri thought as his cheeks warmed. _And I know you’re more than just able at it. _

“I’ll teach you sometime, if you want,” Victor offered, seeming to read his reaction.

The truth was that Yuuri wasn’t at all eager to learn how to hunt, though he had to concede that he might need to be able to do so one day, if he were out in the wild and required food; not something that was ever likely to happen in 2121, but a distinct possibility in 1393. In which case, it would be silly to allow squeamishness to endanger his life. “Maybe,” he murmured. “Thank you.” Victor looked at him curiously for a moment, but didn’t pursue the topic.

Eventually the hunting party emerged from the woods into an area of open fields and grasslands, and those with birds of prey sent them soaring up into the air to search for small animals. Victor, Andrei and Julia took their bows and quivers and held a conference, then spread out, presumably to wait for the appearance of something they could hunt. For such a large gathering, the place was eerily quiet as many pairs of eyes kept a lookout either for one of the several gliding birds to swoop down, or for the archers to leap into action.

Then, finally, a deer stepped into view, though it was instantly on the alert. One glance at the colourfully dressed hunting party, who had made no effort to camouflage themselves, and it sprang into a run. Victor, Andrei and Julia were in instant pursuit, making gestures to each other that were clearly signals for where to ride so that they could work as a team. Most of the onlookers, including the king, urged their mounts to follow, laughing and chattering in delight as they watched the archers speed across the field, bows elegantly poised while their postures fluidly followed the motion of their horses.

They were stunning, Yuuri thought: Andrei in his elaborate purple tunic and dark conical hat, and Julia in a gold cotehardie and forest-green cape pinned by a golden brooch, eyes narrowed behind her bow. But his gaze was focused mainly on Victor in his silver tunic, fair hair flying, as he held his bowstring taut. _Beautiful. _It was easy to imagine him as a sylvan figure out of myth.

Julia shot the first flight of arrows. They were on target from what Yuuri could see, but the deer veered to the left just in time, and Julia mumbled something with a frown while she quickly nocked more arrows and aimed again. Victor rode on the other side of the deer, with Andrei further along, attempting to shunt the animal toward one hunter or the other. Julia succeeded in scoring a hit to its side, and it flinched but continued to run. This was the part Yuuri hadn’t been looking forward to seeing, and he wondered if he ought to give Lady her head and avert his eyes. But the rest of it happened in a flash.

“Aim lower,” Victor called, loosing three arrows in a row that he’d been holding in his hand. Julia did the same, and the deer staggered; then Andrei shot two arrows into the animal, and it fell to the ground and did not attempt to get up.

The hunting party slowed, clapping, and the archers bowed to the king.

“Capital,” Emil said; he’d ridden at Yuuri’s side. “Though Julia will be cross with herself for missing the first shot.”

“She didn’t miss; the deer just got out of the way.”

“She’ll see it as a miss,” Emil stated. “She’s very particular.”

On the ride back to the castle, his words proved true as Julia complained to Victor, who insisted she’d simply had a bit of bad luck, though she obviously didn’t see it that way. Then he turned to Yuuri and asked him in a casual voice what he’d thought of the hunt; Yuuri didn’t miss the flicker of concern there, as Victor’s words from that day in the woods when they’d first seen Ailis came back to mind. _You must think we’re nothing but primitive simpletons. _

“You were magnificent,” Yuuri enthused. Victor beamed at him, and before Julia could roll her eyes, he looked at her and said, “All of you.” Julia simply cocked her head to the side, though her frown wasn’t quite as long now.

When they returned to the stable, Victor explained that he’d been asked to go to the solar with his father, the king, John of Gaunt and Edward, who wanted to learn more about the Cossack style of hunting they’d just seen. He invited Yuuri along, but he declined, asking instead if Julia and Emil would help him with his archery skills. That was something they could do well, and despite Victor’s offer to teach him, Yuuri didn’t want to monopolise his time when there were other demands on it.

Soon the three of them were practising with targets. Yuuri’s was noticeably closer to where he stood, which attracted odd looks from passing soldiers in the king’s retinue. Julia showed him precisely how to hold the arrow while he drew the bowstring – one arrow alone, instead of the handful she usually clutched.

“I must be the worst archer in the country,” he said as she unfolded his fingers and repositioned them for him, “if men all learn it from an early age.”

“Well that’s nonsense,” she replied. “You took to the longsword – using it properly, I mean – only recently, when you arrived here. And I learned archery late, being a girl. No one would train me until I told them I wanted the skill for defence, and it was still necessary for me to buy my own equipment and begin to instruct myself by firing at targets before anyone believed I was serious.”

“That must’ve been very frustrating.”

“Yes, well. I suppose women can be archers in your time. You should move your left foot forward, by the way; you’ll be able to put more power into your shot.”

Yuuri scooted his foot as she’d suggested. “They _can _be archers,” he answered, “but no one really does that sort of thing anymore outside of Immersion. I suppose the modern equivalent would be a police officer with a laser gun.” He shot an arrow, and it lodged near the centre of the target.

“Oh, good show, sir,” Emil said as he proceeded to do the same thing with three of his own arrows.

“Show-off,” Yuuri mumbled good-naturedly, pulling another arrow from his quiver.

“There were plenty of police in the Water Wars,” Julia said quietly. “That day feels like a strange dream now.”

Yuuri paused and lowered his bow, looking at her. “I never thought to ask you – when you were in Ailis’s lab, what did you see?”

She gave him a long, thoughtful look, then seemed to change her mind about something and shrugged. “I saw a place like an alchemist’s lair.”

“No, I mean – what was in there? Anything from the future that stood out to you?”

“Um.” She paused and blinked. “There was…the Immersion box, which I shot. Very bright lights, like the ones I saw in future-London. Other odd small things, but nothing that caused me to waste time examining it; I wanted to end the Immersion if I could.”

“And I’m glad you did.” Yuuri searched her face. “Julia, did you come across any time-travel spheres? Remember the one I still have that I showed you, which doesn’t work anymore?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she stared. “No…” she replied quietly. “Should I have?”

“Ailis said she thought she might be able to repair them. She claimed to have brought two spheres here with her. You didn’t find anything like that?”

“No,” Julia repeated. “But…well, I didn’t have time to search all the cupboards…Have you looked yourself since then?”

“The whole place has caved in, apart from the entrance. I never got a chance to see inside before it burned down.” Yuuri bit his lip, raising his bow again and taking aim. “Never mind. She told so many lies, you could never really know where the truth began.” He let an arrow fly, and it barely hit the outside of the target. “Fuck, what happened _that _time?”

Julia huffed a little laugh. “Perhaps you were distracted. Here, show me again how you were aiming…”

* * *

That evening, Yuuri received an unexpected visitor to the room while Victor was away. Natalia said that she had reconsidered his offer to allow her to record a message for her friends and colleagues in the future so that they knew she was all right but wouldn’t be returning – and would it be convenient to do so now?

“Of course, madam,” he answered, ushering her inside. He offered her a drink but she declined.

“I’m correct in believing, am I not, that it’s truly impossible to return?” she asked him. “Many things were said the night I arrived here, but I gathered that you no longer have the means to travel in time.”

“That’s right. The time-travel spheres were prototypes…experiments, which Ailis was testing for the first time, and they broke in the timestream.” Yuuri paused. “You’d _want _to go back, if you could?”

She smoothed a hand down the bodice of her gold dress. “Yuuri, may I make a request? Will you show me your true appearance while I’m here with you? There’s no need for masks between us, is there?”

He turned his projector off, and she gazed at him and said, “No one in this country at this time would know what a Japanese person looks like. I wonder what my son made of you the first time he saw you as you truly are.”

Which, Yuuri thought, was a personal question he wasn’t inclined to answer, though it was easy to do it in his head. _Victor was shocked, which I assume is what you’re thinking. But not because of what I look like. He thought I was Sir Justin, and he loved me, and then I turned out to be someone completely different. I hurt him, and I didn’t mean to. It’s rather complicated._

“I can’t show my real face to anyone who doesn’t know who I am,” he said instead, “so I’ll have to carry on appearing in public as Sir Justin.”

“As you live your remaining years here? Will the tech continue to function all that time?”

“I…I hope so.”

“And if Victor dies this year, what will you do?”

Yuuri’s stomach lurched and he felt the urge to say something he’d regret, wondering if she were trying for some reason to provoke just that kind of reaction. He took a quick breath. Her eyes were the same keen, incisive blue as her son’s. “I have every intention of preventing that from happening,” he replied. “I haven’t really thought beyond it, but if the worst happened…” His voice hitched. “I’d find a way to survive. I’m not helpless.”

“No, you certainly aren’t,” she said more gently. “That much is clear, and I apologise for the bluntness of my queries. I might question a petitioner in the great hall thus, but my son’s…good friend deserves better. It was also an unexpected opportunity to be more direct with you, since I observe you’re here alone.”

“Victor’s meeting with Matthew Everard.”

“Indeed. He takes his responsibilities seriously, and we have a royal progress to regale for two more days.” She gave him a small smile. “You’ll forgive me too, I hope, if I tell you that I’ve watched you occasionally in the training field and at meals, and mentioned you – using the name of Sir Justin – in conversation. All this time you’ve been at the castle, I was elsewhere, and naturally everyone here knows you better than I do.”

She paused while Yuuri quailed inside, wondering what kind of judgement she was preparing to pronounce. He hadn’t expected Natalia to take much interest in him, though she’d said during their ride with Victor that she intended to be more a part of his life now, which presumably included vetting his lover.

“Yuuri,” she continued, “I could wish for no better knight to love and defend my family. Please be assured that if the worst did come to pass, and I lost my remaining son, there would be a place for you here as long as you desire.”

“That’s, um, very kind of you, madam,” he replied, breathing an inner sigh of relief.

“You also asked me if I wanted to return to your time. My answer is that I’d visit if I could. It’s a pity; I enjoyed it there, once I was away from Ian.” She looked down at his wrist. “If I may…?”

Yuuri nodded and called Phichit, who said he’d be happy to help; then he lent Natalia his com and went to his own room to give her some privacy. It took longer than he expected, but eventually she knocked on the door when she was finished. He understood straight away what had taken the extra time, as the notes of a Mozart piano concerto lilted out of the com in her hand.

“I had no inkling that music like this existed,” she said with a bright smile. “My roommate didn’t listen to it, and I never came across it.”

“What a crime,” Yuuri said with a little laugh as he took his com and strapped it back on. “Phichit,” he spoke into it, “I’m back.”

The music suddenly stopped. “Oh hi, Yuuri. I just thought Lady Nikiforov would like something to remind her of her time here. You and Victor like Mozart, so…”

“Sure, that was a juke thing to do.”

“I’ll see myself out,” Natalia said. “Thank you, Yuuri. And Phichit, you as well.”

Yuuri leaned against the doorway as he watched her leave, feeling as awkward as he had the last few times he’d seen her. They both knew there were no nobles to be deferential to in 2121 – as if he ever would, anyway; yet here he had a clearly delineated social position which required him to follow certain customs. He would have bowed and opened the door for her as she exited, for example, but she didn’t seem to think it necessary, which was rather confusing. But at least she appeared to approve of him.

“Hey, Phichit, thanks for doing that for her,” he said as the door shut.

“No problem. I couldn’t help overhearing what she was saying – ”

“Really?” Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “This wasn’t an accidentally-on-purpose thing?”

“Well, maybe. But she was just thanking people for what they’d done for her and wishing them well. It was touching – in an aristocratic, Middle English kind of way. I mean she was speaking modern English, but it had a Shakespearean thing about it.”

“I can imagine.”

“I got the impression she’s not used to, you know, saying sentimental stuff.”

Yuuri smiled. “I guess not. But I think she’s been trying hard since she got back.”

“So would you like me to see if Mari’s in?”

“Phichit, you’re not some kind of temporal switchboard operator, I keep telling you – ”

“I know, but I like putting people in touch with each other, honest. Gives me kind of a warm glow.”

Yuuri snorted. “All right, I believe you. It’s nice of you to offer, but I only talked to her the other night, and we caught up with a lot of stuff. I think I might go down to the main garrison room and have a drink.”

After a pause, Phichit said, “What, you? By yourself, without Victor?”

“They’re not exactly going to attack me.”

“Just doesn’t seem like something you’d usually do.”

“I’m full of surprises, me,” Yuuri laughed as he turned his projector back on.

* * *

The following afternoon, Yuuri stood against the fence to the training field, watching Victor spar ten rounds with John of Gaunt. It was difficult to prevent himself from looking away, but he didn’t want Victor to notice him doing that. Perhaps the people from Crowood in the crowd of onlookers figured Victor was simply having an off day, though even then he was a beautiful sight, bright and fierce and graceful. But Yuuri had watched him for countless hours over the past several months, scrutinising his movements, and it was clear to him that something wasn’t right. His reactions were a touch slow, his footwork not quite accurate, and he was caught off guard by his opponent in ways he would ordinarily be able to anticipate.

When John had won seven rounds to three, he thanked Victor for an enjoyable challenge. A great deal of money appeared to surreptitiously change hands; Yuuri knew many of the men would have expected Victor to win without much trouble. It wasn’t easy to admit to himself, but he felt embarrassed on his behalf.

Victor had a few words with Julia, who had been standing nearby and now disappeared with the other squires. As he approached the fence, he gave Yuuri a warm smile. “You look so concerned,” he said with a quiet laugh, pinging him gently under his chin. “I assure you I’m quite all right. Fancy riding out to the lake for a swim?”

Yuuri did, and soon they were on their palfreys, riding away from the castle. He was the first to mention the sparring. “I know you threw the fight,” he said. “And I know why. But – ”

“You hated to see it,” Victor interrupted quietly. “I could tell.”

“It isn’t right that you should have to do that.”

“Would you have done the same?” Victor asked, looking at him.

“I…well yes, I suppose I would.”

“There you go, then.”

“It’s just…I don’t know, against nature or something for you to deliberately be rubbish.”

Victor laughed. “I didn’t realise I was as bad as all that. Do you think I overdid it?”

“No.” Yuuri considered for a moment. “It’s like a dance, though, isn’t it? A performance. It touches something deep inside of you when you see something beautiful, or when you’re expressing it yourself in what you’re doing. When I first got here and I discovered I was in that duel with you, part of me couldn’t get over what you looked like and how you moved, even though my life was in danger. That…” He bit his lip. “That’s what it’s like for me. It’s that strong.”

Victor’s eyes widened and his lips parted. Then he said wonderingly, “Just when I thought I knew you so well…but of course, I should have realised. Especially with the dancing.”

Yuuri quirked a grin. “What?”

“You’re an artist, and a romantic – even moreso than a knight, it seems.” Victor smiled. “Oh, I love that.”

A flush spread across Yuuri’s cheeks. “Maybe I chose the wrong profession when I became a techie,” he said, looking down with a small grin. “But I could only perform in those musicals when it was in Immersion. If I’d tried to do it in front of real people, my anxiety would’ve gone through the roof.”

“You did it here, in the competition against Julia.”

After a pause, Yuuri’s grin widened as he said, “Yeah, I did.”

“I can’t wait to get to the lake. I’d very much like to do more than swim there with you.”

Yuuri took in the heated look on his face and felt a pulse of desire. “Me too,” he said quietly.

They fell silent, though eventually Victor interrupted Yuuri’s distractingly pleasant speculations about what they could get up to later. “Would you like to hear about my ride with my mother this morning?”

When Yuuri met his gaze, there was a twinkle in it as if he knew exactly what he’d been thinking, and he felt another blush steal across his face. “Sure. Was it…did it go OK?”

“I think so,” Victor replied, looking ahead again. “We spoke a little about the past, and she gave me some insight into what her life was like while Alex and I were being raised by nursemaids. She honestly seems to have believed at the time that she was doing what was right and proper, helping to look after the castle and Andrei’s political interests, gaining wealth and power for the family.”

“Which included having you fight duels,” Yuuri muttered darkly.

“For which she’s apologised a number of times now, though I know it doesn’t undo what’s already been done. And she would have been raised to see her highest priority as being by her husband’s side, as his helpmeet. None of it was so very different from how other women of noble birth would behave.” Before Yuuri could reply to this, he added, “What _is _different is that she sees some things in a new light now, I think, after having lived in your time. She said she particularly noticed how important family is, for example; being with each other and building those relationships. I can see that myself with you – in Mari; in the way you talk about your parents.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Yuuri said. “Though maybe part of it is your social station. A lot of people on the estate seem to live in buildings with just one room; I imagine they’d know each other pretty well.”

Victor huffed a laugh. “I can’t conceive of living like that with my parents. My father would never tolerate it, for a start. I wouldn’t either, in fact. Perhaps I would’ve run away and joined an acrobat troupe, and tried to get Alex to come.” He smiled. “I was going to say he wouldn’t. But perhaps he would have, just to stay with me.” The smile faded.

“Would you honestly have done that?”

Victor looked toward the horizon. “I don’t really know.” Then he glanced at Yuuri and seemed to come back to himself. “Don’t mistake me about my mother; she hasn’t changed completely, and I wouldn’t have expected her to. It’s difficult for her to talk about these things, and we’re like strangers still, in many ways.” He gave a small sigh. “But it’s a start, I suppose. I think she’ll be a more positive influence on my father now too, and she may be more sympathetic to the villeins.”

“With both of you advising the baron, you might be able to bring about some really positive changes.”

“Perhaps, as long as I’m at the castle.”

Yuuri wondered what he meant by this, though he suspected he knew, and didn’t want to pursue the topic of Victor’s death date just now; he couldn’t see anything useful coming of it. And they were almost at the lake.

“My mother mentioned you, too,” Victor said, looking at him with a smile.

“Oh God, do I want to hear this?” But Yuuri reminded himself that she’d said there would always be a place at the castle for him, and that had to be a good sign.

“I would’ve thought so,” Victor laughed. “She finds you to be genuine, intelligent, and…” He lowered his voice. “…clearly smitten with me.”

Yuuri’s mouth dropped open. “She didn’t say that – did she?”

“She did.”

“Smitten?”

“Yes.” Victor laughed again. “I’m certain she’s never going to be pleased that I’m a snapdragon, as you call it. She won’t be getting any grandchildren. But she said we seem to be good for each other. She also expressed a belief that you might curb my wilder tendencies.”

“What?” Yuuri laughed now, wondering what “wilder tendencies” she had in mind, and what she hoped he’d do about them. He rather thought he’d encouraged a few. “She hasn’t seen me when I’m drunk.”

“I wouldn’t advise it. Ah – here we are.”

The deep blue waters of the lake, sparkling in the sunlight, came into view beyond a stand of pines. As they reined up near the gently lapping waves and staked out their horses, Yuuri decided a bit of wildness sounded like a good idea. He began to quickly strip off his armour near a patch of bracken which looked to be about the right size and thickness to serve as a good cushion, and had the bonus of being concealed from general view by rocks and trees. His clothes soon followed. As he made his way to the water’s edge, he checked that Victor had an eye on him – which he did, while he undressed seemingly as an afterthought.

Yuuri hooded his eyes and licked his lips slowly. “Coming, Vitya?” he purred, before turning around and wading into the water.

“Shit,” Victor breathed. Yuuri smiled to himself as he dived.

* * *

The final day of the king’s visit was full of nonstop entertainment, feasting and pageantry. Yuuri attended it all, half amazed at the spectacle and half wishing it to be over so that life at the castle could return to normal.

The evening meal was as large and grandiose as the one on the day of the king’s arrival. A marzipan sculpture of York Minster with vivid fruit-jelly windows had been placed on the sideboard as the main decoration, just as Yuuri remembered it from Joan Delacroix’s workshop. What he hadn’t seen there was the fire-breathing goose redressed as a peacock complete with feathers, flanked by fire-breathing glazed piglets, all of which Fernand and several other cooks wheeled into the great hall on large trolleys, to much fanfare. Yuuri was suddenly struck by contrasting recollections of downing nutri-pills with a glass of water at work when he was too busy to be bothered with food, and distractedly grabbing a pizza from a drone while trying not to interrupt his concentration on a hologram, and for a moment could hardly believe this was his life, especially when King Richard the Second stood and gave a short speech formally thanking his hosts and their staff for a most enjoyable week. If only Phichit and Mari could have been here to watch; even Dr. Morgan Fay, who had given him what little preparation he’d had for living in the past. Because after today, he intended never to set eyes on the king again if he could help it. He would not be a willing fighter in any army.

At the end of the meal, it was announced that troupes and street performers would be touring the grounds of the castle to entertain all comers before a fireworks extravaganza was launched from the northwest turret just after sunset. Yuuri, Victor, Julia and Emil took a stroll together, stopping initially at the training field, where acrobats performed to a hurdy-gurdy. Elsewhere there were jugglers, balladeers with lutes, men in motley performing comedy routines and skits, and carol dances that made Yuuri think back to the lessons he’d had with Monica. Carols still occasionally took place in the great hall after meals, where everyone would circle around and hold hands, but Victor no longer cared for them; he’d said once that since he’d been introduced to the wonder that was ballet, they felt like a children’s game. The four of them were lighthearted enough that evening, however, to dance on the grass with the blacksmith, the carpenter, and two of Natalia’s ladies-in-waiting.

“These musicians need a good harpist to accompany them,” Julia commented when the dance was over; they’d gone on to join a small but growing crowd in front of a bald man with a bright scarlet tunic whose horse was performing tricks, including jumping through a hoop held by a young assistant.

“And you’re volunteering your skills for that, are you?” Victor asked her with a smile.

“Me, haul that unwieldy harp all the way out here? Certainly not, master.”

“I keep saying we ought to get you one you can put on your lap.”

“And I keep reminding you that there’s no richer, more satisfying sound than the waterfall of notes that falls from a proper Celtic harp.”

Yuuri hadn’t heard her play in a while, and was about to suggest she bring it to the room one evening soon while Victor played his citole, when his attention was diverted by a woman passing through the audience on the other side of the horsemaster. He only saw her for a moment, and felt a strange frisson of déjà vu. A wine-coloured corseted dress and billowing white blouse underneath, large brown eyes…

Then it came to him. The tournament at Stamford Bridge. She was the fortune-teller who’d insisted upon speaking with him, and she’d looked exactly like this, right down to those clothes. Yuuri was momentarily seized by the idea that he was seeing a spectre.

Stepping back, he looked around frantically, trying to catch another glimpse of her, and failing.

_Your future, your future I will tell to you, your future you often have asked me…Your true love will die by your own right hand, and Crazy Man Michael will curséd be…It’s you, _she’d said.

Yuuri had forced it out of his mind, as he’d tried to do with so many other things at the time. Because it was ridiculous to imagine that he could ever be responsible for Victor’s death, or that some stranger from a fairground could accurately predict the future.

Unless she had ESP. And could reach hundreds of years across time to access words from a song that seemed to have a direct bearing on his life and Victor’s.

_That will never happen. It’s impossible. I’m going to prevent his death, not cause it._

There was no sign of her in the crowd; she must have slipped away. But then, what more was there to say to her anyway? Did he really want to hear –

“Yuuri – are you all right?”

Victor had left Julia and Emil to join him. But this was something he mustn’t be told – Yuuri was adamant about that – especially since it was just a piece of nonsense.

“I, um, just thought I saw someone from when we were at Stamford Bridge. One of the entertainers. I was trying to remember who they were; what they did.”

Victor’s mouth twitched. “It wasn’t the juggler with the blue face paint, I hope.”

Yuuri’s thoughts were instantly pulled back to the present moment, and he couldn’t help but snort a little laugh. Was Victor _still _feeling jealous about that? But then he remembered a stunningly handsome man calling himself Ginger who’d been hoping to see Victor on the second night, to “celebrate his victories” with a bottle of hypocras – which Yuuri had pettily snatched with a declaration that Victor wasn’t in. It went both ways, he supposed; though knowing the depth of feeling Victor had for him now, and probably had then too, he wished he’d done the braver thing and just let the man inside. For a few minutes, anyway.

He’d as good as forgotten about the fortune-teller, he told himself. Banished back to the corner of his mind where she’d temporarily escaped from. “No, it wasn’t him,” he answered Victor’s question. “It’s all right; never mind.” Seeking to quickly change the subject, he commented, “Matthew Everard’s really outdone himself with all of this – it’s like a mini-carnival. Did you help him plan it?”

Victor blinked, looking at him keenly. Then he said, “I did help somewhat. Not as much as I might have done, since I had other priorities. But planning festivities makes an enjoyable change from trying to ensure that crops have been planted, taxes collected, criminals apprehended, everyone on the estate has enough food to eat, and so on.” He paused. “Come to think of it, it would have been good to have your input, though I assumed you had other priorities as well. But that’s behind us. I intend to ask your opinion more often from now on, if…if that suits you. I’d like us to be partners in all things.”

Yuuri’s head was spinning at how quickly they’d gone from the topic of the blue juggler to this, but Victor’s words went straight to his heart, and he took his hand and squeezed it. “I’d love that,” he replied softly. “Thank you.”

He caught a flare of light out of the corner of his eye, and was sure he heard Julia breathe “Zounds” as the hoop burst into flames and the horse jumped through it. Applause erupted as it made a second and a third pass.

“Bloody hell,” Yuuri muttered. “I hope the horse is OK.”

“The man has a very good reputation,” Victor answered as he clapped. “But the best is yet to come. Wait til you see the fireworks.”

And later, as the four of them sat on a thick woollen blanket provided by Emil while the last rays of the sun sank in the west, Yuuri was looking forward to them. He understood from what the others had said that a fireworks display was a very expensive and therefore rare treat here, even for nobles, which explained the anticipation in the atmosphere as groups of people chattered excitedly, casting frequent glances toward the turret, where moving torches shone like beacons. Yuuri found himself caught between the excitement of witnessing the spectacle, and the hope that the general lack of concern for health and safety at this point in time would not result in horrible accidents for those in charge of the display.

“Look – there’s the first!” Julia called, pointing as a gold trail lit its way up the sky, bursting into a bright flower of sparks that slowly faded. The delighted cries, laughter and applause of the crowd seemed rather out of proportion for what was a pretty, if unremarkable, sight – to Yuuri at least. It was almost as entertaining to take in the wonder and excitement of the people surrounding him, most of whom had perhaps never seen such a thing before. More rockets followed, gold or orange, occasionally several at a time.

“Do you like it?” Victor leaned over to whisper in his ear. Even with just the silver moonlight now illuminating the grounds, Yuuri could see the hope on his face. He thought about the spectrum of colour in modern displays on Bonfire Night; of the precision rockets containing miniature drones, shot up from the ground or dropped by flying cars, that painted stunning kinetic pictures across the sky. And he took in Victor’s smile as another gold explosion, like a sparkling dandelion, burst above them.

“I love it,” he replied, sneaking a quick kiss to Victor’s cheek.

* * *

“Mistress Taylor’s finest brew,” Chris declared, plonking a pewter tankard on Yuuri’s corner of the board. “And her strongest, apparently.”

Yuuri picked it up and sniffed at it, taking in a heady aroma of hops.

“But you don’t get a drink until I take one of your pieces.” Chris chuckled. “That’s not supposed to be an incentive to lose.”

_Shame, that. _Yuuri glanced around the crowded room. Victor was talking with a group of men he didn’t recognise, an easy smile on his face, tankard in hand. After the fireworks, Emil’s cousin Dmitrei had joined them and asked if they’d like to go to The Dove in Crowood with him and his friends. The castle porters frowned heavily upon anyone who came asking them to open the portcullis after it was closed at dusk, and it wasn’t unknown for people to have to spend the night outside if they tried their luck and lost. But the festive tone of the day seemed to have temporarily overthrown the natural order of things, and so Yuuri had found himself inside the largest tavern in Crowood for the first time, with a sizeable contingent of men from the castle and the king’s royal progress.

To his further surprise, Chris had emerged from the gathering when he’d spotted them, and bought a round of drinks. Then he’d challenged Yuuri to a game of nine men’s morris, as a beer-stained table by a window was free; it had been a while since he and Victor had played, though the rules were simple and soon came back to him.

“So what have you thought of the king’s visit?” Chris asked. “I tell you, I was wondering for a while if we’d see another of those episodes where the…” He leaned forward conspiratorially “…strange visitations came and shot those blue beams everywhere. Can you imagine? If anyone had told me they’d seen a sight like that, I would never have believed them. Thanks be to God the monks from the priory seem to have got rid of them for good.”

“Um.” Yuuri scratched his head as he studied the board, trying to put together a strategy with his white glass beads. “Yeah, I guess they must have done.”

“You have a cool head on your shoulders, if that’s all you have to say about it,” Chris remarked, sitting back and eyeing him with a smile. “It’s still the talk of the county, though so much hearsay has been mixed with the original accounts that I’ve heard tell of fire-breathing dragons and devils summoned from the pits of hell. Oh – and an angel of God who came to smite them all with blue light. Some laugh it off, while others seem to think it’s a sign that Judgement Day is nigh. But if word got to the king, it didn’t frighten him away.”

“Yeah, good thing,” Yuuri mumbled, wondering how he could claim any of Chris’s blue beads by making a mill with three of his own. A lot could depend on where each player’s nine pieces were initially arranged on the board, but he usually found himself playing more by intuition than logic, especially when he already had a few drinks in him, as he did now.

“I always enjoy a feast,” Chris continued, “but my favourite part of the week was your duel. Did I ever congratulate you on that?”

Yuuri placed his final bead on the board and gave him a crooked grin. “You did, but you were…in your cups at the time.”

“Me, drunk? Surely you jest.” He scooted a bead along a line. It was a good move, and Yuuri could see it was going to cause him trouble. “You know, Justin, I’ve missed you since you moved up in the world at mealtimes. Charles can be such a bore, and Abelard’s manners are honoured more in the breach than in the observance. He tells a saucy tale, though.”

“I’m not sure I want to know.” Yuuri was definitely in trouble now, and Chris saw exactly where he needed to move to capture one of his beads.

“Drink up, my lad,” he said with a satisfied smile. Yuuri did, and discovered that Mistress Taylor’s finest could give Baz’s Bonce Blower a run for the money.

“Shit, that’s strong,” he wheezed after taking a mouthful.

Chris smirked. “Come on, then, and take one of my beads so I can have some, too. But I won’t make it easy for you – I do have my virtue to uphold.”

“Sure you do,” Yuuri snickered.

“You wound me, sir.”

Yuuri looked at him and decided to his surprise that he’d missed him, too. He loved sitting next to Victor at mealtimes, but being at the same table on every occasion because the social hierarchy decreed it was stifling. As the game progressed, he asked Chris what he’d been doing lately, lost the game, was immediately challenged to a second one, and felt his head pleasantly buzzing as the squires and then Victor came to watch.

“Have you tried this?” Yuuri asked him, holding up his pint, which was about two-thirds drained. “Mistress Taylor’s something-or-other. It’s wicked.” Chris laughed.

“Chris, are you getting Justin drunk just so you can beat him at nine men’s morris? You haven’t got a bet on against him, have you?”

“Now would I ever do such a thing?” Chris asked, placing a hand on his chest and looking affronted.

“Yes.”

“The respect people have for me here is overwhelming.”

Victor shook his head. “All right, I’ll go try some of that. Justin, beat the pants off him.” He winked as he disappeared into the crowd, and Yuuri smiled to himself.

“What did he mean by that?” Chris asked, watching him go.

“He wants me to win.”

“Clearly, but…” He shrugged. “You know, Justin, I must confess that our absence of contact has partially been my fault. I may be able to beat you at nine men’s morris, but in the training field, where it counts…well, let’s just say there are only a certain number of times I could claim to be feeling ‘off’ as an excuse for why I kept losing to you. But there’s no shame in that after the way you fought your duel with Tyler.” He moved a bead on the board. “Naturally, I was pleased to hear you were still alive afterward.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh, taking one of Chris’s beads for once and watching him drink from his tankard. “So was I. But you and Charles helped me train, and I ’ppreciate it.”

“Victor’s obviously the one who taught you the most. You couldn’t ask for a better trainer.”

“I won’t argue with you there. Have you gone on the wheel lately? I thought you seemed to like it when you first tried it.”

“You and Victor and Julius are the best on it,” Chris replied. “Everyone knows that. But I must confess it’s an ingenious invention.” He leaned forward and whispered on beery breath, “Between you and me, I like it more than ordinary fighting.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “You do?”

The squires and Dmitrei arrived at that point to watch again. “You’re losing,” Julia observed.

Yuuri didn’t care. “I’m better at chess,” he said.

“Chess is harder than this.”

“When you’ve had enough to drink, it’s all easy.”

Emil and Dmitrei laughed as a fiddler started to play in the corner of the room. “Justin,” Dmitrei said, “you should dance with my cousin again, like you did last time.”

“He doesn’t remember,” Emil told him with a quiet smile.

“All the more reason to do it again.”

“I have a better idea,” Yuuri said, standing up and pushing his chair back. He looked at Chris. “You win; I forfeit.” Then he knocked back the rest of the beer in his tankard. Turning to Julia, he said, “Come on,” and took her hand.

She narrowed her eyes as Chris watched, downing his own drink. “What do you mean?” she said.

“It’s your turn this time. Come dance with me.” He laughed and pulled her away.

“You’re barmy,” she insisted, but she allowed herself to be led to an empty table in the middle of the room, where Yuuri leapt up. He stretched a hand down to her, but she ignored it and easily joined him with a jump. “This had better be good, future boy,” she said near his ear.

“Then _make _it good,” he replied, holding his hand out again. The song was one he’d heard a few times at the castle during meals, a lively one called “Sing We to This Merry Company”. While he and Julia made up their own moves, continuing to hold hands, Yuuri tapped his boots loudly on the wood to add a drum beat. There was a bemused look on Julia’s face at first, but as more and more eyes in the room turned to them, she put some effort into it, her lithe limbs like graceful saplings as they swayed and bent. Soon half the people in the tavern were laughing and clapping along. Yuuri’s blood was racing with the thrill of it; and once when he looked down to see that Victor was nearby, watching with a big smile and sparkling eyes, clapping too, he forgot about everyone else in the room. The song was over too quickly.

“You’re _barmy_,” Julia repeated to him; but by now her face was pink, and she looked happier than Yuuri had seen her in a long while. When she jumped off the table, Yuuri turned to the fiddler, who he discovered was gazing back expectantly.

“ ‘The Rose and the Lily-Flower’,” he called to him, “if you know it. Fast and lively!”

The fiddler smiled and nodded, and launched into a lilting tune. Yuuri bent over and held his hand out to Victor, to the amused laughter of nearby onlookers who didn’t know what they were to each other. Victor’s face flushed and his eyes brightened, and he leapt lightly up to stand in front him. Leaning close, he said in a low voice, “A lily for a rose, my love.”

Yuuri melted into his gaze for a moment, then tore his eyes away and turned to the room, calling and gesturing for others to get up and dance. Amid general merriment, several couples were soon on the tables. Feet flew and stomped on the wood, and Yuuri and Victor led them, falling into the easy rhythm they so often found when they danced together in their room. They twirled and dipped, and Yuuri exaggerated what he was doing at times until it was comedic enough to evoke more laughter in the crowd. He struck a pose at the end of the song with his head tilted back and a leg up, and smiled to see Victor doing something similar, as cheers erupted around them. Catching his breath, he leapt to the floor with Victor beside him.

“Fuck me if I actually remember in the morning what the hell I did this time,” Yuuri chuckled. “I should. I’m not _that _drunk. Come on, I want to get drinks for Chris and the others over there; they’re playing that game again.”

“Maybe something a little lighter this time?” Victor suggested. “So you really do remember tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

Yuuri brought a tray of tankards to the table. Chris was playing nine men’s morris against Dmitrei, though neither appeared to be concentrating very hard.

“Cheers, Justin,” Chris said, taking a drink. “By Christ, when you’ve got the drink in you, you’ve got big bollocks.”

“I’ve seen you dance on the tables before,” Victor said, eyeing him.

“Not in respectable company. Which, mind you, is questionable about this lot in here tonight.”

Victor laughed and gave his arm a punch; then Yuuri pulled him aside, and they sat down on a bench together with their drinks as the fiddler continued to play and the dancing carried on. “You’re amazing,” Victor gushed, sipping his drink with a look of adoration over the top of his tankard.

“So are you. You _are _a lily, actually. Tall and fair and el…elgant.”

“I love you.”

“Snap.”

They drank for a while, listening to the music, and Yuuri’s thoughts began to arrange themselves a little more coherently; the weak beer in his tankard was nothing like what he’d drunk earlier, and he was used to consuming similar things throughout the day. When the fiddler took a rest and it was easier to talk and be heard, he said to Victor, “I’m so lucky with you, and everybody else here.”

Victor tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if Ailis had found real friends to trust and share her secrets with, she might have got the better of us before we ran her down at the dungeon. It was only with your help, and Julia and Emil’s, that it was possible to do that. Can you imagine how much more difficult it would’ve been if she’d had even one confidante helping her?”

“We’re stronger together,” Victor said with a smile. “As a knight, I was always aware of that. But you’ve given new meaning to it, my sweet.”

Yuuri felt a rush of warmth, and he said, “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.”

Victor’s brow clouded, but he smiled. “What’s that from?”

“Shakespeare. King Henry the Fifth. He’s giving a rallying speech to his men just before a battle, where he’s going to fight with them. In France.” He paused. “You know, you jacks really just need to stop invading. It doesn’t do anything but cause problems for both countries.”

“You should tell Richard before he departs.”

“Do you think I’d be allowed to leave the great hall with my head still on my shoulders if I did?”

Victor sipped from his tankard. “Probably.”

Yuuri laughed.

Minutes somehow turned into hours, with the tavern remaining open to accommodate the crowd. Yuuri spent some time with Victor, but also found himself enjoying conversations with other people he knew and some he didn’t. At first his degree of boldness was dependent on how much he’d drunk, but as the night wore on and no one seemed disinclined to talk with him, he was no longer self-conscious at all; a phenomenon he would reflect upon when he awoke late in the day, wondering if he’d somehow exchanged personalities with someone else.

Emil told him about a trip he’d taken to Persia to source fine cloth from merchants there. Julia was more forthcoming than usual after a few drinks, and she described the de Montforts’ home and what it was like to grow up there, her memories both fond and frustrating. Chris revealed that he had decided at age six to train as a knight when his castle in Normandy was besieged by the forces of a noble family in the south of France while the king had otherwise been occupied with an invading English army, and Yuuri heard some harrowing tales of battle from a young boy’s point of view; Chris had been well into his beer by the time he told them. Then there were other visitors to the tavern from the king’s progress and the local area, who bought Yuuri food and drink and told their own stories. Unfortunately there was little he could share about himself, but he enjoyed listening – and dancing, too. He got the impression a few times that Victor wanted to tell him something, but then seemed to think better of it. Eventually, however, he had a quiet word in his ear, asking him if he’d go outside with him for a moment. The damp chill of the night had settled over the slumbering land, but Yuuri was surprised to see a yellow glow to the east; he hadn’t realised they’d been here so long.

“What is it?” Yuuri asked him. “Are you all right?”

Victor nodded as he gazed out at the dawning day. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, but I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.”

When nothing else was forthcoming, Yuuri placed a hand on his arm. “What?” he asked gently, though the gravity Victor seemed to be ascribing to the issue was worrying him.

Turning to him, his expression grave, Victor said, “You like performing, Yuuri. You take pride in what you do, and you’re talented. And, well, I’m the same. So how would you feel about…” He paused. “About performing the kinds of routines we’ve done together on the wheel, and more, for audiences?”

Yuuri took this in. His immediate thoughts were of Victor and Alex, and the kinds of things they used to do. _He wants me to take Alex’s place. Is that what I want, too?_

“I fear I’m not explaining very well,” Victor said, watching him. “I’ve been thinking for some time about ways we could possibly achieve this life of peace we both want. Not that we’re under any immediate threat, but as long as we’re knights, and considering what the king said to us both the day after your duel…”

Yuuri nodded, wondering where he was going with this, intrigued and concerned at the same time.

“It would require a substantial change to our lives to achieve that,” Victor continued. “An idea started to form for me while we were watching the entertainment during the dinner meal on Easter Sunday – the musicians, acrobats and actors.” He smirked. “That is, when you weren’t occupying me with other interesting things.”

Yuuri blushed, remembering how he’d ducked under the table when no one else could see. He also wished Victor would get to the point, because he was burning with curiosity now; but this was obviously important to him, and so he remained quiet, waiting.

“It grew into something that seemed more feasible when we spoke to John Burbage in York,” Victor said, “after we watched his troupe perform. And this past week I’ve had words with groups that have been visiting to entertain the king, plus Burbage again. I’ve been asking them about the lives they lead, what it’s like to tour, finances, day-to-day logistics, those kinds of things; the contacts they have, and whether they thought there might be any interest in my own idea. Most patrons don’t talk to artists and entertainers about those topics, if they talk to them much at all, and I found them to be very forthcoming on the whole – they were pleased to be of help.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. _Oh my God. He can’t possibly be suggesting…?_

“We could do that, Yuuri,” Victor added with quiet emphasis, blue eyes anxiously searching his. “Perform as knights. Sing and dance, too, maybe. Along with other members of a travelling troupe we could put together. I already have a reputation, which might help us to acquire patrons straight away, as well as maintaining our social standing above the scorn that such troupes often encounter. Nothing like this exists, or to my knowledge ever has. I even thought of a name we might use – one that emphasises that we seek to live in peace.” He added almost shyly, “Victor and Friends.”

Yuuri gasped, excitement thrilling through him.

“I hope you like it,” Victor added quickly. “But I want you to know that I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, so if you don’t – ”

“Victor!” Yuuri cried, jumping forward and hugging him tight. He felt a pair of arms encircling him tentatively as he said against the crook of his neck, “God, I never…I never would have thought…dreamed…”

“You do like it?”

Yuuri pulled back, beaming at him. “Of course I do. It’s brilliant!”

Victor smiled from ear to ear. “I’m glad.”

“You were honestly afraid I’d object?”

“I wasn’t sure.” Victor paused. “It’s not that I’m lacking confidence in the idea; I think it has every chance of success, or I wouldn’t be suggesting it. But Yuuri, it would be quite a change from the way you’re used to living. Not that we couldn’t return to the castle from time to time, but we’d be on the roads a great deal; and even if we received accommodation and food at some of our hosts’ residences, we’d usually be camping, come rain or shine. I’m already conscious of how you’ve been lacking modern conveniences that you’re used to, and – ”

“That wouldn’t matter to me,” Yuuri said, shaking his head. “I’ve been camping before; I’d get used to it. My concern would be for you.”

“Me?”

“Victor, you’ve lived as a nobleman all your life, with money and a castle. If it were me, I’d never ask you to give that up – ”

“Whyever not?”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “Like you said, it’s a massive change to what you’re used to.”

“And you think I couldn’t adapt?” The ghost of a smile touched Victor’s lips.

“I…well – ”

“You saw what the tents were like when we went to Stamford Bridge; not so very different from the room we share. And we’d have staff.” He stroked a hand down Yuuri’s cheek. “But another good thing about it would be that the king need never know how to find us. We could keep our whereabouts a secret – even from my own family, if anyone went to the castle searching. Though of course the main attraction would be the performances, for us both.”

“But would your family be all right with that?”

“They’d have to be,” Victor replied. “I assist my father with estate business because I’m his heir, and I always expected to inherit. I doubt that would be likely to change, since I’m his only son. But he has very capable officials helping him; there’s nothing preventing him from hiring a few more. As for the welfare of the villeins, my mother – ”

“She won’t have the same understanding that you do, though,” Yuuri jumped in.

“I wouldn’t underestimate her. Even so, as I said, I don’t see us being away all the time, especially during the winter, and I’ll be able to look into how things are running at those times.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” Yuuri said with a grin, still reeling from the incredible, wonderful surprise.

“Well, always research a business proposition thoroughly before attempting to sell it. I honestly didn’t know what you’d make of it, and…I wanted it to sound good.” He paused. “You truly like it?”

“Oh, Vitya.” Yuuri took a quick glance around and saw they were alone; and as the first golden rays of the morning spilled across their cheeks, he captured Victor’s lips, his heart brimming with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Sing We to This Merry Company” – you can find the Middle English lyrics and an audio sample [here](http://www.luminarium.org/medlit/medlyric/singwe.php).
> 
> “(Now Wither) The Rose and Lily-Flower” – listen [here](http://www.luminarium.org/medlit/medlyric/roseandlily.php).


	144. Victor and Friends (Part 19)

“Victor and Friends.”

Andrei spoke the words as if testing the feel of each in his mouth and deciding it was objectionable. They were in the solar, and the baron was eyeing his son from his chair while Natalia stood next to the fireplace, staring into the flames with a frown.

Victor had expected the reception he’d received. However, he had come here to state fact rather than to ask permission. He stood and waited quietly for the storm to break.

Andrei leapt to his feet and began to pace across the tiled floor, dark robes swishing around his ankles. He raised his hands in exasperation. “Of all things! After everything you’ve been trained to do here, everything I’ve put you in charge of.”

“It’s what I – ”

“Silence!”

Victor shut his mouth and gave an inward sigh.

“I’ve endured a multitude of outrages from you over the years.” Andrei waved a finger at him as he spoke. “Those preposterous pageants you performed with your brother on that contraption you both built. You make no secret of being attracted to other men. Openly living with Justin; eating every meal with him at your right hand. Now _this._” He made an expansive gesture. “Do you want me to be the laughing stock of the entire county? I suppose I should be thanking the Lord you didn’t come out with this nonsense while the king was here.”

Victor weathered the tirade, getting a word in when he could and reminding Andrei of the many duels he’d fought on the family’s behalf. Andrei demanded to know who would help him run the manor court and make decisions of consequence, if not his own son, who he had assumed had been planning on becoming the next Baron Nikiforov. Matt and John and the many other capable officials they already employed was the answer Victor gave; though more could be readily procured, and he had some recommendations after making enquiries, including for new knights who would help to defend the castle. This gave Andrei pause for thought, as he clearly hadn’t expected Victor to be so thorough. Well, if he was under the impression that the travelling troupe had been a rash decision doomed to failure, Victor was determined to prove him wrong.

He was gratified in a way, once the storm showed signs of abating, that Andrei hadn’t threatened to disinherit him. Not because he was solely dependent on the money he received from the estate; he was a prudent saver, and expected that the troupe would at least break even. But he didn’t desire permanent acrimony with his father. That was contingent on Andrei’s attitude, however. Victor and Friends was going to happen, no matter what the baron thought of it. Yuuri would no doubt argue enthusiastically on its behalf if he were here, but Victor had seen no need to subject him to what he himself was enduring just now.

“I hope you’ll be willing to watch us perform one day,” he said once his father seemed to feel he’d made his point. “We’ll be the talk of the county. And further afield, I hope. Alex and I met with success when we toured, but this is a much more ambitious venture, and – ”

“And while you’re doing this – which I pray will only prove to be a passing fad – I suppose you expect me to tell those who enquire after you that you’ve taken it upon yourself to become a common travelling entertainer, working for pay?”

“You can tell them the truth,” Victor replied firmly. “It doesn’t hurt, and I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

“If you could only comprehend what you _ought _to be ashamed of in the first place, it would help a great deal.”

Victor took a moment to marshal his patience, then said, “I’ve never brought shame upon this family. My reputation is sterling. It grieves me that you’d rather berate me for what you perceive as my weaknesses.”

After he said it, he regretted it, because he had no desire to stand here and become embroiled in a pointless argument. But Andrei only narrowed his eyes before sweeping up his robes. “I’m due to meet with my steward. Perhaps your mother will have a better chance of talking some sense into you. Though I doubt it.” With that, he strode to the door, flung it open, and let himself out.

Natalia watched him go, then looked at Victor. “This is a surprise,” she said quietly. “I thought you and I were going to try to get to know one another better. Is that not to your liking?”

Victor ran his fingers along the top of a nearby chair. The attempt to make him feel guilty was no more welcome than Andrei’s bluster. “It’s not about that,” he replied. “I meant everything I said to you. But it’s the ideal time to do this.”

“Why must you? Was this Yuuri’s idea?”

He met her gaze. “No, it’s mine, though he supports it.” He explained his reasons to her. Yuuri’s duel and Ailis were both behind them. They wanted to live in peace and not be easily found and compelled to attend petty battles. And they shared a love of performing, and felt confident that they could put a program together that audiences would like. As it had been for himself and Alex, regardless of what Andrei thought about it. 

“It sounds like a hard life,” Natalia commented when he was finished.

“I daresay the villeins live a harder one. We’ll be quite well provided for.”

“As long as you have money.”

“I intend that to be the case.”

She sighed. “It’s sudden, and unwelcome.” In a softer voice, she added, “I’m losing the son I was hoping I’d just begun to regain.”

“We’d like to return occasionally, if that would be permitted.”

“Of course it would be permitted.” After a pause, she asked, “When are you expecting to leave?”

Victor thought for a moment, then replied, “There’s a great deal of organising to do, though I’ve had some ideas for a while that only need to be put in place. I’d say a month. Leaving in the middle of July means we’ll be able to take advantage of the remainder of the summer.” It was a daunting prospect, he suddenly realised. Nothing yet existed of Victor and Friends apart from himself and Yuuri. But after speaking with Burbage and the managers of other troupes, he felt he knew what needed to be done. Mostly.

Natalia’s expression softened, and she clasped her hands together over the front of her dress. “Well then, a month. It’s true I’ve just had a life-changing experience myself, albeit one I didn’t choose. I can hardly begrudge the same of you, if it’s what you wish.”

“It is,” Victor agreed readily. “For myself, and for Yuuri, and everyone else who’ll be travelling with us. I have but one life to live, Mother, and it’s possible that I have little time remaining in it.” She gave a start as she listened. _Don’t tell me it left your mind, _he thought. _It’s rarely far from mine. _He looked at her levelly and added, “This is what my heart tells me to do. I’m excited about it, and so is Yuuri. I’m thankful I have the opportunity and the means.” He quirked a smile. “_Carpe diem._”

“Seize the day,” she echoed, then gave him a sad little smile. “It’s well said. Then follow your heart while you can, and God be with you.”

* * *

As Andrei became reconciled to the fact that his son had every intention of carrying through with his project, and with Natalia supporting his endeavour, if not enthusiastically, Victor had more constructive dialogues with them over the following days. Andrei assured him that he would continue to receive a stipend from the estate, though it would be diminished; and Victor accepted this, planning to put it into the travelling company. He asked if his room at the castle could be kept as it was for the occasions when they returned, and Andrei acceded, saying it had been there all his life and would remain so. That also meant he and Yuuri could leave valuables there which they didn’t want to take with them, as they would be less secure in wagons and tents.

One evening when the three of them were again present in the solar, Victor brought up another point he’d been considering. He’d left it for last because he wasn’t sure how Andrei would take it. “If anything should happen to me,” he said, giving Natalia a brief knowing look and watching her eyes grow wider, “it’s my suggestion, and my wish, that you’d be willing to adopt Julius as your heir.” He hadn’t told Julia anything about this yet, and hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

“If anything should happen – ?” Andrei repeated. “What are you anticipating, exactly? Learning sword-swallowing? Juggling burning torches?”

Natalia, standing next to his chair, leaned down and said to him, “Perhaps it’s just as well to think ahead.” Then she looked at Victor. “But even so – your young squire? Why him?”

Victor took a moment to extol Julia’s talents and achievements. Her abilities with a bow and a sword were well known, though it didn’t hurt to remind Andrei of it now. “In addition to that,” he said, “he can be trained, just as I was. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, if somewhat hot; I believe it will temper with age. You could do far worse – ”

“You seem very keen to convince me,” Andrei interrupted, giving him a piercing gaze. “Are you anticipating trouble of some kind?”

“Not at all,” Victor replied quickly.

“Hmm. Well. It seems I had two fine, capable sons, and now I have none.”

Victor frowned and gave a quick small bow before turning to go.

“I’ll…miss you,” came Andrei’s gruff voice.

Stopping, Victor turned again to him. It wasn’t often Andrei said things like this, and it must have cost him something to do it despite his antipathy toward Victor and Friends. The stony face gave nothing away, but there was a flicker of warmth in his dark eyes.

“I’ll miss you too, Father,” Victor said. To a certain extent; now wasn’t the time to ponder upon it, however. “But you’ll see me again anon. I hope you’ll be interested by then to see what we’ve made of ourselves.”

They all nodded to each other, and no further words were said as Victor took his leave. 

* * *

_Good God, heaven can’t be better than this._

Victor felt Yuuri roll off his back to lie next to him. For a moment he didn’t think he could move, but he didn’t care.

“Are you all right?” came Yuuri’s low voice, and there was a hint of a tease in it.

Victor hummed into his pillow. Yuuri chuckled and circled an arm around his back, kissing the nape of his neck. “You’re amazing,” he said against his skin. “I wasn’t even sure you were serious when you suggested spending a day together in the room like this.”

“Oh Yuuri, my love,” Victor said in a half-moan, his voice muffled by the pillow, “when it comes to sharing pleasures with you, be assured I’m always _very _serious.”

Yuuri laughed softly. “All right, Vitya.”

Victor’s legs were so shaky that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand if he tried. All he’d need was some rest for a while, though, and he’d be able to give back as good as he’d just got, or at least attempt it.

“Want to get in the tub with me?” Yuuri asked him.

The water had been hot that morning; it was room temperature now, not that either of them minded. They’d been in a few times already. “Later,” he sighed. “I’m too happy to move.” It felt so deliciously wanton, revelling in being had three times in a row, a mixture of oil and Yuuri’s seed between his legs, his scent everywhere on his skin. He was mussed, and fucked, and in sheer bliss. Tomorrow he’d be sore, he was certain, but in the most satisfying way. He reckoned he’d get some strength back if he got up and ate some of the food on the table, but he was too content like this, and turned over to face Yuuri.

“That’s better,” Yuuri murmured with a smile. “I can see you properly.”

“You’ve seen me properly all day. Just lots of different views.”

Yuuri snickered and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I want you to fuck me next.” When Victor’s eyes went wide, he laughed and said, “Not now. In a bit.”

“That’s the kind of request I like,” Victor mumbled against his cheek before kissing it. “Not ‘make love’?”

“The time after the next.”

“I’m losing track,” Victor said with a smile. “That means it’s been a good day so far.”

Yuuri smiled back at him and stroked his cheek.

They caressed and kissed, getting tangled up in each other, while slow moments passed. Time had little meaning today, though Yuuri’s clock continued to mark it with its steady, quiet ticks. It was an indulgence to spend a whole day like this, especially when Victor and Friends needed planning, but in a way that made it the best time to do it – enjoying each other and the love they shared as a way of welcoming the next part of their lives. Sex, food and sleep; snuggling together, bathing, laughing, even singing and dancing…one pleasure after another, each beautiful in itself.

Victor’s lids were drooping, his thoughts dissipating…and he was sparring with Yuuri on the wheel in front of a cheering crowd. When they finished and jumped down, flowers were thrown into the arena; Victor picked a red one up and tucked it behind Yuuri’s ear, receiving a radiant smile in return. They were surrounded by an entire troupe of performers, including their own squires, and the wheel was the crowning touch to everything they’d all put together to delight their audience.

This could be their life, he thought somewhere between dreaming and waking. As long as they stayed together…and he didn’t wake one morning to a cold bed with Yuuri nowhere to be found, because something had pulled him back to the future, just as Natalia had been returned to the castle. And as long as Victor could somehow cheat fate and continue to walk the earth after the year’s end.

He opened his eyes, the tide of drowsiness that had washed over him now ebbing away. This was not the time for such thoughts. Yuuri was dozing peacefully at his side, and Victor watched him for a while, his heart easing; then he moved carefully so as not to wake his love, gave himself a cursory clean with a nearby cloth, climbed out of bed, and pulled a loose linen shirt over his head. Crossing the room, he poured a cup of thin wine and put some food on a plate – olives, grapes, a slice of bread, a honey pie; then leaned back against the edge of the table and savoured his snack. 

What was even sexier about Yuuri, he thought – apart from his stamina, which was more remarkable than Victor had given him credit for, now that it had been given a test of rather a different kind today – was how he’d accepted the idea of the travelling troupe with such enthusiasm. All the worry about whether he’d be willing to live in that way had been for nought. It struck Victor that he was usually the one to advise Yuuri not to fret about things that might never come to pass. He would do well to heed his own words, it seemed.

Finishing what was on his plate, he took another honey pie. It had been a while since he’d given himself licence to be quite this hedonistic, but let no one claim that he and Yuuri hadn’t earned it. The squires had been sent a message that they were both indisposed today, while Victor had requested the food through a servant. It wouldn’t do to be too forthcoming about what the two of them were getting up to, though Julia had still come knocking on the door that morning, hoping to be of assistance. Victor couldn’t claim they were ill, because they all had nanobots in their systems, but it was enough just to say he’d see her the next day for training.

An idea struck him for what he and Yuuri could do next, given what had been requested. Smiling to himself, Victor went to Yuuri’s wardrobe and sought out the perfect clothes.

“Hey, Phichit,” came Yuuri’s sleepy voice from the bed. Victor looked over and saw him running a hand through his hair as he picked his com up from the bedside table.

“Hey. I hope this isn’t a bad time; did I wake you from a nap?”

“It’s all right,” Yuuri replied, glancing at Victor with a smile and getting to his feet. “I didn’t want to sleep too long. How’s things?” He searched for something to wear from the clothes scattered around the floor.

“Some interesting news my end,” Phichit said. “You know when the baroness recorded her message for her friends? When she was done, I thought there wasn’t any harm in asking her to tell me as much as she could about Ailis’s assistant, Ian – you know, anything she learned about him, what she might’ve found out about where she was being kept, etcetera. And – guess what? It led to his capture.”

“You got Ian?” Yuuri said with raised eyebrows while he picked up his braies.

“Well, MI8 got him. Celestino’s on good enough terms with Anisha Shaikh that she told him, and he told me.”

“Go on, then. What happened?”

Listening curiously, Victor tossed a couple of things on the bed for him: his sky-blue samite shirt and royal-blue hose. Yuuri quirked him a smile, then pulled his braies on after strapping the com to his wrist.

“A lot of the stuff I asked her about didn’t come to anything,” Phichit replied. “But she did overhear Ian mention two names during a conversation with Ailis over his com. She said she memorised them, thinking they might be useful: a place called St. John, and someone called Christine.”

“I take it those were the leads MI8 had been looking for,” Yuuri said, propping a foot on the bed and pulling on a hosepiece. Victor watched while sipping his wine, enjoying the fact that these clothes would be on his body for a rather short time – all neatly in place, at any rate. Then he remembered himself and poured a cup of wine for Yuuri, which he put on the bedside table for him with a warm smile before crossing the room to nibble more grapes, while Phichit related the story.

St. John was a university in York near the minster, he said; and when MI8 made enquiries, they discovered that Ian had worked there for the head of tech, Christine Green. He’d quit his job months ago, but Christine was able to provide enough information on him for them to follow a data trail that eventually led to Hull, where he’d been in hiding, doing odd jobs to earn a living. Once he’d attempted to shoot Celestino, Phichit, and Yuuri, he must have realised it would be too risky for him to remain in York.

“They had enough evidence to put him on trial for assault with a deadly weapon,” Phichit continued. “So they got him to talk by offering to downgrade the charges. He told them what the baroness already told you, though apparently it was the way she tore into him after Natalia escaped that finally convinced him she’d just been using him the whole time.” In a quieter voice, he added, “Um, he said that he tried to find Natalia once she got away, and would’ve killed her – ”

“He told them _that_?” Yuuri said as he tied the tops of his hose to his braies.

“I guess he was on a roll by that point, who knows? Maybe he was glad of the opportunity to tell someone.”

“Jesus, Phichit, with her working as a tour guide, it’s a good thing he didn’t spot her out on the street.”

“I don’t think he had much time. You remember she tried different jobs at first, so she wasn’t doing that straight away. It wasn’t long after that when we all went down to the lab to see you off and he came in with his gun, so…”

Victor was still trying to picture his mother guiding people around future-York, telling them about the past. The idea that this man had been trying to hunt her down was of course disturbing, though it must also have been terrible for her to believe he might be lurking around any corner when in fact he’d soon left the city altogether.

“Presumably all he wanted was to get Ailis back.” Yuuri looked briefly at Victor with concern.

“Yeah, he admitted that,” Phichit said. “He apparently said something about wanting to take her away from her life of luxury and her fancy man. If you ask me, he was probably picked enough to kill her, too, once he’d told her off, but who knows what would’ve happened.”

Yuuri voiced the question that had been forming in Victor’s mind. “Did he say whether he understands anything about how Ailis’s tech works? Has he got any of it? Can he read her notes?”

“No to all of that, I’m afraid. MI8 were keen to find out themselves, and they searched his flat and everything. Turns out that whatever he was to Ailis, he doesn’t know anything more than an ordinary gizwiz.”

“Ailis trusted him enough to make him her one and only contact in the future,” Yuuri said, pulling on his shirt, the long sleeves hanging in elegant folds from his wrists. “I can see how that would’ve made her more cynical after what happened between them. But she was asking a hell of a lot of him, too. Did he say what he was meant to do with Natalia all that time she was in the flat? Was he planning on keeping her there indefinitely?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’d say he probably thought at first that Ailis would come back soon. When she said she couldn’t, he must’ve started panicking.”

Yuuri sat down on the bed and took a sip of the wine Victor had left for him. “I guess one of us can tell Natalia what you’ve told me; I imagine she’ll be interested to hear.”

“How _is _Victor, anyway?”

Victor winked and smiled as Yuuri turned to glance at him. “He’s good. We’re both good.”

“Tell him I said hi, then – and I’ll be in tonight, if you’d like me to play anything for you.”

“That’d be great, Phichit, thanks.”

The two of them chatted for a few more minutes while Victor drank his wine; then Yuuri finished the call and the room fell silent, apart from the crackle of the low fire in the grate and the ticking clock.

“It’s a good thing Phichit thought to speak to my mother about that,” Victor said, plucking some grapes from a bunch. “He found a witness that these MI8 people wouldn’t have been able to contact. Not that I suppose it matters much now.” He filled his palm with grapes, then crossed the room. “The rascal would certainly have answered to me for his actions if I’d been there.”

“I’m not sure they’d approve of you waving a longsword at someone like you did with the Maltbys in The Black Dog,” Yuuri said with a small smile as Victor sat down next to him.

Victor pretended to be affronted. “What makes you think I’d do that? I’m sure I’d simply wag a finger at him and say what a naughty fellow he’d been.”

“I’m sure.” Yuuri put his cup of wine down and looked him over from top to toe. “You’re very distracting like that.”

“Oh?”

“Wearing that shirt and nothing else.” Yuuri smirked. “It doesn’t quite cover everything when you stand. And I was trying to talk to Phichit.”

“I’m finding it difficult to apologise. Hungry?”

“Very.” Yuuri hooded his eyes. Victor suddenly wanted to forget about the grapes he was holding and kiss him, but he mastered himself, taking one and holding it to Yuuri’s lips. He parted them and took it in, his lids fluttering briefly shut as if he were tasting the most delicious morsel. Victor felt his cock waken and twitch. It didn’t matter how many times they’d already coupled; his desire always seemed ready to spark back to life.

He fed several more grapes to Yuuri, drinking in his sultry expression, and Yuuri snatched a few of the grapes, which gave him a chance to reciprocate the teasing. Judging by the flush on his face and the dark look in his eyes, he was enjoying it.

Victor caressed his cheek, gazing into the eyes of the man he loved. Then he leaned forward and kissed him, tenderly at first. But they were both soon eager for more, and Victor remembered well what Yuuri had told him he wanted this time. Today was like a feast for their bodies, he decided, with many different delicacies to sample.

He got to his feet in front of Yuuri, watching his eyes dip to the evidence of his desire underneath the hem of his shirt. Hooking a finger into the silky blue samite covering Yuuri’s chest, Victor guided him to stand, then kissed him deeply as their bodies pressed together. Yuuri moaned and pulled back.

“I want you,” he breathed.

And Victor wanted to take. “Go stand against the table,” he said, “facing the wall. Wait for me.”

Yuuri held his gaze, then nodded and did as he’d been bidden. Victor smiled to himself. Yuuri might be an irresistible dom, but it felt good to snatch a bit of his tune. Across the room, Yuuri rested his palms on the table and turned his head to glance back at him with a smouldering come-hither look.

There was no need, no need at all, to hesitate another moment. Victor yanked his shirt off, and grabbing the phial of oil, hurried to join him.


	145. Chapter 145

The wooden village that had sprung up near the castle for the king’s visit was quickly dismantled, and when they passed the men tearing down the planks, Yuuri commented that it seemed a shame for so much work to have gone into it for such a brief existence. Even the lodge whose construction Emil’s cousin had supervised was soon nothing more than a patch of earth featuring the remains of a stone hearth. Victor agreed, but such was the nature of hosting a royal visitor, and noble families up and down the country were obliged to do the same. The castle took a good store of firewood, and the remainder was left for the tenants of the estate to collect if they wanted it. There had been a sizeable amount of leftover food as well, which had been distributed to the poor; the castle hosted some large open-air meals where free cooked food was offered. Soon there was little evidence left that the event which had been planned for months and cost such a pretty penny had ever occurred at all.

Victor continued to train with Yuuri and Julia, and kept up with castle business to an extent, until he was in a better position to hand more of his tasks over to others. He went riding with Natalia again; she spoke further about future-York, and he asked her to share memories of Irene and Alex. It was a bittersweet experience, but they were close to his heart; and if he blinked tears back occasionally, perhaps it was no bad thing.

Just about every other spare minute was spent planning for Victor and Friends. One dinnertime, he took a scroll, quill, and inkpot with him to the table in the great hall and occasionally scribbled things down. When he dripped gravy onto what he’d just written, he cursed, and Yuuri leaned over to speak to him.

“Couldn’t you leave it til we got back to the room?” he gently admonished him.

“But what if I get ideas while I eat?” Victor said in more of a whine than he intended, while cleaning away the gravy – and some ink – with a hunk of bread. “I might not remember them all.”

“You know, this’ll be seen as the height of bad manners.” Yuuri was smiling.

Victor gave a little snort.

“Let me help. I can remember things, too.”

“You already do. You’re the chief choreographer.”

“There’s a lot more to do than that. And I can’t choreograph much until I have a better idea of who’s going to be travelling with us and what they intend to be doing.”

Victor stared at the oily stain and drew some doodles around it as he said, “I know you want to help, my love. I truly appreciate it. But the fact of the matter is that you understand little about how things work here.”

“Oh,” Yuuri replied, sounding disappointed, and Victor decided he’d been rather harsh. “But I can learn.”

“I know you can.” Victor turned to gaze at him directly now. “I have no doubt of that. But at the moment, while there’s so much to do and so little time…well. It will all be fine, I promise.” And he returned to the paper in front of him, scribbling some more.

But Yuuri had touched on one of the first issues that needed to be addressed: who would travel with them. Their squires were first on the list; the proposal was put to them in the room one morning. Emil seemed to find the prospect intriguing, and said he would stay with his master whither he went. Julia, however, was more concerned.

“Are you serious about this, master?” she asked as she gathered the used cups and plates on the table. “You mean to leave the castle and travel and perform…and you don’t mind what people think?”

“I hope they’ll think it’s a spectacular thing to watch,” he replied while he shaved. “And we’d hardly be the first itinerant knights to roam the lands.”

“Will Emil and I still be able to become knights if we live like this? Will you and Yuuri still train us?”

Victor assured her that it wouldn’t be very different from how they were living now, though their day-to-day arrangements would be less formal, and her training was likely to take detours down some interesting avenues if others in the troupe were involved. He could see from the sparkle in her eyes that she found this idea exciting, though he added for good measure that if she would rather not go, she had his blessing to remain at the castle, return to her family, or find another knight who needed a squire. She bristled at this instantly, and he suppressed a grin.

“Leave you, master?” she gasped. “Have you lost your mind? With all due respect. But you must ensure that I take part in the entertainment, and can use my archery and sword skills.”

“I’m planning for that,” Yuuri answered as he buttoned up his cotehardie.

“You’re planning a performance already?” she asked him in surprise.

“I think I ought to, if we want to be ready to leave in a few weeks,” he said with a smile.

She asked him for more details, and when he’d given them, she declared that the archery feats he’d mentioned would be too easy, and the two of them were soon involved in a discussion about it. Victor hadn’t expected that either squire would want to stay behind, but he was both pleased and reassured by Julia’s show of enthusiasm.

They would be travelling with another knight as well: Christophe, along Philip, his squire. Victor would enjoy touring with his comrade, but privately he wasn’t sure if he had the level of skill required. Chris insisted that he would train hard, however, and was keen to participate. If he had a choice between fighting in a battle and performing for an audience, he said, he knew what his decision would be in a heartbeat. This was a side to him that Victor had never seen before, and he’d acceded. It left Charles and his squire Roland on their own at the castle, but it was clear they didn’t feel left out, as they expressed their aversion to the idea once they heard of it. Victor was quietly relieved, and they would soon be joined at the castle by capable knights and squires, while Abelard would have the fun of putting them all hard to the task.

As for recruiting more members, Victor had already ensured through John Burbage and others that news was circulating of a possible new travelling troupe, and enquiries were welcome. Actors, musicians and acrobats had contacted him, including some who had performed at the castle for the king. It wasn’t long before Victor and Yuuri were holding auditions, and those who they hired remained at the castle to train until it was time to leave. Victor hoped to engage some exceptionally skilled people as they performed and their reputation grew, though at the risk of seeming vain, he felt confident that he and Yuuri, along with Julia’s archery feats, could form the basis of a successful launch.

He was less confident, however, about the more technical aspects of organising the project, such as taking on staff. So he sought the help of the resident expert on the subject.

“My lord, does this mean you’re truly contemplating this…lifestyle?” Matthew Everard asked incredulously when Victor crossed paths with him in the courtyard one afternoon and asked him up to his room to speak for a moment.

The steward could see for himself that preparations were well underway, but polite disdain from various quarters was not uncommon, Victor had found. “Yes,” he answered, “and I’d appreciate your advice, Matt. Your services have been invaluable here at the castle, and I need your help; I have to decide how to staff the troupe.”

Matthew tilted his chin up slightly, considering. “I find the whole thing very odd, to be honest, sir, and if it were me, I could never countenance the notion of living in tents with…actors and the like.” Then his expression softened. “But even so, I’ve known you for years, and I wish you well in any endeavour, however ill-informed. I would therefore be happy to offer you my expertise.”

Victor ignored the slight and showed him the list he’d put together, which included grooms, cooks, groundsmen to manage and repair tents and equipment, and messengers. Matthew adjusted the numbers and suggested adding several maids and laundresses, and a seamstress, all of which would be essential, though Victor hadn’t initially thought of them. They went on to discuss the number and type of wagons and horses to be used, which could be procured from York. When Matthew began to rattle off a list of items that should be supplied for the tents, Victor interrupted him, saying this was perhaps a bit too much detail for now.

“But these issues must be decided upon to the letter for every journey, my lord,” Matthew said, looking at him doubtfully. “You cannot expect to grab everything in a whirlwind, head off, and only then discover what provisions you require.”

“That’s not something I’d ever plan to do,” Victor answered somewhat sharply.

Matthew raised his hands in an expansive gesture of _what else can I say? _“Then you must hire a steward to oversee everything, and you can think about how you’ll entertain your audiences rather than how many pitchers and basins to bring and how to pack them.”

Victor took this in, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it himself. “That’s brilliant!” he enthused, clapping his hands to a startled Matthew’s arms. “You’re a treasure, Matt. Thank you.”

Victor loved this new project at such times. But at others he wondered how it could possibly work, considering the amount of planning that was needed. What did he even think he was doing, especially when so many people – least of all, Yuuri – were depending on him?

The latter thought lingered in his mind while he was practising on the wheel with Yuuri one afternoon. It had been moved from its lonely spot on top of the hill, lovingly repainted and oiled, and fitted with a large flat base at Yuuri’s suggestion so that it could be moved quickly and easily and also used indoors, where they’d have to perform either upon request or in the event of poor weather. For the time being, it stood just outside the training field.

“Maybe we should’ve asked one of the squires to come and turn the wheel,” Yuuri mused as he leapt off and went to pick up the leather bag he’d brought. “It doesn’t feel the same when it’s standing still.”

“Of course not,” Victor said, jumping idly around the spokes. “But if we’re learning new moves, that’s the best way. One thing at a time.”

Yuuri pulled a scroll of paper out of his bag and brought it to the edge of the wheel, along with ink and a quill. He unrolled the paper and held it down against the wood in the breeze, crossing out some things on a list and writing in others. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to use the Cloud, or just a simple portable computer sometimes,” he said, huffing a laugh. “I think pen and ink must be one of the most cumbersome things I’ve encountered here.” He paused in thought, then added, “You know, I brought a small pad of paper and a ballpoint pen with me, but I used them to bribe the guard who was keeping Julia in the pillory in York. I wonder if he ever did anything with them.” Seeing Victor’s look of confusion, he explained, “A kind of self-inking pen. Much less messy.”

“That sounds very useful. I could do with one of those. You should invent another one.”

Yuuri shrugged, blowing on the paper to dry the ink, then rolling it back up and replacing it and the other implements in the bag. “It’s daft – I can repair a qubit processor but I don’t know how a bloody ballpoint pen works, not well enough to be able to make one by hand.”

“Do you know what we’re supposed to do next?”

“Yeah, I’ve memorised it now.” Yuuri hopped back up and drew his sword.

Victor concentrated on learning the choreography. Some of it would have to be altered slightly, he thought, and he suddenly remembered a few things he used to do with Alex that could possibly be added. But his head was also still awhirl with facts and figures from an earlier meeting with John de Lacey.

Which no doubt led to the misplaced foot that caused Yuuri to take a clattering fall in full armour so that he ended up half-hanging between the spokes. Gasping in horror and quickly hopping over, Victor reached a hand down; Yuuri grabbed it and allowed himself to be hauled back up to stand, flexing his arms and legs. He looked rather stunned, but he had no word of criticism. Victor rarely made such a basic mistake, and it could be dangerous to fall between the spokes as Yuuri had, especially when armour could catch in awkward places.

“Yuuri – I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush. “Are you all right?”

“I think so, yeah. Anyway, I’ve tripped you up plenty of times, so consider it payback,” he said with a little smile. “Want to try again?”

Victor nodded, still cross with himself. They practised a while longer, but unusually, he didn’t feel he was getting into the rhythm of it, and perhaps the most that could be said was that he hadn’t done anything to potentially hurt Yuuri again. It was obvious that his timing was off, and eventually Yuuri stopped and stood looking at him in concern.

“Maybe I should alter my choreography,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“I’m not exactly used to planning moves for performances, and I’ve been worried the whole time that I might not be up to the job. You’re more experienced – ”

“I’m not. You’re a good dancer, Yuuri. All these things you’ve been teaching me. The ballet…”

“That’s not the same as putting programs together. And you’ve been using the wheel a lot longer than I have.”

_I’ve made a mess of this today, _Victor thought. The last thing he wanted was for Yuuri to start losing his confidence. “Your choreography is excellent,” he said with gentle insistence. “I’ve seen your ideas for other parts of the troupe’s performance, but just focusing on the wheel – it’s demanding for us both without being impossible, and it’ll give the audience a good show. The footwork you’ve planned across the spokes is intricate and beautiful. On top of that, our swords clashing, flips into the air…it’s like a dance, just as I pictured it.” He paused. “I’m just having an off day.”

“Is something wrong?” Yuuri asked quietly. “Are you feeling OK?”

“I’m fine.” Victor raised his sword. “Let’s try again, shall we?”

But when he mistimed a jump that should have landed him next to Yuuri, when the wheel wasn’t even moving, Victor hopped off with a huff and leaned back against the thick wooden rim, the tip of his sword pointing into the ground. He frowned and toed the grassy earth with his sabaton. Yuuri jumped down beside him.

“You’re _not _fine,” he said softly, reaching his fingers under Victor’s fringe and lifting it to look at his face. “Tell me?”

Victor frowned a bit more, then looked around before settling his gaze on Yuuri. “I’m supposed to be one of the best knights in England.”

“You are.”

“I don’t feel like it at the moment.” He lifted his face into the breeze. “If I can’t get this right, here and now, how will I do it during a performance?”

“You said yourself that you were having an off day. It happens, though not so much to you. If you really think the choreography’s OK, then maybe we just need more time – ”

“I do. It’s wonderful, Yuuri. But time is something we haven’t got.”

Yuuri studied him keenly. “You’ve been taking a lot on.”

Victor bit his lip. “Perhaps. But I want to make this work.” He gave a little sigh. “I met with John de Lacey this morning; he knows more about financial matters than anyone else at the castle. We discussed how much to pay everyone, what to charge patrons, estimates of what the full cost is likely to be…well, these are fundamental concerns, and they’ll take more than one meeting to decide.”

“Are you worried we don’t have enough money?”

Victor shook his head. “No, I don’t believe that should be a problem, though admittedly it’s going to be a costlier venture than I realised at first. There are just so many details. I knew that running a travelling troupe would be a challenge, but…”

“It’s certainly more than one person can do alone. I told you I wanted to help as much as I could.”

“And you are, my love. The problem is, neither of us is a banker. I never scrutinise castle finances myself without an expert to help, because – ”

“Then that’s what you – we – need,” Yuuri said in a burst of enthusiasm.

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Well, John’s been helping, like I said, but – ” 

“No – I mean we need to _hire _someone, for the troupe. An accountant. Someone who’s paid to have us as their one and only interest, who’s dedicated to helping us succeed.”

Victor considered this. Bringing their own financial expert with them? It was certainly tempting. “I’d love to,” he said. “But we need to be careful how much staff we take on; I’ve already hired a steward, and an accountant will command a higher fee than a groom or a maid. We’ll want to break even.”

“An accountant will help with that,” Yuuri answered, a spark in his eyes now. “I get my own stipend from the Courtenays; that can be put into the troupe, too. It’ll cover quite a few salaries, I would’ve thought, though that’s just my guess.” 

Warmth spread through Victor’s chest at his words, though he realised he’d been trying to protect Yuuri up to now from suffering too many consequences if things didn’t go well. “That means both of us will be taking a risk,” he said softly.

Yuuri smiled. “We’re already in this together. But I’ll take a risk with you any day, Vitya. We’re partners, aren’t we?”

_You’re so good to me. _“Yes,” Victor said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “We are.”

* * *

The next time Victor spoke to John, it was to ask him about this. He said it wouldn’t be difficult to find someone from York to replace one of the castle clerks if they wanted to take one on this “mad adventure”, which was kind of him to suggest, despite his outward scepticism. And so Oswin was hired: a capable junior clerk who Victor knew had been hoping to better his station. Short and stocky, with short brown hair and a large bald spot although he couldn’t be older than Victor, he seemed to like plain earth-coloured garments and straw hats with wide brims, giving more the impression of an eccentric monk. The most striking thing about him, however, was that he was in the habit of wearing a pair of wood-framed eyeglasses riveted together in the centre and pinched tightly on the nose to stay in place. When he came to Victor and Yuuri’s room to speak with them, he proved himself to be a friendly, no-nonsense fellow with a reassuring attitude.

Sitting down at the table, he opened a ledger and perused a page, then looked up at them through his eyeglasses. “I’ve spoken with John and examined your plans,” he said. “And I believe this troupe can be a success. But there are points we must look at in order to ensure it all comes together as it should. Would it please you to do that now?”

They were both happy to partake of as much advice as he could offer from that point forward, and Victor felt a burden easing from his shoulders, though Yuuri had already lightened it considerably by making it clear that he wanted to participate in managing the troupe as fully as he could.

Oswin seemed to be the final important piece to the puzzle, and thus Victor and Friends was born: a company of three knights with their squires, as well as six acrobats, six actors, four musicians, and a sizeable staff. The steward, a muscular man called Henric in his thirties with a blond beard and fondness for bycocket hats, ensured that the wagons and props were painted, all necessary items packed, and provisions supplied. As Victor had hoped, they were ready to leave by mid-July, with several fairly local bookings initially that would not require time-consuming journeys while they were settling into their new life and rehearsing and polishing performances. 

The evening before they departed, Victor brought a bundle of heavy white cloth to the room and presented it to Yuuri, who took it in his arms with a questioning look.

“Open it,” Victor invited him with a smile.

Yuuri began to unwrap the folds, and when he saw a glint of steel, he gasped. “My new sword! They got it ready in time.” Pushing the rest of the cloth away, he took it by the hilt and held it up to admire.

“I might have encouraged them a bit,” Victor said, “though you don’t want to rush the making of an important item like this, either.”

“It’s beautiful,” Yuuri breathed. The glimmering sword had a gold pommel like Victor’s, and an ocean-blue jewel embedded in the middle on both sides. “I didn’t know there would be gems in it.”

“Those are sapphires,” Victor explained. “You like wearing blue; I thought they’d suit you.”

“You went back and asked the blacksmith to put them in? But…” Yuuri’s face clouded. “It’s so luxurious. I’ve got money, if – ”

“So do I. And we’re both putting a lot into Victor and Friends. But that doesn’t mean there’s none left for something like this. You look splendid with it.” He paused, then added more quietly, “There’s a tradition here, in this time. When a knight receives a new sword. It’s only considered to be christened when it’s drawn first blood.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “You don’t expect me to – ”

“No,” Victor said simply. “You might hear others say something about it, that’s all.”

Glancing around the room, Yuuri’s eyes rested on the jug of hypocras at the centre of the table. Placing an empty cup before him, he held the sword over it with one hand and picked the jug up with the other. “Good rich red wine, this,” he said with a smile. “What do you think?”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “As a substitute?”

“Do you think the gods would approve?”

“I daresay they’d be appeased,” Victor laughed. He watched Yuuri pour the wine over the sword, most of it splashing down into the cup. Then he got a cloth and wiped the liquid off the blade.

“There, christened. May it never draw real blood.”

“Agreed.”

“Cheers.” Yuuri took a sip of the wine.

“You might like to give your old blade to Emil. It’s better than what he has, and it will mean something, coming from his master.”

Yuuri nodded. “I’ll do that.” Then he stepped back and swished the sword around.

“It’ll be important to exercise and spar with it so that you can get used to the new feel, with a slightly different weight and grip. But there will be plenty of time for that before our first performance.”

“Good advice from my trainer,” Yuuri said as he went through a longsword drill; Victor watched with a smile. Afterward, Yuuri rejoined him at the table. “It’s wonderful,” he enthused, holding the blade up again to the light. “It won’t take that much getting used to, I don’t think. It feels like an extension of my hand, almost.” His eyes sparkled. “Thank you, Vitya.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Victor said softly, stepping closer. “Seeing you with it like that is reward enough. But…” he added, quirking a smile, “…there’s another way you can thank me.”

Yuuri sighed. “Hmm, I wonder what you have in mind.”

Victor pressed their bodies together and said, his breath against Yuuri’s cheek, “Make our last night in this room one to remember.”

“I can do that,” Yuuri whispered before capturing his lips in a kiss.

* * *

“Now, if you require any more of your clothes or valuables, or anything else from the castle, my lord, be sure to send a messenger straight here and I’ll make arrangements,” Percy said, his long sleeve dangling from his arm as he gestured while he spoke. “I cannot fathom how you’ll fare with the meagre stores you’re bringing…”

Victor looked at the train of colourful wagons belonging to the troupe and decided if anything, he might have overpacked. They were a sizeable group and would travel slowly. Many of them had horses and were mounting them now, under a bright morning sun that occasionally hid behind a cloud; the destriers were somewhere toward the back – perhaps he ought to ride Perun for a while today. The most important thing, however, was to ensure they made a good start.

“…but we’ll always be happy to see you here at the castle, when you can manage it,” Percy concluded. “I shall miss you. And Sir Justin. It won’t be the same without you.”

“You’re a good man and true,” Victor said, placing a hand on his arm. There was no need for a keeper of the wardrobe in the troupe, which was a shame, because he’d known Percy for years and was fond of him; though he knew his mother and father were, too, and would not want to lose him. “I may still send messengers asking your advice. We have performers with costumes, after all.”

“Ah well, Mistress Monica would be keen to help too, I’m sure.”

Victor followed his gaze and saw Yuuri speaking to her amid the crowd that had emerged from the castle to farewell them near the stable. She and the castle seamstresses had outdone themselves over the past month with sewing costumes for the troupe, though none of them would be travelling along. 

“She would’ve made a fine seamstress for us,” Victor said. “But she has family and friends here, as do many. Besides, I’ve already taken away three of my father’s four knights, and a very good clerk. If I plucked any more from the garden, I’m sure Andrei would have something to say about it.”

“Speaking of whom…” Percy glanced behind him as the baron and Natalia approached, then made a quick bow to Victor, wished him godspeed, and went to speak with Matthew Everard. Victor watched his parents while Alyona stirred next to him. He stroked her neck.

“If you will insist on this foolhardy venture,” Andrei said once they’d joined him, “it’s my fond hope that you make money out of it, and achieve whatever else it is you’re after.”

_And not return to the castle despondent and begging for your clemency, _Victor finished for him silently. But he also recognised the goodwill in Andrei’s words, and nodded. “Your acceptance is appreciated.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Andrei grumbled. “These new knights had better be up to the task, because if we’re besieged and I discover they’re not, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

Victor knew his wry humour for what it was and said with a half-smile, “Surely you’d be assisting them with your sword – your skills aren’t so diminished.”

“Damn right.” The corner of his mouth tilted up. “God keep you safe, son,” he said gruffly, gripping Victor’s arms. “Try not to embarrass me with your deeds – or if you do, don’t tell anyone who you are.”

That was rather sharp, Victor decided, but he gripped Andrei back briefly. “There’ll be no need. I’ll give you reason to be proud.”

Natalia stepped forward and said, “I don’t doubt it. I’ve observed you and your performers practising around the castle, but I for one – ” She glanced at Andrei. “ – would like to see your show one day. Sooner rather than later, I hope.”

“I’d like that, too.”

“May God grant you good fortune.” She took his hand and held it, gazing at him with a small smile.

“Thank you.”

They said their final goodbyes, and as his parents strode away, Victor watched them exchange brief words with Yuuri, who looked surprised at first but nodded and responded. Then they went to join Percy and Matthew.

“My lord, we’re ready to depart on your order.” Victor turned to see Henric standing nearby, gazing at him expectantly.

“Victor,” he replied distractedly, looking around. Wagons, horses, performers, staff. So many things to keep track of. “It’s just Victor – call me that. You’re certain everyone’s here? We’ve packed everything we need?”

“I’ve double-checked, sir. Victor. In your own time.”

Of course he had. That was what they were paying him for, and it was as well to trust him to do his job. “I suppose that’s now, then,” he said, mounting Alyona. Julia and Emil were waiting on their horses a short distance behind, along with Chris and Philip, and soon Yuuri was trotting toward them.

“Sorry,” he said, tucking some items into his saddlebags. “Just saying goodbye, and Bridget gave me a few treats. I’ll share them out later.”

Victor looked down at him. “I hope Andrei and Natalia were kindly in what they said to you.”

“They both wished me well,” Yuuri replied, mounting Lady. “Your father reminded me to conduct myself with honour, because I’m still a knight, and your mother told me to look after you.”

“She did?”

Yuuri nodded and smiled. “I promised I would. That’s a job I rather like being given.”

“You do it well already.”

“Master,” Julia spoke up, “can we go now?”

He glanced around one more time. What if they left something vital behind? But it all seemed to be here. The tallest wagon contained the wheel. _Trust Henric. _

“Very well,” he said. Turning Alyona, he raised his arm and called loudly with a warm smile, “God give you good morning!” Numerous shouts rang out, returning the greeting. “Before we depart, I’d like to say that I’m honoured to have each and every one of you as a member of this troupe, and I’m looking forward to the days ahead. It will take us some time to get used to living and working together, I’m sure – but I have every confidence that we’re going to accomplish wonderful things. May God bless our merry company on this our first day, and let us be on our way as Victor and Friends!”

He removed his black cloth cap and waved it happily as cheers and blessings erupted from the riders and the others sitting on the wagons. When they died down, Victor shoved his cap back on, heart fluttering, his smile now one of excitement.

“That was inspiring,” Yuuri said as they nudged their horses forward.

“I _feel _inspired,” Victor declared. “We’re doing this, Yuuri, we’re really doing this.” Yuuri beamed, and Victor turned to Chris and the squires behind him. “Why are you all back there? Come join us.” Then to the musicians, “How about a tune to see us on our way?”

“You’re in good spirits today,” Chris commented as he approached on his horse.

The crowd that had gathered from the castle waved and shouted goodbyes. The Nikiforovs stood and watched, and Victor saw Natalia raise a hand in farewell. He did the same, then looked at Chris. “Why shouldn’t I be? I can’t remember the last time I was so keen to begin a journey.”

“Hm. Quite so.” Chris took in their surroundings as if he were only just noticing them, and grinned as the breeze tickled his fringe.

The lively notes of a flute carried to them from further back in the procession, accompanied by a beat on a tabor, and a man began to sing. Some of the other travellers joined in as they recognised the song.

_There was a knight, a baron-knight,_  
_A knight of high degree;_  
_This knight he came from the North land,_  
_He came a-courting me…_  


Victor and Yuuri both laughed. “Who could he be singing this for?” Yuuri said as his laughs died into chuckles.

“The cheeky knave,” Victor huffed, pretending to be offended.

“You know this one. Come on, sing.” And Victor did, while Yuuri and Chris joined in.

_Go! Fetch me some of your father’s gold,_  
_And some of your mother’s fee._  
_And two of the best nags out of the stable,_  
_Where they stand, thirty and three._  


Julia started to sing as well, as she and Emil and Philip joined them. It was possible to ride in a crowd while they were on the main road, though further on they would have to fall back into a more formal procession. But this would do very well for now, Victor thought, as music and song and laughter floated in the air.

It was a fine, fine day, and everything lay ahead of them.


	146. Chapter 146

“Ee dwell bee dahl and dohn, quod Guy. And Ee hav don many a curst torn.” Yuuri ran a hand through his hair as he stood in his tent and studied the manuscript. “I hope I’m saying it right,” he muttered to himself. “I have done many a cursed turn…what does that even mean? A bad deed?” He took a deep breath and switched his translator on. Yes, good guess.

The short dramas they performed – himself, Victor, and the actors, plus other members of the troupe sometimes – were popular with audiences, but it was good to have a variety to choose from so that they didn’t do the same ones every time. Even though it meant giving more scribing tasks to Oswin; it really was tedious having to write and amend everything by hand. Fortunately, he seemed content to spend time copying things out.

Knowing that Yuuri was always on the hunt for more material to adapt, one of the actors had sent a message to his former employer, requesting a manuscript that they’d used in the past and offering to buy it on behalf of Victor and Friends. That was what Yuuri held in his hands now: a ballad titled _Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne_. If you didn’t want to do something Biblical, then Robin Hood seemed to be the next best bet. And this contained a fighting scene, which was ideal; it could become a skit, maybe, with himself and Victor as the leads. He’d enjoy thinking about how to bring it to life for an audience – a creative task he would never have known he was any good at until he’d started planning the backbone of the troupe’s performances, thanks to Victor’s encouragement and reassurances. But who would get to play Robin Hood, and who would be the villain?

He turned his translator off again. It was the only way to engage with the literal words, though frustratingly, he had to keep turning it back on to make sure he understood them. _And he þat calles me bi my riȝt name, calles me Guy of gud Gysborne, _he read. Thorn made a “th” sound, and yogh was a throaty noise that Yuuri had heard in languages like German but which was no longer present in modern English. He tried saying the lines aloud a few times. Unfortunately, the translator could give him no help with how anything was supposed to be pronounced. He’d been trying to absorb the sound of it by listening to conversations around him, but that in itself wasn’t enough. Victor enjoyed helping him when he had time to spare, and so did the squires, though Julia had a tendency to laugh when he got something wrong, which could be annoying. 

“Mee dweling is in the wohd, say-ess Robyn…”

Yuuri walked in slow circles around the middle of the tent as he read, translated, and spoke aloud. He’d tied the front flap open, and the white cotton canvas let sunlight in to a modest extent, but it was usually still necessary to light a candle or two on the table. This was like a small reproduction of their room, in fact; though by the standards of camping in the future, it was palatial.

“Mee nahm is Robyn Hohd of Barn-ess-dale – ” A clatter outside interrupted him, and he stepped out into the little village of tents to find that a servant had dropped a tray of pewter tankards.

“Forgif mey, sir,” stammered the young man, whose name Yuuri recalled was Tom. “In mi hast, Ee ne wot whar Ee wende. Ee ne ment to annoi yow.” He quickly began to collect the tankards.

Yuuri had forgotten to turn his translator back on, and he hadn’t understood half of what Tom had said, but it was obvious that he was apologising. “All is wel,” he hazarded, tucking the manuscript under his arm and kneeling down to help. “Thoh annoyes me noght.”

Tom looked at him in surprise. You weren’t supposed to acknowledge the lowest servants, let alone assist them, Yuuri knew; at least not at the castle. But he and Victor were in the habit of treating them like human beings. When the last tankard was back on the tray, Tom got to his feet. “Gramerci, sir, ye er sothli courtais,” he said.

“Nei, sertes. Far theh wel.”

Yuuri watched him bustle away, then returned to the tent. There were no further noises immediately outside as he studied _Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne _once more, but it was inevitably never completely quiet in the camp. If conversation, laughter, footsteps, coughing, snoring, the clash of sparring swords, music and singing, or any other sounds of human habitation were absent, then nature would take their place: the blowing wind and flapping sides of the tents, thunder and rain, soughing boughs, chirps and hoots of birds, yips and cries of foxes, the scurrying of smaller animals, rustles in the undergrowth…It kept things interesting, though sleep or simple relaxation were sometimes out of the question. That wasn’t the case right now, however, and perhaps he’d studied the manuscript enough, Yuuri decided.

He put it down on the table, turned his translator back on, and poured himself a cup of thin wine, inhaling the aroma of woodsmoke drifting in; that would be from the cooking fires, as the latter part of August was usually too hot for anyone to need them for warmth. There was his own natural scent, too, just like there always was in this time; clothes couldn’t be washed every day, and everyone sweated in the heat. Bundles of sweet herbs were hung inside the tents when they were pitched, though they simply mingled with whatever was already present. Victor had his own unique scent, and Yuuri wasn’t ashamed to admit that he found it both comforting and arousing.

They still washed frequently, but it was more of an ordeal now. A bath tonight would be as welcome as an oasis in the desert. He’d have to be content, however, with having it in a smaller bucket than the one he used to keep in his old room at the castle; and even then, the servants would need to make several trips to the well to fill it. It was the only real downside to this way of life, he thought. He’d got used to warm water being piped into Victor’s room, though in the back of his mind he always had an image of servants toiling at the top of the castle to heat it over a fire. And that luxurious canvas-covered bucket, big enough to share…

_Look at me, _he thought, sipping his wine and watching the flame above the candle dance. _I was so self-righteous about all the barbaric practices here; the obscene trappings of wealth. Turns out it can be easy to get used to._

Well, there was nothing barbaric or obscene about a good bath. The best way to get one at this time of year was to jump into a river or lake, which was a popular pastime for everyone in the troupe. Occasionally they were given indoor accommodation by their patrons, but it was the same there, too – pitcher and basin, perhaps a bucket.

He was tempted to add the lack of a garderobe to the list, but he’d always known how lucky he was to have access to one of those, and they made do now; wherever the troupe went, the groundsmen dug a few holes around the camp and stuck a bench and a tent over each one. That was essentially what a garderobe was, anyway; these just required more of a walk. Which admittedly meant possibly getting cold, or rained on, or both.

None of it was any great hardship, however. Yuuri had understood what he’d been signing up for when Victor had proposed the idea of the troupe, and he hadn’t regretted it for a moment. How could he ever have guessed that he’d get the chance to go from the life of a knight at the castle to one of a travelling performer, running the project with the man he loved?

Finishing his wine, he poured another cup and leaned back against the table with a grin. No, he couldn’t imagine doing anything better, even in 2121. Being a techie there? No way. And who would have thought that the princely man he’d met all those months ago would not only take to this life too, but be the one to suggest it in the first place?

At the moment he was somewhere on the campsite, ensuring that things were getting organised for tonight’s performance, or perhaps catching up with Oswin or Henric. Yuuri decided maybe he ought to join him in that case and see if he could help. He knocked back the rest of the thin wine in his cup and had moved to exit the tent when a visitor peeked around the flap – Gwynneth, one of the few women who travelled with them; she and her husband Irwin each played several different musical instruments. Tendrils of thick black hair poked out of her white wimple, and she held the turquoise folds of her dress off of the ground.

“God give you good day,” she said. “I was wondering if you had a moment. I’m in a bit of a bind.”

“Oh? What’s happened?” Yuuri asked, motioning for her to enter.

She came to stand in front of him and said, “I snapped a string on my fiddle. It’s a common occurrence, and I was certain I had spares, but I can’t find them.”

“Have you asked any of the other musicians if they can give you one? What about your husband?”

“He doesn’t play the fiddle. And I _have _asked, but none of them are quite right; it has to be a certain width, you see.”

“Do you have any idea what towns are nearby?” Yuuri asked, stroking his chin. He supposed he ought to be aware of this himself, but they’d only arrived that morning, and all that had mattered at the time was setting up the tents and preparing for the performance.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“Hmm. Come with me,” he invited her, hurrying out of the tent. A messenger, that was what they needed; he’d have to track one down. It was part of their job to know the geography of wherever they were and to estimate travel times. As the troupe was still in Yorkshire, they ought to know the area well.

They passed other tents, most of them quiet and empty, their open flaps allowing a breeze in to keep them cool. Then the source of the woodsmoke: wild boars were being turned and basted on spits by cooks wearing nothing but their braies and shoes while they worked beside the fires. “Smells fantastic,” Yuuri commented as he and Gwynneth went by.

“We’ll have plenty for supper tonight,” he was reassured by one of the cooks. “It were a good hunt this morning.”

Yuuri waved and turned forward again – only to have to pinwheel to a sudden halt before he stepped on a string of ducklings being led through the camp by their mother. “What the hell?” he muttered, watching as they scattered and ran, regrouping on the other side of the path.

Gwynneth giggled. “They’re adorable. We gave them a fright.”

“They’re really cute.” Yuuri smiled and watched the little fuzzy balls on legs go. But Gwynneth’s problem was rather pressing, and soon they were passing more tents, with people outside of them in various degrees of undress. Gwynneth seemed unfazed; Yuuri had discovered early on that the rules of personal privacy were rather more relaxed in a travelling troupe. They went by two of the acrobats wearing what seemed to be an early version of a dance belt made of strips of cloth, chatting while they hung wet clothes on a rack made of twigs lashed together. Then, finally, he spotted one of the messengers rummaging in the saddlebags of his horse outside of a tent.

“Seward,” Yuuri said, trotting up to the coifed young man with a jutting chestnut beard, “what’s the nearest town from here?”

Closing and fastening his saddlebag, he answered, “Oh, hello, sir. That’d be Whitby.”

“How far away is it?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “Perhaps two hours’ ride, if the weather holds.”

Yuuri looked at Gwynneth. “Let’s hope they sell fiddle strings there. Tell Seward what you need – but if it doesn’t work out, can you do without the fiddle tonight?”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to being resourceful,” she said confidently.

Yuuri nodded and left her to speak with Seward after instructing him to do his best to return for the performance if he was able to source a string. He looked around as he made his way back to his tent, pausing for a moment to watch more acrobats practising in a field. One of the actors was striding back and forth outside of his tent, his nose in a manuscript one minute, then looking up the next and gesturing as he repeated the line he was memorising. Yuuri greeted him and had a brief word; then as he moved on, he saw in the distance the wagon that contained the wheel being driven by horse to Radleigh Hall, the stately home where they’d later be performing. It was strange to think of the large, heavy apparatus that had spent so much time neglected at the top of the hill near the castle now being hauled across the countryside and set up for use in so many different places. Yuuri practised on it for hours, usually with Victor but occasionally with Chris or the squires, and it was the pièce de résistance of each performance. When it went especially well, the thrill was unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his old life.

_This is what I was meant for, _he thought in wonder as he watched the wagon trundle away over the bumpy dirt path. _To come here and do this with Victor in 1393. And…and plenty of other years, too._

He heard boots crossing packed earth and turned to see Emil approaching him, carrying two pheasants on a line. “Ah, master, there you are,” he said. “I’ve just been practising archery with Philip. Doing it for real is more satisfying than aiming at targets, I find, plus it helps to feed everyone. I was just going to give these to the cooks.”

Yuuri stared at the pheasants. They were such beautiful birds; it was hard to eat them in pottage or sauce and think of the ones he’d often seen wandering in little groups around the bushes.

“I appreciate that you’ve been busy,” Emil continued, “but I was wondering when we might train together?”

Now that Yuuri thought about it, it had been a while. “Oh Emil, I’m sorry,” he replied. “I’ve just had so much to do. I’ve been tied up with the play scripts, for one thing, trying to make the drama a bigger part of the performance. It’s all taking time to develop.”

“You should write a battle scene that involves all of the knights and squires. It would be a sight to see, I daresay.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Is that all. Well, to be honest, I’d like to at some point. I’d also like to properly learn the English you all speak here so that I can write original dialogue; I have a few ideas I’d like to try.”

“We can speak it now, sir, if you’d like.”

Recent memories of slogging his way through _Robin Hood and Sir Guy of Gisborne _sprang to mind. “Maybe later. What about if I meet you in the training field for sparring an hour before supper, would that be OK?”

“Of course; I’ll look forward to it.”

Emil gave him a small bow and strode away with his pheasants, and Yuuri returned to his tent. He was considering whether he ought to take the manuscript and discuss it with some of the actors when Victor entered.

“Yuuri!” he said brightly, coming over and giving him a brief soft kiss on the lips. “Radleigh Hall is lovely. Have you been inside yet?” When Yuuri said he hadn’t, he continued, “There’s plenty of room on the grounds for practising and performing. I was just helping to set things up and sparring with Julia. Would you like to come join us?” Then his gaze fell to the manuscript and his face lit up. “Is this new?” he asked, picking it up to examine.

Yuuri explained, and Victor read the first few stanzas aloud before looking at him with a smile. “This is wonderful! Our audiences will love it. You’ve got hold of a gem here.”

“That’s what I thought,” Yuuri replied, flushing with pleasure at his enthusiasm. “But I’m still trying to understand it without the translator, for a start.”

“I love your dedication,” Victor said softly, leaning close.

“I love you.” Yuuri gave him a longer kiss this time, sighing into it.

They caught up with what each of them had been doing that morning, while Victor poured himself a cup of wine and slowly drained it. “Oswin’s pleased with what his ledger is showing him,” he said as he took the last sip and put his empty cup down on the table. “We’re not making a great deal of money yet, but we _are _making a profit, and it’s early days. I like to think it will only get better.”

“It’s already good. Everything we’re doing.” But he saw a flash of uncertainty in Victor’s eyes.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do.” Yuuri touched his cheek gently. “Were you worried I wasn’t happy about something?”

“No, I…well.” Victor bit his lip. “It’s an unconventional lifestyle, and we’re away from the comforts of the castle.”

“Do any of those things bother you?”

Victor gazed at him levelly. “No.”

“They don’t bother me, either. Though it has to be said, 1393 is an unconventional lifestyle for me anyway.” Victor laughed at this, and Yuuri added, “I’m excited about what we’re doing. I _love _it.”

Victor’s shoulders relaxed. “Me too. It feels like we’re doing something special.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“I, ah, suppose I should go back to Oswin. I wanted to fetch some writing materials so that I could make notes on a few ideas I had for the sparring moves at the start of each performance. Is that all right? Then I was going to show them to you.”

“It’s fine. I’m not the one and only choreographer. You did amazing things on the wheel with Alex, and you instinctively know what looks good for an audience; you just don’t like getting formal about it and writing it down.” When Victor gave him a sheepish grin, he added with a hint of amusement, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Hm. Might be.”

“But now that we’re running a troupe, you’ve seen how helpful it is.”

“All right,” Victor said with a crooked smile, “as long as you don’t get smug about it.”

“Me? Never.”

“But yes, you’re right.” Victor kissed his forehead. “I’d better go. Then I’ll be back at the training field.”

“OK. I’ll be there with Emil in a bit. I was going to see the actors.”

Victor gazed at him. “We should spend some proper time together.”

“Tonight. Definitely,” Yuuri answered with a coy smile.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Oh yes, please.”

Victor snickered and stole a quick kiss from his lips. “Later, my love.” He grinned and walked out. 

Yuuri stared after him for a moment. If anything, he himself should have been the one worried about how Victor was taking to things. But he could see it was bringing something out in him that life at the castle rarely did – a lightness of heart; a spontaneity. Yuuri loved the sombre baron’s son and knight, but he also loved the boyish enthusiasm of the performer and troupe manager. All of them Victor; all of them wonderful.

Smiling to himself, he picked up the manuscript, wondering what the best tone would be for what it illustrated; whether to make it more farcical or dramatic. Even though they had a growing selection of scripts, many which the actors had brought and several which he and Victor had sourced, the acts were in flux to a degree. What they were doing was still quite basic – the equivalent of early twentieth-century vaudeville, Yuuri reckoned. Nothing deep or sophisticated, and often without props, though their audiences enjoyed light humour, a bit of melodrama, some singing and dancing. It had been good material to use for their first performances, when so many pieces were still falling into place.

His hope was that as time went on, and they practised and got to know each other better, as well as learning more about the practicalities and limitations of the types of places where they performed, they’d be able to develop longer, more sophisticated acts. Maybe even a short play, if patrons were interested. Serious drama was something Yuuri had only dipped into from curiosity in Immersion, but at the time it had brought up too many emotions that he’d been trying to tamp down. It was different now; he could feel it. He wanted to perform with Victor, with the actors, with anyone in the troupe. They were flexible like that. Victor, Julia and Chris sometimes joined the musicians, the acrobats had begun training on the wheel and were considering something they could do along with Yuuri and Victor, and the vaudevillian acts sometimes required so many performers that the entire cast was “on stage” with them. It felt increasingly as though they were a homogeneous group, rather than a loose collection of smaller ones. Truly, Victor and Friends.

It also meant, however, that on top of ensuring everything was running smoothly, he and Victor were busy much of the time, working either separately or together. For being on what was essentially a prolonged camping trip, they didn’t always get the chance to see much of the areas they visited. And it was beautiful here on the moors of north Yorkshire, with the rolling hills, heather and bracken. Yuuri wondered if they’d have time while they were in the vicinity to visit Whitby themselves, and maybe go in the sea.

Turning his translator off, he looked down at the manuscript. “Heh that had ben nother kith ne kin micht hav sen a ful fayr sicht…” he said aloud, wandering out of the tent.

The rest of the afternoon quickly passed in a mixture of training, rehearsing, and administrative tasks, and supper was a typical informal affair where people took food away with them, wandered around eating, or sat on logs by the fire while the cooks and servants brought courses out on platters. A few times a week, often while they were travelling, Yuuri and Victor asked that everyone be present at a group meal, which could function as a meeting where news was shared and ideas and problems discussed; but on performance days, when things tended to be more hectic, an ad hoc approach seemed to work better. Yuuri had never thought of himself before as someone who’d be any good at being a manager; but Victor had had a great deal of experience with it at the castle, and with his encouragement, as in so many other things, he was realising it didn’t have to be so daunting after all. He might still have a lot to learn about how this medieval world worked, but he could organise and plan, and felt he got on well with the other members of the troupe. Maybe that was good enough.

_Well, it is, isn’t it? I used to have trouble thinking of the right things to say to people. But that doesn’t seem like as much of a problem anymore._

He’d sat down on a log with a chicken leg when he was joined by Beth the seamstress, who told him about the costume problems she’d dealt with that day, and others that remained, and that she needed to visit a market soon for supplies. The head cook, hearing this, added that he required provisions as well. It seemed they might find themselves in Whitby tomorrow after all.

Soon afterward, Yuuri joined Victor in the courtyard of Radleigh Hall, ensuring everything was set up properly for the performance. Then back at the campsite, where preparations were well underway, he made sure he was on hand to help. People asked him to fasten a costume, assist them in searching for belongings, and answer questions about the performance. He kept an eye on the weather as well; the sky had become an iron grey, and he’d felt a few spots of rain. They could adapt to perform inside as well as out, but it was awkward beginning a performance outside when the weather took a turn for the worse. Usually the patrons gave them time to move things indoors; but if they stuck it out through a drizzle, it could be very difficult to maintain the precise footholds that were needed on the wheel, which became slippery. When he’d had time, he’d been speaking to carpenters in towns where they travelled, hoping to find a finish that could be applied to mitigate the problem, but he was beginning to doubt that anyone in this time period had an answer, especially since people who performed on wet wooden spokes were rather rare. Victor said he and Alex had never found a solution themselves, and either took a break while it rained, or used the weather to force them to perform to the very best of their abilities. But well, they’d perhaps been in a class of their own, Yuuri suspected.

He ducked into his tent, tying the flap shut behind him, to review what he was going to do tonight without being disturbed. Just for a few minutes; long enough for him to feel more confident, before the anxiety had a chance to feed and grow. It was always there to a degree before they did a show, but if he kept busy, it helped. Then he was back outside, overseeing preparations once more. The sky lightened and there were no more drops of rain, to his relief. Later he fetched something rather special from a chest in his tent: three small pots of face paint and brushes, which he put on a wooden tray along with a pewter hand mirror.

He’d got the idea a week before they’d left the castle, and had worked with Mistress Ramsay the herbalist to ensure a supply was ready whose ingredients didn’t consist of generally poisonous things such as lead or arsenic, and wouldn’t leave dyed skin underneath. One of the actors and one of the musicians had taken an especial interest, and he’d taught them how to apply the paints, while Victor and Julia enjoyed doing it too when they had time. They didn’t always use it, and some members of the troupe refused to wear it at all, which was of course their choice. But Yuuri thought it added to the theatricality of the performance, emphasising that it was entertainment; something fantastical. In fact, he’d never enjoyed it in modern times as much as he did here. 

Chris was passing by outside as he left the tent. “Want me to paint your face?” Yuuri offered.

He stopped and smiled. “All right. How about some little green leaves around my eyes?”

“I haven’t got green,” Yuuri replied, taking the lids off the jars. “Not yet. Silver, gold, and blue for now. And if the designs are little, the audience won’t see them very well; we’re outside tonight, and they’ll be a fair distance away.”

“You speak like an expert.”

Yuuri shrugged as he began painting blue swirls around Chris’s eyes. “We’ve done this a few times already, so…”

“Where did you learn about it, and who gave you the idea, if you don’t mind my asking? You have some secret past away from the Courtenays – joined a company of actors for a while?”

“Well…” Yuuri thought fast. “An acting troupe came to the castle once, and I thought the face paint was beautiful, so I asked them to teach me how to use it.”

“Not many places you could’ve gone wearing it as a knight. Or as anyone other than an actor.”

“True.”

Yuuri highlighted the blue swirls with silver and gold, then handed the mirror to Chris, who raised his eyebrows and smiled. “It’s so…primal. And comely at the same time.”

“While the weather’s warm,” Yuuri said as Chris replaced the mirror on the tray, “I was hoping to write a kind of sparring dance we could do as Picts, with paint on our bodies as well as our faces. But it’d take a lot of time to apply before a performance.”

Chris laughed. “Bare-chested Scottish barbarians? Whatever next? I’d do that, though.”

“We’d probably need more money and a bigger troupe.”

After wishing Chris good luck, he went to paint other performers’ faces. He’d done several when Victor rounded a corner in front of him, carrying his armour in his arms and glancing about distractedly. Julia came trotting after him.

“Master! There’s no need to go carrying all that. Allow me to take it to your tent.” Victor nodded and passed the plate to her, and she scurried away.

“Is something wrong?” Yuuri asked him.

“Edric is ill tonight,” he said, the words tumbling out. “He can’t perform. I’ve seen him.”

“Poor chap.” Yuuri paused. “The actors learn each other’s parts in case something like that happens. From a performance point of view, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Victor ran a hand through his fringe. “Yes, I’ve already spoken to them. I wonder if we should have hired a herbalist or barber surgeon to travel with us. What if – ”

“Why? Those people are capable of doing more harm than good. Unless someone’s got a severe injury, all you need is me, and Phichit, and the Cloud.”

Victor let out a small huff. “I know. I shouldn’t worry.”

In a lower voice, though no one else was around at the moment, Yuuri said, “I also have the nanobot injector. If anyone gets seriously ill, I’ll use it.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “You brought it? You will?”

“I couldn’t do otherwise in good conscience. Do you think Edric’s at that point?”

“I…maybe not. It’s an upset stomach.”

“OK. I hope he feels better soon.”

“We can go visit him later. But Yuuri, another thing. It seems the lord of the manor is of a temperament…well, let’s just say that when we invite people from the audience to spar with us, then if he’s in amongst them, it would be a good idea to allow him to win.”

Yuuri deflated. “Oh, he’s one of those. Sure.” Because it was unwise to upset their patrons, this was required on occasion. As rankled as Yuuri had briefly felt when he’d seen Victor throw the fight with John of Gaunt at the castle, he’d had to do it himself a few times now.

“I don’t like it either,” Victor said, looking at him. “Puffed-up, conceited – ”

“Providers of our pay,” Yuuri finished for him with a small grin.

“Well yes, that too.”

Yuuri’s grin broadened into a smile while he picked up the brush for the gold paint. That colour in particular suited Victor, so that he truly did look like a prince who’d wandered out of the realm of faery. “Come here, baby, and let me paint your face,” Yuuri said softly, moving the tray so that he was holding it to the side, and raising the brush.

Victor stared as he stepped forward. “Talk to me like that and I’ll let you do most anything.”

Yuuri snickered and gave his inviting lips an affectionate kiss. He himself looked like Justin, but it didn’t seem to matter so much anymore, not for things like this. Then he started to paint scrolls of sparkling gold on smooth, pale skin, silver setting off ice-blue eyes. Victor was always so docile when Yuuri did this that it reminded him of his submissive persona, which could be very distracting while trying to work. When he was done, Victor looked like someone who would turn anyone’s head in 2121 as he walked down the street. Though the tunic, hose and boots would attract a fair bit of notice too, he thought with a silent chuckle.

“Come on,” he said, “we ought to get back to the tent and put our armour on, and I still need to do my face.”

“Will you let me?” Victor asked. “You look gorgeous in blue.”

“Hmm, all right.” Yuuri handed him the tray, anticipating more little butterflies and hearts, since that was what Victor had done the last time.

“After, let’s go show the people here something spectacular.”

Yuuri smiled. “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and the servant:
> 
> “Forgif mey, sir,” stammered the young man, whose name Yuuri thought was Tom. “In mi hast, Ee ne wot whar Ee wende. Ee ne ment to annoi yow.” He quickly began to collect the tankards.
> 
> Yuuri had forgotten to turn his translator back on, and he hadn’t understood half of what Tom was saying, but it was obvious that he was apologising. “All is wel,” he hazarded, tucking the manuscript under his arm and kneeling down to help. “Thoh annoyes me noght.”
> 
> Tom looked at him in surprise. You weren’t supposed to acknowledge the lowest servants, let alone assist them, Yuuri knew; at least not at the castle. But he and Victor were in the habit of treating them like human beings. When the last tankard was back on the tray, Tom got to his feet. “Gramerci, sir, ye er sothli courtais,” he said.
> 
> “Nei, sertes. Far theh wel.”
> 
> _“I’m sorry, sir,” stammered the young man, whose name Yuuri thought was Tom. “I was in a hurry and not looking where I was going. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” He quickly began to collect the tankards._
> 
> _Yuuri had forgotten to turn his translator back on, and he hadn’t understood half of what Tom was saying, but it was obvious that he was apologising. “It’s all right,” he hazarded, tucking the manuscript under his arm and kneeling down to help. “You aren’t bothering me.”_
> 
> _Tom looked at him in surprise. You weren’t supposed to acknowledge the lowest servants, let alone assist them, Yuuri knew; at least not at the castle. But he and Victor were in the habit of treating them like human beings. When the last tankard was back on the tray, Tom got to his feet. “Thank you, sir, you’re very kind,” he said._
> 
> _“Not at all. Fare you well.”_
> 
> Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html)


	147. Chapter 147

A late-afternoon breeze had picked up, and the servants quickly moved to secure the bottoms of the heavy red curtains that hung from tall wooden rails as a backdrop to the outdoor stage area. They were in a jousting arena this time – not that it mattered, as long as they had plenty of room and an audience to watch them. The performers were assembled behind the curtains, either standing or sitting on benches, and there was a gate in the fence behind them through which they could come and go as necessary. It was a simple setup that necessitated good timing and very little noise, though that didn’t stop the last-minute hushed conversations or the words of encouragement they often exchanged just before the performance began.

Yuuri and Victor had been mixing with the crowd, patting arms and backs, giving nods and smiles and thumbs-up gestures, which hadn’t seemed to have changed their meaning over the course of hundreds of years. Yuuri had felt awkward doing these things when the troupe had begun, but he’d come to discover that a show of confidence from the managers seemed to put everyone at ease. Including himself.

Then he and Victor were standing in wait behind the curtain, and it wasn’t long before Henric joined them. Perhaps the most organised person Yuuri had ever met, he was now the main stage technician as well as the steward. “The audience appears to be ready,” he told them. “The lord and lady have just arrived in the royal box.”

“Thank you,” Victor said. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if centring his thoughts, then looked at Yuuri. “We ought to make a start.” 

“Good luck,” Yuuri whispered. Victor smiled, stroked a quick finger down his cheek, and stepped away a moment to smooth his hair down. Then he gestured to Selwyn, one of the musicians, who began to play his shawm. Armour glimmering, Victor stepped around the edge of the curtain to face the audience as the smooth, haunting notes wove around them.

“If we may but partake of an ounce of your time upon this fine summer’s evening,” Yuuri heard him intone, “fair lords and ladies, let us on your imaginary forces work.”

He could be an actor on a modern stage, Yuuri thought. Though he was really only greeting the audience as an introduction to the different acts. Yuuri had helped him write the brief speech, with assistance from Phichit and Shakespeare’s _Henry V_. That was two hundred years away yet, so he reckoned no one was likely to complain.

Victor continued, “Suppose the oval of this arena could contain part of the battlefields of France…a great lady’s solar…a Yuletide feast of song and dance…the journeys of a troubadour. Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts, if you will, and share with us for a spell these fantastical wanderings.”

He jumped onto the wheel with a light clang and unsheathed his sword, which Yuuri heard even if he couldn’t see from behind the curtain. “Hear you now our tales of valiant knights, chivalrous and true, and the rascally knaves who would challenge them. Behold their feats of skill as they defy nature herself to make a pleasing scene. And I your humble patience pray, gently to hear, kindly to judge, our show.” His voice rose to a rousing shout. “Welcome, good lords and ladies, to Victor and Friends!” 

A wave of applause swept through the audience. Taking their cue, the entire troupe ran out to the stage area and found their places while the musicians played. The actors entered in a mix of costumes, bowed and shook hands with each other. The acrobats stood in formation and leapt into the air. The knights and squires clashed swords in harmony. Then the groups scattered and disappeared back behind the curtain, apart from Victor, who remained to announce a comedy routine by two of the actors.

Yuuri exited through the gate to tents that had been put up for changing clothes; with women as well as men in the troupe, they were necessary. Emil followed to help him quickly remove his armour.

“It felt like a good start tonight, sir,” he said as he untied the plates with efficient ease.

“It’s early yet, but yeah.” Yuuri heard the distant laughter of the audience. “Victor’s introductory speech – ”

“Oh it’s wonderful, sir. I think it goes over very well.”

“I was going to say, it makes it sound like there are these big overarching themes to everything we’re doing, when we still really only have a series of different acts.”

“I like your idea of having several of the performances taking place at a Yuletide feast, because that’s what happens – many entertainers travel from far and wide to make people merry.”

“I remember.” Yuuri untied a few more plates, then continued, “You know, we ought to make some more props too. We concentrated on so many other things at first, thinking there wouldn’t be time for that and we didn’t need them. They help bring a scene to life, though. Maybe I should talk to Victor about hiring someone, if funds allow.”

“Don’t you believe we’re doing well, sir? Our audiences appear to be very pleased on the whole.” Emil was almost finished with his task now; he removed the armour from one leg while Yuuri did the other.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t improve,” Yuuri replied. “I think I should keep working on trying to harmonise the acts more. I love going on the wheel, but I also love the fact that this isn’t just about swordfights – that even the knights get to sing and dance and act, if they want.” The current performance was especially focused on those things, as the patron had requested. Sometimes people wanted to see more of the fighting arts, including jousting, but fortunately that wasn’t the case here. Yuuri had never much liked it and was certain he never would.

“Shall I leave your armour here, sir?”

“That’s fine, Emil, thanks.”

There was a wide bench in the tent, and Emil stacked the plate there and left. Yuuri got changed, then folded his tunic and hose and placed them next to it, with his boots underneath. At least the ground was hard and dry, because mud had a tendency to get everywhere and on everything. The comedy act had concluded and the musicians were onstage now, including Gwynneth, who had received her replacement fiddle string just in time. They played well-known ballads that the audience could sing to if they wanted, beginning with a humorous and slightly bawdy one to mirror the tone of the previous act, and moving on to more sombre songs to set the scene for what Yuuri was going to do next. Gwynneth had a beautiful voice that always seemed to contain a slightly breathy wistful note, and Yuuri listened as he hurried back to the area behind the curtains, finding Victor there.

“Are you ready?” he asked Yuuri.

“I know the moves so well that I hardly have to think about them. That helps.”

“It’s not fair that I can’t ever watch you dance. I’ll have to arrange a way to be onstage when you do.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. He was going to be performing eros, with three acrobats as background dancers, dressed in black hose and doublets with gold embroidery. “I’ll give you a private performance later,” he murmured with hooded eyes.

The final song finished, but the musicians remained onstage to accompany the dance. Seated at a table between them and the audience were troupe members pretending to be diners at the Yuletide feast. While Victor announced their act, Yuuri and the acrobats took their positions and froze in place.

Audiences almost always paid full attention to this dance when it was part of a performance, because they’d never seen anything like it before. As it began, Yuuri channelled his femininity into what he did, just as Monica had taught him, delighting in the fluid moves. Victor might not be across from him to seduce this time, but often when Yuuri brought this side of himself out, it lingered into the night when the two of them were finally alone. Just imagining that now gave his dance an intensity that powered him through; and before he knew it, he was standing with his arms wrapped around himself, surrounded by the acrobats and basking in applause. 

He waved as he left the stage area, but once he was behind the curtains, he hurried back to the changing tent. There was no time to bask in the glow of a good performance, because the sparring was next. The squires would begin, taking turns with each other; but that didn’t always last very long, as a round could sometimes be over in seconds. Then he and Victor and Chris would join in. Chris and Julia sometimes gave Yuuri a challenge, but so far he’d always ended up facing Victor in the final fight – and losing, though he was coming close more often these days.

Quickly changing clothes, he put his armour on, then hurried to the backstage area, where Chris was waiting. Victor was out front, supervising the sparring rounds between the squires.

“It’s frustrating not being able to see what’s happening out there,” Chris commented.

“I know. I’m not sure what else we can do, though, because if we can see out, then the audience can see us.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Yes,” Yuuri replied, giving him a knowing look. “It’s unprofessional.”

“How would you know?” Chris asked, cocking his head to the side. “I swear you must have joined that travelling troupe, the one that showed you how to paint faces.”

Yuuri remained silent. Soon the squires had finished, with Julia the overall winner, and he and Chris went out onstage. The pretend-feasters were still at their tables, reacting enthusiastically. True to form, Yuuri and Victor won the best of ten rounds with everyone they faced; and when they sparred with each other, Victor won seven rounds to three. They then opened the floor to anyone who wanted to spar, and the audience members could choose any one of the six of them to go up against. Usually the knights had to remove their armour in order to even the fight, unless the challenger was wearing his own.

Yuuri often felt apprehensive about this part of the performance, because depending on how many people wanted to participate, it could go on for quite some time, causing the rest of the show to lose its momentum. In those instances, he and Victor tactfully began imposing limits so as to move things along. It would be different if they encountered fighters who taught them something new or presented a challenge. Chris and the squires sometimes got one, but on the whole their opponents were middling: slow, predictable, and easy to beat. If any of them had learned Liechtenauer’s moves, it was an unusual surprise, and Yuuri had encountered no one else who used Fiore’s.

“You see now what a bore it is to have to fight these fellows,” Victor had said to him in their tent the night after a performance when Yuuri had commented on it. “And then to be obliged to let some of them win. The best knights usually either attend the king, or travel or go out to battle. They’re also known throughout the land, and unfortunately none of them will be in attendance at any of the bookings we have so far.”

Yuuri had been disappointed to hear it, but he said, “Maybe there are some like you and me who try not to attract too much notice. Or some local jacks who aren’t even knights, but are really good fighters.”

“Well, in the first case, I suppose we can hope. In the second, I think you’d have to go looking in taverns and ale-houses, not in the audiences at manor houses and castles.” After a pause, Victor added, “I’m glad I have you to keep me on my toes.”

Yuuri laughed. “I haven’t even beaten you yet.”

“You will.”

He had sounded so certain. So Yuuri had continued to train hard when he could, when he wasn’t riding Lady on long journeys or doing other things for the troupe, hoping he hadn’t reached the limit of what he was capable of and that he’d eventually find that little bit extra of whatever he needed to win.

But it wasn’t tonight. What did happen was that he beat everyone who challenged him, then stood aside and watched, with the bad taste in his mouth it always brought about, as Victor lost to forty-something Sir Ross de Havilland. It reminded Yuuri of movies that made the fights look good when anyone versed in proper technique could see how easy the participants would be to beat in real life. But that was how they’d agreed to play these situations, and it was soon over and done with.

Julia’s showcase act was next; Victor introduced her as “a young Robin Hood” and “the ace of the glens”, which made Yuuri smile, though of course he described everyone to the audience in flowery terms – and with Julia, it was pretty much true. Despite what Yuuri had said to Chris about not watching the performers from behind the stage, Victor always seemed to find some way to unobtrusively do so while she was on. This time, he threw a brown cloak over his armour and retreated as far back as the changing tents, moving just enough to the side to be able to see what she was doing. Yuuri had mirrored his actions.

“She’s on form today,” Victor observed. “Oh, good girl – she did it this time. She’d been missing that shot in practice, and had the devil of a temper about it.”

To the accompaniment of a hurdy-gurdy, shawm, flute and tabor, Julia had been firing at a series of objects, not with the painstaking focus and aim that modern archers took their time over, but rapid-fire, launching a flurry of arrows in seconds as she ran. Apples, pears, ceramic plates, old boots and hats, they all went flying. Emil, acting as her assistant, tossed some in the air – sometimes two or three at a time – or even held them in readiness himself.

“You’re like a mother hen,” Yuuri laughed, looking at Victor.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I be? Anyway, I know she’s good at this. It’s the wheel I want to see her on – that’s the trickiest bit.”

“I just had an idea,” Yuuri said as he watched her race, letting more arrows fly. “It’d only work, though, on ground that’s hard and flat. Maybe she’d need some boards laid out in a line…”

“Whatever are you thinking of?” Victor asked, eyeing him curiously.

“Inventing the skateboard several hundred years early. It’s, um, a board with wheels underneath. You stand on it and push yourself along with your foot.”

“Oh, I’ve seen that before.”

“You have?”

“I once passed the owner of quite a long shop in York who’d fitted wheels to a board, just as you say, and sailed back and forth on it to tend to his goods outside on the street. It was clever, I thought, but not really a technological marvel.”

Yuuri took this in, then huffed. “He should’ve patented it; he might have made a fortune. But I don’t suppose patents exist yet, either – ”

“Ah, there she goes.”

Julia had hopped onto the wheel, which Emil was turning. Philip had joined them, and began throwing apples into the air. She shot them from the turning wheel, then added twirls and flips, concluding with the assassination of ten apples thrown in succession as fast as Philip could manage. Yuuri could see why Victor was so keen to watch, though he knew that he was also concerned about her demanding performance on the wheel and wanted to support her if something went wrong. If she were doing this in modern times, he thought, she’d be a sensation across the Cloud.

Julia took her bows before a very appreciative audience. Victor wasn’t needed to announce the next act, so he and Yuuri walked at a leisurely pace back to the stage area. “Julia and I have spoken about shooting at targets from our horses,” Victor said. “We seem to have plenty of acts at the moment, but – ”

“That’d be brilliant!” Yuuri blurted.

Victor smiled. “You think so? I wouldn’t want to detract from what she just did, though.”

“You wouldn’t. She could do her solo act afterward, maybe.”

“Hm, perhaps. And it’s fun coming up with new ideas. But it also helps sometimes just to leave things as they are, and polish and practise them.”

“There’s plenty of scope for that, too. We’ve – ” _We’ve got plenty of time to come. Years, hopefully. I won’t say it, because I know what that makes us both think about. _He coughed. “Anyway, I ought to ask her for some more archery lessons.”

Victor smiled. “A wise suggestion. I’ll be asking her myself, if she carries on like this.”

Onstage, the first of a set of comedy and drama skits was in progress. The acrobats participated in some as actors themselves, and in another one Chris was an errant knight with his squire searching for a villain to fight or a good deed to do, unaware that invisible beings of faery surrounded them and were influencing everything for good or ill. It was oddly reminiscent of something out of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_, though that was nothing to do with Yuuri, which led him to conclude that these legends and plays had been popular long before Shakespeare wrote his own. 

Another quick costume change, with Emil’s help this time; he really needed to co-ordinate the acts better so that this was kept to a minimum. He and Victor had the lead roles in a troubadour act, in which one of them wooed the other. Women weren’t allowed to be actors, which would remain the case for hundreds of years to come – something Yuuri could never fathom, because convincingly taking on a woman’s role as a man in anything other than a comedy was challenging. Audiences were obviously used to it, however, and if Shakespeare could write a character like Juliet and expect that to fly, then it could certainly be done.

In the troubadour act, then, one of them was a fair lady being wooed, while the other was a knight who had to fight against a rival suitor. That role usually went to Chris, who was proving himself to be a better actor than fighter, though Yuuri would never say as much, and his skills as a knight weren’t lacking. And this time Yuuri was taking on the role of the woman; he left his armour in the tent again and put on a burgundy gown and slippers, then a wig of long brown hair. Maybe in the future, if it was raining or muddy, he’d program these things into his projector so that he could give the appearance of the character without any need for costume changes. But somehow going through the physical motions of it all made what he was doing feel more real.

When he returned to the backstage area, Victor joined him and adjusted his wig. “There,” he said softly with a smile. “My beautiful Lady Foxworth.” In barely a whisper, he added, “I love you like this. Maybe not with the wig, though – just you in a dress.”

Yuuri felt warmth steal across his cheeks. “I was going to ask you to be Lady Foxworth next performance,” he said, the heat deepening. “I like wooing you and winning your hand.”

“You win every part of me, my sweet.”

Yuuri had opened his mouth to respond when the scene changed onstage, and Bertram and Hugh strode swiftly around the curtain in a frantically whispered conversation.

“…and if you’d remember your flaming lines, it would cause all of us much less embarrassment,” Bertram remonstrated. He was dressed as a well-to-do freeman, in a blue velvet tunic and floppy matching hat with a plumed feather, while Hugh wore brown rags. Their skit poked fun at the social hierarchy without digging so deep as to cause offence; the freeman was as high up the social ladder as anyone dared to make a character while nobles were in the audience. Mainly they just used double entendres and cracked jokes – or were supposed to, though this wasn’t the first argument between them that Yuuri had witnessed, and he was beginning to wonder if a change of roles was in order.

“I _hadn’t _forgotten,” Hugh insisted. “I was expanding upon my character. I had an idea for something witty I thought he would say.”

“Then write the bloody thing down in the script beforehand, won’t you? How am I supposed to – ”

Yuuri put a finger to his lips and led them both further away from the curtains, followed by Victor. “So what went wrong?” As if the problem hadn’t been obvious. They were both excellent actors – he and Victor had seen that from their auditions, and they’d proved it many times since – but they didn’t get on very well with each other, though ironically they had wonderful chemistry onstage. In response to Yuuri’s question, however, they simply started squabbling again. Victor looked to him, silently asking if he wanted his help, but Yuuri decided to try again first.

“You’re both really good at what you do,” he said. “You just seem to rub each other the wrong way somehow. If you can’t put that aside as professionals, maybe you should think about doing a different kind of performance, or working with other people; there are lots of – ”

Hugh laughed, and Yuuri looked at him quizzically. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that it’s a trifle difficult to take in such serious words when they’re being spoken by a man in a wig and gown.”

Yuuri blinked. “_You _dress like this.”

Now Bertram was chuckling. “But not at the moment.”

“I – ”

“Justin,” Victor hissed, “we’re on.”

Yuuri gave the actors a final glance. Usually by now he’d be reviewing his lines in his head and focusing on his performance, but the incident had scattered his thoughts. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said. 

Victor whispered in his ear as the musicians changed their tune, which was the cue for the troubadour act, “They’re often like this. Perhaps it’s not as much of a problem as you might think.”

“As long as they don’t try to kill each other at some point,” Yuuri returned. “Then it’s a problem.” Victor laughed.

Their own act went without a hitch. There was something deeply enjoyable about taking turns in different performances to either be wooed and fought for by Victor, or vice versa. And on the occasions when he played Lady Foxworth, Victor looked delectable in a dress.

But as Yuuri was wearing one tonight, he made a final costume change back into his armour and caught a glimpse of the acrobats’ big act as he was returning to the backstage area; they were juggling flaming torches and tossing them to each other. Yuuri had got used to seeing them do this in practice, but it still always made him flinch inwardly.

The troupe advertised themselves as being willing to set up torches around the performance area and do a show at night, but no one had so far requested it. Yuuri wished they would; when they’d tried it out in the camp, he’d thought the effect was very atmospheric. At this time of year, however, the sun didn’t set until half past eight, and by then their performance would be done for the day, as patrons usually liked to be entertained during or just after a meal.

He wondered what his wheel act with Victor, which they were about to perform as the climax of the show, would look like with torches added, whether they were placed along the rim or he and Victor actually held them. Rather dangerous, he expected. Then the thought of Victor’s death date shot through his mind, and he decided they were never going near fire.

When he rejoined Victor, they did some stretches and warm-up drills to get ready. Yuuri could already feel butterflies in his stomach. They’d planned their act together with the idea of taking their abilities to the very limit, and the duel would be an energetic flurry of activity from start to finish. He listened to the song of the flute onstage, recognising the final verse – the acrobats would be bringing their act to a conclusion. The cheering audience said as much the next moment; that would be for the three-man-high pyramid. Bouncing from toe to toe to remain limber and shove the anxiety back, Yuuri almost didn’t notice Victor looking at him with a warm encouraging grin, which he returned.

“Let’s do this,” Yuuri whispered.

Since Victor was involved in the act, Bertram went onstage as the announcer and delivered the short speech Yuuri knew well. “My good lords and ladies,” he said, “for the finale of our humble show, journey with us now to the vast green fields of France some thirty years in the past. Here at the raging height of that momentous battle near Poitiers, witness a curious encounter, by chance or by fate decreed.”

That was their cue. Victor went left, Yuuri went right, and they stood at opposite ends of the curtain, each drawing their sword as if they were knights wandering in a battlefield. Victor wore a French tabard over his armour, blue with a gold fleur-de-lis pattern, while Yuuri wore the red and blue parti-coloured one of England with the same design in half of the squares, and gold lions against a red background in the other half.

“A meeting of two noble knights, each a champion of his country,” Bertram continued. “Recognising each other for what they are, each is filled with a lust to vanquish his foe. But as they fight to the death on this bloodstained field, events take an unexpected turn…and this, good lords and ladies, is their story.” He backed off the stage as Yuuri and Victor continued to look around. Then came the moment when they spotted each other and steeled themselves.

“Halt, sir knight,” Yuuri called across the span of the curtains.

“I halt for no English dog who dares to invade this blessed sovereign land,” Victor shouted in response, flourishing his sword. “Jump back on your ship and retreat to that benighted isle whence you came, son of an eelmonger.”

The audience laughed; they loved it when characters insulted each other. But Yuuri focused on Victor alone. “Your speech is bold, for one of a country that turns tail and flees when the mighty lion roars. But tell me, spawn of France, what is your name? I feel you should be familiar, though I know you not.”

“Well might you ask, villain. I am Sir Jacques Montagu,” Victor announced proudly, and Yuuri gave a theatrical gasp.

“The king’s own defender!”

“The same. Unhorsed but seeking to punish those base invaders who would usurp our throne and place their insipid jelly-livered monarch upon it.”

“Your name is noble, yet your tongue wags from the straw floor of an ale-house. You foul-mannered fiend – I’ll have your heart for my dogs and your blade for my armoury.”

“You may try, but this heart holds the courage of ten milksop English knaves. Yet stay – I feel you should be familiar, too. By what name are you called?”

“Sir Will Fortescue.”

Now Victor took a theatrical gasp. “The Black Duke.” More laughter; the audience would recognise the reference to Edward the Black Prince, the king’s son who was the scourge of Poitiers. 

“The same,” Yuuri drawled.

“I’ll have your codlings dangling from my horse’s collar as a keepsake by suppertime.”

“If you live long enough to find a new one, French gongfermour.”

Victor raised his sword. “Have at you, scurrilous English toad.”

They ran forward, and the clash of their swords rang out. Which wasn’t how they would fight in reality; they’d come at each other more cautiously in guard positions. A longsword fight would also never last anywhere near as long as this act was going to. But it was entertainment, meant for fun.

“Fun” was not supposed to be on these characters’ minds as they fought, however. Even though they had ignored proper fighting methods to choreograph something that looked exciting, they still came at each other with bursts of energy that indicated they were out for each other’s blood. At first they continued to hurl insults during pauses while they regrouped, in keeping with the slight comical tone of the beginning of their meeting; but as the duel progressed, they fell into silence, a deadly purpose now driving their actions. And then it was time to give the audience what it was waiting for.

Victor leapt up onto the wheel, lightly landing on the rim, his eyes sparking challenge. Yuuri ran to the opposite side and vaulted up to join him. Breaths coming quickly, their gazes locked, each knight mentally beginning to acknowledge that he might have met his match in the other. As they stood poised with their swords, the wheel began to turn slowly, courtesy of a black-cloaked Julia at the back.

Two yells initiated the next clash as they dashed along the spokes and met in the middle, physically grappling before breaking away to glare at each other. Another clash, and another; soon they were hotly duelling up and down and across the spokes, quickening their movements as the wheel picked up speed, metal on metal flashing and ringing, plated feet clanking across the wood, their shouts and grunts a human counterpoint. This was meant to look spectacular, and the audience was cheering, though Yuuri was mustering every last bit of concentration he possessed to participate in a complex, convincing fight without falling off the turning wheel. 

They grappled again, then broke away, each standing on a spoke directly across from the other, as Julia halted the wheel.

“I take back what I said about the milksop knaves,” Victor panted, the ferocity in his expression now mixed with respect. “Englishman, you fight like a wolverine.”

Yuuri paused, marshalling a similar look on his face, then replied more quietly, “Nor are you a gongfermour.” Which elicited a few laughs. “It’s a courageous heart that beats within your breast. But I’m sorry to say I shall soon have to still it.”

“Nay, good sir knight – it’s your blood that will seep into the earth before we’re through.”

Yuuri raised his sword. “I dare you to try.”

“I dare you to show me what you’re really made of,” Victor said quickly, his eyes darting around as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d said, before gazing firmly again at Yuuri.

“What do you mean?”

“Before I kill you – show me what you can do. What skills do they teach their knights on that little isle in the cold sea where the sun never shines?”

“How to make mincemeat of French…fellows.” Yuuri left the word dangling, as if he’d replaced an insult at the last second, and there were some subdued laughs.

“Really.” Victor eyed him. “Then I bet you can’t do this.” Holding his sword with one hand, he leapt into a front flip and landed on the next spoke along, looking very satisfied with himself.

Yuuri let the moment drag out, allowing the audience to wonder if he thought he’d been defeated. Then in a sudden burst, he did a flip just like Victor’s, and stared back at him, chin held high. Victor gave a “hmph” to a rumble of laughter from the audience, then did a backflip. Yuuri copied him again. They ventured nearer, swords outstretched, and simultaneously flipped as if it were a natural part of the prelude to their duel. Their moves were mirrors of each other as they hopped along spokes, eyeing each other warily, backflipped, then did a stylised lunge forward so that their swords met in a bind over the middle of the wheel. It was the beginning of the most difficult part of the act, a dance as metaphor for the joy of meeting a kindred spirit despite being foes, their own delight in their abilities and those of the other, and a celebration of the beautiful art of the longsword. They hopped, flipped and twirled between more clashes of swords as Julia began to spin the wheel again. Faster it went, and so did they, climbing a peak of intensity until the audience was clapping and cheering.

All the while, they’d been drawing closer to each other, their actions gradually shifting from aggressive, to guarded, and even to playful, as they exchanged looks of curiosity and surprise. Julia slowed the wheel, which came to a complete stop as they met in the middle, face to face, swords lowered.

“Invader you may be,” Victor said, “and darkest foe to my countrymen and kin. Yet you’ve a spirit that soars on wings of fire, and they’ve lifted me to heights undreamed of. I knew not what true beauty was until today. May God and my king forgive me, but I cannot kill such a one.”

Yuuri felt pierced by Victor’s gaze every time he spoke these lines, and his own also came from the heart. “Good sir knight, you are chivalrous and valiant. To strike you down would be to pluck the fairest flower in the field, where it by nature should remain, tall and proud, and admired by all. May my hand wither before I did such a deed.”

They sheathed their swords and clasped hands, then faced the audience, walking side by side along the spokes as if the act were over. But then they both smiled and flipped backward at the same time. The wheel began to spin once more, and instead of mirroring each other, they danced, holding hands, moving backward only to rejoin, circling one another, flipping together again. Victor lifted Yuuri above his head, arms straight, while Yuuri struck a pose like a bird in the air. A minute later they exchanged places, with Victor balanced in Yuuri’s hands. He was heavy with the armour; it was a strain. But they trained for this daily, and the acrobats had taught them a great deal. For one small moment during the performance, Yuuri was able to look at the audience with pride and take in their cries and cheers and delighted faces. _I love this man, and I love what we’re doing. Can you tell? _If only Phichit and Mari could see too.

He carefully deposited Victor on the spoke next to him. The wheel halted. They walked hand in hand to the edge, then flipped to land on the ground in front of it, accompanied by more applause.

“Alas, fair coz,” Victor said, “I can tarry no longer. To solemn oaths am I bound; I am sworn to defend these lands and their peoples. And if my comrades were to find us, the best you could hope for was a swift death.” He looked stricken.

“So it goes with me also.” Yuuri placed a hand on his arm. “But I would see you again, if I may, and pass a merry hour together.”

“How could that ever be, if our countries are at war?”

“When the fires die down and the ashes grow cold, and today’s strife has faded to a dream, then…” Yuuri paused to think. “…then on a ship I’ll sail, bound for this dear land that now lies bleeding but will, in time, mend its wounds and be whole. As will we two, who met as foes, reunite as brothers.”

Victor smiled. “Would that the day could come soon.”

“I’ll pray for it.”

They slowly backed away from each other, and Bertram reappeared onstage between them. “And thus it was,” he pronounced, “in the heat of battle, in the fair fields of France, a friendship was forged of two enemies. Sir Will Fortescue did not forget his promise to the knight who had beguiled him, and so crossed the sea one day when the winds were fresh and the sparkling sun laden with hope. Full on ten years lay behind him, but on this quest he was undaunted. How he found Sir Jacques Montagu, this tale does not tell – through patient searching, or daring rescue, or fate’s hand. Suffice it to say that two brothers were reunited that day, and were renown for gentle grace and fearsome skill in years to come. And if you were to visit that land now, maybe you’d chance upon them yet, in neighbouring castles: for never were there two knights so true…as English Will and French Montagu.”

Bertram bowed while the audience clapped, and he, Yuuri, Victor and Julia hurried offstage. Yuuri and Victor exchanged smiles, and after a short pause they reappeared in front of the curtains, waving at the small crowd. Victor called, “And so concludes our show today. God bless and send you on your way. Thank you, from Victor and Friends!” Yuuri waved with him again, and the rest of the troupe joined them, including Henric and the servants who had been helping backstage. Sir Ross and his wife were beaming.

Victor lowered his arm, which was the signal for everyone to disappear back behind the curtains. They’d barely got there before he gave Yuuri an exuberant hug, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling. “You were brilliant!” he gushed.

“You always say that,” Yuuri responded with a smile. Adrenaline was still racing through his veins, and his mind was spinning.

“Because it’s true.”

“I’ve learned from the best.”

“Flatterer.” Victor kissed his cheek, then pulled back to gaze at him fondly. Two of the actors who were standing nearby came and clapped them on the back, and Yuuri and Victor joined in the general congratulations, amid more hugging, smiles and laughter. Victor told Julia she’d done wonderfully, and she flushed with pleasure, enthusing that it was a privilege to be able to watch their act from close quarters during a show. Bertram and Hugh seemed on better terms for the moment, filled with the post-performance high. But no one was keen to linger overlong, so when the groundsmen and other servants began clearing up and taking the tents and curtains down, they made their way in small groups back to camp.

“It was worth the time we took with the actors to write the script for our wheel, don’t you think?” Victor said as he and Yuuri walked side by side. The cooling evening breeze had dried the moisture on Yuuri’s exposed skin, but he was still sweating underneath his armour.

“And all the extra time it took for me to learn it in Middle English,” he laughed. “How’s my pronunciation coming along?”

“No one would know it wasn’t your native language. As it were.”

“Which is more than I can say for actually speaking and understanding it.”

“Would you like to try now?”

“No,” Yuuri said quickly with a smile. “Too much like hard work after a show.” He paused. “Maybe we should change the insults about the eelmonger and gongfermour, though. Those are perfectly useful jobs.”

Victor laughed. “Well, I thought it best to take the actors’ lead regarding the humour. They know what audiences want.”

“But our audiences are mostly nobles. In fact, I’m surprised none of them have kicked us out yet for Bertram and Hugh’s comedy routine, or the themes in our wheel act.”

“Well, France is as much a friend as an enemy to us, and a story of two knights from opposing sides becoming close is romantic, in the broad sense of the term.”

“And the not-so-broad one,” Yuuri added with a soft smile. “But you said the audience would know how close fighting men can be in real life.”

“Indeed. And as for Bertram and Hugh’s act, you’ll find that most of the noble class are as happy as anyone else to have a bit of fun poked at them. Those characters are hardly rude or objectionable, and the important thing is that they know their place. They’re not exactly planning to rebel, and are quite happy with the way things are.”

Yuuri recited:

_The privilege of royalty_  
_Was safe, and all the barony_  
_Respected in their high estate;_  
_The cities were not in debate,_  
_The people were subservient…_

“From your book,” he said.

“_The Lover’s Confession_. I remember. So yes, jokes about the length of one’s shoe, or the eccentric behaviour of one’s lord, are harmless, but – ”

“Best to stay away from satire, or anything that makes the nobles look bad.”

“Exactly.”

Yuuri huffed. “They pay our way, so we have to keep them happy.”

“I know it doesn’t sit well with you, my sweet, but – ”

“It’s OK.” With a little grin, he added, “Worth it for Victor and Friends.”

“Worth it to perform with you,” Victor said more quietly. When Yuuri looked at him, he saw those blue eyes gazing back with love. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me, Yuuri. Our act on the wheel is the highlight of my days.”

Yuuri felt his cheeks flame. “Mine too,” he whispered fervently, lacing his fingers together with Victor’s as they walked.

When they arrived at the campsite, they went first to Edric’s tent and visited with him. He was beginning to feel better, he said, and was sorry he’d missed the show, but Yuuri and Victor reassured him that the other performers had managed just fine. Wishing him a speedy recovery, they left and carried on to the site of the main campfire, where most of the troupe had gathered. Two huge black iron cauldrons hung from trivets, though the cooks also tended smaller fires nearby that could be better controlled for baking, roasting, and frying. The large fire, surrounded by logs, mostly functioned as a central meeting-place, either on a formal basis or when people wanted company. Beth the seamstress often worked here, where she could chat to passers-by, and sometimes the musicians gathered to rehearse. After a performance, it was a popular place to celebrate with beer and any snacks the cooks might offer.

Yuuri mixed for a while, both with Victor and on his own; but after a busy day and a show, he could feel himself getting to the point where he needed some quiet time. He was about to make his excuses and leave, when an unexpected visitor appeared – Sir Ross de Havilland. He was the first patron who had come to speak to them personally at their campsite; the others were usually willing to talk with Victor and sometimes Yuuri elsewhere, but on the whole they seemed to share the general societal aversion to actors and those who associated with them. Yuuri wondered if there was something wrong, and his heart missed a beat as he went to stand next to Victor.

“Sir Victor…Sir Justin,” Ross said mildly as he approached. The other troupe members watched him curiously, their conversations fading to nothing until the only sound was the crackle of the flames.

“God grant you good evening, Sir Ross. Please, follow me,” Victor suggested, moving with him and Yuuri away from listening ears. Ross was a friend of Andrei’s, Yuuri had been told, though Victor didn’t know him personally. He had shoulder-length chestnut hair dusted with white, along with clear grey eyes and a well-trimmed beard, and his subdued manner was rather at odds with the conceited nobleman Yuuri had assumed him to be.

“I, ah, wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your show,” Ross said, sounding almost shy. “Splendid chaps, all of you. And what you two do on that wheel…” He looked from one to the other with bright eyes. “I’ve never seen the like. Tell me, where did such an unusual idea spring from?”

“My brother, Alexander,” Victor said. “We used to do something similar together.”

“Indeed? I’d love to see it. How is Alex? It’s been too long.”

“He died two years ago – ”

Ross raised his eyebrows. “My dear fellow, how tragic.”

“ – but I’m performing with Sir Justin now. And of course there’s the rest of our show.” Victor’s smile was a little forced. “I’m pleased indeed that you like it. And grateful, of course, to you for inviting us to your beautiful hall.”

Ross nodded and turned to Yuuri. “And how do you like giving these most interesting performances?”

“I love it, sir,” Yuuri replied with a smile.

“Ah, no need to address me thus.” Ross waved a hand dismissively. “We’re of the same rank.” He looked at Victor again. “I really must return to Crowood and visit with your father. I take it he’s…?”

“In good health, yes. I’m sure he’d be pleased to receive you.” This time when he smiled, it touched his eyes. “But forgive my lack of manners. Shall I show you around our campsite and introduce you to some of our performers? Or if you’re interested in what Justin and I do, you’re welcome to stay and watch us train; many of us use part of our evenings for that.”

“Ah, it’s kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to interrupt. The main reason I came was to give you this.” He reached into a purse attached to his belt and removed a small brown bag tied with a drawstring, which he placed in his palm and held out. Victor took it with a clouded brow.

“But you’ve already paid us in advance. Daniel, your chamberlain, sent – ”

“I’m well aware of what Daniel paid you,” Ross answered with a somewhat mischievous smile. “This is in addition. A bonus.”

Victor blinked, then untied the bag and looked inside with wonder. Silently he handed it to Yuuri; it was a good weight, and when he opened it further, he saw it was filled with gold coins. “There…there must be ten pounds here,” he breathed.

“Twelve, to be precise,” Ross told him.

“But that’s more than we charged you for the performance. I don’t – ”

“Please. I’d like you to have it; I understand you’ve only been touring a little over a month.”

Yuuri handed the bag back to Victor, who said quietly, “It’s extremely generous of you. But there must surely be a reason – ?”

“Victor,” Ross said with a sigh, “I’m a fortunate man. God has given me a great deal. But what I’ve never had in this life is an opportunity to pursue the things I’m passionate about. I’ve admired the arts, and those who create and perform them, for many a year, and I suspect I have one or two hidden talents of my own. However, being wealthy and titled as I am, the closest I can ever be to indulging myself is to pay artists to come to my hall and make me happy for a time. You’ve done that better than anyone else in recent memory, and I want to thank you. It would please me to think that I might be instrumental in helping you toward success at a critical time.”

“I’m humbled by your kindness,” Victor replied with awe in his voice. 

“There _is_ one thing you can do for me, though,” Ross added. “I’ll be hosting quite a few visitors over the Yuletide period, and I couldn’t ask for better entertainment for them. Would you consider returning, if you’re in the area?”

Yuuri and Victor looked at each other and smiled. “You’re our first booking request for Christmas,” Victor replied, “so I daresay we could fit you in.”

“We’d love to,” Yuuri added excitedly. “Thank you.”

“That’s settled, then,” Ross said with a grin. “I’ll send Daniel to arrange it with you first thing in the morning before you depart. Oh, and Victor – I’ve been wondering why the devil you threw the fight with me.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “I…well – ”

“Very disappointing. You should’ve thoroughly trounced me.” He raised an eyebrow.

“If I defeated all my challengers,” Victor said, recovering a little, “no one would bother trying. It’s meant to be fun for the audience.”

“But why would anyone bother trying if they couldn’t be certain their win was genuine? You do yourself and your audience a dishonour.” But he spoke the words gently. “Was it Luke, my steward, who told you that you ought to allow me to win?” When Victor didn’t answer immediately, he said, “I thought as much. My right leg isn’t what it used to be. An old battle wound. Luke knows it troubles me more in heart than limb. He meant well, I’m sure, but I shall have a word with him. And,” he added with a grin, “I will want to see you on full form this Christmas, even if you’re only taking on the audience. I’ll see if I can’t provide a visitor or two who might stand a chance of besting you. Either of you.” He gazed at them both.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Yuuri said with a spark in his eye.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Ross nodded to them again. “Well then, fare you well, my fine fellows. Good fortune go with you.”

“And with you,” Victor said. “We’ll make good use of your gift. Thank you.”

They watched him go in the deepening grey of the overcast evening, then turned to each other with expressions of delight. “Can you believe it?” Yuuri said. “Twelve whole pounds! That’s more than most people make in a year.”

“On top of the original fee. Good fortune is already with us – she’s smiling on us, Yuuri.” Victor laughed and gave him a quick hard kiss, and they hurried to Oswin’s tent to tell him the news and leave the money in his care, to be put safely in a bank at the next opportunity. The clerk smiled and clapped his hands, which was the most exuberance Yuuri had ever seen from him. Afterward, they returned to the main campfire, where they found a sizeable portion of the troupe waiting in hope that they’d explain what Sir Ross had wanted and why the two of them had been so pleased.

“My good lords and ladies,” Victor announced, skipping up onto a log and raising his hands in the style with which he usually addressed an audience, “it’s my pleasure to announce that our patron was _greatly_ impressed by our show today. So much so that he’s gifted us with a most generous bonus.” Cheers erupted, and when they died down, Victor continued, “I give you my word that it will be well spent, and I’d like all of you to consider what you might need to make your acts even better, or what we could invest in as a troupe. In the meantime…” He searched the gathering, then waved. “Henric, my dear chap, bring out a keg of hypocras and plenty of cups.”

More cheers, and several of the performers were soon well into their drink. Yuuri chatted with Emil for a while, then two of the groundsmen, the bonus and the wine renewing his capacity to enjoy small talk for a bit longer. But when his thoughts turned to leaving, Victor, who often seemed to sense when he was in such a mood, joined him and asked if he’d like to train together.

“Are you sure you’re up to it, after celebrating?” Yuuri asked him with a smirk.

“Hm? Well. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to go on the wheel just now.” He smiled, cheeks glowing. “Perhaps some of Boucicaut’s exercises and some sparring?”

“Somersaults on the ground in armour, I could get into that,” Yuuri laughed. “Easier on the feet and knees than all those flips.”

“I know…I keep thinking I ought to visit a bootmaker and see if he can suggest something that has more padding.”

Julia, who’d been nearby and must have overheard, asked at that point if she could accompany them; and so they went along with her and Emil to the training field, to discover Chris and Philip there also. The servants always surrounded the designated training area at any campsite with torches, because the knights and squires and acrobats often wanted to work when it had fallen dark, and there was plenty they could do which didn’t require being able to see in fine detail. It was one of Yuuri’s favourite things, with the heat of the day having loosened its grip, and he loved to watch the pale yellows and oranges of the flames play in Victor’s hair and glimmer in his armour and sword. The burn of a good workout was different, too, from performing – something he had more control over and could relax into without worrying about having an audience’s eyes focused on him.

Eventually Henric came to tell them it was half past nine, when they usually finished for the night. They put out all of the torches but the last, which they used to find their way back to the tents. Yuuri and Victor said good night to the others, then retired to their own tent, where a servant had lit a lone candle on the table. Yuuri had considered bringing Ailis’s white light with them, but it would inevitably attract attention, and he couldn’t think of any convincing way to explain its presence.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor said in that quiet voice which seemed to be reserved for him alone – a fact that had been especially noticeable, and treasured, since they’d been living in such close quarters with the troupe, “it feels like I haven’t had a proper private moment with you all day. Will you take my armour off?”

Yuuri came close and kissed his cheek softly, just below the slightly smudged gold scroll that still glittered there. “Sure,” he said. He went to stand behind Victor and began to loosen the ties, mixing his actions with light caresses. When he kissed the nape of Victor’s neck, he heard a deep contented sigh. They often did this for each other, sometimes several times a day, the mood varying from quick and efficient to slow and seductive, and anything in between. Mostly, however, they’d settled into the habit at night of conducting the task like a massage, communicating their love for each other through touch, though not pushing it into anything overtly sexual unless it was clearly desired. They had both learned how tiring it could be to manage a troupe, travel, and train, and some nights simply snuggling next to each other in bed as drowsiness washed over them felt like paradise.

When Yuuri was finished, Victor returned the favour, fingers and lips whispering over warm skin. It took Yuuri a moment to realise when the last plate was gone from his leg, with Victor grinning up at him from his kneeling position on the floor. As he stood, Yuuri went to fetch a cloth, wetted it with water from the pitcher, and returned to clean Victor’s face.

“It’s a shame to have to do this,” he said, smearing the silver and gold. “It just suits you so well. Believe it or not, it looks normal to me, even after all the time I’ve been living here.”

“Do all the people paint their faces like this where you’re from?” Victor asked as Yuuri removed the last traces of the make-up.

“Almost everyone. I’ve seen it every day for most of my life. I did it myself, as you know. Well, when I could be bothered. Sometimes when I was upset or down, I just went without, but then everyone can tell something’s wrong, so…”

“I like it too,” Victor said softly, reaching a finger out and tracing around the swirls on Yuuri’s face. “It’s beautiful.” He took the cloth and dabbed at his face, the linen picking up swaths of royal blue, gentle and silent, though his gaze held Yuuri’s. Then he dropped the cloth on the table next to them and slowly tilted his head downward, giving Yuuri’s heart time to flutter before meeting his lips. Their touch was soft, warm, electric. Yuuri caressed his cheek while Victor slid his hands around his waist; and when Victor licked into his mouth, he moaned, curling their tongues together as pleasure darted through him.

“Vitya,” he whispered, threading a hand through his hair.

“I can still see you in your eros costume in my mind,” Victor muttered, his hands beginning to wander. “It drives me mad that I can’t sit in the audience and watch properly when you dance.”

Yuuri traced his bottom lip with his thumb. “I did say you could have a private performance,” he replied with a small grin.

“Oh, you tease. I know you love it, too.”

“Seeing you ache with desire for me?” Yuuri half-moaned. “God, Victor, I do.”

Victor stole another kiss, then said, “I have a better idea.” Pulling up a chair, he reached under Yuuri’s thigh and lifted it until his leg was propped up on the wooden seat. Then Victor pressed against him, kneading his thigh through the hosepiece.

“Fuck,” Yuuri breathed, wrapping his arms around Victor’s back and clutching at it while he grinded their hips together.

“We always finish the performance with the wheel,” Victor said hoarsely, “which means we’re wearing our armour. Shame we can’t finish with the troubadour act instead.” He gave Yuuri a bleary smile as they continued to grind. The hand on Yuuri’s thigh was driving him to distraction, especially when Victor skated his fingers up to hook underneath the top of his hosepiece. Yuuri wasn’t the only one who knew how to tease. But he was also fairly sure of what Victor was getting at with his mention of the troubadour act. 

“That’s not a problem,” he said with a crooked smile. “I can still be the woman…if that’s what you want.” He added coyly, “Shall I dress up for you, Vitya?”

A flame leapt into Victor’s eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak when a loud voice called “Sirs” outside the tent. He froze, then looked at Yuuri apologetically.

“It might be important if it’s this late at night,” he said so quietly Yuuri barely heard him. Yuuri nodded, swallowing his disappointment as the heat inside of him began to die down. Victor added, “I’m sure this won’t take long.” He stepped back as Yuuri put his foot on the floor of the tent and pushed the chair back under the table, both of them smoothing their clothes. Walking to the tent flap, Victor undid the ties and pulled it back to reveal a slim figure in a brown cloak who quickly tugged his hood down, and they both recognised Angus, one of the Nikiforovs’ messengers. Victor gestured him inside.

“Hail, Sir Victor,” the black-haired young man said.

“It’s late for you to be abroad, Angus. News from my father?”

“Yes, my lord. I thought you’d want to hear it anon. I’ve only just arrived.” He took a scroll from inside his cloak, tied with string and sealed with a blob of red wax, and handed it over. Victor opened it, glanced down, then looked at Angus again. “This is dated two and a half weeks ago.”

“I was sent to seek you,” Angus replied, “but no one at the castle knew where you were.”

“Hm. That was the idea.”

“You’ll forgive me, I hope, if the search took some time. I made many enquiries and so took a very roundabout route here.”

“What does my father say?” Victor muttered almost to himself as he fully unrolled the scroll and held it out to read.

“What is it?” Yuuri asked after a moment, unable to contain his curiosity, and concerned by Victor’s grave expression. 

“It says Andrei has received word that John of Gaunt and his son Henry want you and me to join them immediately in travelling to the north to put down a rebellion.”

“_What?_” Yuuri hurried to Victor’s side, looking down at the scroll himself.

“It seems that the professional soldiers amassed in Cheshire and Lancashire don’t approve of the peace John has negotiated in France,” Victor explained, “and are leading rebellions in both places, accusing him and Henry of scheming to deprive the king of his lordship in France, and threatening to kill them if they set foot in the northwest again.”

“Rebellions? But…” Yuuri glanced at Angus, who was waiting dutifully near the tent flap; he couldn’t speak openly in front of him. “I’m not aware that there _were _any rebellions – you know, now. Not like the Peasant’s Revolt.”

“They’re more common than you might think,” Victor said, his eyes still on the scroll. “Nobles tend to be powerful individuals who aim to achieve their own ends – as you’ll know from my father. They make alliances with each other, and with people abroad. In this case, though, the problem is with these numbers of professional soldiers; it’s one of the main issues we discussed at the moot in Doncaster. Peace would deprive them of their livelihoods.”

“But if I’ve never heard about it, maybe that means it won’t be a problem.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “A few hundred killed instead of several thousand, perhaps?”

Yuuri swallowed. “And John of Gaunt wants us to be there.”

“It seems so.” Victor scanned the rest of the scroll. “Andrei says he sent a reply to him stating he was ignorant of our whereabouts, just that we were travelling, but that he would send messengers to seek us out.” With a frown, he rolled the scroll back up and retied it with the string.

“Will we have to go?” Yuuri asked, fighting to stop his voice from trembling. Did this mean they would have to leave their troupe when they’d only just begun it – for a battle?

Victor considered this for a moment. “No,” he finally said in a firm voice. “We will _not _be joining them, or anyone else.” He turned to Angus. “I’m sorry to ask you to leave again so soon, but this matter is pressing. Have your horse attended to, if you haven’t already, and take a fresh one on the morrow when you’ve rested. I want you to travel to Lancaster and make discreet enquiries about what’s happened regarding this business since my father dispatched you. See Oswin before you go; ask him for a copy of our touring schedule for the next few weeks, and tell him to give you half pay for your mission up front, while the other half will be paid upon your return – we’ll cover it ourselves, since this is for us and not my father. Return in good time, though, and it’ll turn into a bonus on top of what you’re paid by the castle.”

Angus’s face lit up. “Thank you, my lord. I shall ride with all speed.” He bowed and exited the tent.

Yuuri stared after him in a daze. “This is just what we were trying to avoid,” he murmured. “If John of Gaunt doesn’t hear back from us, do you think there’ll be consequences?”

“There shouldn’t be. He’ll have to assume we couldn’t be located. But I’m sure we’ll be able to rest easier once Angus returns with news.”

“We must be fresh in his mind after the king’s visit.”

Victor nodded. “And we’d be useful allies to have in the north. If John knows we’re not at home, though, and that we’re difficult to find, he’ll soon lose interest in us.”

Yuuri thought he could read a final unspoken sentiment in his eyes: _I hope. _Victor’s voice was reassuring, but this was something else that would shadow them, no matter where they went or what they did. What if John of Gaunt and Henry turned up at their campsite one day, demanding to know why they’d ignored their summons? But they’d have to find them first, and such important people surely had better things to do…didn’t they?

“Try not to fret, my sweet,” Victor said softly, taking him into his arms. Yuuri clasped him back, nestling into the crook of his neck and sighing.

“I hope they leave us alone,” he said. “Maybe they have enough men to put down the rebellion. Maybe they already have.”

Victor kissed his hair. “The time it took Angus to find us may have made all the difference. If we’d been at the castle, we’d have been obliged to go. You see? Victor and Friends has taken us away from that life and protected us, just as we hoped.”

Yuuri hummed in agreement, though his heart remained troubled. _This time, _he thought._ Maybe. _


	148. Chapter 148

Shadows pooled under the heather, its flowers a dusting of luminous purple under the iron-grey sky. There was a savage beauty to lands like this, rain or shine, Victor thought. He’d decided to go for a run across the moors in his armour before they broke camp and headed to Whitby, and wasn’t regretting it as he took in the vast rolling hills while the breeze lifted his fringe. Ordinarily Yuuri would be with him, but they’d practised on the wheel already that morning, and he was getting advice for his choreography at the moment from one of the acrobats.

Victor appreciated time alone on occasion, though when his mind wasn’t actively engaged, it could stray to worries he was trying not to dwell on. He was aware that this was a typical problem for Yuuri, but it struck him that he himself had more cares now, and more to lose.

The message Angus had delivered the night before, at a most inopportune time, continued to niggle at him. Given that Yuuri had said he couldn’t recall his history telling him that the rebellions would amount to anything, Victor expected that they would be quelled, and he and Yuuri gradually forgotten about as the great and the powerful moved on to other matters. But there were no guarantees. He also continued to awaken every morning with a need to check that Yuuri was still there, though he’d been trying to wean himself from that habit, as it only served to reinforce his fears. And, well, it was true that they hadn’t chosen an easy way of life. The responsibilities Victor had had at the castle might have been mostly lifted from his shoulders, but the livelihoods of everyone in the troupe now depended on him.

And Yuuri, of course. Victor was still hesitant at times to see it that way, perhaps because Yuuri hadn’t been living in this time a full year yet, and there was still much he didn’t understand; but he knew he did him a disservice by thinking of him as anything less than a full partner. After all, there was much Victor was ignorant of too, from the point of view of Oswin and Henric and many of the others they employed. But they were learning together – and Yuuri’s enthusiasm matched his own. Victor watched him in admiration as he settled his anxiety for each performance, by reviewing his lines or doing sword drills or going somewhere quiet for a while, until he was ready to walk in front of the curtains and shine – and shine he did, whether on the wheel or as an actor; something Victor had never expected they’d be doing together, but was now such a special part of the show.

The wind had picked up and become a stiff breeze; the groundsmen would be wrestling with taking the tents down when Victor returned, but everyone pitched in to help just before they were due to travel. No drops of rain yet, but the weather could change instantly in wild places like this. A grouse ambled across his path, its bright red comb easy to spot against its burnished feathers and the surrounding earthen hues. They were a favourite target for archers, but there would be none around today to trouble this one.

As he ran, Victor’s thoughts drifted back to Yuuri, as they often did. He’d been so good about every setback so far. While he still lost patience with himself too easily, he rarely complained about anything else. There had been a last-minute cancellation, which had meant that instead of the performance and roof over their heads they’d been promised, as well as the money, they’d spent a rainy day training and travelling; it was then that Oswin had suggested they insist on receiving a non-refundable deposit from all patrons. Fortunately, they’d discovered a castle not far away along their route, and when Victor had visited to advertise their services, they’d been taken on for a night by the resident baron, whose curiosity had been piqued. They didn’t yet have as many bookings as he would have liked, but their messengers were kept busy as they journeyed to solicit business and deliver letters from Victor to various people who he thought might be interested or at least mention the troupe to other potential patrons. Not everyone paid their fee on time, either, but Oswin kept such matters well in hand. The demure man was a minor miracle.

Smaller snags occurred almost daily, as one might expect. Damage to costumes, armour, weapons, wagons; it was all bound to happen sooner or later. They couldn’t take their own blacksmith or carpenter with them, so had to seek them out in towns and villages when their services were required. Occasionally there would be illness, or bad weather; in the beginning of August, there had been a spell when it had seemed like the rain would never stop, and it had felt to Victor like it was seeping into his very bones. The tents weren’t watertight, nor did they keep out the cool damp air, though a brazier helped, even if he hadn’t thought they’d need such things for another month or two. Everything had soaked up the damp – clothes, saddlebags, even the bread they ate, when the cooks were able to kindle fires to bake it.

Things had come to a head one day when two of the wagons had been deeply mired in muddy roads, requiring ropes tied to horses in order to extract them. They were all wet and weary, and tempers had become frayed; Victor had feared for a moment that this project of theirs might come to an abrupt end as performers and staff decided to demonstrate how they felt with their feet. But he ought to have known better. He and Yuuri had taken previous experience into account when hiring, and most of the troupe members were used to regular touring or camping. In fact, the only person they’d lost so far was a groundsman who’d quit; he had turned out to be very religious and was obviously uncomfortable with the living arrangements and casual affection Yuuri and Victor shared, though he’d never plainly stated as much. They’d been able to replace him with a new man from the next town, and there had been no further problems, if one didn’t count the bickering of people like Bertram and Hugh, who seemed to be good friends apart from when they weren’t. 

What was it Yuuri had said that night at The Dove, when Victor had first told him about his idea for the troupe? _We few. We happy few. We band of brothers. _His heart sang as he ran along patches of heather and gorse, reflecting upon this thing they’d created and brought into being.

_I want to do this with you for a long time to come, Yuuri. As long as Fate grants us, and may it be beyond this year. _

It was far bigger than anything he’d ever dreamt of with Alex, though Victor had him to thank for the kernel of the idea. He looked up at the pale sky.

_What think you, brother of mine? Can you see us from where you are? I’m so proud of what we’re doing…and I’m happy. Wonderfully, blessedly so. _

_Wish us good fortune, won’t you?_

* * *

They camped near Whitby and spent the rest of the day in and around the little town, with its spectacular abbey towering on a cliff over the sea. Many of the troupe had a swim and a wash, and visited the marketplace to stock up on supplies; Victor, Yuuri and Henric also bought several kegs of the abbey’s excellent ale. They made the most of the day, for in the morning they were on the road again, travelling southwest to their next venue. Richmond Castle was a few days’ journey away, and they were scheduled to perform there for the earl, Philip du Berry, their highest-ranking and wealthiest patron so far, who remembered Andrei from the Battle of Poitiers.

It was evening when they arrived, and they set up camp, then gave their performance in the extensive great hall the following day after a dinner feast. It was intimate working in such a setting, Victor thought; they could be seen and heard more easily with the audience so near, which meant their acting could be more natural. The only obstacle in such a situation was the wheel, which was cumbersome for the groundsmen to bring inside; and there had been venues where it wouldn’t fit through the door, even when taken apart, in which case the troupe sometimes found themselves giving some or all of their performance in an undercroft or barn. That wasn’t the case here, fortunately: the audience, though small, enjoyed themselves thoroughly, asking at the end if they had any more pieces they could perform, so they added a comedy skit by the actors and a sing-along with requests.

Afterward, the earl invited them to stay and partake of the leftovers from the feast while the other dinner guests left. It was a generous offer, though Victor knew that he and Yuuri would have been seated at tables for the actual meal if they’d been ordinary visitors; any noblemen offered only scraps from the table would perceive it as an insult. Their positions were different now, however, and Victor was content to remain with his troupe and enjoy the same hospitality given to them.

He and Yuuri had each accepted a cup of wine from a servant when they were approached by the earl, with flowing grey hair and a long green houppelande, and his son Eric, a blond man with a goatee and fashionably tight red hose ending in extensive pointy toes. After exchanging greetings and asking after Andrei and Natalia, the earl was full of effusive praise for their show.

“You’re all so wonderfully talented, my dear fellow,” he said. “And why in heaven’s name have you and Justin here been hiding yourselves away? Your names should be spoken across the land. Have you not presented yourselves to the king other than on the day you were knighted?”

Victor gave the usual answers about how he had no wish to involve himself in politics or battles, though many people were incredulous to hear it from a knight and baron’s son. Yuuri added that they loved the life they were leading and wished for no other.

“Truly, you astound me,” the earl said to him, while Eric, who had said little during their conversation, continued to hover near as if he felt obligated to stay. “I’m no stranger to travelling and camping, as Andrei would tell you from my greener years. But to live that way year round?” He laughed. “You must be made of stern stuff, both of you.”

“Maybe we are, my lord,” Yuuri replied with a smile. “But that goes for our entire troupe. We’re all dedicated to making Victor and Friends work, and I’d say we’ve succeeded so far.”

Victor’s chest filled with warmth at his words, and he wanted to hug him.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” the earl replied. “In fact, I was hoping you’d be able to stay with us another night. You could perform outside this time, and I’ll send word around my estate and invite the general populace.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “We’d be delighted, my lord. Thank you.”

After they discussed the logistics of this, the earl took his leave, but his son lingered. He’d clearly been displeased about his father asking them for another performance. “I must confess,” he said flatly, eyeing them both, “that it confounds me that two noblemen such as yourselves are engaged in these kinds of activities. You’re very good, I’ll give you that; but my father grows ever toward his dotage, and it would not have been my choice to hire you.” The next words he spoke dripped scorn. “You’ve debased yourselves, consorting with this…” He glanced around the room. “…this rabble. Have you no shame? Surely you cannot claim to be in any way chivalrous, despite your titles.”

“We have nothing to be ashamed of,” Yuuri said hotly before Victor could speak. “Everyone in our troupe is honourable. They’re good people. I’m proud to work with them.”

The man looked at Yuuri as if he were insane. Then he huffed, whirled around, and strode off. Victor would have said something more artful, but it would not have been as satisfying as what Yuuri had spoken from his heart.

“I…I hope I haven’t lost us the extra booking,” Yuuri said, the flame in his cheeks fading. “But he was being a prat.”

Victor almost blew out his mouthful of wine. Swallowing it, he laughed.

“What?” Yuuri asked.

“Fitting, actually. A person’s buttocks.”

Now it was Yuuri’s turn to laugh. “That’s what a prat is here?”

“Why, what is it in the future?”

“An annoying idiot.”

“More or less the same meaning, then.”

“Well then, he _was. _I couldn’t just say nothing.”

Victor placed a hand lightly on his arm. “Of course not. I’m glad you did. And you insulted him without realising it too, though only mildly.” At Yuuri’s look of confusion, he explained, “You didn’t use his title.”

“Oh. I guess it’s hard to say ‘my lord’ to someone when they insulted you first.”

“Not a mistake I’d recommend making with someone like the Duke of York,” Victor said with a grin. “But this rash young fellow? Don’t worry about it, my sweet.”

And as he’d suspected, Eric seemed to have little or no influence on the father where Victor and Friends was concerned, for not only was their booking not cancelled, but the entire troupe, including the servants, was invited back to the great hall after the supper meal there was done. Drinks were laid out for them, and food on platters, to which they could help themselves. The earl invited them to make use of the hall for the evening, and he and several members of his family and staff stayed to drink and sing while the troupe’s musicians played, then eventually retired for the night. Victor asked to have his citole brought to him, while Chris had his ocarina, and Julia the lap harp that had been made for her at the castle before they’d left; it was quite a medley filling the room. Yuuri mainly stood and watched and listened, though sometimes he joined in with the singing if they played a song he knew. He was learning more almost daily, as it was a popular way to pass the time while they travelled from one venue to the next.

“I’m not used to noblemen being so…friendly, and kind,” he said between songs. They were leaning side by side against one of the long tables, and the flames from the fireplace, the main light in the room, played over Yuuri’s face and danced in his eyes. Victor put his citole down and found his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I’d hesitate to go so far as to say that without knowing him,” he answered. “You’re used to our patrons being distant, which makes people like the earl and Sir Ross de Havilland stand out as notable exceptions. Bear in mind what I said, though, about nobles aiming to achieve their own ends. Most of the men are trained fighters, if not actual knights, and they’ve taken lives, and would be willing to do so again. Even a tiger, when it’s not cornered, might appear to be tame. I doubt that’s the case with these two men, but if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s to be circumspect about bestowing trust.” 

Yuuri gazed at him. “I’m glad that’s a world I don’t have to be a part of; not so much, anyway, while we’re managing the troupe. It’s not like being back at the castle.”

“No, it isn’t,” Victor said with a small grin. “Still no desire to return?”

“And have someone else summon us to battle? And give up everything we’re doing together, everything we have with Victor and Friends? It’s _wonderful_, Vitya. Maybe if I keep saying that, you’ll eventually believe it.”

Victor’s grin turned into a smile. “I believe it now. Maybe I just like hearing you say how much you love it.” And he kissed Yuuri’s cheek.

They sang a few more songs with the remainder of the troupe that had not returned to the campsite, though the crowd was thinning. Then Bertram and Hugh approached them and asked Yuuri if they could have a look at _Robin Hood and Sir Guy of Gisborne_. Living in a cluster of tents, it was easy to visit with each other into the night, and people were often to be found working by the light of a candle, unlike at the castle where it was more common to go to bed when the sun set. Yuuri agreed to go with them, and Victor decided to stay a while yet, plucking at his citole before being joined by Julia. They played a song together, though it was hard to concentrate on a melody when notes from other instruments drifted on the air. Victor considered joining the musicians, but he also liked being just with Julia for a spell, and put his citole down. She was quieter these days, and he’d probed on occasion to try to discover if anything was amiss, but she seemed content enough with her life in the troupe.

“The earl has been good to us here,” she commented. “Giving us all this food and a second show.”

“Indeed he has. And you’re no small part of the reason why.” He looked down at her fondly. “You’re quite spectacular with that bow of yours, my girl.”

She gazed out at the room. “Sometimes I wonder what my family would make of me doing this. Being in a travelling troupe.”

Victor’s brow wrinkled. “You haven’t told them?”

“Not yet. I doubt they’d approve, especially with me being a girl.” She turned to look at him. “Actually, I’d be lucky if they didn’t disown me. Travelling as part of a troupe like this is one of the most disreputable things a lady can do.”

“If they saw you with your bow and arrows on the wheel, perhaps they’d think differently.”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly, glancing down at the floor. “Maybe my mother, or Luke…” She shrugged.

Victor thought back to the suggestion he’d made to his parents before leaving the castle that they name her as their heir if misfortune were to befall him. He ought to be preparing her for that possibility, on top of training her as his squire. The thought had been lingering in his mind for some time, but he’d been guilty of ignoring it, because acknowledging it felt too much like accepting the fact of his imminent death. And yet he owed it to them both to begin instructing her, even if he didn’t tell her why.

“Julia,” he said, keeping their conversation low, though there was currently no one else nearby, “I was wondering how much Yuuri’s told you about things he’s witnessed and experienced in this time that have shocked him. How different it is, in some ways, in the future he came from.”

“Yes, master, a bit,” she answered. “Mostly when you were ill and I was visiting your room. He makes no secret of it, either, not to those of us who know who he is. About people being treated more equally there – no nobles, no knights, no wars, no poverty. Where he lived, anyway. It sounds like a strange place, but I’d like to visit it. Perhaps it’s a happier one in many ways. Even if it produced someone like Ailis.” She added, “I still might have found it hard to believe in all those things, but you can tell that he does himself. He took a risk and got me out of the pillory when he barely knew me.”

Victor had never heard her speak about Yuuri so favourably. Something had changed. Due to that day they’d spent in Immersion? Joining the troupe? Or was she simply growing up? Whatever it was, Victor felt pleasantly surprised, and it boded well. “He’s given me some ideas that could be difficult to put into action even if I were still at the castle,” he said. “But I believe they’re worthy of consideration. Something could come of them, even if it’s only a small step to begin with.” When she looked at him quizzically, he told her what Yuuri had suggested about free education for all, and paying the villeins. Her mouth fell open as she listened.

“But master, _they _pay _us_,” she said. “For the use of the land, and the protection we give them. I could conceive of offering education, perhaps, but _this_…has he gone mad?”

“They work for us, and in return we tax them,” Victor pointed out. “Do you believe that’s fair?”

“Well…” she blustered, and as her voice trailed off, she shook her head. “Should they not pay for the use of the land and our services, then? How is _that _fair to _us_? The castle’s income comes mainly from the estate, does it not?”

Victor wondered if it would be better to allow Yuuri to explain it himself sometime, because he feared he wasn’t doing a very good job. “It might help to approach the issue from a different perspective,” he said. “One of respecting people and their needs, regardless of their status. It would probably amaze you to hear how the lowest criminals are treated in the future, with compassion rather than retribution.” He raised his hand before Julia could reply. “And I daresay you’re about to tell me it only confirms Yuuri’s unbalanced state of mind,” he continued with the ghost of a grin. “But my mother has told me similar things, or what she understood of them. They’re taken very seriously in the future.”

“Surely they must lock the doors and hide in their homes for fear of being ravaged by these criminals they have such compassion for.”

“I don’t think they do.” Victor paused. “But I know it’s a lot to take in. I’m sure Yuuri would be willing to – ”

“Begging your pardon, master,” Julia said emphatically, “but even if such changes were possible, it would require people with great wealth and power to bring them about, and take a long time, and I’m certain there would be enormous opposition. Do you not think it’s all inconceivable?”

“It sounded so to me at first. But now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m not convinced we couldn’t make some changes.”

Julia tilted her head to the side. “I don’t understand why you’re telling _me. _I’m not ever going to be in a position of power.”

Victor gazed at her. “Don’t be so sure you know what the future will bring.”

She gasped. “Has Yuuri told you something? About my future?”

“No,” Victor said quickly. “No, it’s not that. But well, it’s possible that Yuuri or I might not always be around.”

Her face clouded. “Don’t say such things, master. Whether you’re both in charge of this troupe, or you’re knights back at the castle, or…or anything else you choose to do, I’ll follow.” There was a fierce glint in her eyes as she added, “And I’ll defend you with my life.”

Victor gave her a sad grin. “I hope it will never come to that.”

She scrutinised his face in the firelight. “Is something troubling you, sir?”

After a small sigh and a pause, Victor answered, “Just please promise you’ll think about what I’ve said. Take my word that it’s important.”

She blinked and nodded, though there was concern on her face. “I will.”

Victor picked up his citole. How could he get her to understand the responsibilities she might have to take on one day, without revealing that he was fated to die before the end of the year? That was not something he’d ever willingly tell her. 

But…perhaps he’d made a start tonight.


	149. Chapter 149

_I could use my laser gun, _Yuuri thought.

But no, that would be cheating. He carried it in his purse in case of emergencies, now that they were living an itinerant life, and this certainly didn’t qualify. It would also be defeating the purpose. He’d come here for a reason.

Like the embarrassingly slow archers of his own time, he pulled back the bowstring and let an arrow fly – which missed, his mark breaking into a run.

_Shit. Third time lucky, if the opportunity’s not completely gone. _He ran in pursuit, knowing he only had moments before the deer was too distant for another try. _If I can’t hit my target standing still, how the hell am I going to do it while I’m running? _Recalling the way he’d seen Julia and Victor fire at speed, he nocked another arrow, pulled the bowstring again – _concentrate, concentrate_ – and released.

A hit! The deer slowed but didn’t stop. As quickly as he could, Yuuri fired again, but missed. Another – and this one felled it. He raced across grass and leaves to find the brown doe lying under an oak tree with two arrows stuck in her side, glassy black eyes staring into nothing. A mix of emotions swirled through him.

_Fuck, I killed a deer. And I didn’t need to. What does that make me?_

_But I did it! While I was running, and so was the deer! Prang!_

He ran a hand down his face, then grimaced while he pulled the arrows out and recovered the others he’d shot, their grey goose-feather fletching jutting at an angle out of the ground. _Maybe I’m actually capable of being an archer. _Julia and Emil had been telling him all along that there was nothing wrong with his aim; that it was all a matter of technique.

Once his quiver was full again, he started back to where he’d tied Lady to a tree. The scents of pine and damp earth filled his nostrils as he went; it had rained overnight. Perhaps he ought to consider this a bit of acting research for his Robin Hood role; Victor had taken on Sir Guy. True, no bows and arrows were involved in the skit. Though it could be argued that to understand Robin’s mentality, you had to know what it was to be an archer.

_Maybe if I were getting ready to star in a holographic drama on the Cloud, _he told himself. _Not for a ten-minute piece of light entertainment. _

Then he thought again about the doe lying lifeless on the ground. Did she have fawns somewhere? He knew he would never stop feeling guilty about killing an animal, though it was true that as long as he ate meat here, someone else had killed it for his benefit, so there was no logical difference.

Actually, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. It would have turned his stomach when he’d arrived the previous autumn. Well, it still did in a way. What would Phichit or Mari think? Hunters in their time were mostly seen as eccentric, and artificially grown meat – which admittedly wasn’t very good – was available, as well as meat from ethically raised and slaughtered animals. And nutri-pills.

But he was in a different world now. The more he got used to the idea of making his life in this time, the more imperative it seemed to be to firmly plant his feet in it and ensure he could survive without being reliant on others, including Victor, for the simplest things. People might not have to worry about possessing basic survival skills in 2121, but that wasn’t the case here. He could find himself far from the nearest settlement one day without anything to eat; the idea wasn’t so far-fetched. Pretty much every man knew how to hunt apart from him. Though he was learning now. He’d never felled prey as big as a deer before.

Returning to Lady, he untied her and mounted, guiding her back to the deer at a walk while he secured his bow on his back. He dreamed sometimes about making use of it in performances; not to attempt the kinds of things Julia did, but maybe one day to shoot from a riding horse – it would take a great deal of practice, but he’d be willing to put it in. Once again, he’d be learning from the best, Julia and Victor both. And then –

_And then, what? You’re assuming Victor’s going to _be_ here_ _to teach you. To run the troupe with you…to live with you, and love you. Because it’s convenient to forget what Phichit’s book has to say about that._

“I never do forget,” he whispered, a tear springing to his eye as Lady manoeuvred around the trees. “Never.”

Spotting the deer lying on the grass up ahead, he dismounted and led Lady the rest of the way, then removed a length of rope from his saddlebags, hauled the deer onto her, and secured it. It was possible to field-dress an animal with a good sharp knife; even desirable, if it needed to be taken a long way, because that would prevent it from spoiling too quickly. But he hated to watch other people do it, and knew he wasn’t ready to learn how himself yet. At least he was contributing to the food for supper. This didn’t have to be specially sourced and paid for by the cook, and many troupe members hunted in their spare time; it only required the permission of the landowner first, who was usually their patron.

He stroked Lady’s neck, then took up the reins and began to lead her back to camp. There was no hurry; the summer warmth had remained with them into the beginning of September, and the sun was quickly drying the damp from the previous night. It felt good to have a bit of time away from everyone else and recharge himself. Though if he were honest, that was something else he felt guilty about, because part of him wanted to spend as much time as it could with Victor before –

_Before nothing. Nothing’s going to happen. We’ll prevent it. _Besides, it was possible to feel hemmed in at times when you essentially lived in one room with someone else, no matter how much you loved them; privacy was hard to come by there, or anywhere else in the camp. And so Yuuri went out like this on occasion. He’d spoken to Victor once about it, just in case he got the idea that he was trying to avoid him. And he seemed to understand, saying he needed the same sometimes. It was just that Yuuri seemed to need it more. But there was no harm in hunting like this…apart from to the doe he’d killed.

A call came over his com. “Hey, Phichit,” he said. “What’s happening?”

“Hey, Yuuri. Nothing, really; just saying hi. Are you busy? I guess you’re not doing a show right now, or you wouldn’t be answering.”

“No, I’m not busy. I’ve just killed a deer with my bow and arrows and I’m taking it back to camp roped onto my horse.”

“You what? You’re kidding.”

“No,” Yuuri laughed, “I really did that.”

“You’re turning into the wild man of the north.”

Yuuri’s smile faded to a grin as he led Lady along.

“So are you performing tonight?”

“We are actually, yeah. Another castle, another baron, you know how it is.”

“The life of the weary performer on the hard road. The grit it takes to win the glory. And all that.”

Yuuri snorted. “Yeah, whatever, Phichit.”

“I really, sincerely wish I could see this juke stuff you and Victor do on the wheel. You must be the big celebrities of 1393.” 

“Not quite, no. Besides, we have to toe the line between getting ourselves known and attracting the king’s attention.” Which brought John of Gaunt to mind, and Yuuri’s grin disappeared completely. God knew where he was, what he was doing, and whether or not he and Victor were on his mind. Angus hadn’t returned yet, though he couldn’t reasonably be expected to, since he’d had to cross virtually the entire width of the country, which would take several days in each direction, not including the time needed to conduct his enquiries in Lancaster.

“Yuuri?”

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“I’ve got a few things to update you on, too.”

“Oh?”

“For a start, MI8 are putting Ailis’s tech and notes on ice for now, since they can’t seem to get much sense out of any of it. She was light years ahead of everyone else with what she was doing, and they say she as good as invented another language to use for her notes, one that the linguists and cryptologists they gave it to couldn’t make heads or tails of. From what I understand, I think they’re still really keen to replicate a time-travel sphere, but they don’t have a prototype or a damaged one or anything; they all got sent back in time.”

“Yeah, and I can’t exactly send mine back,” Yuuri said. “I don’t think I’d want to, either. It’s dangerous to mess about with time.”

“You mean like going back to medieval England and starting the country’s first travelling troupe of knights, including one who would otherwise have stayed at his castle and become the next baron?”

Yuuri pressed his lips together. “History doesn’t say that’s what happened, does it? Has…has the date changed yet, in your book? Does it say anything now about Victor and Friends?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on it. The thing is, nothing in it has _ever _changed since I first looked at it, as far as I can tell. So maybe it just stays as it is even if something in the past changes – who can say? Maybe you’ve already headed off Victor’s d – the date, you know. And maybe it ought to mention Victor and Friends now, even though it doesn’t.”

“But how likely is that? It just doesn’t sit right with me. That’s about as technical as I can get when it comes to time travel, but…”

“Well I’d certainly be interested in whatever your instinct is telling you,” Phichit said. “You’ve been in the time vortex. Maybe it put you in tune with things or something.”

“What?”

“You know, gave you an instinct about it, or a sixth sense.”

“I really don’t know.”

“Or maybe Victor and Friends just doesn’t get into the history books for whatever reason. Like you said, you’re trying to keep a low profile. Most of the information that survives from that time is only about which nobles married or killed or gave birth to who.”

“Still nothing on Sir Justin Courtenay?” Yuuri never liked asking the question, but curiosity always won out. And if it suddenly emerged that he was supposed to die this year too, he would suspect that some kind of danger threatened him and Victor both.

“No; sorry, Yuuri. But I can tell you some more about how the real Justin’s getting on.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether he felt more disappointed or relieved that history seemed to have forgotten his namesake. “Go on, then,” he said. “He hasn’t been causing trouble, I hope.”

“No, not at all. I explained to him what happened to you, with the duel and Ailis, and that you’ve got no way back.”

“How did he take it?”

“He was really good about it. He does a lot with the living history museum now, and word’s got out to historians and re-enactment societies that we’ve got a resident expert here. You know, Yuuri, he’s really starting to mellow. If you’d asked me last year if I thought that was ever likely to happen, I would’ve said no.”

“A trip to the future seems to have a way of changing people like that,” Yuuri said, his thoughts turning briefly to Natalia. “Anyway, I’m glad. It’s never felt right that I took his place here without his consent.”

“We’ve been gradually removing the security around him too, because he’s going to have to live as normal a life as he can. You know, we don’t want to keep him locked up if it’s not necessary.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure you can trust him?”

“Well, what’s he likely to do? If he ran off, where would he go? I thought when he first got here that he was mad, most of us did, but maybe he was frightened and just putting it on because he wanted to go home.”

“You’re probably right,” Yuuri replied, thinking back to his last conversation with Justin, and how much he seemed to be enjoying himself there.

“He’s made friends with Dr. Fay now, too. She’s taken him on some trips, and she spends a lot of time asking him about life in the Middle Ages. She says she can’t put anything new that he’s told her in any academic articles just yet, unfortunately, because no one would believe what her source is.” He gave a little laugh. “If anyone asks, we’re saying he’s a medievalist working through the university. And it’s the hardest thing sometimes to get him out of Immersion – he loves it.”

“I bet.”

“Oh, and Alan from the pastoral team here took him out on a hoverboard for the first time yesterday. He says Justin had the time of his life.”

Yuuri laughed. “Good for him. You know, I was never that keen on those, or anything that flies, since the accident. But I kind of miss them now. It’d be amazing to go on one here. I don’t know what this place looks like from the sky, which is weird.”

“It’d be even weirder if anyone saw you up there.”

Yuuri huffed another laugh. “And talking to my familiar, who lives in the box on my wrist? Come on, they must see these things every day.” Phichit snorted. “Seriously, though, I hope Alan’s supervising him. There’s no air traffic control for hoverboards, and well…they can be dangerous. I know I sound like an old man when I say that, but it’s true.”

“I’m sure Alan knows. He went up there with him; no one’s going to leave him on his own while he’s learning.”

“I guess not. Have you told him about Victor and Friends?”

“No. I thought that was something you could do, if you wanted to. You said troupes of actors don’t have the best reputation there, so maybe he wouldn’t be that keen on everyone thinking Justin’s part of that.”

“That’s a good point. Look, I’m close to the campsite; I’d better go. But thanks for everything you’ve told me. We’ll have to catch up properly soon.”

“Sure, Yuuri. I guess someone’ll have to skin and roast your deer for supper, huh?”

“I think that’s what’s on the menu tonight, yeah. Though it’ll take more than one deer to feed everyone. Anyway, later, Phichit.”

“Bye, Yuuri. Good luck for tonight. Do they say break a leg there?”

“No, and that’s not a tradition I’m keen to start.”

Phichit laughed and Yuuri cut the call, thinking about Phichit’s book, and what it did and didn’t say. He wanted to believe that Victor’s death date ought to have changed by now. They were away from the castle. People like John of Gaunt didn’t know where they were and couldn’t summon them to battle. The day after Angus had brought his message, Yuuri had asked Phichit about the Cheshire and Lancashire rebellions of 1393, and he’d gone and done some research, only to come back and say he couldn’t find anything other than brief mentions of their occurrence.

But what if Gaunt really did decide to pursue them, as traitors? Suddenly Yuuri had a vision of himself and Victor fighting off people who should be their allies, both of them trying to protect each other, slaughtered against impossible odds. His throat constricted and a wave of nausea swept through him. _I have to stop thinking about this. And about his death date. _

He was sure Victor thought about them, too. Yuuri saw a shadow in his gaze sometimes and wondered if that was the cause. There seemed to be an agreement between them to try not to speak about the topics. But they were always there in the background, like the fabric of a tapestry on which was embroidered the story of their lives.

As he led Lady past the first few tents and rounded a corner, seeking out the smoke from the main fire in the middle of the camp, he saw Victor striding toward him, his armour gleaming in the sun. Yuuri’s heart lightened and a smile crossed his face. Victor’s expression mirrored his own, and he seemed lost for words at first.

“You shot a deer,” he finally managed to say, blinking.

“Yeah.” Yuuri huffed a laugh. “You sound surprised.”

“I…”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

Victor’s smile widened. “Oh Yuuri, I always have faith in you. Well done. Well done indeed. Come, let’s take it to the campfire.”

Yuuri’s face flushed with pleasure. _I’m an archer, _he thought as they walked side by side with Lady, trying the words out like new clothes and deciding they might finally fit.

* * *

Victor attempted to use sheer brute strength to break the bind. He’d lost track of how many there had been in this round, and sensed the desperation inside himself. Of course it didn’t work, because desperate tactics rarely did unless one got lucky. The cries of the audience swelled like a wave. They were getting a good show.

Those brown eyes were narrowed in front of him, vicious and determined. Yuuri was a hurricane tonight as they clashed. The audience’s interest had grown in intensity until some of the men were standing, waving fists, shouting praise and encouragement to them both.

They simultaneously decided to try to grab their opponent’s sword. Yuuri went for the pommel of Victor’s with one hand while thrusting his own weapon forward with the other. Victor dodged and reached down to grab the naked blade, intending to yank it out of his hand. But Yuuri anticipated the move and swung it away as the embedded sapphires glittered and flashed.

Victor threw himself into defence now, and attempted to lever his arm under Yuuri’s chin and push him back; they were grappling for possession of Victor’s sword, and that had to be stopped. A thrill surged through him at the raw physicality of it, seemingly balanced on a fine edge between lovers in a passionate embrace and enemies embroiled in the most heated fight they’d ever had.

Suddenly Yuuri hooked a leg around his own, taking advantage of his concentration being elsewhere – a move Victor had used to great effect against him when he’d begun his training. Attempting to regain his balance, Victor dived to the right while keeping hold of his sword; but though he succeeded in breaking away, Yuuri got an easy touch on his side.

Victor straightened slowly as a cheer erupted from the audience. But as far as he was concerned, in this moment the world had shrunk to only the two of them. Yuuri took a step back, eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He’d won the tie-breaking round between them, and thus the sparring competition, six rounds to five – _that _was what had happened. And as it evidently started to sink in, Victor wished he could have a painting of Yuuri’s face from right now that he could hang on a wall and keep forever.

He had been planning what to do when this happened for some time, because he’d never doubted that it eventually would. Adding a bit of exaggeration for effect, as a concession to the audience, Victor said “Kneel,” and indicated to Yuuri with his sword. He obeyed silently, a delectable mixture of awe and curiosity on his face. Victor tapped one shoulder with the blade, then the other. The power to bestow knighthood wasn’t vested in him, but Yuuri wouldn’t care about that. And he ought to have a ceremony if he was to go around claiming to be one.

“Arise, Sir Justin la Rose of Crowood,” Victor announced loudly. “Champion swordsman of England.” He smiled as he rested his blade under Yuuri’s chin, and those brown eyes sparkled back at him.

Yuuri got to his feet and took Victor’s hand, speaking in a quiet voice for his ears alone. “Vitya…you made this possible. Everything you’ve done for me, everything you’ve given…” His eyes were brimming with tears. “Thank you.” Then he grabbed him in a tight embrace. The audience clapped.

Victor took this in, his own eyes filling. “Congratulations, my dearest Yuuri. The night is yours, and it’s thoroughly deserved.”

“It’s ours,” Yuuri insisted, pulling back. The tears broke free even as he smiled.


	150. Chapter 150

“Mahr berr, Ee pray theh,” Yuuri said to Emil, holding his cup up. Emil poured from the jug until it was full.

“Ye were gloryous todai, maister,” Emil said. Glancing at Victor, he added, “Bath of ye, par dey, as ai ye err. Bot it was wel wan – ye mot be glad.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow, and Victor chuckled. He obviously hadn’t understood, though the amount of beer he’d imbibed probably hadn’t helped, either.

“Can you repeat what you just said?” Yuuri asked, looking up at his squire. “I turned my translator back on. I have to learn this.”

“I said you were outstanding today, master. Um…and then I said both of you were, and congratulated you on your win. You must be pleased.”

“Ee am ful glad.” He flashed Victor a lopsided smile. “Eee loh-ed theh wel todai,” he added, giving him an affectionate nudge.

Victor snorted into his beer, though he was also delightfully touched by the pun, which meant both _I laid you low _and _I loved you. _“Mi Yuuri is sotil and doghti ek,” he said with a smile, and this time Yuuri seemed to have understood, because he closed his eyes and grinned while slipping an arm around Victor’s waist.

The two of them were sitting together on a log near the campfire as part of the usual after-show camaraderie, though they were also celebrating Yuuri’s win, and Victor had made sure everyone knew it. He hadn’t been training a year, not properly, but he’d put his heart into it from the first day, and Victor felt he’d fair burst with pride. They’d returned to their tent directly after the show to remove their armour, and might not have emerged for quite some time if they’d both given in to temptation, but they’d wanted to join the rest of the troupe in a drink and a toast. Or at least Victor had; he’d believed it was important to publicly acknowledge Yuuri’s achievement. Yuuri, on the other hand, had been making himself very difficult to resist, and it was almost with regret that Victor had insisted they should have a wash, don some fresh clothing, and leave the tent. He was wearing his purple camlet cotehardie and fir-green hose, while Yuuri had chosen tan hose and a blue tunic. There had been drinking and singing while the sun had gone down. And they were both rather in their cups, but if there had ever been a good time for it, it was tonight.

“Thoh hahv the mast beauteous har,” Yuuri said, running his fingers through the fine strands at the back and sending a shiver through Victor. “Ahnd Ee lohv hoh thiin eyen glemer.” He paused, searching his face. “Lok anlee on mey.” Then he leaned forward and caught Victor’s lips in a kiss.

Victor felt his cheeks pink, and there was a scattering of wolf whistles and laughs. They’d never been so…demonstrative before. But to hell with it. He responded with enthusiasm, almost forgetting the cup of beer he was holding.

“Ee ne may bey sasseat with theh,” Yuuri murmured, and Victor blew out a breath. At this rate, he was going to drag Yuuri back to their tent and show him just what he was doing to him. One drawback to tents was that they didn’t have a solid wall when you needed one, which had made a few of their favourite activities impossible. Another being that noise travelled far too easily.

Someone cleared their throat nearby, and Victor turned to see Henric standing uncertainly by the log. “I hate to interrupt, Victor,” he said, “but I shall need to arrange a few extra supplies for the morning before we break camp. With your permission, my men and I will go to the market to fetch them.”

Victor glanced at Yuuri, who nodded and sipped his beer while Henric ran through his list. Then, congratulating Yuuri on his win, as most everyone had, the steward turned and bade them good night. Julia hurried up to them next, offering more beer. Victor declined, having decided it would be more prudent to sober up a little, especially if he was looking forward to time together in the tent; and Yuuri said he’d had enough for now as well. He leaned into Victor and rested his head on his shoulder.

“Are we carrying on with our, ah, Middle English lesson?” Victor asked him with a small smile.

“I turned my translator back on,” Yuuri hummed. “I like being able to understand you properly.”

“I love the way you speak the language here. It’s so unique…so you.” He paused, his smile growing. “Did I mention how proud I am of you tonight?”

“Yeah, maybe a dozen times. More than that, I’m sure.” He kissed Victor’s cheek.

Gwynneth began to play a merry tune on her fiddle, and several people started to dance, their silhouettes jumping and whirling against the campfire. Victor was still getting used to the rustic style of music, which wasn’t part of life at the castle but popular elsewhere, and tapped his foot to it. Then Yuuri stood, holding his hand out to Victor with a smile.

“C’mon, you know you want to,” he said. “Dance with me.”

Yuuri didn’t have to ask twice, as Victor hopped up and they twirled away, laughing. He lost track of how many dances, how many songs. They mostly partnered each other, with occasional wonder and mirth surrounding them when they broke into styles from the future.

“I could do this forever,” Victor sighed happily as they came to a halt. Gwynneth had been joined by the other musicians, but they’d decided to take a rest, and at the same time the troupe received unexpected visitors: servants from Haddon Hall bringing baked goods on wooden trays compliments of Sir Richard Vernon, who they said had taken great delight in the day’s entertainment and would be recommending their services. Yuuri and Victor helped themselves to spiced buns still warm from the oven, then went to stand a little apart from the campfire, where the dim light offered more privacy.

Victor absently hummed a tune between mouthfuls. “What’s that?” Yuuri asked him. “The musicians played something like it before the food came.”

Victor raised an eyebrow, eating the last bite of his bun before singing a snatch. “A sweet-scented courtier did give me a kiss, and promised me mountains if I would be his. But I’ll not believe him, for it is too true, courtiers promise much more than they do. My thing is my own, and I’ll keep it so still, other young lads can do as they will.”

“What?” Yuuri guffawed. “The musicians played that?”

Feeling his cheeks tinge, Victor replied with a small grin, “It can be fun to take ballads meant to be sung by women, or about women, and turn them round. We…I…it used to be a pastime of an evening, if enough drink had been had.”

Yuuri finished his bun and licked his fingers. “I’ve never heard you do that.”

“Well, it’s been years. And it wouldn’t go down well in the castle garrison.” Since Yuuri seemed to like it, he recalled more and sang, “A master of music came with intent, to give me a lesson on my instrument. I thanked him for nothing, and bid him be gone, for my sturdy fiddle must not be played on.” Yuuri snorted with laughter and Victor smiled.

“This is ting. I love it. But why’s the lad playing so hard to get?”

“Because he was a woman in the original song, and she would want to keep her virtue. I expect a man would be rather less reticent. I’ll try to think of a different one.”

Another tray of food was brought round, laden with turmeric-and-honey cake, and they each took a piece. Their hands brushed as they did, as if they were a couple of infatuated youngsters, and Victor felt Yuuri’s eyes on him as he struggled to come up with a song. Why had he never thought of doing this together before? But the answer came to him straight away: it had been a private drinking game with paramours when he was younger and found it amusing. But maybe he still did, when Yuuri was looking at him like that. And actually, he knew just the song. He finished his cake, then in his smoothest voice sang:

“A lusty young smith at his vise stood a-filing, his hammer laid by but his forge still aglow, when to him a strong fair knight came smiling, and asked if to work at his forge he would go.” Yuuri gave him a crooked smile, and he continued, “ ‘I will,’ said the smith, and they went off together, along to the fair knight’s forge they did go. They stripped to go to it, ’twas hot work and hot weather; the knight kindled a fire and soon made the smith glow.”

Victor tried to put a seductive note into it, though making it sexy when it was really intended to be an ale-house song was difficult, and he wasn’t sure how well he was succeeding. But he knew Yuuri liked his singing voice, and Victor held his gaze as if he’d love nothing more than to do to him what the blacksmith was doing to the knight. Yuuri’s smile had turned into a knowing grin, and he pulled a piece from his cake and ate it, slowly licking the honey off a finger. The night suddenly seemed to be warming.

Victor carried on, lowering his voice while adding the touch of humour it required: “Red hot grew his iron, as both did desire, and he was too wise not to strike while ’twas so. Quoth the knight, ‘What I get, I get out of the fire, then prithee, strike hard and redouble the blow.’ ”

Yuuri looked at the remainder of his cake, then came close and fed a morsel to Victor, who accepted it while feeling lost in those brown eyes. The heat of it radiated through him – like a blacksmith’s forge, he wanted to laugh to himself; but it was glorious. Then another piece, and Victor took it slow, Yuuri watching his every movement with a dark gaze.

“Is there more of the song?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Victor smirked, then sang, “Six times did his iron by vigorous heating, grow soft in the knight’s forge in a minute or so. And often was hardened, still beating and beating; but each time it softened, it hardened more slow.”

“This is a ridiculous song,” Yuuri said in that same quiet voice, feeding Victor the final piece of cake. Victor closed his eyes and mouthed Yuuri’s fingers before he could pull them away, taking a slow, soft lick at the honey on them. Yuuri made a strangled sound, pulled them away, and took his hand, tugging at it as he began to walk in the direction of their tent. Victor allowed himself to be led, and a few people watched them go. There weren’t many secrets, however, when people travelled and lived together like this, and no one paid them much mind.

The flap was open and the lone candle on the table lit as usual. Ducking inside, Yuuri turned his projector off and closed the flap, Victor helping to tie it shut with trembling fingers. Then Yuuri’s mouth was on his, his arms around him, and he was walking them backward until Victor bumped against the table. Victor _wanted_; he’d been wanting for hours. He threaded his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, while his other hand strayed to his arse and squeezed. Yuuri gasped against his lips.

“Any more verses?” he asked.

“One more.” But to sing while Yuuri was in his arms, and his thoughts were rapidly spinning away? He took a moment to master himself as best he could, then with a half-smile sang, “The smith then would go; quoth the knight, full of sorrow, ‘Oh, what would I give could my wife do so! Good lad, with your hammer come hither tomorrow. But pray, can’t you use it once more ere you go?’ ” 

Yuuri snickered, then kissed him hungrily. Returning it in kind, Victor unbuckled Yuuri’s belt, which fell to the canvas floor. He asked himself how he might guide them, what they might need tonight. But what _didn’t _he need, with Yuuri hot and tight against him, plundering his mouth…_Oh. _That was something they hadn’t done in a while – and this was the perfect time, if Yuuri was up for it…But then Yuuri nibbled at his earlobe and licked a trail of kisses down his throat, and Victor’s senses utterly left him for a moment. He was determined to get Yuuri’s attention, however, and knew just what to do. Thrusting a leg between Yuuri’s, he pressed forward, and Yuuri bucked against him with a groan, gazing at him with dark eyes. Victor loved the noises they made together when they were thus occupied, but they had to be careful.

“Shhh, my love,” he said. “They already know what we’re doing in here, I don’t doubt. Let’s not fever their brains.”

Yuuri gave him a sultry smile. “Let’s see how quiet _you _can be before I’m done with you, Vitya.” And he came in for another kiss.

Victor was tempted to let this go where it would, as pleasurable as it already was. But he broke away to say against his cheek, “Am I going to be taken care of by the champion swordsman of England tonight?”

A look of pleasant surprise crossed Yuuri’s face before he narrowed his eyes, which sparked. “I like that idea,” he whispered, and thought for a moment, perhaps wondering what they could do. Victor took advantage of the pause to send his mind to that quiet place where he gave over to Yuuri. It came easily, like sinking into warm honey.

“OK, Vitya,” Yuuri said, stroking his fingers down his cheek. “I can’t say I haven’t thought about this over the past week. All that travelling, you have to think of _something_.”

_Jesus_…From now on, while they were riding innocuously through the countryside, Victor would be imagining what might be going through Yuuri’s head while he was quiet. Though the truth was that his own mind, and other parts of him, were often drawn to the same topic. It could hardly be helped. He smiled, already anticipating whatever Yuuri was planning.

“Oh, Vitya, it’s amazing to see you like this. I can tell you’re already wanting it.”

Victor closed his eyes and let a ragged sigh escape. Then he felt a surprisingly tender kiss on his cheek that made it glow.

“I love you so much,” Yuuri said softly. Victor felt him pull back, and opened his eyes to see that Yuuri’s face was sterner now; resolved. “You’re to ask permission,” he instructed, “for whatever you do. Your questions are to start with can I, may I, or will you.”

This was unexpected, and new. Victor considered, then asked, “Does that mean I get to choose what to do?”

Yuuri grinned. “With my permission.”

“So…what if you say no?”

“Then you find something else to ask.”

“What would you like?”

“What would _I _like?”

Victor realised he was making a bad start, and came to a quick decision. It wasn’t difficult, after what they’d been doing near the campfire with the cake. “Can I go down on you?”

Yuuri sucked in a breath and said, “You may,” then moved so that he was the one with his back against the table. 

“Can I kiss you first?”

Yuuri nodded. “You may.”

This could be fun, Victor thought as he came to stand in front of Yuuri, pressed against him, and cupped his cheek. “I love you too, my dove,” he whispered before teasing his way into a kiss, light and gentle at first, but quickly building until their tongues were tangling and Yuuri was clutching at his cotehardie. When Yuuri began to grind against him, there was only one thing on Victor’s mind, and he could wait no longer. Dropping to his knees, he stared at the bulge in the front of Yuuri’s braies, desire lacing through him.

“Can I…untie your hose?” he asked, placing his palms at the tops of Yuuri’s thighs.

“No.”

Victor looked up. Yuuri seemed amused, though his face was flushed. “You know I love this when I’ve got clothes on,” he said. “See what you can work out.”

Victor smirked. He loved this with his clothes on, too, at least partially, even if he’d never realised how much until he’d met Yuuri. Oh, they were good for each other in so many ways. He reached under Yuuri’s tunic to find the top of his braies; but before he could do anything else, a firm finger lifted his chin, and he found himself looking into burning eyes.

Ah. It seemed he needed permission even for this. “May I pull your braies down?” he asked.

“You may,” Yuuri said, his gaze softening. Victor hooked his fingers in and tugged the material down and around Yuuri’s cock until it was rucked at the tops of his thighs. He stared at his love’s shaft jutting out from its thatch of dark curls in front of him, eager to take him in his mouth_. _But this time he managed to remember to ask, and he was going to pace himself and make it good.

“Can I kiss your body?” he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered, watching him with parted lips as he gripped the edge of the table.

Victor dragged his mouth over the curves and angles of his abdomen and hips, hands roaming, caressing, kneading, delighting in the way Yuuri grew harder and his breaths quickened. The answering swell between Victor’s own legs was something that could be ignored for now. “Can I take you in my mouth?”

“Vitya…please.”

Victor gripped the base and teased the end with his tongue, the sensitive taut skin at the bottom, the bead of moisture at the slit. Yuuri’s beautiful quiet moans went straight into him. He took a few sucks, then almost acted before asking. “I’d like to…can I…can I grab your arse and suck you hard until you come?” There was something arousing about having to describe it in detail, even if it brought heat to his cheeks.

After a pause, the surprising answer was, “No.” As Victor tried to work out what else Yuuri might want, he was told, “Be more creative, and use your hands to do it.”

Well. Of course Yuuri deserved something more thoughtful than what he’d suggested. And he’d get it. Victor wrapped a hand around the base again, hooding his eyes while holding Yuuri’s gaze, then leaned forward and sank down onto him. Yuuri’s jaw dropped as he watched, his cock stiffening and twitching in Victor’s mouth. Pulling back, Victor asked, “Can I knead your bollocks?” And Yuuri swallowed and nodded.

Victor reached out and found his soft, warm sack, starting a rhythm with his mouth and hands. Asking these questions and being guided by Yuuri made him feel very keen to please, and his efforts were rewarded as Yuuri threaded his fingers through his hair, making little throaty noises. “Vitya…that’s so good…” he breathed.

Victor hummed around him and quickened his pace, the throb of his own cock an increasing distraction. Pulling back for a moment, he looked up and said, “Can…can I touch myself?”

“No,” Yuuri answered, his chest rising and falling. “When I say so.”

And there was that familiar tug of frustration in Victor’s gut, which Yuuri liked to tighten until it was well nigh unbearable. But it always led to the most spectacular release, and he knew it was a matter of forcing himself to be patient. “Can I put a finger inside you?” he asked.

“Oh God, Vitya…yes.”

Victor coated a finger with spit, and as he returned to the task with his mouth and other hand, pressed it in. He could _feel _Yuuri coming undone, even if he was choking back the noises he obviously wanted to make. And really, Victor was desperate to touch himself now. He wouldn’t attempt to do it surreptitiously, but he _had _to ask. Maybe Yuuri would change his mind.

But as soon as he did, he realised it was a mistake. “Please,” he added, “May I touch myself? I need – ”

Yuuri pushed him back by a finger under his chin again, gently but firmly. “What did you not understand about what I said a minute ago?” he asked huskily. “Are we doing this or not?”

Victor had surprised himself, too. Perhaps something inside of him had wanted to be reassured that Yuuri was still in charge of them both. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking up. “Thank you.” _For caring enough to make me stop even when you’re about to come. You’re wonderful._

Yuuri raised his eyebrows and was quiet for a moment. Then, with a small grin, he said, “Obviously we need to keep your hands well and truly occupied. Grab my arse; I want to fuck into your mouth.”

It was the perfect thing, Victor thought, to take away the temptation and make him the willing vessel of Yuuri’s pleasure. “Yes, master,” he breathed against the hot skin of Yuuri’s hip.

And – had he really just said that? Victor looked up at Yuuri’s wide eyes. But he knew just as quickly that he didn’t regret it. For a moment he was afraid Yuuri would say something about it or even break the scene, but instead he ran his fingers through Victor’s hair and guided him back onto his cock with a moan. Victor did as he’d been told, reaching around to grip Yuuri’s buttocks and kneading them.

Yuuri began to thrust, slowly at first. Victor had only persuaded him to do this once before, and despite the look of bliss on his face, Yuuri was careful not to hurt him. It was another thing to love about him, though Victor would have to show him sometime just how deep he could take him. He dug his fingers into Yuuri’s tight muscles, breathed in his scent, revelled in being enjoyed like this by his love. _Master, _he thought again, and his own neglected cock twitched, making him moan. Yuuri cradled the back of his head, his movements becoming short and sharp; and when he gasped Victor’s name, it was the most beautiful sound. Victor knew he was supposed to ask permission, but his mouth was otherwise occupied; he reached a hand downward, found Yuuri’s entrance, and pressed against it.

The effect was instant and gratifying. Yuuri cried out, his thighs shaking as he spurted his seed into Victor’s mouth. Then he stilled, the hand behind Victor’s head beginning to caress. Victor rocked back on his heels, swallowing and licking his lips. Yuuri stared at him with a beatific expression as he came back to himself.

“Jesus, you’re amazing,” he said, trailing a hand down his cheek. Victor’s eyes fluttered briefly shut. “You’re so good to me, Vitya. I want to take care of _you _now.” Victor nodded, wondering what he had in mind. “Stand up.”

Victor obeyed, and watched Yuuri remove his own clothes – quickly, for the most part, though he slowed to slide his tunic artfully over his shoulder, and slip each hosepiece down with a teasing grin. Victor was smouldering from what they’d just done, but he stood still, waiting for instructions. When Yuuri was completely nude, he joined him, giving him a long, deep kiss.

“Let me undress you,” he said softly.

Victor hadn’t noticed he was holding the white silk blindfold. Yuuri tied it on him now, and Victor once again gave himself over to his care. Hands glided and tugged and pressed, and Yuuri’s fingers were nimble; gentle. He trailed kisses over newly exposed skin while Victor trembled. But he didn’t touch where Victor needed it most.

“Yuuri,” he groaned.

One boot came off. “Shhh. We’ll sort you out. Be patient, baby.”

Victor let out a shaky breath, Yuuri’s words only serving to stoke his desire. His cotehardie was removed, but the locket, which he always wore underneath his clothes, was left in its place around his neck. When he was done, Yuuri took his hand and tugged, leading him to the bed and instructing him to lie down. Victor did as he was told, feeling their blanket, stuffed with duck feathers, soft underneath him. Yuuri was moving about; Victor heard the key turn in the lock on the little chest they kept nearby which contained everything they used for intimate moments. What was he doing? But then the lid snapped shut, and he sensed Yuuri close.

“Gorgeous,” came a whisper. Then soft lips were upon his own. Yuuri moved to lie on top of him, and Victor tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of Yuuri’s neck as their kisses grew deep and wet. He moaned and thrust his hips.

“What are you planning, my love?” Victor asked on a breath. “What are you going to do, now you’re spent? Please…”

“Vitya, so needy.” There was a smile in Yuuri’s voice. Victor felt him moving again; the sudden absence of weight and body heat. He gasped as Yuuri’s mouth suddenly sealed around his nipple, nipping it to stiffness. Empty air again. Then a line of kisses smeared from his neck down his chest and abdomen. Victor groaned; Yuuri wanted to keep him guessing. Maybe he’d continue the kisses downward. But he stopped again, then took a foot and kissed the arch – and Victor had never realised quite how sensual that could feel until now. By the time Yuuri was done pleasuring one foot and then the other with his mouth and teeth and tongue, Victor was gripping the blanket and pleading for more, for something, for anything. And while the blindfold ensured Yuuri was able to keep surprising him, it prevented Victor from drinking in the view of his lovely face and brown eyes and nude body. Yuuri, however, had no such difficulty.

“I wish you could see yourself like this,” he said with awe. “How beautiful you are. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I am,” Victor breathed. “Yours. Please, Yuuri…”

In a low voice, Yuuri said, “Say it again so I’ll remember.”

“Yuuri, my sweeting, my dove, I’m yours. Always and forever,” Victor insisted, his mind fogged with desire. “Do what you want with me. Please, I need – ” His words were broken by a sharp gasp as Yuuri’s mouth and hand descended upon his cock, hot and wet and purposeful. It was sudden, almost overwhelming, but just what Victor needed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he arched his back and moaned Yuuri’s name as he hurtled toward release. Yuuri pleasured him relentlessly, sucking, licking, squeezing, kneading.

But just as suddenly as he’d begun, he stopped and pulled away to leave empty air, chilling the damp skin where his mouth had been. Victor let out a frustrated groan; he couldn’t help it. Maybe asking permission would still work. “Yuuri, will you…what you were doing, it was amazing…please will you – ”

“I know, Vitya,” Yuuri said gently from off to the side. “You’ve been so good; so patient. You’ll get your reward soon.”

Victor listened, shifting his hips, seeking out friction or a touch that didn’t come. He was certain he heard Yuuri pulling the stopper from a phial of oil. What was he doing with it? Then Yuuri was moving again, the straw of the mattress making shushing noises underneath him. The warmth of his body, his quiet breaths, but still no touch. Suddenly a hand wrapped around his cock and Yuuri bobbed his head on it a few times, then drew back. Victor wanted to beg him to stop teasing and finish him, but then Yuuri spoke.

“This may be something new for you, I don’t know. I think you’ll like it; but if you don’t, or you’re uncomfortable at any time, tell me, OK?”

Victor nodded, a frisson of anticipation rippling through him. Yuuri stroked his cock a few times, his hand steady and reassuring. Keeping it in place, he guided Victor to fold his legs back, open and ready as if he were going to be fucked. Yuuri wasn’t hard again already, surely…? But what was this new thing he’d mentioned? The hand returned to his cock, and now something was pressing at his entrance. Victor’s eyes opened to nothing but white silk. Hard, smooth, rounded, neither warm nor cold. Slick.

“Easy, baby,” Yuuri said softly, both of his hands now busy, one of them slowly pushing this…whatever it was into him. Yuuri must have felt him tense up at first. But it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. Yuuri’s strokes were rhythmic, keeping Victor hot with desire, though he was no longer trying to take him higher. Victor decided to focus on that, and imagine the object was Yuuri’s cock; it obviously had that kind of shape. Soon it was filling him nicely, and he sighed, beginning to relax again. He hadn’t been prepared, but he never needed much, and Yuuri had used plenty of oil and was taking it slow. 

“That’s it,” Yuuri whispered. “I’m so lucky to see you like this. How does it feel?”

Victor considered. “Different…” A small smile. “Good.” He took another breath and let it out. “Where the fuck did you get a dildo?” he asked with a bit of a laugh.

“The market in Whitby. They had some interesting things at that stall.”

“We could have looked together.”

“And spoiled the surprise?” Yuuri made a little noise like a giggle, then added in a lower voice, “I’ve tried it myself to make sure it’s OK.”

Victor’s mind was seized with an image of Yuuri fucking himself with a dildo. His cock pulsed as Yuuri stroked it.

“It’s got a square base,” Yuuri continued, “so it won’t – ”

“When?” Victor blurted, beginning to thrust his hips into what Yuuri was doing. “When did you – ”

“When you weren’t around,” Yuuri answered in an amused little purr. “It was fun. I’ve been saving it for a special time with you. It’s made of wood, and it’s got a good coat of varnish. Is it smooth enough for you?” He pulled it out most of the way, his other hand never stilling, then angled it back in, and again; it was rubbing against the pleasure point inside of him.

“Oh…” Victor breathed. “Oh, yes. Don’t stop.” He heard a loud exhale. Yuuri seemed to gain confidence from this, now that he knew it wasn’t hurting and that Victor liked it. He did, he liked it a lot, and it was incredibly sexy that they’d both used it. God, the pictures in his mind. The ideas.

But soon those ebbed away as he was pleasured in his two most sensitive places. Yuuri had found a wonderfully insistent rhythm for both, and Victor could hear his breaths. He couldn’t stop himself from writhing and bucking under Yuuri’s ministrations, though he tried to slow himself down; he didn’t want this to end yet. It wasn’t like him to chatter during sex, but it seemed he was doing it tonight, even if it took some doing to put a sentence together.

“Do you have these in the future?” he gasped out. But they must. People had always had them, hadn’t they? There was no conceivable reason why they’d stop.

“Yes,” Yuuri answered simply.

“Do you use them yourself?”

“Of course.”

Victor swallowed. “I need to see this.”

Yuuri gave a breathy laugh. “You’re not seeing anything right now, baby. Just focus on how it feels. It must be good.” He gave a little twist to the end of Victor’s cock as he said it.

“Christ, yes.”

“The dildos in 2121 are a little more sophisticated,” Yuuri carried on in that purring voice, and Victor did his best to focus on it, though the waves of sensation washing over him were threatening to carry him away. “They’re made of materials that feel more like a cock. Hard inside, soft outside. And…” He _must _be smiling, from the sound of it. “…they can vibrate.”

“Fuck,” Victor bit out. That sounded like the sexiest thing he’d ever heard, and he couldn’t understand why. Maybe it was because Yuuri was thrusting a fucking _dildo _into him, right at this moment, while stroking him, and Lord above, it was incredible. He tilted his head back and moaned, clutching at the blanket underneath him; he’d stopped trying to control what his hips were doing.

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathed. “Come for me, baby.”

The next thing Victor knew, Yuuri’s mouth was on him again; he gave his cock a long lick, then swallowed it down, while he continued with the dildo. And Victor’s world exploded. He tried to stifle a cry as he arched his back and came hard into Yuuri’s mouth. Then, gasping and spent, he collapsed onto the bed, still shaking with pleasure as Yuuri slipped the dildo out and moved away. Empty air again; Victor couldn’t bear it. However, he didn’t have to wait long before fingers were fiddling with the tie at the back of his blindfold, and it was pulled away to be placed on the bedside table next to what was a very obvious, slightly curved, glistening dark wooden knob. Victor’s eyes widened as he looked at it. But only for an instant, because moving from between his legs to gaze down at him on all fours was Yuuri, nude and beautiful in the candlelight, eyes shining, face flushed, the ghost of a grin on his face.

“There you are,” Victor whispered, touching his cheek. “I missed you.” He moved his hand to cup the back of Yuuri’s head, and pulled him down for a slow, syrupy kiss. “I love you, Yuuri Katsuki,” he broke away to say against his lips. “My wonderful, beautiful rose.”

Yuuri kissed his forehead. “I love you too, Vitya.” And he caressed his cheek. However, Victor wondered about the flushed face, and the still-quick breaths, and took a better look at him. “You’re hard again,” he said, and would have wondered at it, but he thought back to that day they’d spent together in their room before they’d left the castle; he’d learned a few interesting things about his love then.

“Is it surprising?” Yuuri said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “That was unbelievably sexy.” He kissed Victor again, giving his bottom lip a suck before pulling back. “Don’t worry about it,” he added gently. “You’ve already – ”

“Maybe I _want _to worry about it,” Victor replied with a mischievous grin. Yuuri raised an eyebrow slightly. “Maybe I like seeing you in the throes of passion, too. Or…seeing anything at all,” he added with a laugh.

Yuuri smiled back. “You don’t have to – ”

“I know. But I’d love to.”

“OK.”

“Get down here and lie behind me,” Victor invited him. “You can fuck my thighs…if you want.”

He turned to the side, sliding a hand under his pillow, and heard Yuuri exhale, then pull the stopper out of the phial of oil. Soon Yuuri was nestling behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle in a warm embrace, kissing his neck, whispering his name. Victor might be spent, but he needed this, needed to be close; and his heart was full as they laced their fingers together over his chest and Yuuri began to thrust.

“I love the feel of you,” Victor sighed. “All over.”

Yuuri trailed kisses across his back. “I love _you_, Vitya, I love you so much…I’m so lucky…” He panted Victor’s name again and again, his breaths beginning to shudder between frantic kisses. The rest of their communication took place in silence as they spooned, Victor wishing his body could respond to what Yuuri was doing, because it was so very arousing; but neither of them could recover as quickly as that. He squeezed his hands, then lifted one to press kisses to the back of it. Yuuri’s thrusts quickened, becoming more urgent, his kisses giving way to soft cries until he was spasming and clutching at Victor’s chest. As he stilled, his breaths easing, their fingers entwined and caressed.

After a while, Victor carefully untangled himself, grabbed a cloth from the bedside table – and discovered Yuuri lying on his back with wet cheeks. Immediately concerned, he was about to ask what was wrong when he received a sweet smile that lit up Yuuri’s eyes.

“Sorry,” Yuuri mumbled, wiping at his cheeks. “I’m not upset. The opposite…” And the smile returned. “I’m just so happy, Victor. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life.” Another tear escaped his eye.

“Oh, my love.” Victor snuggled down next to him and gently wiped his cheeks with the cloth. “You’ll have me crying too, for the same reason.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri said sheepishly.

“Don’t be. Don’t ever be, not for this.” Victor kissed the tip of Yuuri’s nose, and cleaned them both up and tossed the cloth aside. Then he took Yuuri in his arms and they lay together, fingers ghosting across warm skin. The flame of the candle on the table flickered in an intermittent light draught, shifting shadows gently. It was only now that Victor’s ears began to attune themselves to what was happening beyond the walls of their tent. Voices lingering in the direction of the campfire. A laugh from further away. The clomp of boots as someone walked past. A chill was settling into the night air, and he suggested they climb under the blanket.

As they again wrapped their arms around each other, their eyes closed, and the shared warmth sent Victor’s mind pleasantly floating. To that shining moment when Yuuri beat him in the final sparring round. Their celebration around the campfire; Yuuri’s determination to learn what he called Middle English. Everything he’d conscientiously done in his role as a dom to try to ensure they had a memorable night together. And – buying a _dildo _in _Whitby_? Victor smiled to himself. It was almost as outrageous as selling them in the shadow of the abbey.

_I feel deeply and completely loved. _He kissed gently into Yuuri’s hair. _Thank God you came here to me. You’ve changed my life in so many ways. _Holding these thoughts, Victor basked in the moment until eventually sleep threatened to overtake him; he wondered if it had already claimed Yuuri. But then Yuuri spoke, and his voice was clear, not sleep-fugged at all.

“Victor?” he asked, shifting to be able to meet his gaze. “Good, you’re still awake.” He reached a hand out to stroke the fringe away from his forehead.

Victor closed his eyes and hummed, then looked at him again, running his fingers idly over his shoulder and wondering what was on his mind. 

“We ought to have…a conversation,” Yuuri said softly, tracing the gold chain around Victor’s neck which held the glimmering locket.

Oh. Well, if this was about what they’d just done, Victor could think of a few things Yuuri might want to talk about. “All right,” he said. “What is it, my love?”

“I was just wondering…” Yuuri moved his hand to let it rest on Victor’s pillow near his jaw, giving it a brief stroke with his thumb. “Have you ever used a dildo before now?”

Victor felt pink steal across his cheeks. “I knew _of _them. But they’re supposed to be for women. And with the materials they’re made from – wood, stone – well…it didn’t sound comfortable.” He added in a confidential whisper, “You’re the only person in the world I would have let near me with one.”

Yuuri smiled. “OK, that…that’s good.”

“I loved it.”

The smile became a smirk. “I could tell.”

“And please, by all the angels and saints, let me watch you with it sometime.”

Yuuri’s cheeks glowed this time; he was blushing _now_, after everything they’d just done, and Victor was impossibly in love with this man. “I’ll look forward to it,” he said, the promise shining in his eyes.

Victor suspected there might be one more matter hanging between them, and he was wondering how to put it in words when Yuuri beat him to it.

“So…‘master’?” He smiled, but there was a hint of curiosity in it, and possibly even concern.

“I hadn’t planned that.”

“It just…came out?”

After a pause, Victor told him, “I won’t say it again if you don’t like it. It just felt natural somehow.”

Yuuri’s thumb brushed over his jaw again. “There are a lot of ‘masters’ in this time. I never expected to be called that myself when I arrived.” Another smile. “Certainly not by you.”

Victor bit his lip, feeling almost shy. “You mastered me today. In more than one sense. That’s something else I loved.” But this was it, he thought. Yuuri was going to tell him it was touching, but he preferred it if they left it out of future scenes. Probably no one in 2121 called anyone ‘master’; it was bound to make him feel uncomfortable, and Victor knew he didn’t even like his squire addressing him thus, so –

“That’s so sexy, Vitya,” Yuuri said with a spark in his eyes.

Victor stared. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” Another stroke with the thumb. “In fact, I may insist you call me that from now on when we’re doing a scene.”

A frisson travelled down Victor’s spine, and he smiled, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.

“But before we add this as a regular thing,” Yuuri continued, growing more serious, “it’s not unusual for a dom to want to be called something respectful like ‘master’ or ‘sir’, to reinforce their authority. I thought about that myself, but…well, I never wanted to be too forceful or overbearing about what we do. It felt like the main idea was for me to be in charge, and for you to feel safe with that.” 

“Of course,” Victor said softly.

“But since you came up with the idea yourself, and you say it felt natural…” His face flushed. “Fuck, Victor, the thought of you saying ‘yes, master’ to me, and really meaning it, is such a turn-on.”

“I think so, too.” Victor leaned in for a lingering kiss, then said, “There’s always something new to discover with you, my sweet.”

“And when there isn’t?” Yuuri said, gazing at him. “When we know each other that well, then what?”

“Hm, I feel sure I’ll still be attempting to understand things about your future time years from now.” _Because we’ll both still be here, and we’ll be together. _“But I’d love you with every beat of my heart, every minute of every day.”

Yuuri’s eyes filled with tears again, and he sighed and kissed him once more. They could do this all night, Victor decided, and he’d be happy. Then Yuuri rested his head on his pillow and gave him a long look, as if he were considering something.

“Agincourt,” he said.

Victor wrinkled his brow. “That’s in northeast France. Why…?”

“I’m going to tell you everything I can think of that I’ve learned about the history of this time, and that Phichit’s told me. No more secrets.”

“Oh…” Victor’s eyes grew wide. He both loved and feared the idea, he realised. But he nodded.

“Starting in the morning. I’m tired. But I promise.”

Victor kissed his temple. “OK.” And he smiled and snuggled next to his love. Whatever lay in the future – tomorrow, in a month, in a year if they were so blessed – they had this moment, and he was thankful. Enveloped in Yuuri’s warmth and scent as he slowly drifted into slumber, he felt sure they could have forever, too…that absolutely nothing was impossible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri, Emil, and Victor:
> 
> “More beer, please,” Yuuri said to Emil, holding his cup up. Emil poured from the jug until it was full.
> 
> “You were outstanding today, master,” Emil said. Glancing at Victor, he added, “Both of you, of course, as you always are. But congratulations on your win – you must be pleased.”
> 
> Yuuri wrinkled his brow, and Victor chuckled. He obviously hadn’t understood, though the amount of beer he’d imbibed probably hadn’t helped, either.
> 
> “Can you repeat what you just said?” Yuuri asked, looking up at his squire. “I turned my translator back on. I have to learn this.”
> 
> “I said you were outstanding today, master. Um…and then I said both of you were, and congratulated you on your win. You must be pleased.”
> 
> “I’m very pleased.” He flashed Victor a lopsided smile. “I laid you low/loved you well today,” he added, giving him an affectionate nudge.
> 
> Victor snorted into his beer, though he was also delightfully touched by the pun, which meant both I laid you low and I loved you. “My Yuuri is clever as well as valiant,” he said with a smile, and this time Yuuri seemed to have understood, because he closed his eyes and grinned while slipping an arm around Victor’s waist.
> 
> The two of them were sitting together on a log near the campfire as part of the usual after-show camaraderie, though they were also celebrating Yuuri’s win, and Victor had made sure everyone knew it. He hadn’t been training a year, not properly, but he’d put his heart into it from the first day, and Victor felt he’d fair burst with pride. They’d returned to their tent directly after the show to remove their armour, and might not have emerged for quite some time if they’d both given in to temptation, but they’d wanted to join the rest of the troupe in a drink and a toast. Or at least, Victor had; he’d believed it was important to publicly acknowledge Yuuri’s achievement. Yuuri, on the other hand, had been making himself very difficult to resist, and it was almost with regret that Victor had insisted they should have a wash, don some fresh clothing, and leave the tent. He was wearing his purple camlet cotehardie and fir-green hose, while Yuuri had chosen tan hose and a blue tunic. There had been drinking and singing while the sun had gone down. And they were both rather in their cups, but if there had ever been a good time for it, it was tonight.
> 
> “You have the most beautiful hair,” Yuuri said, running his fingers through the fine strands at the back and sending a shiver through Victor. “And I love how your eyes sparkle.” He paused, searching his eyes. “Look only at me.” Then he leaned forward and caught Victor’s lips in a kiss.
> 
> Victor felt his cheeks pink, and there was a scattering of wolf whistles and laughs. They’d never been so…demonstrative before. But to hell with it. He responded with enthusiasm, almost forgetting the cup of beer he was holding.
> 
> “I can’t get enough of you,” Yuuri murmured, and Victor blew out a breath. At this rate, he was going to drag Yuuri back to their tent and show him just what he was doing to him. One drawback to tents was that they didn’t have a solid wall when you needed one, which had made a few of their favourite activities impossible. Another being that noise travelled far too easily.
> 
> Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html)


	151. Chapter 151

“Of course you should go,” Yuuri said. “Take whatever time you need.”

Pat, a young flame-haired gymnast who they’d hired from one of the troupes that had visited the castle to entertain the king, looked down at the floor. He’d received word not long ago that his mother had died from an illness, and so he’d come to Yuuri’s tent to request permission to go home.

“I don’t want to be gone any longer than I have to,” Pat said, “and I know you’ll have to rearrange things for the show. Would three weeks be all right? Some of that would be travelling time, but…”

“We can manage three weeks, sure. Have you mentioned this to the other acrobats yet?”

Pat nodded. “They said they’d be fine if it was all right with you and Victor.”

“Have a word with Henric before you go, then He’s got our schedule and can tell you where we’ll be.”

“Thank you,” Pat said quietly, his expression sombre. “I’m truly sorry. I feel like I’m letting everyone down.”

“Not at all.” Yuuri touched his arm, concealed under a damp brown cloak. “Take care of yourself and your family.”

“You’re very kind. I’ll work extra hard when I’m back.”

Yuuri smiled sombrely. “We’ll miss you.”

Pat made a grimace which was perhaps meant to be a smile in return. Then he pulled his hood over his head while Yuuri untied the tent flap; normally he kept it open during the day, but this afternoon it would only admit wind and stinging rain. A gust blew in as he lifted it to let Pat out, and they exchanged goodbyes. Once he was gone, Yuuri closed and tied it again. A candle on the table had blown out, but there were a few more still lit, and Yuuri took one of those to fix it.

It was a shame, what had happened – Pat was so bright and enthusiastic, and then this. They _would _miss him, in more ways than one; it could end up being be tricky to fill in for him. Yuuri decided he’d have to go looking for the acrobats soon and discuss it with them, after he’d given some thought to how they might alter the acts he was in, including his own eros dance.

An angry roar of wind made the sides of the tent ripple and flap. Thank God they had groundsmen who knew how to secure everything properly; they hadn’t yet had a tent collapse in bad weather. But this really was atrocious, as if autumn were reaching a claw out at them before summer was officially over. Everyone had been wrapping themselves up in whatever water-resistant cloaks and hats they had available, but there hardly seemed to be a thing outside or in that wasn’t damp. And suddenly Yuuri remembered what Natalia had said about one of her favourite things in the future being climate control. It had been raining for three days straight and they hadn’t seen the sun in a week. Not that it was unexpected; Yuuri had trained at the castle in all types of weather and knew what it could be like. It was just more immediate, living close to nature like this and being dependent on its whims.

Another gust of wind blew water under the side of the tent, and Yuuri dashed to rearrange the towels there. He hoped this wasn’t some harbinger of a dismal autumn and winter; they had all that yet to come. But the troupe was doing well, and they’d get through this. They still had room in their schedule for more bookings, however, and Victor and Oswin had put extra effort into sending messengers, and even riding out themselves when time permitted, to advertise, visit contacts, and get word around; Yuuri had accompanied Victor on a few journeys himself. And they’d be venturing back into civilisation soon, in a way, as they headed for Nottingham and Leicester. Though nowhere outside of London approached the size of York at this time; it was a virtual medieval metropolis. Yuuri realised he missed it, and wondered if they might be able to get some bookings there. If they performed in public, maybe Daisy and Jan might come, and Roger and Seamus from The Eagle. 

A boom of thunder from overhead made him jump. As bad as the weather was, he ought to make his way to one of the large training tents they used when it was too wet to work outside. He’d been practising lately with some basic gymnastic apparatus that Pat and the other acrobats had built with the help of some of the groundsmen who had carpentry skills, hoping to improve his performance on the wheel. The tents could get busy, stuffy and loud, but he’d also be able to discuss what to do about Pat’s leave of absence.

He poured himself a quick drink. Perhaps he’d give it a minute or two to see if the deluge eased. Then, if the acrobats asked again if they could toss him between them while he was there, maybe he wouldn’t say no this time. It was as close to flying as he’d get without a hoverboard, he thought with a smile.

The sound of someone lifting the outside of the tent flap and undoing the ties reached his ears just above the drum of the rain on the canvas, and Yuuri put his cup on the table and hurried over to help. Victor entered the tent, removing a long hooded cloak which he hung on a wooden stand, while Yuuri re-tied the flap. “Shit, Victor, you must be soaked,” he said, going to join him at the table. Victor had taken an empty cup and was pouring himself a drink, but he put the jug down and took Yuuri in his arms.

“My boots got the worst of it, I think. And hello.” Before Yuuri could answer, Victor dipped his head with a smile and captured his lips, and he was as amazed as ever at the power it had to thrill him and chase all coherent thoughts from his mind.

“Your face is wet,” he murmured, running his fingers down it, “and your cheeks are cold. Let me warm them up some more.” They shared a longer kiss, with a brush and tease of tongues.

Victor gave a hum as he pulled back. “I’ll be warm all day from that,” he said with hooded lids.

Yuuri simply stared, feeling dazed. How could he want someone so much, and so much of the time? He grabbed his drink and forced his brain to function. “What were you doing out there?” he asked.

“I’ve been talking to Beth about costume ideas,” Victor told him, picking up his own cup and sipping. “But you’re taking your chances just going between tents at the moment. If it continues like that out there, I’d have to say the devil himself was pissing down on us.”

Yuuri laughed. “It’s minging, that’s what they’d say where I’m from. Or dreich, if you’re Scottish.”

“The sound of it is fitting.”

Yuuri finished his drink and put his cup on the table. “Victor, I’ve just been talking to Pat.”

“I saw him riding through the rain on his horse and was wondering if something was wrong.”

Yuuri explained about his mother and the leave of absence. “I hope I made the best decision in the circumstances,” he concluded. “I know we’ve been running the troupe for a couple of months now, but I’m not used to this kind of thing. It’ll be hard without him, but I couldn’t insist he stayed or rushed back, I mean his mum’s died – ”

“I know,” Victor said quietly. “And I agree.”

“He said he expected to be gone three weeks.”

Victor nodded. “People will be coming and going, temporarily and permanently, as time goes on, I expect; that’s how these things work.” He paused. “Still…poor fellow.” And he fell silent, staring into his cup.

Yuuri wondered if Pat’s bereavement had turned Victor’s thoughts the same way as his, toward how precarious their own existence might be.

“I’m afraid that’s not the only setback at the moment,” Victor said, looking back up. “We’ve had two cancellations over the next two weeks.”

“What?” It suddenly felt to Yuuri like a rock had dropped into his stomach.

“Sir Ralph Mortimer has been delayed on his travels with his family and most of his household staff, and Baron Wyvill lost his home in a game of dice.”

“Lost his _home _– from playing dice?”

Victor gave a small shrug. “Some people will wager anything in a game of chance. Perhaps he already owed money to this person, who offered to write off all his debts if he won; I don’t know the story. But…”

“Do we have any more performances booked before October, then?”

“Near the end of the month. I was thinking about journeying through the area we’re in now, and sending Oswin as well. Unfortunately, Peveril Castle is the closest stately residence to here.”

“Unfortunately?”

“It belongs to John of Gaunt.”

“Shit.”

“Though I doubt he’s there at the moment. From what I understand, he’s letting it fall into ruin; he’s got more castles than he needs, it would seem.”

Yuuri was tempted to make a comment about the unbelievable wealth the man must have, followed perhaps by an observation that they never seemed to be allowed to keep him and his activities off their minds for long, when a call of “Sirs!” came from outside the tent. Victor turned and opened the flap to admit Angus, dripping as he pulled his hood down.

“This is a timely arrival,” Victor said. “Have you only just returned?”

“Yes, my lord. My sincerest apologies for the delay. The riding was hard, and as I was tasked with being discreet, I didn’t wish to enquire too openly – ”

“What did you hear? I take it that Lancaster isn’t in ruins.”

Angus gave him a small grin. “Hardly, I’m pleased to say. John of Gaunt and Henry travelled there and met with the rebels after what I’m told was a minimal amount of violence. They seem to have been satisfied with promises of no retribution, and offers of future military employment, being professional soldiers as most of them are.”

A shadow seemed to lift from Victor’s expression, while Yuuri’s heart began to ease. “Is that all?” Victor said.

“I stayed to make sure,” Angus continued, “but all parties appear to be appeased for now. I found no indication that anyone was attempting to search you and Sir Justin out. There’s general displeasure being expressed with John of Gaunt’s behaviour as the king’s adviser, as well as with some of the king’s own policies, but it’s naught to do with you or the troupe. He’s returned to London, I understand, while Henry has remained in Lancaster for the time being.”

Victor took a deep breath and sighed, then smiled. “Thank you. This news is very welcome. Please, go get dry and put your feet up. And see Oswin for a well-deserved remuneration.”

Angus made a little bow, and Victor let him out of the tent. Once he was gone, he spun around, and he and Yuuri met in the middle for a hug. “I’m so pleased,” Victor said into his hair. “I said not to worry, but now we know for sure.”

Yuuri looked at him. “They aren’t coming after us, or having us hunted down, or – ”

“No,” Victor said with a bright smile. “I didn’t think they would, but they only wanted us to help them put the rebellions down, which turned out to be easily done without us. They’ll have other important matters to attend to now.” His eyes sparkled. “It seems we’re insignificant and easily overlooked. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Yuuri laughed, and Victor swooped his head down for a happy kiss. He wanted to be just as exuberant himself, but somehow he felt more like melting into a puddle on the floor in relief.

“So what happened was,” Victor carried on afterward, “that you and I were being called to possibly fight because a negotiated peace with France meant that the soldiers here would have nothing to do.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Yuuri said with a smile. “Perfectly logical. Maybe we’ll be left alone now.”

Victor was still beaming, and he laughed again, peppering Yuuri’s forehead, temple and cheek with kisses. His mood was infectious, and Yuuri found his lips, though they smiled as much as they kissed.

“Partners,” Victor said, gazing down at him, his face aglow. “That’s what we are. In business, in training, and in bed. Not necessarily in that order.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “And in crime. So to speak. You helped me with Ailis.”

The joyous expression on Victor’s face mellowed, and he fell silent for a moment before saying quietly, “I wish I could marry you. I hope you know I would, because that’s how I see you. Us.”

Yuuri let out a breath, filling with warmth as he ran the backs of his fingers down Victor’s cheek. _He wishes he could marry me, _he echoed to himself, feeling like his feet were no longer touching the ground. “We could,” he replied softly, “if we lived in my time.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Two men can get married, or two women, or any consenting adults.”

“That’s what we could’ve done if we’d been able to go, if Ailis had…?” His voice trailed off, and Yuuri smiled and draped his arms around his shoulders.

“I’d marry you in a heartbeat, Vitya.”

Victor gasped, eyes gleaming, as if he’d suddenly had an idea.

“What?”

“We can do something similar.”

“We…can?”

“A brotherhood-in-arms ceremony,” Victor told him excitedly. “Two men who want to swear a lifetime of friendship and loyalty can make a public vow of faith to each other.”

Yuuri blinked. “I thought we’d already done that, though. Everyone at the castle knows – ”

“But this is more formal, and it’s even blessed by the Church. You mingle your blood together. Promise to support each other in battle and in all quarrels, and to have the same allies and enemies. Though hopefully those things won’t be part of our lives.” He paused, and Yuuri took this in, feeling excited himself now. “We could,” Victor continued, “more appropriately perhaps, also promise to support each other with Victor and Friends. Though we’d know, and so would everyone else, that we’re also publicly committing to each other.”

“It sounds a lot like marriage,” Yuuri said, “except for the blood. Just, um, how much would we be expected to lose?”

Victor laughed. “Don’t worry about that. I assure you, we’d be quite intact at the end.”

“It’s a wonderful idea, Vitya. But when could we do it?”

“Well, we appear to have time right now. Let’s take everyone back to the castle.”

“What, travel there with the troupe?”

“Why not? If Andrei were interested, we could even perform for him, though I suspect he’d feel rather more embarrassed than proud. I certainly wouldn’t expect any pay from him.”

“Can we afford to, in that case?”

“My purse is quite deep yet,” Victor said, stroking a finger along Yuuri’s jaw. “Yes, we can. But will you?” He searched his eyes. “Will you do this with me?”

“I’d love to,” Yuuri replied, his heart soaring as he tilted his head up and pulled Victor close.

* * *

The troupe broke camp and set out the following morning, surprised but seemingly not too disappointed that they were going to Crowood. Victor promised a warm welcome, and that accommodation would be found for them all within the castle; and furthermore, he would see to it that every amenity for practising and developing their acts, old and new, would be available. To ensure this was the case, he sent a messenger ahead of them on a swift horse to inform the household of their imminent arrival and what they intended to do when they got there. Yuuri wondered what the baron would think of it; but if Victor was worried, it didn’t show.

It was a three-day journey to the castle, and the rain began to clear late in the afternoon of the first, though it wasn’t as much of an annoyance while they rode on horses or in wagons: that came when they were camping, hoping for fires that wouldn’t light, having to train in tents, and getting soaked outside without much prospect of easily getting dry. Now the tail end of summer was finally making an appearance, a warm sun breaking through the clouds while the mire on the roads slowly solidified. There was plenty of opportunity to review acts with each other as they made their way along, and to think up ideas for new ones. Yuuri practised speaking more Middle English with Victor and the squires, when he could be sure no one else was within earshot. And they were often accompanied by a pleasant tune courtesy of the musicians, and sang many travelling and ale-house songs, though of course none of the gender-switching ones Victor had introduced him to that he’d found impossibly silly and seductive at the same time.

They arrived at the castle on the evening of the third day, and when they came within sight of the stable and the training field, Yuuri realised how much he’d missed it all. Abelard was working with men in plate who must be the new knights, and the pages stood in a group with young men who he assumed were squires, taking turns being pulled along on a wooden horse while they tilted a lance at the quintain. Matthew Everard assisted the troupe with stowing their wagons and other large possessions in an empty barn, and Hugh the stablemaster directed his charges in seeing to their horses. Victor received assurances that extra tables would be laid out in the great hall so that everyone could eat together during meals. And when the two of them returned to their room near the garrison, they unpacked, Yuuri reset and wound his clock, and they celebrated being back by taking a luxurious bath together, making love, and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Victor had a meeting with Andrei the next day, and told Yuuri afterward that he didn’t seem overly put out by the short visit, though he was certain his offer to pay for the troupe’s stay had considerably eased the matter.

“I think he might even have been glad to see me,” Victor added as they walked together to the training field after dinner. “I could possibly say the same myself, with reservations.”

“Good,” Yuuri said with a smile. “So do we get to put on a performance while we’re here, or not?”

“Hm, I’m still working on that. I’ll get him to crack, don’t you worry.”

“I keep wanting to say it’s good to be back,” Yuuri commented as they neared the field. “But I don’t want to sound like I don’t enjoy travelling with the troupe. They’re both home to me, in different ways.”

Victor gave him a warm smile and took his hand while they walked.

“I might have to confess to enjoying a few guilty pleasures while I’m here, though,” Yuuri added. “Fernand’s cooking being one of them. You can do things in a castle kitchen that are just impossible over a camp cookfire.”

“True. You should visit with Bridget while you’re here and feast on some honey pies – and bring me a few while you’re about it.”

Yuuri laughed. “Oh, I intend to.”

He made sure he found the time to do so later that day, and then the two of them went with Julia and Emil, Chris and Philip to have a proper introduction and sparring session with the three new knights and their squires, who were keen to meet them all. Victor said his father had received reports of their dedication and skill, and Yuuri found them easy enough to get on with, even if they seemed to be rather macho types who liked to brag. He and Victor made them eat their words by beating them soundly.

However, amid the flurry of activity that seemed to have begun the moment they’d got out of bed that morning, Victor was quick to make plans for the brotherhood-in-arms ceremony in the chapel. Yuuri wondered if Father Maynard might refuse to officiate, since he would surely realise they were celebrating more than brotherhood; but after meeting with him, Victor said he was loyal enough to the family to grudgingly agree. The ceremony was duly set to take place the following afternoon, with supper being held in their honour. 

Yuuri kept so busy that the time had come almost before he realised, and the two of them went to their room to prepare. He suggested that Victor wear his peacock-feather cape and gold circlet from his victories at the Stamford tournament, and he was resplendent in them. Underneath was his blue houppelande, with the locket proudly glimmering on his chest. Yuuri, in turn, donned his fine blue hose with the pointy toes, his long-sleeved shimmering samite shirt, and his livery collar, which Victor fastened on him reverently. Then, hand in hand, they went down to the courtyard and crossed to the chapel.

Victor stopped a distance from the doorway, lingering like he had when Ailis was taken inside, and Yuuri found his expression difficult to read. Was he having second thoughts? But then Victor looked at him with sudden resolve, and squeezed his hand.

“Come with me,” he said with the ghost of a grin, though his eyes were sombre. Yuuri did, and they entered the chapel together to discover that it was packed full of more people than he would have guessed could ever fit inside. Father Maynard stood in fine red and white robes down the aisle in front of the altar next to an impassive-looking Andrei, with Natalia, who gave them a nod. Emil and Julia stood nearby, and across the aisle from them were Matthew Everard and John de Lacey. Yuuri spotted others who they’d specifically invited, including Percy, Monica and Bridget. And of course all members of Victor and Friends were in attendance, performers and staff alike. Yuuri and Victor nodded and smiled as they walked slowly to the altar, stopping to stand in front of Father Maynard, who spoke some preliminary words about comradeship and loyalty. Then came the part Yuuri had been waiting for, where they would exchange vows.

They turned to face each other. Each of them had written their own – most of Yuuri’s had been composed on horseback during the journey to the castle, when he’d had plenty of time to reflect on it – though neither knew what the other was planning to say. Yuuri had already felt intimidated by the idea of doing this in front of everyone, since it wasn’t like a performance where he could lose himself in a role, and he was thankful that they were meant to keep it brief. His only regret was that he couldn’t openly express how he felt; but they did that all the time together, anyway, and he knew Victor would understand. 

He kept his arms straight down at his sides, though it was difficult not to fidget with his fingers. But when he looked into Victor’s eyes, he saw warmth and love there, and the unshakeable faith he’d always seemed to have in him, no matter what he did, whether it was returning to the castle to pick up the pieces of his life after running away to York, or to be a worthy partner in sparring and performing on the wheel. And that faith had gradually transferred to Yuuri, settling into his heart, telling him he was so much more than he’d believed himself to be when he’d first arrived here. All thanks to this man. And in a few words, it was time to say so in front of everyone. He could do that.

“Victor,” he began. “I was an enemy when I came to Crowood Castle. Yet you paid me every courtesy and gave me the chance to prove myself in my new role as a loyal knight of Crowood. Your support has been invaluable to me, as my trainer, my partner in Victor and Friends, and in so many other ways. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, and encouraged me to push the boundaries of what I thought I could do. I’ve never had such a close friend and ally, nor ever will, and it hardly seems enough to say thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I therefore pledge my love to you now as a brother in arms, and swear I’ll remain true for all my days.” He swallowed, his heart swelling as he willed every part of him to silently say, _I love you. Not just as a brother in arms, but as the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. _

Victor gave him a beautiful bright smile, and he touched the locket on his chest with tears in his eyes, blinking them back and collecting himself before he spoke. “Justin. I named you ‘la Rose’ because you’re the flower of chivalry, and so you’ve proved yourself to be, many times over. They joys you’ve brought to my life are beyond measure. You’ve taught me to think about the world in new ways, and my place in it. And about perseverance, and determination, and courage, because I’ve never met anyone with such an abundance of them. But most of all, you’ve taught me about love. Now that we have Victor and Friends – ” He glanced happily around the chapel, his eyes still swimming with moisture, before turning his gaze back to Yuuri. “ – I’m blessed with a partner who believes in this venture as much as I. I can’t imagine my life without you, and I promise myself to you as a brother in arms for as long as we both live. Thank you for everything you’ve given me.” He smiled.

Yuuri’s throat caught, and he felt tears spilling down his cheeks. Victor might as well have spoken a marriage vow in front of all these people.

Father Maynard handed Victor a small silver knife with a jewelled hilt. Yuuri had been told about this, though that didn’t make it seem any less strange a thing to be doing in church. “Each of you take this knife in turn, and prepare for the rite,” the priest instructed them. Victor accepted it first, pushing his sleeve up and making a small cut on his wrist. Then he gave the knife to Yuuri, who did the same, feeling a quick sting before a line of red appeared. Taking the knife back, Father Maynard continued, “As you mingle your lifeblood, so shall you be joined as brothers in arms, in truth and virtue under God.”

Victor stepped forward, and they held their arms up, wrist facing wrist, touching them together. And suddenly the pagan nature of the ceremony didn’t seem so odd to Yuuri anymore as their blood mixed. It was…oh God, it was like sex. He saw a glint in Victor’s eyes that suggested he was having similar thoughts. 

Father Maynard raised his hands as if embracing the congregation. “Behold, witnesses of Crowood Castle,” he said. “Sir Victor Nikiforov and Sir Justin la Rose, brothers in arms. May God and all the angels and saints smile upon them.” Claps and cheers filled the room at his words, and Yuuri and Victor lowered their wrists, holding each other’s gazes before they were congratulated by Andrei, Natalia, and many others.

Yuuri lost track of who he spoke to; it seemed to be almost everyone. What stood out for him, however, was Victor’s parents, particularly his father, who he knew had never been happy about their relationship. Not only had he attended the ceremony, but he wished them a happy life together. Victor seemed surprised as well. Though when people began filing out of the chapel, Andrei and Natalia were the first to leave, along with Father Maynard, followed by the castle officials; Yuuri and Victor stayed a while longer in order to speak with members of Victor and Friends. Eventually, however, even the troupe departed, and the two of them were alone in the chapel.

Yuuri thought at first that Victor might want to share tender words or a kiss, now that they had some privacy in the place where they’d just taken their vows. But his expression was grave as he looked down, as if preparing for something. _Why? _was the one word in Yuuri’s head, but he remained quiet and waited for Victor to explain.

When he looked back up, his gaze met Yuuri’s and he said in a quiet voice, “This is…” He cut himself off, took a quick breath, and began again. “This is the first time I’ve set foot in this chapel in over two years.”

Two years…of course. “Alex,” he whispered. Victor gave him a small nod. His words that day when Ailis was brought inside came back to Yuuri now: _I’m not ready yet. _“Is…he buried here?”

Victor looked across the chapel, and Yuuri’s eyes followed to a white marble sarcophagus. Glancing at Victor, he silently asked his permission to approach; and Victor pressed his lips into a line, found his hand, entwined their fingers, and guided him there.

The effigy on top was of a pointy-toed knight with his sword resting between his hands, the tip of the blade at his feet, typical of what Yuuri had seen before in cathedrals. He’d never read the plaque until now, however, and as he ran his fingers over the inscribed silver metal, he said aloud, “Sir Alexander Nikiforov, 1391. Fair flower of youth, light and swift, beloved of many. Rest in the arms of God, forever blessed.” He said softly, “That’s beautiful.”

“I wrote it,” Victor replied, staring down at the marble features of the knight. “I commissioned this monument; I insisted upon it. And…” He took a breath and exhaled shakily. “I could never bring myself to come in here once…once it was in place.” The tears brimming in his eyes finally escaped to streak down his face.

“Oh, Vitya.” Yuuri slipped an arm around his waist, careful to avoid damaging the peacock feathers. Victor leaned into him as his fingers skirted across the hard edge of the marble, his quiet shuddering breaths the only sound in the room.

After a while, he said, “I should never have chosen a marble effigy. It’s as dreadful as I remembered. Frozen like a ghost…it doesn’t even look like him. I just followed tradition; I wasn’t thinking straight.” He rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. “Having considered it since then, I believe he would’ve preferred to be burned on a pyre. But Andrei would’ve been horrified by the suggestion.” He reached his hand out toward the figure, pale fingers gliding over a hard white cheek, the gold of his signet ring gleaming in contrast.

All he had left of his brother, he’d said. Yuuri wanted to weep for the part of Victor that had been so deeply broken by this, though he was also moved by how hard he’d been working to try to mend it, as imperfectly as such things could ever happen. Victor wiped at his eyes again, the magnificent cape and gold circlet seemingly garish now in a moment like this, made for splendid ceremonies rather than quiet grief.

“Yuuri,” Victor said in a voice made rough from crying, glancing at him before returning his gaze to the effigy, “I’d like you to meet my little brother Alex, who died in March, 1391. I always looked out for him…but I couldn’t save him from what happened in the end.” There was a small choked sound followed by a sniff.

Yuuri wondered what to say; what could possibly be appropriate for such a moment. He thought quickly. “Thank you, Alex,” he addressed the white stone knight, “for being there for Victor. I think you must have been very special, and I wish I could’ve met you.”

A bittersweet smile crossed Victor’s face. “He was. He could also be an obnoxious little shit.” He sniffed once more, but then huffed a laugh. “And he knew it.” Touching the marble again, he added, “But it’s all right; that’s what little brothers are like sometimes. He was also clever, creative, and infernally talented. I know he looked up to me even when I didn’t deserve it, and that could be hard.” He bit his lip. “The shittiest thing he ever did was leave me.” To the effigy, he said, “I’m still trying to forgive you for that.”

He sighed and shuddered, and Yuuri remained quiet, allowing him to say whatever he felt he needed to. Soon he continued, “This is Yuuri Katsuki. He’s from the future, and I was lucky enough to meet him. He’s good on the wheel, too. Your wheel. Better than good. He’s incredible. I think you’d be proud of us both and what we’ve been doing.” His voice quietened and began to waver as he added, “I wish you could’ve known him. Because I don’t think it’s possible to love two people in the whole world more.”

The tears ran afresh, and this time he reached out to Yuuri, who took him in his arms, stroking his hair as he dampened his neck. They stood for some time, embracing, until Victor’s sobs faded to sniffs. Then Yuuri reached into his purse and pulled a handkerchief out, giving it to Victor, who accepted it with thanks.

“You’re so good to me,” he said as he mopped it over his face; something Yuuri had heard from him many times, as if he felt it was somehow undeserved.

“Of course,” Yuuri replied softly. “We’re brothers in arms, aren’t we?”

Victor smiled at this. “Yes, we are.” He looked around the chapel. “We should go from this place of death and celebrate the lives we’re living.” To the effigy, he said quietly, “But it won’t be so long this time before I come back.” His fingers trailed over the stone, and then he kissed his signet ring and turned to leave, with Yuuri at his side. 


	152. Chapter 152

They stayed at the castle for a few days more, making the most of the time that remained before the troupe departed. Victor told Yuuri about the meetings he had with his parents and castle officials, assuring him that he wouldn’t get too deeply involved in business that was largely no longer his, though he wanted to satisfy himself that things were running smoothly. They trained with each other, their squires, and the rest of the performers in the field next to the stable. And in the meantime, other members of the troupe were taking advantage of the people and resources at the castle. Beth worked with Monica and the seamstresses to make new costumes. Repairs were made to wagons and equipment, and provisions sourced from the plentiful suppliers in Crowood and York. Henric spent some time with Matthew Everard, while Oswin sought advice from John de Lacey. And the actors, acrobats – minus Pat – and musicians practised for hours.

Yuuri didn’t think he could have asked for more enthusiastic or capable people to work with. If staff turnover was going to become a more regular occurrence, as Victor seemed to expect, then he wanted to get everything he could out of being together now. The other performers fired his own enthusiasm, and he began to think about a new dance he could do, or possibly even a short drama in Middle English he could write, with help.

Furthermore, while they were here, Yuuri had no intention of saying no to Fernand’s cooking twice a day every day again; and the big warm baths in the bucket, whether Victor joined him or he was alone, were heavenly. When he spoke with Phichit and Mari, they joked about how he was getting a taste for luxury. He said they should try living in a moving-tent brigade for two months straight, and then see if they could turn down indoor plumbing, an en-suite garderobe, a fireplace, or just a roof over their heads when they were on offer. Yuuri was fully prepared to carry on living without it all, but he had to admit it was nice to think about being able to return to it, and the familiar people and places around the castle, once in a while. As long as the visits didn’t coincide with a summons to battle.

For all that, he would not have chosen to take a break like this when they’d only been touring for a short time. Victor’s suggestion of the brotherhood-in-arms ceremony had been a surprise, and his eagerness to do it so soon even more of one, though Yuuri had quickly realised with a sickening lurch of his stomach why Victor might see it as a matter of some urgency while they had the chance. And it had been worth it, because Yuuri knew he would never forget the ceremony, or the vows they’d exchanged, or what had happened afterward. The significance of Victor entering the chapel with him, though he hadn’t known it at the time. Watching him confront his grief like that.

Victor shared more memories of his brother afterward, in the dark quiet nights in their room. Yuuri was so keen to meet this amazing enigmatic person, and discover what it was about him that Victor had loved so much, and to spar and go on the wheel with him, that it almost felt like he was grieving the loss himself in a small way. That part of Victor would always be missing, he supposed, just like there would always be a hole in his own life where his parents ought to have been. But it didn’t make either of them lesser people. And perhaps it meant they could understand and support each other better because of it.

The day before they left the castle, they put on a show in the arena; Andrei had finally relented, though Victor said he’d got the impression that he was secretly curious and had only maintained his resistance to the idea for so long in order to save face. It was the first time they’d performed in front of people Yuuri knew, and it felt more intimate because of it. Pleasure and pride surged in him when the audience laughed at the skits, applauded the artists, and brought the house down for the acts that used the wheel, both Julia’s and his own with Victor. There were many congratulations at the castle afterward, and plenty to drink.

Natalia asked that they visit her in her room later, where she asked if anything had changed about Victor’s death date. Yuuri couldn’t blame her for being concerned that not much time was left in the year; it was something that had begun to give him nightmares, and he was glad when the subject changed to York in 2121. Natalia obviously missed it, though like Ethelfrith, she had settled back into the way of life that was familiar to her. Perhaps even the best parts of their journeys to the future were destined to fade in their minds like holiday memories, without even holograms or photos to aid them. And neither of them had had any control over what had happened, where they’d been sent to, and when. It was a shame, Yuuri thought; but then, they seemed to consider themselves lucky to have had those experiences at all.

The troupe was sent on its way the next morning with the usual fanfare that accompanied the departure of a group of important people, and with cooler weather that was mostly dry, they headed south again. Nottingham would be their next major destination, though first they planned to perform for the de Grey family at Codnor Castle to the northwest of the city. After four days of travelling, they arrived in the evening; their horses were stabled, and servants brought them hot food for a late meal, but their accommodation was once again in tents outside the castle walls. This almost always seemed to be the case with patrons; Victor was known and respected by most of them, but the stigma of being travelling performers was still present to a degree. They were used to going on the road and living in tents, however, and as long as they had someone to perform for, that was the most important thing.

Though Yuuri was under no illusions that it wouldn’t become challenging in the middle of winter. He and Victor had been looking carefully with Oswin at bookings, planning on fewer takings and spending more time back at the castle, and they were relatively confident that the troupe’s purse could cover a diminished schedule until the weather was more conducive. They talked and planned as if Victor’s death date didn’t exist; as if they expected nothing unusual to occur. It was the best – and only – way forward, though Yuuri’s heart missed a beat and his throat constricted whenever it intruded on his conscious thoughts, which was increasingly often.

The troupe quickly got back to their routine, and the after-dinner performance went well. For once, Yuuri got a decent night’s sleep, though an extra cup or two of hypocras might have aided it. He was awakened the next morning by birdsong, which was both lovely and annoying, because it was obvious the sun wasn’t even above the horizon yet.

Blinking bleary eyes, he became aware of Victor moving around in the tent in that quiet way he had when Yuuri was still in bed; he disappeared through the tent flap before Yuuri could think of anything coherent to say. If he hadn’t drunk so much hypocras, he would’ve been leaving along with Victor, more prepared to face the day. At least they didn’t have far to travel and weren’t planning on breaking camp until after dinner.

But the birds seemed to have decided to sing a chorus fit for an orchestra, and he didn’t like missing the chance to say good morning to Victor. It was certainly within his power to get up, get ready, and go find him. Yuuri hauled himself out of bed, went through his morning routine, threw on a cloak, and hurried out, stopping briefly to look around when he got outside. In the grey pre-dawn light, a damp chill had settled across the land, while banks of white fog hung between the wooded hills in the distance. There was no activity in the camp yet. He wandered to the field set aside for training, which was still ringed with extinguished torches from the night before, but it was vacant. Perhaps Victor had gone to fetch his armour from the stable; when the squires cleaned it, they left it in their palfreys’ stalls, if such accommodation were available, which was better than offloading it outside the tent.

Yuuri’s boots made soft thuds on the earth as he approached the building. One of the large wooden double doors was ajar, and he entered the dim interior, where he was instantly met with the familiar scents of hay, horse, leather and linseed. Amid the gentle snorts and stomp of hoofs, his ears picked out a metallic clank, and he looked down the aisle to see Victor standing next to Alyona in her stall. A window high in the brick wall opposite filtered the light of the new dawn down to him, softly illuminating his hair and armour. Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling awed by how beautiful he was.

“Yuuri!” Victor called with a smile when he spotted him. Making his way down the aisle with an answering grin, Yuuri let himself into the stall, turned his projector off, and kissed Victor’s chill cheek.

“Missed you this morning,” he said.

Victor tied a vambrace over his left forearm. “Ah, well, I thought you’d want to sleep.”

“I thought you would, too. Are you OK?”

“I woke up and had too much on my mind, I suppose.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing you need be concerned about,” Victor replied as he tied on his right vambrace. But then he looked at Yuuri. “Well, just the usual things that creep in at night when you’ve been trying to forget about them.” 

His death date, of course. It was hanging over them both. And Yuuri was sick of it –sick of fearing the loss, of being so vigilant so much of the time, and no progress made, with Phichit’s book stubbornly refusing to change. In fact, it made him inclined to do something to celebrate how _alive _they both were, and give Fate one big fat finger.

“You should’ve let me know,” he said in a soft purr, coming closer as Victor finished with his armour. “I would’ve given you something else to think about.”

Victor stared, his eyebrows raised and the touch of a grin on his face. “Indeed? But the hypocras last night – ”

“Isn’t bothering me,” Yuuri interrupted, trailing his fingers down Victor’s cheek. “Nothing is, while I’m here with you.” He hooded his lids and gave a sultry smile, and received an expression of growing surprise and interest. Then he tilted his head up and kissed Victor gently, drawing it out, warm and soft, before increasing the pressure and pace. Victor pulled back slightly with a little gasp, his eyes darting around the stable until he seemed satisfied that they were still alone.

“That’s the kind of good morning I like,” he sighed.

“I’m not finished yet.” Yuuri slid a hand around the back of Victor’s neck and pulled him into another kiss that became hot and urgent as he plundered Victor’s mouth and pressed against him, though the curves of the armour were cool and unyielding. But it didn’t seem to matter to Victor, who only hesitated for a moment before returning the kiss with equal vigour, moaning and placing his hands on either side of Yuuri’s neck. 

“You’re right,” he whispered hoarsely. “I should’ve woken you up.”

“I’m awake now,” Yuuri said in the same low voice. “And…” He looked around the stable before meeting Victor’s gaze once more and adding in a tone laced with promise, “…there’s no one else here but us.”

Victor swallowed and blushed, mouthing something Yuuri couldn’t hear that might have been _Oh my God. _Then he said, “I…I’ve dreamed for a long time about…” He paused, and Yuuri waited, though he was eager to find out how that sentence would end. Victor seemed to find his courage now, leaning forward, his lips near. “About you having me in the stable.”

Yuuri was rocked by a pulse of desire, his mind filling with an image of Victor’s fantasy and how it would feel to…how they could…in a _stable. _He’d never seriously considered it at Crowood Castle, right at their home, the building potentially so busy that they might be caught. But here and now…?

Victor seemed to take his hesitation as unwillingness, and began, “But if you don’t – ”

Yuuri grabbed him and poured all the passion into his kiss that he couldn’t express through his body while Victor had his armour on. His armour…Yuuri’s eyes roamed the stall and alit on a wooden riding block in the corner, with steps that would be wide enough for…Jesus Christ, he could, he really could.

Then Victor’s mouth was on his again, hard and insistent. As their tongues tangled, a moan escaped Yuuri’s throat, and Victor pressed open-mouthed kisses against his neck. “I want you, Yuuri,” came his breathy voice. “So very much.”

Any doubts Yuuri had were incinerated. He stepped back and pushed a momentarily startled Victor against the wall so that he was bracing his arms against it, then looked down at where the faulds of his armour hung over his arse, covered by his braies, with his hose further down. Just the _thought _of this had made Yuuri rock hard. It was utterly lewd and enticing.

“Have you ever been fucked with your armour on, Vitya?”

Yuuri was sure he saw him tremble as he shifted his palms against the wall. “No,” Victor said on a loud exhale, and Yuuri could hear his breaths, as if he were already being touched.

_I can’t believe this is happening. _Grabbing the riding block from next to where Alyona was standing placidly, Yuuri quickly dragged it to where he needed it, turning it sideways so that both of his feet were on the first step. He leaned in to kiss and nip at Victor’s ear, and Victor turned his head so that their lips met, his face still pink, eyes glazed with desire.

“Please,” he said. “God, Yuuri, please fuck me.”

Yuuri snatched another kiss, drinking in his desperation. It reminded him of how needy Victor could get in a scene when he made him wait to be satisfied, the tense heat stretching between them.

With fumbling fingers, Yuuri pulled the small phial of oil out of his purse, which he carried there for the times when they were able to snatch private moments away from their tent. He briefly considered the logistics, determined to make this work, and pushed the metal faulds of Victor’s armour up; Victor helped by jutting his arse toward him. Hardly able to think anymore, Yuuri tugged down the top of Victor’s braies, then poured some oil into his hand, coated a finger and slid it into his entrance, eliciting a moan. 

“You have no idea how much I want to fuck you senseless right now,” Yuuri said shakily with a hint of a smile as he put the phial away, though he knew Victor couldn’t see him.

“Yuuri…_please_.” Victor’s fingers clutched at the bricks in front of him.

Coating a second finger, Yuuri made quick work of it before sliding them both out; then he pulled down the top of his own braies and slicked himself. Glancing around again – _please God, don’t let anyone interrupt us now_ – and reassuring himself that they were still the only ones here, he lined himself up with Victor’s entrance. Then, placing a hand on either side of Victor’s hips and digging his fingers into the bare skin he’d revealed there, he began to push, both of them groaning with the pleasure of it. Yuuri entered Victor as swiftly as he could, watching and listening for any signs of discomfort from him; but the rapid rise and fall of his metal-clad shoulders and the throaty noises he was making were like honey to a bee. Once Yuuri was bottomed out, he began to thrust, and Victor moaned so loudly that Alyona shuffled nearby.

“Fuck, Vitya, you’re incredible,” Yuuri bit out as he quickened his pace, continuing with a chain of swears and praises. Soon he was driving into Victor fast and hard, knowing neither of them were likely to last long. What they were doing was so goddamn sexy; and if Victor had a fantasy about this, he realised he did, too. This impossibly beautiful, graceful, strong, sensuous knight – Victor, the love of his life, in full armour as if he’d been intending to go out and spar – was _his_. And he’d grabbed him and was having him, with Victor eager and urging him on.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Yuuri groaned, watching his cock pump in and out of Victor’s marvellous bare chiselled arse, the rest of him hidden under clothing and metal.

Victor seemed to be beyond words, apart from Yuuri’s name, which spilled over and over from his lips. The rhythmic slap of skin on skin sounded out in the still morning air of the stable as Yuuri began to pull Victor onto his cock in time with his thrusts. Victor let out a cry, fingers scrabbling at the empty wall, and Yuuri just about hurtled over the edge. Slowing his movements, he reached around and under Victor’s faulds, pulling the front of his braies down and freeing his stiff cock. It was a difficult manoeuvre while they were like this, but Yuuri was rewarded with a series of pants and moans as he stroked Victor while fucking him deep. 

“Yuuri, oh God,” came Victor’s words in loose breaths. “Yes, yes, _please_…”

Yuuri quickened his hips and his hand, groaning as he was rocked with waves of pleasure, forcing himself to hold back until Victor came – as he soon did with another cry, shuddering and coating Yuuri’s hand and the wall with his release. Yuuri bucked into him several more times, his own throaty noises filling the air as he climaxed with a final hard thrust.

As the aftershocks rippled through him, he slumped forward onto Victor’s armoured back, listening to their ragged breaths gradually calming. Then he cast a bliss-hazed eye around them one more time, but the only other occupants of the stable were the horses. He smiled and closed his eyes, a hand drifting to Victor’s waist, hard and cool. Bloody armour, he thought with amusement.

He stepped back and removed a handkerchief from his purse while Victor turned around, looking pleasantly stunned. They cleaned and rearranged themselves, and then Yuuri took Victor in his arms. Victor dipped his head down for a kiss, humming into it.

“You’re outrageous,” he said in a soporific voice, blue eyes glimmering in the growing daylight.

Yuuri laughed softly, playing gently with the hairs at the nape of Victor’s neck. “You put the idea in my head.”

“I did, didn’t I. Clever of me. We should do this again sometime. I can think of a lot of ways to make good use of an empty stable.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t start a stampede,” Yuuri said with a smirk. “Or that nobody walked in.”

“We’ll just have to sneak inside in the middle of the night, then. My turn next time.” He gave Yuuri a mischievous smile. “I’ve never fucked anyone with armour on, either. But now it’s going to be hard to stop thinking about it.”

“Hmm, you’re right.”

Victor chuckled. “Oh, Yuuri. I love you.” He came in for another kiss, and they held each other, running light fingers over cheeks and through hair. Eventually Victor touched their foreheads together, and they smiled, lost in one another.

“I love you too, Vitya,” Yuuri sighed, pulling back and looking into those wonderful blue eyes that outshone the watery sunlight. “So, what were you going to do before we…got distracted?”

“Go for a good long run in my armour. It’s beautiful countryside out there.”

“Can I come along?”

“Of course. I should’ve awakened you and asked.” He smiled. “But then we would’ve missed all the fun of being in here.”

Yuuri hummed in agreement and stole a quick kiss. “I just need to get my amour on.”

Victor helped him with it, and after stopping by Henric’s tent to let him know where they were going, they ran over hills and through valleys, the fog lifting as a light breeze began to blow. Sun shone in brief peeks between low grey clouds tattering at the edges, and small gold and rust patches had begun to paint the green canopies over vast stretches of woods. Yuuri and Victor avoided those for fear of getting lost, sticking to roads and paths; and when the sun had climbed noticeably higher in the sky, they returned to the campsite, Yuuri’s muscles feeling a pleasant burn. They greeted other members of the troupe as they passed by. Victor inhaled deeply and gave Yuuri a catlike grin.

“Smell that? It’s the smell of delicious food. I’m following my nose.”

“It’s not dinnertime yet.”

“Oh, they always have pottage or something similar on. I’m starving! Good sex and a long run will do that to me.”

Yuuri blushed, looking around, but there was no one within earshot unless someone on the other side of a canvas wall had just heard about what Victor had been getting up to. With him. Not that he was in any way ashamed. He was keen on Victor’s promise of doing it again and switching roles, and the thought of it sent a pulse of heat through him.

“You know, you’re right,” he replied, breathing in the aromas himself. Smoke and roasting meat. Baking bread. His mouth watered as they walked to the cookfire in the middle of the camp, and soon they both had a small earthenware bowl of beef and vegetable pottage and a hunk of bread fresh from the oven. The cooks came and went, fetching ingredients and tending to the smaller cookfires; the rest of the troupe seemed to be busy with other things, as it was later than breakfast, which was always an optional meal, and too early for dinner. The two of them were alone for the time being, and they sat together on a log, eating while their conversation drifted to the performance the night before, and then specifically to the sparring. Yuuri hadn’t beaten Victor again yet, but he was coming close more often.

“That touch you got in the third round – the one where I’d fallen to the ground and was trying to get out of the way?” he said, standing and putting his empty bowl on a nearby table. “I was only giving the audience a good show.” He spoke with exaggerated bravado, as if Victor wouldn’t already know he was joking.

“Naturally,” Victor said breezily, chewing his bread.

“And that barking dog distracted me in round eight.” Yuuri leaned against the table and looked down, trying to maintain a serious face.

“Ah, well. I must have been immune to its effects.”

“And in round nine – ”

“Oh my love,” Victor said with a grin, “you’ll beat me again. Sooner rather than later, I expect. But it would help you to have other worthy opponents, too. Julia is coming along, though her strength is no match for yours, or mine. And Chris is improving, but…”

Yuuri nodded. “I know.”

“We should find a tournament. One that includes archery, for Julia. Emil ought to go as well.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “But what about Victor and Friends?”

“There are gaps in our schedule. We could choose one and look into whether there’s something local we could attend. I’m familiar with many of the annual ones, which helps.”

Suddenly Yuuri had an idea. A wonderful one. He might even go so far as to say it was inspired. “You against Boucicaut. The fight of a lifetime.”

Victor raised an eyebrow, thinking about this. “Hm. I’ve wondered sometimes whether I ought to. I’ve wanted to test myself against him for a long time.”

“I’d love to see it,” Yuuri enthused. “Maybe over the winter, when we’d otherwise be at the castle, we could go. It’d be amazing to see medieval France.”

Victor huffed a laugh, dipping his bread into his pottage. Yuuri had been hungrier than he’d realised and had practically inhaled his food, though it would be rude to ask for more, and dinner would be in an hour or so. “Medieval France, as you call it,” Victor said, “is very much like medieval England, only they speak French there. But I like this idea. Being with you seems to be giving me some motivation.”

“Showing off for your boyfriend?” Yuuri said with a smile.

“Oh of course. It’s no fun if you can’t do that.” Victor looked up and met his gaze. “We should both challenge him.”

Yuuri smirked. “Yeah. And kick his arse all the way to Carlisle.”

“I’m serious, though.”

“Maybe I am, too.”

Victor grinned and ate the rest of his bread. “I’m pleased to hear it. I had an idea myself, while we’re at it, though it’s nothing to do with swordsmanship.”

“Oh?”

Victor’s smile held a touch of shyness. “This new dance you’re dreaming up…do you think there could be a role in it for me?”

Yuuri’s lips parted, and he stared. “You…you want to dance with me?” he said in quiet awe. “In front on an audience?”

A shadow crossed Victor’s face. “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“I _love _it, Victor,” Yuuri replied, his heart swooping. “I just didn’t think you’d want to go so far as to…well, to give hints to people about our relationship, in case our patrons – ”

“You’re an excellent choreographer, Yuuri,” Victor said, his blue eyes unwavering. “Do you think you could put something together, perhaps with my help, that included elements of modern dances you know? Which would allow us to show how we feel about each other without obvious sexual implications?”

“Well…” Yuuri stroked his chin, pretending to debate it. “…those are some fine lines to toe.” Then he smiled from ear to ear. “I like a challenge. Of course I’ll do it. I’d love to dance in a show with you.”

Victor’s face lit up. This plan seemed to appeal to him even more than the one for fighting Boucicaut.

“It’ll be like the brotherhood-in-arms ceremony,” Yuuri went on, his head filling with ideas. “We’ll be partners, with…with an abiding love for each other.”

Victor put his bowl on the ground and gazed at him, his eyes sparkling. “Go on.”

“We could be…I don’t know, spirits or something. Elemental ones, maybe. Meeting and mingling. People here seem to like mythical things like that.”

“You’d have to be fire. That’s what you are, and it’s what you do to me, my sweet.”

Yuuri looked down and smiled, pleasantly distracted. If Victor insisted, then what element should he –

But why had the ground suddenly gone out of focus? He blinked, then looked back up. Victor was blurring too, as if Yuuri were sinking to the bottom of a lake and watching him through deepening waters. It was then that Victor seemed to realise something was wrong as well. A look of horror crossed his face, and he scrambled to his feet; Yuuri could just make out the sound of his name being called, from further and further away, fading, everything fading…

Yuuri threw an arm out and lurched forward, grasping, anything to find some purchase that would anchor him to where he desperately needed to stay. But it was like falling off a cliff – there was nothing to hold, and nothing underneath him, as colours bled and thinned.

He screamed Victor’s name as he continued to reach for him. But he might as well have tried to defy gravity as he was torn away, Victor’s eyes and glinting armour and outstretched hand – all of it gone, drowned in the fog.

A pervasive roar overtook his senses while he seemed for a moment to hang suspended. Then a wrench, as if a giant hand had grabbed him around the waist and yanked.

“_Victor!_” he cried one last time, before dropping with a clatter onto cold hard stone.


	153. Crazy Man Michael (Part 20)

Gasping back the breath that had been knocked out of him, Yuuri scrambled up from the pavement on which he’d landed and looked frantically around. Several people were staring at a charred, smoking and sparking hoverboard that had crashed on the concrete nearby; the man who’d been riding it was still attached by magnetic clamps on his feet, while the rest of him lay immobile on the ground in a spreading pool of blood. A woman was freeing him from the clamps as her colleague urgently checked him over.

Office buildings lining a tarmac road; vehicles flying overhead, and smaller ones on the ground, along with cyclists and pedestrians; jeans, baggy trousers, long coats, bright scarves, face paint…the familiarity of it all beat at Yuuri’s brain and pressed against his chest.

A young man with short blond hair in a grey anorak zoomed down from the sky and landed his hoverboard, staring at Yuuri when he saw him. “Justin?” He glanced down at the injured man before looking back in confusion. Yuuri didn’t have a clear view of the ground, but he could see short strawberry-blond hair against waxen skin. And a face that he’d gazed at many times in a mirror. The man carried on, “But how? Who – ”

“_Yuuri?_” came a voice from behind, and he spun around just as a wailing ambulance landed in the road. Phichit had emerged from the glass doors to the building – the university building – and was running toward him, mouth hanging open. “Justin – ” He cut the sentence off and stopped, then looked to the blond man. “Alan, what happened?”

“Clipped by a bus. I’m not sure the autopilot even registered that there was an accident, because it just flew away. God, I’m so sorry, Phichit – he’s really good at using a hoverboard; he must have been distracted by something he saw.”

Justin, red and gold dots and spirals standing out on his cheeks, the back of his head damp with blood, was placed on a stretcher as two medi-bots and a human medic scanned him. Moments later, the medic draped a heavy sheet over the body. “I’m afraid his injuries were too severe,” she said to the man Phichit had addressed as Alan. “I take it you know him?”

“Dear lord. Um, yes. His name was Justin Courtenay, and he was lodging here at the university.”

A hand wrapped around the plate on Yuuri’s upper arm. “It _is _you, isn’t it? You’ve got your projector on.”

Yuuri blinked and tried to muster a coherent thought; he’d been reacting instinctively since he’d…since…

“Look, you’d better come inside. People are staring. I don’t think they expected to see a knight in shining armour materialise on the path outside the uni. Come on.” Phichit gave Yuuri’s arm a tug, then let go and strode quickly to the glass doors, which opened in front of him.

Yuuri stood motionless, breaths heaving, as if he’d never seen glass doors in his life. Nothing remained of where he’d emerged; no fading spark, no wisp of vapour. He held a hand out as if he could somehow touch that portal and re-open it. Because Victor was there on the other side, waiting for him, worrying.

“Yuuri!” Phichit rejoined him, took his hand, and pulled him along, through the doors and past the startled receptionist, then down the corridor. Glancing back at him, he added, “Can you turn your projector off? It’s not stuck, is it?”

“I…” Yuuri forced himself to focus and bring the com’s BCI up, and did as Phichit had asked. Passing numerous people who stared after them, they soon arrived at Celestino’s office. Phichit stopped outside the door.

“Oh my God, Yuuri. Look at you – like you just stepped out of King Arthur Immersion or something.” He shook his head in wonder. “Just – try to be calm, OK?”

Celestino’s voice issued from the speaker in the wall near the door. “Phichit, I’m being told that you’re outside my office with Yuuri. There must be a glitch in the system.”

“No, Professor,” he answered, his increasingly concerned gaze straying to Yuuri again. “Justin’s just had an accident on his hoverboard outside, and – ”

“Jesus Christ. Come in, both of you.” The door opened and Phichit went inside, Yuuri following. The polished dark wooden desk, the wall with the greenhouse on the other side, Celestino with his long brown ponytail and bushy eyebrows and fire-hued face paint, all as before. As if nothing had happened in the meantime. They both looked at him.

“Alan was supposed to be supervising Justin on the hoverboard,” Phichit began as he turned to Celestino. “Well, he was. But he said…”

Yuuri didn’t pay any attention to what he’d said. The wood-panelled walls were closing in on him. It was wrong, all wrong. He _couldn’t _be back. Just let this bloody place try to hold him, just let it – he’d rip the very fabric of time itself open, he’d – he’d – what? What could he honestly do? Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ –

“Holy shit – Yuuri!” Phichit exclaimed, racing to him as he struggled for breath, bracing himself against the wall, trembling.

_Victor, I didn’t want to go – Justin died and…and I couldn’t stop it…the timestream forced me back…oh God, Victor, what now? What now? _Tears streaked down his cheeks as his throat swelled and thoughts blurred.

“I’ve never seen it this bad,” Phichit called across the room to Celestino before gripping Yuuri’s plated shoulders. “Yuuri, look at me. Try taking some deep breaths. It’s OK, it’s gonna be OK. Right? One, two…”

Yuuri heaved a lungful of air down his treacherous throat, then blurted, “I have to go back! Victor – ”

“Yuuri, I’m really, really sorry, but – ”

Grabbing his arm, Yuuri repeated, “_I have to go back!_”

“Yuuri, you can’t! You know you can’t!”

“_I can’t stay here! _Can’t…can’t…” He tried to gulp more air, but he was being strangled. Tremors shook him. His vision started to go black.

He was vaguely aware of Celestino rushing to join them. “Yuuri,” he said in a soothing voice, “I’ve got an injector here with kleptol. You know what that is?”

Yuuri nodded, still gasping, eyes streaming.

“What _is _it, Professor?” Phichit asked.

Celestino continued, “It’ll help you to calm down, and then you’ll be able to breathe again. Have I got your permission to inject it?”

_No, don’t give me that…no…_

“Professor – ” Phichit pressed again.

“I keep it in my desk for anxious students. Some of them usually need it when their exams are coming up.”

“An anti-anxiety med? You inject your own students with that?”

“They _ask _for it, and it’s perfectly in keeping with the university’s ethics policy for me to agree,” he answered quickly. “You’ve always done so well, but not all the other students are like that.” He took Yuuri’s arm. “Lord sakes, my lad, what part of you _isn’t _covered with metal?”

_No…_Yuuri wheezed, his head swimming.

“This will help you breathe, Yuuri. Let me look after you.”

_Only one person is allowed to say that to me. Get away. _He jerked his arm out of Celesino’s grip – and lunged forward, then slumped against the wall, little white stars popping before his eyes. The stranglehold on his throat intensified, and doom was riding high on its heels. He whimpered, clutching at the wall.

_I’m going to die._

“Yes,” he managed to choke out in a small voice.

“Thank God for that.” Celestino took his arm again, turned it over, rucked his sleeve up over his wrist, and pressed something cool against it. A quick sting…and Yuuri’s head filled with cotton wool, his grip on the wall beginning to ease.

“Professor,” he heard Phichit say, “this is…it’s weird. I never knew you had stuff like that in here.”

“I don’t offer it lightly. Yuuri, I can let you have the injector, and if – ”

“Give it to me,” Phichit said. “I’ll take him home.”

* * *

Yuuri drifted along next to Phichit, his brain in the fog of a waking dream, his body going where it was led. He noticed they were riding in a hovercar. Then walking. His elderly neighbour Mrs. Wells was there, and then she wasn’t. Someone was taking his armour off him. Victor? Emil? And helping him to change his clothes. The new ones felt odd. He should light a candle before he went to bed so that he could see if he needed to get up and use the garderobe in the middle of the night. Or Victor’s little oil lamp. Though really, he knew his way in the dark so well by now that he doubted he’d trip over anything. But never mind. He needed sleep most of all. Victor would join him in bed soon; he rarely stayed up late. And in the…in the morning…they would…

_…They were trying to trace his family? Good luck there. What did you tell them?…I know, it was hardly his fault. It was kind of him to look after Justin like that…OK…But yeah, I know. It was horrible, Professor. I’ve never seen anyone hurt like that before, there was blood all over the road…What? No, I’ll be OK. Yuuri, though…Yeah, he did. Sure, no problems. I’m just really worried, you know?…A few days would be good. He can’t be here on his own, not like this…No, I haven’t told her yet, but I’ll give her a call…Yeah, I will…_

…couples dance performance…fantastic idea, he needed to think of moves…why couldn’t he…_Wake up. Think, think. _Who’d been talking in the night? Had someone come in to see Victor? Why would they mention a professor?

A warm morning, with none of that damp bite in the air; summer must be reaching out to them one last time. He’d visit the latrine, have a wash, maybe see if he could nab something to eat; he was strangely hungry. Was Victor up yet? If not, maybe he’d like to cuddle, or more. Yuuri was filled with a sudden longing for that above all else, and opened his eyes at the same time as he reached a hand out, feeling a plastered wall.

_What?_

There was a window in the wall. A white wall with cream-coloured curtains which were drawn. The same ones he’d woken up to for the past several years, before he’d come to the castle.

_Oh Jesus. Fuck._

He rolled over and looked into his bedroom. On the bedside table were an injector, a glass of water, his Cloud bracelet and his com, all illuminated under the lamp; a trace of grey slightly lighter than the shadows was the only indication that the sun would be rising soon. But that must mean he’d slept for something like…nineteen hours. Shit.

He stared at the assortment of items. And willed yesterday’s events out of his memory, even as they began to assail his waking mind in all their horrific detail, chasing away the illusions of the drug and the night.

Burying his face in his pillow, Yuuri wept bitter tears until it seemed impossible that any more could be wrung out of him; but the sobs persisted, dry and sore. _Send me back, send me back to Victor, let me go home. Please, God, please. Don’t do this to me._

He thought about injecting himself with the kleptol, the very thing he’d hated having to accept the day before. It had shut out the pain, putting him to sleep and allowing him to believe for a while that he was back in 1393 with everything carrying on as normal. Eventually, however, he’d have to ask himself how long he wanted to live in a fantasy before he found the courage to deal with the real world. Kleptol wasn’t Immersion, but it could just as easily lead him down that path. No, he had to _function_, and he couldn’t do that stuck in a haze.

_Some choice. Kleptol, or this…this place._

He hadn’t even brought anything back. Nothing Victor had given him. His livery collar – _shit, that’s at the castle, I’m never going to see it again unless it made its way to some bloody museum_ – and those beautiful clothes…including his eros outfit. That had all been left behind, to remind Victor of his absence. And no matter how desperate they were to reach across the years and find each other, that wasn’t going to happen with one damaged time-travel sphere in Victor’s possession and none here at all.

_I’ve lost him. He’s gone._

He turned back over to sob into his pillow again, though it did nothing to ease the ache inside, and he must have dozed off in the end because the next time he opened a bleary eye, the room was full of daylight.

_I should get up._

_But that would mean accepting what happened and trying to move on somehow. How am I supposed to do that?_

He stared at the curtains, the light dipping and returning as clouds passed across the sun. Wanting to think of Victor; yearning to hold him. But he wasn’t here, and Yuuri would never see him again, and it _hurt_, God it hurt. He curled in on himself, willing it all to be gone.

_Am I going to spend the rest of my life lying in bed, crying and sleeping? For fuck’s sake._

_I should get up._

He pulled the duvet back and sat up slowly, noticing he was wearing black jogging trousers with his braies stuffed underneath, and a white T-shirt. His translator, which no longer had anything to translate, was still in his ear; he removed it and laid it on the table. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to lie in bed. He didn’t…didn’t want any of it. The weight of whatever lay ahead was crushing down on him. A day, a month, a year, a life. More tears spilled out. He stood and got a handkerchief from the top drawer of his dresser, where he’d always kept them, and wiped his face and blew his nose, then shuffled out into the living room. Where Phichit was asleep on the sofa, seemingly unaware that it could unfold into a guest bed.

_Did he say he was staying? I don’t remember that. But wait…that must’ve been him I heard yesterday, talking on the Cloud to Celestino. _And suddenly Yuuri was glad his friend was here. He had baggy blue cotton trousers on, and a wrinkled white tunic with embroidered red flower patterns around the cuffs and collar and down the front in two parallel lines; his green and gold face paint from the day before still sparkled, even if the curves were a bit smudged now. His dark hair was a little longer, but that was the only change in him that was noticeable. Yuuri wondered vaguely what Phichit had been doing the day before while he himself had slept.

Part of the answer was waiting for him in the bathroom. Next to the sink, a toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, shaving foam and soap were waiting for him, all new. Even a kit of face paint. Yuuri used the toilet, a novel experience, then filled the sink with tap water and stared into the mirror. The room was so _white, _so _bright. _His hair was sticking up in different directions and his face looked washed-out, his eyes scarily bloodshot and red-rimmed. A shadow of stubble clung to his jaw.

_I look like I got rat-arsed last night and slept about an hour._

_Welcome home, Yuuri. How do you like it so far?_

A tremor passed through him, and his heart lurched. _OK, calm down. What…what would I be doing right now if I’d woken up in the tent? Just focus on morning routines, nothing else. Um, I’d have a wash and get dressed. Braies, hose, boots, tunic, cloak. Then stir up the embers in the brazier and put some more logs in, so that when Victor gets up, if he isn’t already, he…_

Oh. Well, of course he couldn’t think about those things without thinking of Victor, too. A wave of anger washed through him for trying not to. And then the aching emptiness was back as he planted his palms on either side of the sink and hung his head.

_He’s been dead for hundreds of years._

“No,” he said firmly into the silence.

_He’s as alive as the moment I left him. It’s morning for him, too, but I’m not there. In the tent…what’s he doing? How does he feel?_

_Victor, I want so much to hold you. God…_

A tear fell into the sink, sending a little ring of ripples outward.

_What’s going to happen with the troupe now? Will Victor keep performing? Something else? Go back to the castle? But…but no, he wouldn’t do that; it’s what he wanted to get away from._

_Does it even matter? He’s still destined to die before the end of the year, and I’m not there anymore to try to stop it._

The words from “Crazy Man Michael” came back to him then: _Your true love will die by your own right hand._

Sweat broke out on Yuuri’s brow. Why did his mind insist on torturing him?

He could never, _never _imagine doing anything to harm Victor, even accidentally. And now that was impossible anyway. But there were other things that might happen. Maybe John of Gaunt, who they’d both assumed had forgotten about them, actually hadn’t, and was picked because they hadn’t answered his summons. Victor would have to face that all alone. Or what if some other trouble was brewing that neither of them had been aware of? Did they have any enemies Yuuri hadn’t known about? Might he have offended someone else inadvertently, just like he’d done with Tyler? Or something totally random, like Victor trying to use his laser gun, and it exploded – or someone got it from him and shot him with it…?

Yuuri clutched at the sides of the sink, more tears falling as his shoulders shook. What if…what if…_what if_?

_I can’t go back. Can’t go…trapped…Victor…_

His thoughts began to sink into blackness as his heart raced and he gasped for breath. Jesus no, not again. But his body was out of his control. Everything, everything was beyond his control now, and –

“Yuuri,” Phichit called urgently from the other side of the door. One knock, two three. “Yuuri! Are you OK? Can I come in?”

Yuuri was holding on to the sink now as if it were an anchor preventing him from slipping down into deep waters. “Phichit,” he wheezed, then coughed and tried to gulp in the air he desperately needed.

“I’m coming in!” The door flew open, and Phichit hurried to his side. He held the injector up. “Celestino said he increased the dose because he was worried about you not being able to breathe. But since it kind of clubbed you over the head, I’ve programmed a smaller dose. So it shouldn’t knock you out again.”

Gasping and dizzy, Yuuri gave a couple of frantic nods. Phichit held the injector against his arm, and there was the sting again, followed by waves of numbing calm. Yuuri’s throat gradually relaxed enough for him to be able to force several deep breaths through.

“OK, that’s good, Yuuri,” Phichit said, placing a hand on his back. “Just breathe. You’ll be OK.”

_I’m never going to be OK again, _Yuuri thought as he filled his lungs.

* * *

He wondered if he should’ve told Phichit to put the dose back to where Celestino had originally calibrated it, because the twilight he’d been floating in all morning was worse than either sleeping or waking. Phichit had suggested he sit or lie down on the sofa in the living room, where he’d have some company; and perhaps later if he felt up to it, they could visit Celestino, who wanted to speak to them both in his office. And was he ready for some food? But Yuuri had insisted on returning to his bed, where he stared at the curtains again. If he stood outside, he should be able to tell what time it was just from looking at the position and angle of the sun in the sky. Not a skill anyone needed here.

The curtains were still drawn, and the shadows of the clouds came and went. He heard Phichit come in to check on him, but when Yuuri didn’t say anything, he went away quietly. Some time later the haze over his brain began to lift, and he turned over to discover that Phichit had left him a fresh glass of water with some nutri-pills. He sat up and swallowed them.

_This is stupid. I’m not ill. I need to stop acting like it. _

He looked down. The same drab modern clothes. Where were the ones he’d been wearing when he’d arrived? And his armour? Leaping out of bed, he searched all around, under the bed, every corner, hands shaking – _where_? Had Phichit got rid of them? But then he opened the closet door and there it all was – tunic, and hose folded neatly on a shelf; boots, belt and armour on the floor. Limp with relief, Yuuri sank to the carpet and took several breaths to try to calm himself. _I’m not having another fucking panic attack. I’m not. Jesus, Yuuri, get a grip. _More breaths. Slowing.

He reached out and picked up his belt, the heavy scabbard dragging on the floor, and pulled it onto his lap, feeling its weight. Suddenly even drawing his sword seemed like too much hard work, and he sat and cradled it, the minutes passing, tears pooling in his eyes and then drying as he stared into the dark nothingness of the closet.

As his fingers strayed unconsciously from the scabbard, they alit on something smooth and soft. The purse attached to his belt…there should be a few items in it. He untied the drawstring and overturned the leather bag so that its contents fell onto the floor. Coins, whatever use they were now. His laser gun, which would be illegal here. Fuck it. The knife Emil had given him for Christmas, which he’d used every day since, sharpening it the way Victor had taught him. The handkerchief he’d used that morning – the previous morning, after he and Victor…after they’d…

With a small choked noise, he stuffed everything back into his purse, pulled the string and tied it. Sobs escaped from his throat, though he tried to force himself to be quiet. But soon he was past caring. _Make the pain stop. Make it all stop. It’s too much._

“Yuuri.” Phichit knelt down next to him; he hadn’t heard him come in. As Yuuri glanced at him and continued to sob, Phichit tentatively put an arm around his shoulders and sat with him until the tide finally ebbed. “Want to talk?” he asked quietly. “We’ve hardly said anything to each other yet, and…and I know how hard this is for you. OK, well, maybe I don’t know, as in really understand how you’re feeling, but I can tell that…um.” He sighed. “I’m just making it worse, aren’t I? But…well, if you don’t want to, it’s OK, I’ll just – ” 

“Phichit, I…” Yuuri gave a shuddering sigh and wiped the tears off his face with the back of his hand, then paused, trying to put the words together. “Everything seems to remind me of what I’ve lost. No offence, but…” He swallowed. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Yeah, I guessed that. I’m sorry, Yuuri. I really am.”

“I thought we had a future. I mean, I knew this might happen one day. But, still…” His voice trailed off. _But still, I didn’t want to believe it. Besides, I should be a pro by now, shouldn’t I? I got through the loss of my parents. I helped Victor grieve for Alex. And look at how I’m falling to pieces instead. This is what I am now – a nobody in this world. Crying over a heap of metal. _He glanced into the closet at the armour on the floor.

“These things here,” Phichit said, “they’re…beautiful. All those times we talked together over the com, and I never got to see them.” He moved his arm from Yuuri’s shoulders and scooted back on the carpet, gazing at him. “And I didn’t have a chance to say before, but God, Yuuri, you’re absolutely ripped.” When Yuuri wrinkled his brow, he added, “All those muscles. I knew you exercised a lot, because you told me, but…”

Yuuri gave him the ghost of a grin. “I’m a knight. What did you expect?” He paused, while Phichit waited silently. Then he reached into the closet and took the topmost metal piece from the pile, a jointed shoe. “This is a sabaton,” he explained, holding it up. There was a bit of drying mud on the sides and bottom; Emil would have cleaned it for him soon, it was due for a wash and polish…no, he wouldn’t think of that right now.

“Can I see?”

Yuuri handed it over, and the way Phichit held it with something akin to awe lightened his heart a little. He put the other sabaton on the carpet nearby, then picked up the next piece. “And this is a greave; it protects your shin.” Phichit took it, skating his fingers over the smooth mirror-like surface.

“Wow. It’s a work of art, Yuuri. No wonder all those old houses and castles put suits of armour on display. I can’t believe you were actually _wearing _this. Is it what all the knights wear there?”

Yuuri nodded; rather simplistic, but mostly true. And he liked how it felt to hold his armour again, as if reuniting with it, though he’d only had it on yesterday. Phichit’s admiration of this extraordinary collection of finely wrought plates, which had also been Yuuri’s work outfit almost every day, was touching; and the way he’d phrased his question, as if 1393 was just another place in the present that could be visited, even more so.

Inspired to carry on, Yuuri took his remaining pieces of armour, including his gambeson, out of the closet one by one, explaining what they were called and their function, though mostly that was obvious. He couldn’t quite recall what had happened when Phichit had untied it from him the day before, but it seemed safe to assume he hadn’t examined it like this at the time.

“So is that your sword?” Phichit asked after he’d placed the final piece on the pile next to him.

Yuuri picked his belt back up. “This was…is…” His throat hitched, but he made himself continue. “I wore this belt almost all the time. You use it to carry pretty much everything you need. Your knife and your money in your purse. Keyrings, if you have them. And your weapon.”

He’d felt something inside of him stretching thin as it struggled to deal with these reminders of what had been his home. But at the same time, picking them up again like this was familiar; reassuring. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt and began to pull, then decided he might as well do it properly. Standing, he buckled on his belt, then stepped back and drew his sword with a soft hiss of leather, holding it out so that it glimmered.

“This sword is almost brand new,” he continued, staring at it. “V-Victor gave it to me. To…commemorate the experiences I’d had in Immersion which had taught me the only sword skills I had until I started training at the castle.”

Phichit gazed with wide brown eyes, nodding. “Are those real jewels in it, too?”

Yuuri turned his weapon in the light, watching them sparkle and glint. “They’re sapphires. Because…because blue is my colour, and it suits me. H-He said.” A tear escaped down his cheek. But as he stood holding the sword, the perfect weight and feel of it in his grip seemed to call to him, and he took another step back and swung it, his blood resonating with the movements.

“Wow,” Phichit breathed.

_I still have this. _And it was better than any drug. How could he have forgotten so quickly? Everything Victor had trained him to be; everything his experiences had made of him. He closed his eyes and kissed a sapphire, then sheathed his sword and unbuckled his belt, placing it on the bed. His heart might be in pieces, but the anxiety had subsided. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then another.

Phichit was watching him, and after a silence, he said, “So…do you reckon you feel up to leaving your room for a while? Leaving the flat? We could see Celestino. Or anything you want.”

Yuuri thought about this, then nodded. “Was it you who brought the toothpaste and soap and things here?”

“Yeah. I also ordered a few groceries, but there’s a good stock of nutri-pills too.” He glanced at the table. “You took them. I hope they helped; it must’ve been at least a day since you’d eaten.”

“Bread and pottage next to a campfire,” Yuuri said distantly, before forcing the memory aside. He sighed, then added, “You’re a good friend, Phichit. Thanks for…you know. Everything.”

Phichit gave him a little grin that looked almost embarrassed. “Sure. I just wanted to help if I could.”

“I’m surprised I still have a flat to live in. I didn’t…I didn’t intend to come back.”

“Well, like I said, we thought we might as well keep it for you for a while yet. No harm in it.”

Yuuri wondered if he and Celestino had anticipated this happening. The real Justin had been a vulnerable man out of time, in a future-world full of tech he hadn’t understood. It was a shame he hadn’t been able to enjoy it longer, Yuuri thought; he’d begun to sound content with his new life.

_Quite a shame, yes. Because as long as he was here, I was in 1393. Why so soon? Why so bloody soon?_

He cut the thoughts off and stood. “I’d, uh, better get ready. Just have to see what shoes I’ve got left. My trainers, they…they’re back at the castle.” Long since lost, disintegrated…what _had _happened to all of his things? But actually, he really, really didn’t want to know.

“Don’t you have more shoes in here?”

“How many pairs does a jack need? I should have something I used to wear to work, anyway.”

He brushed his teeth and had a shower – again, a strange experience – and shaved, then put on jeans, a black long-sleeved sweatshirt, and a pair of smart but worn-in black shoes. The jeans were tight around his thighs; he’d clearly bulked up over the months, as Phichit had said. It seemed like all the clothes here ought to belong to someone else, although they were familiar, too. But then, most things had felt like that since yesterday.

“I got you some face paint,” Phichit said when Yuuri emerged from the bathroom. He’d already changed clothes himself, had a wash, and painted a new design on his cheeks. “Would you like me to do yours? It might help – ”

“No,” Yuuri said quickly, deciding that bright swirls of colour were the last thing he felt like having all over his face right now. “Thanks anyway.” Then he went to his bedroom and got his Cloud bracelet. It almost felt like strapping his com on.

Phichit suggested they walk to the university, and Yuuri agreed in order to stretch his legs, though he really ought to be making that journey at a run several times over, in his armour, over the steepest hills he knew. Lying around, interspersed with gentle walking, was not going to keep him in training.

_Jesus, do I even need to worry about that anymore? _

_Yes, _came the answer from somewhere deep inside. It felt important. Just like drawing his sword earlier had reminded him of who he’d been and who he still wanted to be. Maybe that was only perpetuating the illusion that he could somehow hang on to it without the intervening centuries ripping it away – as if that hadn’t already happened in reality. But he would have to give it some thought.

It was a windy day heavy with the chill of autumn, and Yuuri’s black sports jacket flapped as they walked down the path. Every now and then a bicycle, rickshaw or pedalo would pass by on the street, or a tour bus or small taxi; people who weren’t in a hurry to get from A to B still made use of the roads, which were kept in good condition for them. Though the bulk of the traffic flew past overhead. To Yuuri, it was an ordinary day here. He wondered what Victor…

_He’s not here. I’m never going to see him again. I need to stop all these goddamn thoughts and face up to it._

Yuuri’s inner voice was capable of a harshness reserved only for him. If his anxiety could talk, it would be like that, he’d decided. But he didn’t have to listen to it.

_Maybe I should. No – that’s not the best part of me, by far. Since when did it ever give me good advice?_

He shoved his hands into his pockets, fighting back more tears, and walked quietly next to Phichit until they reached the university. Celestino had been apprised of their arrival and was waiting for them in his office. Phichit hung his jacket on a peg and Yuuri did the same; then they each took a chair at his desk.

“Yuuri, I’m glad you felt up to coming today,” Celestino said. “If there’s anything you need, just let me know – ”

“Like what?”

Celestino blinked. “Well…a glass of water, a moment to yourself; or if you need to leave – ”

“I’ll be fine, thank you.” _No more repeats of yesterday, if that’s what you’re wondering._ “Phichit said you wanted to see us?”

“You in particular, yes.” Celestino leaned back in his leather chair and laced his fingers together. “I realise it’s early days, and that returning here as you did was unexpected, that you wanted to stay where you were. I’m sure it must be very difficult for you. But you may also be considering what’s going to happen now, and I wanted to try to help with that.”

Yuuri nodded and waited for him to carry on.

“We’re of course very grateful for what you did to track down Ailis and ensure she’s no longer a threat,” the professor continued. “It’s always been recognised that you were risking your life on your mission, and the university and MI8 intend to make good on their promise to ensure that you’re appropriately recompensed. You were our last hope, Yuuri, and you may well have done every person on this planet a great favour. There’s no telling how Ailis might have changed history, given the chance.”

Yuuri supposed he was expected to feel appreciated and grateful, but the truth was that he didn’t feel anything. Ailis had been one part of the life he’d had in the past, and he’d moved on to do other things since. With Victor and Julia and Emil and the others. Celestino didn’t understand what that had been like; no one did. And at the moment he couldn’t care less about some reward for his mission.

“You’ll be paid a…I’m not sure what the best word is to use,” Celestino said. “ ‘Salary’ isn’t a good description, because there’s no additional work you’ll be obliged to do. ‘Stipend’, then. It won’t make you a wealthy man, but it’ll be enough for you to live on, and you’ll be free to do as you please. Travel, if you want. Take up a hobby.”

Yuuri shifted in his chair. “You make it sound like I’m a pensioner at twenty-four.”

“Well, if you _want _to work, no one will stop you, and you’d earn the appropriate salary for whatever you did. If you wanted to return to the university, for example, because you missed working with the tech here, it might give you something to do to take your mind off things. We’ll be happy to entertain any suggestions you have.”

_Return…? _Yuuri stared at him. _Because I miss fixing broken projectors and clapped-out service robots? Are you fucking kidding me?_

“I…thank you,” he said aloud. “That’s very, um, kind of you, but I’m going to need some time to think.”

“Take all the time you want,” Celestino said with a sage grin. “I’m sorry about what happened, but it’s good to see you again. Phichit’s offered to stay with you a while longer, and that’s not a problem for me. I hope you’re feeling better soon.” He smiled. “Still, it must be a relief in a way to get back to civilisation.”

Yuuri tried not to glare too hard as he stood. _Sure, Professor. It’s absolutely ting._


	154. Chapter 154

Over the next few days, Phichit struck what Yuuri knew must be a difficult balance between being attentive and giving him his space, and he was grateful. When he’d first met the enthusiastic young physics student, he’d never anticipated they’d become anything more than acquaintances who liked a drink and a laugh together once in a while. But they’d developed a friendship that had gone in impossible directions when Phichit had become Yuuri’s contact in the future over the com – and now this. Yuuri wouldn’t have asked anyone to move in with him and subject themselves to his misery, but he knew it would be worse if he were in his flat by himself, and he was touched that he wanted to help.

Asking Phichit about his life, rather than talking about his own, kept his mind off more painful subjects. There was no one he fancied at the moment, but he’d been going out with friends in the hopes of meeting someone eventually. He had exams coming up in two months, but his studies were well in hand, and Celestino planned to give him his first class to teach after Christmas. He was working on a paper with four colleagues on nonlinear interactions between intense circularly polarised electromagnetic waves and electron plasma oscillations, as he explained it. And his aunt and uncle and cousins were planning on coming to visit in the new year. Yuuri ought to have known all these things already, and he felt guilty about not getting him to say more about himself while they’d communicated over the com. He might have been the one living the strange medieval life, but that didn’t make Phichit’s any less important.

Yuuri reimbursed him for the things he’d bought him, the university having arranged for his bank account to be made active again when it paid his first stipend. Phichit went with him to local shops, where he bought shoes, a winter coat similar to his old black one that he’d left behind, and a few clothes that fitted better. He had real coffee and chocolate at a café, though they tasted bitter when he wondered what Victor would make of them, wishing he could be here, and reminding himself again that it would never be possible. 

At the flat, Phichit occasionally went out when Yuuri insisted he’d be all right for a while on his own; he brought work back with him sometimes. While he was occupied, Yuuri focused on the unenviable task of sorting out Cloud accounts and messages that had been sitting untouched for months; he’d seen alerts and notifications everywhere when he’d first called up the menu up to check the time. Subscriptions to tech journals that hadn’t been paid. Hundreds of automatic recommendations for things to read, watch, listen to. It was all so much meaningless chatter. He ended up reading news sites to find out what he’d missed, which didn’t appear to be much. Once, out of curiosity, he began looking up information pages about medieval life, wondering what they might say and if he could spot any factual inaccuracies. But all it had done was bring the pain and anxiety back, and he’d gone to bed for the rest of the afternoon.

Although he appreciated Phichit’s company, he felt embarrassed about the displays of grief he couldn’t always suppress. He didn’t want his friend to feel overwhelmed; but at the same time, he was beginning to be afraid of his own mind and body. There were more anxiety attacks, and he’d resorted to the kleptol on a few more occasions, injecting himself before Phichit saw the state he was in and got agitated. Yuuri knew that it was rare for his throat to close off so completely that he passed out; but even if he did, his body would then relax and he’d begin to breathe normally again. He was determined not to put Phichit through that, however. It had been bad enough to do it to Mari when he’d been younger.

One of the times he’d used the kleptol was when he’d asked Phichit to bring the book containing Victor’s death date to the flat so that he could monitor it until December. Phichit hadn’t been keen on the idea, and had told him so as they sat together on the sofa.

“Don’t you think it’d just make it worse?” he said. “Every time you check and see the date hasn’t changed, you might get another anxiety attack.”

“The anxiety comes from not knowing, too,” Yuuri told him. “What if one day it _does _change? That was why I told Victor in the first place, so that he might be able to do something about it.”

“And what if it _doesn’t _change, all the way up to the new year? It’ll be like he died, wouldn’t it? I’m sorry, but my guess is that’s how you’ll feel, and – ”

“Please, Phichit. You won’t have to check it anymore because I’ll have it here, and I can do it anytime I want.”

Phichit gazed at him firmly. “Only if you promise me you’ll only check once a week or something. If you get obsessed with it – ”

“I won’t.”

“How do you know? You can be really intense about things, Yuuri. I mean, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, except for when – ”

“I promise,” Yuuri insisted. “Once a week.”

When Phichit fetched the old leather-covered tome and plonked it on the table, however, Yuuri wondered if even a weekly check would be too much. It looked like something that might have come from a sorcerer’s lair, though he knew it had only been sitting in storage in some dusty corner of the minster. _An Historie of the Nobilitye of Bryttania _had been branded into the maroon-coloured crumbling leather, and the pages inside were brittle and smelled of mildew. Yuuri couldn’t even read much of the calligraphic script, even though it was in English, but the gist of it seemed to be a dry factual account of the doings of aristocrats in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Phichit had said he and Dr. Faye had hunted thoroughly for any mention of Victor, and all that they could find was his name and year of death in a list on a page in the middle, which had a red ribbon marking it.

The fact that it was such a small, insignificant note made Yuuri burn with outrage. The writer of the book didn’t seem to think barons were very worthy of attention, and their sons who had never taken on the title even less so. Yuuri had traced his finger across the cream-coloured page, splotched with age, and thought about the stubborn refusal of the date to change; about how close the end of the year was; about how Victor was alone while he himself was stranded here, looking at his name in this old tome that he would rather have burned. And that was when the symptoms had started, and he’d disappeared into his room to take the kleptol.

When it had worn off later that afternoon, he told himself he needed to find better coping mechanisms. Go to the gym, for instance. He couldn’t wear his armour there, but maybe he could do some exercises in it in the courtyard. And he _had _to call Mari before she wondered why she hadn’t heard from him, though Phichit said he’d spoken to her himself the first night he was back. Yuuri had been hesitating because didn’t know what kind of direction the conversation would take, and the last thing he wanted was to end up sobbing at her across the Cloud, but he couldn’t keep putting it off.

“Hey, Yuuri,” she said in surprise when she answered. “Hang on – I’m in the rec room at the spa. Just give me a minute to duck into the office.” Yuuri waited, and eventually he heard a door open and close, and the sound of a chair scraping on a tiled floor. “It’s really weird talking to you properly over the Cloud,” she continued. “Phichit says you’re back in our time now.”

Yuuri’s throat hitched. “Yeah.”

“He told me you got pulled back because the jack you swapped places with had died. And that he was staying at your flat to make sure you were OK.” She paused. “But you said you didn’t want to come back even if you could, so my guess is you aren’t.”

“No,” Yuuri said quietly. “I mean, I’ll be all right. I’m just…” His voice began to wobble. “I lost Victor, Mari. And everything we were doing. That was my _life_.” A tear spilled down a cheek. “It’s, uh…it’s going to take some time to deal with.”

Another pause. “Look, I was worried when Phichit called me, but since he was there to help you out, I thought I’d wait to talk until you called me yourself. We’ve got some renovation work going on right now, but Sharon can cope with that for a while. I’ll come down straight away and – ”

“No,” Yuuri said again hastily. “Really, don’t. It’s OK. I just need to get my shit together, and I can do that. Then maybe…maybe it’ll be easier to talk. I mean I’d love to see you, but…”

“All right. As long as you’re playing level with me, bro.” She lowered her voice. “Are you having anxiety attacks?” When Yuuri didn’t reply, she continued, “_That’s _all the answer I need. I really think I’d better come down. Then you can – ”

“_Please, _Mari. It…it’s not a good time yet. I’ll get in touch soon, OK? I’ve got Phichit. I’ll be all right.”

“If you expect me to believe that, I’ve got a cloud to sell you. But if that’s what you want…I’d better hear from you soon. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“You sure?”

“Pinky promise. I’m sure_._”

But really, he wasn’t. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Just that he couldn’t be dependent on his twenty-two-year-old friend who had coursework and other things to do, any more than he could ask Mari to mother him through a second period of grief. He had to work this out himself.

After the call ended, he went to stand in front of the little butsudan on the shelf. Since he’d returned, he’d been lighting the tea candle inside from habit, and blowing it out and shutting the doors at night. He was glad that it was here, with the framed photo of his parents and himself and Mari when they’d been young.

_Well, I’m back, _he thought as he gazed at it. _Do you watch me sometimes from where you are? Do you know what happened? What would you say to me now? _But they’d never known their son as an adult. Had never known Victor. He wished they all could have met. More pieces of his life, missing and gone. He took a moment to steady himself.

Could he add something else to the butsudan? Something to help him grieve for Victor and learn how to appreciate his memory through the pain?

_What the hell am I doing? _he asked himself immediately. _Victor isn’t dead, not to me. And he never will be. He’s just…on the other side of the barrier between our times, in a place where you can go if you’ve got the tech. That’s not dead. That’s just hard to reach._

And he decided he would not think about him any other way.

* * *

“Yuuri, have you got the _grà tiam _over there?” Phichit looked up from the chopping board and held a hand out.

“Um. That’s…garlic?”

“Yeah, have you got it?”

Yuuri picked up the bulb near him on the counter and handed it over.

“Ta very much.”

Phichit was teaching him what foods were called in Thai as he prepared pad krapow, a basil and chicken dish, while Yuuri was in charge of the rice and salad. Ordinarily he would have enjoyed his friend’s challenge, but his brain had been fogged these four days since he’d returned, and simple tasks sometimes felt impossible. He’d even considered, just for a moment, surreptitiously getting his translator and putting it in his ear, so that there would no longer be any effort involved. But that wasn’t really fair on Phichit, so he soldiered on, shredding some spinach and chopping up a tomato.

“My relatives are always disappointed I can’t do much in the way of cooking other than chuck some chopped chicken and baby corn together with a tin of coconut milk and a glob of curry paste,” Phichit mumbled as he worked, staring ahead as he checked and re-checked the recipe he’d called up on the Cloud. “What else do they expect? Most people just order food in, but not my family, oh no.” He glanced at Yuuri. “Thanks for helping. I’ve got to learn how to do this.”

“Well it _is _my kitchen,” Yuuri replied with a little smile. “But you’ll be fine when they come, I’m sure.” He knew, however, that this was about more than the Chulanonts’ gastronomic satisfaction; it was also a transparent attempt to keep him busy. But that was fine; the dish Phichit was bringing to a boil smelled good, and Yuuri was out of practice with cooking. He leaned over the steaming liquid and inhaled, then hummed in satisfaction, evoking a grin from Phichit. It was aromatic in the way only Thai food could be, with lemongrass and lime leaves and galangal. Galangal…he mentioned that he’d been surprised to discover it was used so much in medieval cooking.

“I know, you told me,” Phichit answered as he stirred.

“I did? When?”

“Before…um, Victor. When you had that little room to yourself.”

“Oh.” Yuuri put the water on for boiling the rice.

They worked in silence, and then Phichit said, “You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I’d be keen to hear. About being at the castle, about Victor, about the travelling troupe? If it helps.”

“Oh, um…” _I can cope with this. I’m not made of glass. _But then, he was the one who’d been having anxiety attacks. He decided on a topic that ought to be safe. “Well, did I ever tell you about Bertram and Hugh?”

“No, who were they?”

“A couple of actors I worked with.” Yuuri related some anecdotes about their odd relationship while he put the rice steamer over the boiling water and worked on the salad. Then he switched to Henric and Oswin, and Julia’s archery feats. He even said a bit about what Victor did on the wheel, while Phichit leaned back against the counter and listened attentively.

_I can do this; it’s not so bad. _In fact, he could feel the joy of the performance rekindling in his heart. He conjured Victor’s face in his mind, his fringe flopping as he hopped around the spokes, seemingly lighter than air, blue eyes brimming with excitement and love. How long…how long would he be able to remember this before it faded?

And as quickly as the warmth had flooded him, it was gone, leaving him empty once more. Every time he let himself try to enjoy a memory of Victor, it just seemed to emphasise the fact that he was lost to him. He should have known better. Putting the finishing touches on the salad, he tried not to let the sudden dejection show.

“Well,” he said more quietly, “it was good while it lasted. I never thought I’d get to do anything like that. He…” Yuuri swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. “He was beautiful, Phichit.” A tear tried to escape. _I’m not going to stand here and cry._

“You two must have been incredible to see on that wheel,” Phichit said gently.

“Yeah…I think we were.” The tears were threatening to flood out now. “Sorry,” Yuuri managed to say. “Bathroom.” He exited the kitchen with whatever shred of dignity was left to him, then raced there, shut the door, leaned against it, and allowed the tears to flow while he hugged himself to steady his shaking hands.

_I can’t keep doing this. God, I should at least be able to _talk _about it. _He had to find his feet in this place somehow. No more anxiety attacks, no more kleptol. _Give it time, _he told himself. Time…oh, the irony.

He splashed cold water over his face, then dried it and looked around the room, wondering what was bothering him about it; what _kept _bothering him every time he came in. And not just here. His whole flat. Everywhere. He imagined himself back at the castle or campsite, feeling the predictable anxious spike in his chest. Garderobes didn’t exactly smell sweet, and latrines less so. He didn’t miss that, but it felt as if he was onto something. It had struck him the first time he’d set foot in here again, though he hadn’t consciously realised at the time.

The _nothingness_. His senses were used to always being given something to work on, but this was a cheerless sanitised world from which the colours had faded, apart from face paint, to the point where people mostly preferred to wear drab black clothes. Yuuri had never had any desire to stand out in fluorescent hues or plaid or Hawaiian shirts; though once in the Middle Ages, he’d been content to dress as brightly as everyone else.

But it was more than that. The sounds he ought to be able to hear from outside – birdsong, church bells chiming, people going about their business, even the wind soughing through the trees – all muffled by soundproofed walls and double glazing. Food capsules you swallowed without tasting. And God, where were the natural odours here? Phichit’s Thai food tonight was the only thing he could think of, unless he included the bar of soap in front of him and the shampoo, both of which smelled artificially floral. As kind as it had been of Phichit to buy them, Yuuri would stop at the next natural products shop he passed, test what was there with his nose, and buy whatever appealed that contained real ingredients.

He leaned against the door again and closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to return to what he’d come to see as his home, a rich tapestry of scents present everywhere. Smoke from wood and coal fires. Roasting meat and baking bread from kitchens, barley and malt from breweries. Freshly cut timber and hay. Ploughed earth. Leather. The bundles of herbs and spices hung on walls and tucked into rafters, which were also chewed and worn on clothing. Less pleasant things that had inevitably been woven in, noticeable by their absence. Horse shit. Pisspots and latrines. Piles of rotting food and entrails. Even body odour, which wasn’t necessarily bad when someone washed regularly; more a natural, recognisable part of who they were.

Yuuri tried to recall Victor’s now. But how did you remember a smell? You might recall that you liked it, or not. Or that it was reminiscent of something. _He…he liked – likes – roses. But roses aren’t him. _All those times they’d held each other close; that Yuuri had tucked his head into the crook of Victor’s neck…the last one had only been days ago. And he _couldn’t bloody remember._

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Not long before he’d been forced to return, he’d been musing about Natalia and Ethelfrith; how their experiences in this place would fade to holiday memories, and they didn’t even have photos to keep. _It’s a shame, _he’d thought. But how patronising could he have been? It wasn’t just a shame. It was a devastation. Trying to cling to what had happened before was like struggling to hold water in your palms.

He made a quiet throaty noise and covered his face with his hands. 


	155. Chapter 155

Phichit approached the three-storey quadrangle that contained Yuuri’s flat, the smooth travertine stones gleaming warm and tan in the sunlight. It was a lovely building. He really ought to get his arse in gear and move out of his student hole into something like this himself, he thought.

But as he passed through the stone corridor, he lingered before reaching Number Four. There was never any predicting what kind of mood Yuuri would be in these days. Sometimes there were glimmers of his old self, and he’d even manage a smile or two. Others, Phichit worried whether he might be about to tip over into another anxiety attack. He knew Yuuri must still be having them occasionally, even if he was hiding them, because he drugged himself with the injector Celestino had given him. Though to be fair, it wasn’t that often, and if it helped, that could only be a good thing. He certainly never got angry at Phichit himself or tried to take anything out on him; Yuuri wasn’t that kind of person.

But in order to support him, Phichit needed some time away too, and he’d just been back to his own flat for a while. He wondered if it might work to do things like that – to change his in-house residence to extended visits, and then to normal stuff again. It was a delicate, dicey business, he knew. Instantly hoping to be able to help his friend, who’d been through so much already during his trip to the past, he hadn’t initially thought about how serious Yuuri’s condition really was. Though could you call it that? He wasn’t ill. Just really, really…sad.

Poor Victor probably felt the same. Phichit had never seen two people more in love. Well, not _seen_ as such. He had a picture in his head of what Victor looked like, some amazing blond bombshell knight, but he had no idea how accurate it was. If he confessed one of his deepest, darkest secrets, he’d have to say he’d been a little bit jealous of them, and could only wonder whether he’d ever find the right person himself, and if it would be like that. But the same love was now crushing Yuuri. Maybe something not quite as all-encompassing and crazy-making would be preferable. Then again, that just sounded dull.

Well, whatever awaited inside the flat, it didn’t matter; Phichit would be himself and hope it cheered Yuuri up a bit. He’d asked him while they’d eaten breakfast at the kitchen table if he’d like to walk together to the city centre this afternoon, in hopes that it would get him out again and doing something to take his mind off things. And after considering it, he’d agreed, to Phichit’s surprise.

“You don’t, um, think it would stir up too many memories?” he’d asked tentatively, wanting to make sure Yuuri had really thought it through.

“I didn’t go there that often when I was…you know, at the castle,” Yuuri had replied. He’d been doggedly sticking to a morning meal of a small quantity of beef stew with bread from the bakery down the road, which, well, was healthy if unusual. Probably moreso than Phichit’s own scrambled eggs with sriracha.

“What about that time you were working at The Black Dog?”

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not even sure exactly where that would be in the modern city; the street layout’s bound to have changed to an extent. Besides, things like that aren’t…they’re not painful to remember. It’s just stuff that happened. The problem is when I think about…” His words trailed off and he put his bread down on the table, suddenly losing interest in his food.

_About Victor, and the squires, and the travelling troupe, and all that, _Phichit finished for him silently. The things he really missed. He didn’t know much about grief or depression, but his guess was that if Yuuri could eventually bring himself to remember those very things without getting so upset, maybe he’d feel better. But he also figured it would take time, and for now they were subjects that were probably best avoided.

“OK then, if you’re sure,” he said, watching Yuuri stare out the window.

“Yeah,” Yuuri replied, turning back to him. Then he gave him a grin. “I might even be able to point out some things. Be your medieval tour guide.”

“Prang, Yuuri. That’d be amazing.”

Phichit hoped he hadn’t changed his mind since then; but if he had, well, perhaps he could be persuaded another time. The security program let him into the flat and shut the door behind him. “Hey, Yuuri,” he called loud enough to be heard if he was around in the kitchen, but not to wake him if he was in bed. He slept at odd times, especially if he’d taken kleptol; though come to think of it, he was pretty sure that hadn’t happened in the past few days.

Putting his satchel down and hanging his coat on a peg, he decided to have a scout around the flat. Yuuri certainly wasn’t here in the living room. No sign of him in the kitchen. The bathroom was empty. Phichit peered around the bedroom door, but Yuuri wasn’t there, either. Had he gone out? But where? Phichit quickly checked the Cloud. No calls or messages from him. Perhaps he’d just popped to the corner shop for milk or bread. In that case, wouldn’t he know Phichit would worry if he came in and couldn’t find him? Honestly, quantum physics was sometimes easier to fathom than the mind of Yuuri Katsuki.

Well, he wouldn’t worry yet. Yuuri might not be himself at the moment, but he was a grown man, and he hadn’t acted confused or suicidal, not that Phichit had seen. It was horrible to think about such things, but he’d kept a wary eye out at first, especially after that anxiety attack in Celestino’s office. If it _did _get that bad, he knew he’d be out of his depth.

He went to the kitchen to make some tea – and noticed a note pinned to the icebox with a magnet. Pulling it down and holding it, he snorted a laugh, not because it said anything funny, but because Yuuri had returned with some quaint habits like this. He sometimes wrote things with a pen on paper, saying it was comfortable, and a forgotten art. He ate more foods with his hands, or speared a knife through them and picked them up that way. And the past couple of mornings he’d been up at the crack of dawn, whereas usually he was semi-comatose when he turned up at the uni in the morning until he got to his office and downed a mug of strong coffee. Now he had trouble sleeping after the sun had risen, he said. But Phichit doubted it would last. Old habits died hard, as the saying went, and probably before long he’d be messaging on the Cloud, eating normally, and struggling to get out of bed in the morning again.

As for the note, it said, “Phichit – if you come back and I’m not here, I’ll be in the courtyard doing drills. Y.”

Drills? What kind of drills? He put the note on the counter, pulled his coat back on, and went out the door. Before he could move, however, the door to the right opened and Yuuri’s neighbour peered out at him, an elderly lady named Mrs. Wells. That was what Yuuri had called her when she’d knocked on the door the other evening, asking if he’d check her Cloud bracelet, as she hadn’t been able to message with it. She’d enthused over the “new friend” Yuuri had brought back with him from his travels, and they’d decided to leave explanations at that. Though the first time they’d met, he’d been steering Yuuri, drugged and wearing his armour, into the flat, and she’d picked that moment to poke her head out and ogle.

“Oh, it’s you again, young man,” she said, giving him a smile. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to remember your name. It was something like Patrice, but I know that wasn’t it…”

“Phichit.”

“Ah yes. I was just going to the shops on my scooter, but I wanted to see what the weather was like. Were you looking for Yuuri? I saw him through my window in that extraordinary metal suit of his. Has he joined a re-enactment society? Most dashing, I have to say. Of course, I couldn’t get up to tell him so before he’d gone someplace in the courtyard where I couldn’t see him.”

“Um, I’m not sure what he’s up to, but thanks, I’ll check it out.”

“That’s quite all right, Phichit. Goodbye, dear.” And the door shut. Phichit stared at it for a moment, then walked down the corridor toward the courtyard. What _was _Yuuri up to? What drills was he doing in his armour, out here?

When he got to the end of the corridor, he was met with an amazing sight, and he stayed in the shadows, hugging to the wall, so as to watch without disturbing. The courtyard was a spacious green swath with children’s play equipment at one end, and trees whose leaves were turning gold and amber and rust. But that wasn’t what had arrested his attention.

Yuuri was standing off to the side under a tree, his armour a fluid river of silver as he performed what he’d called drills with his sword. With his eyes closed part of the time, and staring ahead at the wall in front of him the rest, he didn’t seem to be aware that he was gaining an audience. Some tenants had put their coats on and gone out to their balconies to watch, while others peered through their windows; a growing group of spectators was standing a distance behind him, looking on in quiet amazement or whispering to each other. Every now and then someone passed through the courtyard with a curious glance his way as they went.

But Yuuri was in his own world, like some kind of samurai fighting a nonexistent foe. His sword glided over his shoulder, over his head, close to the ground, and stabbed with deadly speed and precision.

This…this was _Yuuri_? Even after everything he’d been told over the com – the hours upon hours Yuuri had spent training, often with Victor, and how much it meant to him, especially considering he needed the skills to save his own life in a duel – Phichit hadn’t imagined he’d look like this with a sword. It transformed him. And despite his grim expression, there was a serenity about him that hadn’t been present since he’d returned. Phichit watched, spellbound, along with the audience.

After a while, he decided there was no harm in going over to talk to Yuuri, as long as he was well out of the way of the sword. He left the corridor and approached, and when he was in Yuuri’s line of sight, the sword stilled.

“Oh, hi, Phichit,” he said, giving him a sheepish smile while wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “I didn’t – ”

Applause sounded from behind him, and more followed from some of the balconies. Startled, Yuuri turned around to waves and shouts of “Prang” and “Get that medieval jack.” Once he appeared to realise that they genuinely liked what they’d seen, his expression softened, and he smiled and waved back, then held his sword up in the air to more applause. Suddenly Phichit could envision him as a performer in that travelling troupe.

“Bloody hell, that was embarrassing,” Yuuri said, sheathing his sword as the audience dispersed. “I didn’t realise they were all there watching me.”

“What do you expect if you come out to the courtyard and do that?” Phichit gave him a big smile. “And can you blame them? That was absolutely _juke_, Yuuri.”

“I was just doing sword drills. You got my note?”

“Yeah, I found it eventually. Mrs. Wells saw you coming out here, too. She thought you must have joined a re-enactment society or something.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Sounds logical, I suppose.”

“You could, though, you know. I bet you’d have a lot to teach them, and people would love to watch. You’ve got all the gear, too.” Yuuri had put his medieval clothes on underneath the armour, including those strange hose that weren’t joined up. Phichit had discovered the first night in the flat that they were actually tied to a rope belt around baggy underwear, which was another thing he’d never known about and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“I’m not joining a re-enactment society, Phichit,” Yuuri said as he walked toward the corridor.

“Why not?” When Yuuri looked at him sceptically, he added, “Seriously, why not?”

“Because they’re just modern people playing at it. I doubt any of them have ever heard of Fiore or Liechtenauer or Boucicaut.”

“You could teach them.”

Yuuri stopped and looked at him. “No, I couldn’t. I just…” He took a deep breath. “I just want to be with other knights for real. Not to fight, but…well, sparring and performing, like we were doing in the troupe. Alongside Victor. A re-enactment society wouldn’t be the same.” His eyes said that was the final word on the subject as they entered the flat. Phichit thought it had sounded like a good idea, if Yuuri would only give it a chance, but he wasn’t going to pressure him.

“Do you still want to go to York?” When Yuuri turned to look at him, he added with a smile, “Well, not like you are right now. Unless you really do want people to think you’re on your way to a re-enactment, or that you’re one of those tour guides, like Lady Nikiforov.”

Yuuri thought about this, then snorted. “This is probably one of those cities where you could do something like that and people wouldn’t bat an eyelid. But yeah, you’re right. Just give me a few minutes to change.”

“Want a hand with taking the armour off?”

“No,” Yuuri said quickly. “Thanks, I’ll be fine.” And he disappeared into his bedroom.

Phichit made himself a cup of tea while he waited, and checked some journals over the Cloud; he needed to draft more of that article soon for the study he was working on, but there was no hurry. Eventually Yuuri emerged from his room wearing jeans, trainers, and a short-sleeved blue T-shirt that displayed muscles which looked like they could crush somebody’s head. They weren’t weirdly huge, like bodybuilders had, but they were firm and corded, as if they’d seen a lot of regular use. That wasn’t going to happen here, though, unless Yuuri wanted to work out for hours every day. Maybe he’d be happier if he started going to the gym, but Phichit was wary of being too pushy.

“Want me to do some face paint for you?” he offered tentatively, because he thought he should, even though he knew what the answer would be. “Just a little around your eyes? I could – ”

“No, but thanks,” Yuuri replied, grabbing his long black coat off a peg and putting it on.

“OK, tour guide. Take me around the city.”

Yuuri huffed another laugh. “Come on, then.”

They arrived at the wall at Walmgate Bar, and Yuuri stopped to gaze at the gate and the barbican. “I’ve known this place for years,” he said. “But this time as I came close, I half-expected to find traitors’ heads on spikes, and severed arms and legs hanging from the archway.”

“Shit, I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

Yuuri shook his head, his gaze distant. “You wouldn’t want to.” Then he seemed to come to himself, and walked forward through the barbican. Once through the gate on the other side, he looked at the stairs leading to the top of the crenellated wall. “Want to go up?”

“Sure, you get good views from there.”

It was a pleasant day, mostly sunny, with a cool breeze ticking their fringes. The high tourist season was over, but the city was busy at all times of the year, and they took turns on the narrower parts of the walls in passing people coming from the opposite direction. Yuuri pointed out a few medieval buildings he remembered from 1393, and told Phichit what the city had generally looked like hundreds of years ago.

“But no one was allowed on the walls apart from the city guards,” he said, “so the only view I ever got was from lower down. And I didn’t exactly tour around the entire place. Once you left the main roads, it could get dark and dangerous. I’d probably be a better guide if we got down at the next gate and headed to the middle of the city.”

Phichit was happy to let him lead, and once they were near the Shambles and the marketplace, that distant wistful look came over him again. Phichit was familiar with the ancient roads and buildings, but Yuuri offered a new window onto their past. Whip-ma-whop-ma gate was where Julia had been left in the pillory. Yuuri had visited the market, in the very same place as it was now, sometimes with Daisy, to buy supplies for the Black Dog. He decided to see if the old ale-house building itself was still standing, and led them south and then east on a road called The Stonebow, which had been a major traffic route once, but like most big roads since vehicles had taken to the air, had a single narrow strip of tarmac down the middle and wide pavements with trees, benches, pop-up boutiques, street art, buskers and so on. Phichit was distracted enough by all the activity around them that he almost bumped into Yuuri when he stopped and proceeded down one of the dark, narrow little alleyways that riddled the city.

“What, it was down here?” he asked, looking around dubiously. Away from the bustling wide-open road, it suddenly seemed as if they were in Jack the Ripper territory – a grey stone-flagged passage with room for only two people to walk abreast, Victorian red-brick walls towering on either side, and tall wrought-iron street lamps standing at intervals. “Black Horse Passage”, the sign said. But they didn’t go far before Yuuri stopped again and looked around.

“All the old buildings here have gone,” he mused.

“They look old to me. But I guess you mean ‘old’ as in fourteenth century.”

“I’m sure this is where it was. But it was old even in 1393. Probably a good thing it got torn down.” He paused. “I wonder what happened to Jan and Daisy. How they…what their lives were like. They got old, maybe, and died, and it was hundreds of years ago.”

Phichit stood quietly while Yuuri thought about this, struck again by the strangeness of the situation. But maybe losing people and places in time wasn’t so different from losing them in any other way. Phichit hadn’t been back to Phrae, his hometown, in years, and thought he might have a similar kind of feeling there if he visited, of things being the same yet different, and irreversibly changed.

“Hey,” he said quietly to Yuuri, “there’s a tea shop and café a few streets away. Fancy a cuppa while we’re here?”

Yuuri blinked and looked at him. “Oh, um, that’d be Katsute?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds nice, but…why don’t we go to The Eagle this time? I know that’s still there.” He paused. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Last I saw. It’s been a month or so since I was out that way, but sure.” Phichit smiled. “Pint of Baz’s Bonce Blower?”

Yuuri grinned. “Not today, no.”

They exited the passageway and took the main roads, mostly uphill, to the heart of the old city, catching glimpses of the decorations on the tops of the minster’s towers, like pointed lace, as they went. In The Eagle they sat by the fireplace, as they’d done together months before, and sipped pints of ale while Yuuri explained what the tavern had been like centuries ago; it had changed little, from the sound of it.

“I keep feeling tempted to eat supper at four o’clock,” Yuuri said with a smile that looked apologetic. “My stomach’s used to that. Two big meals a day. But then…” The smile faded. “Well, I’m not as active anymore as I was.”

Phichit took a gulp of his ale, then said, “Why don’t you go to the gym?”

“I should. I keep meaning to, but…” He bit his lip. “It’d feel kind of pointless. Exercise here always did. We don’t _need _to do it, you know? To survive. It just keeps your body healthy, that’s all.”

“Seems like a pretty good reason, if you ask me. Besides,” Phichit couldn’t help adding, “don’t you want to stay toned? Honestly, Yuuri, you look amazing. The men will – ” He cut himself off and positively guzzled his drink, cheeks pinking. Worst misstep yet. Crap, what was he thinking? What did they put in this drink, anyway?

Yuuri stared, his expression indecipherable. Then he looked down, playing with his beer mat.

“Anyway,” Phichit managed to say, “is there anyplace else you’d like to go while we’re here?”

Yuuri thought about this, seemingly glad of the change of subject. “Another day, maybe a museum or two? I’m curious…but I think it’d have to be a while; I’m not ready for that yet. We’re near the minster, though, so how about we go there?”

Phichit readily agreed, and they finished their drinks and walked the short distance to the towering edifice, its limestone walls glowing pale gold in the westering sun.

“The sarcophagus of St. William was there,” Yuuri said, pointing, as they entered, “in the centre of the nave.”

Phichit couldn’t stop himself from snickering. “You mean that’s where those hawkers got the juices he’d been stewing in to sell outside? Allegedly.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said with a smile. “It was a really popular pilgrimage site. There were a lot of people here looking it over and praying when…when Victor and I came.”

Looking at the map he’d picked up on his way in, Phichit told Yuuri there was supposed to be a stained-glass window from the early fifteenth century depicting the life of St. William, just past the choir to the left, and they went to look. Not only were there paintings of the shrine from the Middle Ages on the glass, as Yuuri said he remembered it, but one of them showed the spigots on the sarcophagus, made to look like the tongues of gargoyles or monkeys. They both laughed and went to see the Doomstone next, further along the wall. Phichit knew it was here, but he’d never had a proper look. The medieval carving of condemned sinners being boiled and roasted over flames was unsettling, to say the least. 

Yuuri stroked his chin as he gazed at it. “Hmm. I think I remember, there – ” He pointed. “ – in that corner, there was a naked jack getting his arse stuck with a giant pitchfork. But it’s weathered away.”

“When I see things like this,” Phichit said, “it makes me not want to meet anyone from that time, if this is the sort of thing they believed in. Don’t you think it’s creepy?”

“Definitely. But so did Victor. Not everyone bought this ‘eternal damnation’ stuff. In fact, most of the people I knew were more sensible than that.”

“Glad to hear it. Blimey.” Phichit tore his eyes away from the scene and waited for Yuuri to finish looking it over. The Doomstone aside, he was glad they’d come to York today. Yuuri seemed to have been enjoying it for the most part, and he made a fascinating tour guide. Maybe the little trip had even helped him turn a corner, though it was probably too soon to –

“What’s that?” Yuuri said curiously, looking over at the next item on display along the wall.

“What’s what?”

“_That_,” Yuuri said, his eyes widening. He strode over to the glass case. There was a series of them along here, like a small museum. Phichit followed, wondering what he’d spotted; something he seemed to recognise. His heart did a nervous flutter.

“Holy fucking Christ,” Yuuri breathed.

Phichit was about to suggest he ought to swear a little more quietly in this place, but he doubted Yuuri could care less at the moment. He was staring open-mouthed at a wooden clock inside the case, which looked very old but whose pendulum was still making a stately _tick-tock_ sound.

“That’s the clock I made.”

“You what? No way. Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I cut those numbers out by hand. You even looked up the instructions for me.”

Phichit stared down at the little brass plaque mounted on the case. “The Crowood Clock,” he read aloud. “The first pendulum clock in the world? Believed to date from the late fourteenth century, no other pendulum clocks are known to have existed until 150 years later. It was mentioned in the annals of the Everard family, who owned Crowood Castle in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and disappeared from history until the eighteenth century, when Sir Mortimer Nekola of Framley Manor in Nether Poppleton gifted it to Archbishop Robert Hay-Drummond of York. A marvel of its time, it must be wound twice a day and is accurate to within five minutes. Historians hope one day to find a clue to its mysterious inventor.” He stared at the clock again. “Holy shit.” To Yuuri, who had placed a hand over his mouth, looking dazed, he said, “But this clock’s been here as long as I can remember. Not that I ever took much notice of it. In fact, I never even read the plaque until now.”

Yuuri looked at him in alarm. “No, it hasn’t, Phichit.”

“But I’ve _seen _it before.”

“_I _haven’t! I’ve been here loads of times and _it wasn’t here_!”

Phichit noticed he was starting to shake and instantly grabbed both of his arms, looking at him levelly. “OK, so we’ve seen what happens when something in the past changes, right? It’s no big deal, is it? Has the world exploded? Do we all suddenly have blue skin or something, just because you invented the clock 150 years early?” He saw a couple of people staring at him as they walked by and decided he’d better lower his voice. “It worked out OK,” he added quietly. “Didn’t it?”

Yuuri blinked, his mouth moving but no words coming out. Then he took several breaths. “It…it must be part of your timestream, but not mine, because I wasn’t here when it changed. I – I was…_there_, changing it myself.” He swallowed. “Fuck, this is weird.”

“Just keep breathing.”

Yuuri nodded, then glanced down at Phichit’s hands, and he quickly pulled them back. “Yeah,” he agreed, “it’s weird.”

“Everard,” Yuuri reflected, looking again at the plaque. “Nekola.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

Phichit suddenly had a bad feeling about being here. “We should go. It’s getting late.”

“It’s not that late,” Yuuri countered, eyes flashing. “I want to see if there’s anything else like this here. I _need _to – ”

“I’m not sure you do, Yuuri,” Phichit said as calmly as he could, his heart skipping a beat. “Maybe some things are better left – ”

“I’ve got to find out.” Yuuri turned and hurried to the next glass case, Phichit trailing behind in trepidation. Fortunately, however, it contained nothing more than an old book open to pages full of what looked like Latin.

“See?” Phichit said in relief. “Normal.”

Yuuri leaned over the glass and studied the pages. “What does the plaque say?”

Phichit read, “The Ripon Bible. Believed to have been commissioned by Geoffrey Brixworth the Elder, a wealthy merchant, in the early fifteenth century. That’s all it says. Ever heard of him?”

“No…” Yuuri straightened, and his eyes were haunted as he continued, “But since when were medieval manuscripts written in pen on lined paper?” 

Phichit stared back. “Since…since always. Unless they used parchment or vellum and paintbrushes for calligraphy. I know that much, anyway.” He paused. “Something else has changed, hasn’t it?” Though the look on Yuuri’s face made the answer obvious.

“Of course it bloody has. That looks like _ballpoint pen_. In a _medieval manuscript_.”

After a pause, Phichit simply said, “Well…yeah?”

“Nothing about that sounds the slightest bit odd to you?”

“Why should it? Come on, Yuuri, what did you see that – ”

“The ballpoint pen was invented in the eighteen hundreds, Phichit! _I _know _that _much!”

Phichit swallowed. “It wasn’t, Yuuri. It’s been around for centuries. Just, um…just look it up on the Cloud, and you’ll see.”

“I’m going to tell you what I know first,” Yuuri insisted, the colour draining from his face. “When I went into the past, nobody was writing books with fucking ballpoint pens. But then when I got Julia out of the pillory, I had to bribe a guard. I mean, it didn’t work out that way in the end – I still had to draw my sword on him – but I gave him two things from my pocket.” He paused.

“One of them was a ballpoint pen,” Phichit whispered.

“Yes. The other was a notebook full of lined paper. He said his name was – ”

“Thomas of Cowthorpe,” Phichit said, reading the info page from the Cloud. “He began manufacturing and selling ballpoint pens encased in wood in 1397. _And _he wrote in and sold books full of lined paper, mainly to the clergy for – ”

“But he said he couldn’t read or write!” Yuuri blurted.

“He, um…seems to have learned.”

“_Fuck._” Yuuri staggered and almost crashed into the case before steadying himself. “Let me see this.” He stared ahead while presumably accessing the same Cloud page. “He lived in York. Became a very wealthy man and was made a baron. There’s a fucking _museum _here about the history of pens and paper.” He put a hand on his forehead, looking stricken.

_Again…yes? _Phichit thought. The only strange thing about it from his point of view was that it was strange to Yuuri. A chill passed through him. But he could deal with this. He could.

“Maybe – but look,” he said, resisting the urge to hold Yuuri’s arms again and help steady him, as he didn’t seem to like it. “These are the first things you’ve noticed since you’ve come back that have been different. Right?” He hoped he was; that there wasn’t something Yuuri hadn’t told him about. When he nodded, Phichit continued, “It’s still insignificant stuff compared to what Ailis wanted to do, or that you were suggesting yourself when you were in that Immersion office with her. Even if you’d got her to do things that sounded good, like teaching people about hygiene and bacteria, how different do you think this place and time would’ve been when you got back? Maybe I and everyone else you know wouldn’t even _be _here.”

He was starting to scare himself with his own words, he realised. With two people travelling to the past, the possibilities for causing massive changes, deliberately or accidentally, had been endless. His memories of that horrifying day came back to him now, when he’d sat with his com, unable to concentrate on anything else, knowing Yuuri and his friends were in Immersion with Ailis, their lives constantly in danger. _After _Yuuri had already survived a duel to the death. That he’d emerged from everything in one piece was something that amazed Phichit even now. And yet here at the minster, an old clock and book were taking him to pieces.

“OK,” Yuuri breathed. “You’re right. It’s just that I didn’t expect this to happen. I keep wondering if there’s anything else I did that’s going to slap me in the face when I least expect it. Like, I don’t know, King Richard the Second having lived to become a father, and a completely different succession of monarchs coming after him. We still had Richard the Third, Henry the Eighth, Queen Victoria, all of them – right?” Yuuri was staring at him intensely, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah – none of that’s changed, cross my heart.”

Yuuri looked back at the case that contained the clock. “I wonder why there isn’t a Magnetically Powered Fluorescent Light of Crowood,” he said. “_That _would be a much bigger temporal anomaly than the clock. Ailis’s light from her lab – I left it behind at the castle.”

Phichit shook his head. “Who can say? Perhaps Victor did something with it.”

“He doesn’t like it. Maybe he gave it away.”

“There you go. I’ve certainly never heard of anything like that being found from hundreds of years ago.”

“I’m going to look at the rest of these cases. There are only a few more.”

That sinking feeling in his chest again. “They’re just old books,” Phichit said. “You can tell from here. Probably in Latin. You’re not wearing your translator, are you?”

“I still want to look.”

Phichit wondered how Victor had handled it when Yuuri had been so stubborn, though perhaps it was more that Yuuri was willing to listen to him when he ignored everyone else. But, well, there surely wasn’t anything significant in any of these books. Apart from the fact that they apparently weren’t supposed to have ballpoint pen in them.

He followed as Yuuri examined one, and then another, relieved that there were obviously no new bizarre revelations to be gained from them. At the third and last, Yuuri leaned over the glass, then became very still and silent. Phichit wondered with dread in the pit of his stomach what stood out this time.

Looking down at the plaque, he read aloud, “Marginalia in the Arundel Psalter. Created at the request of Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of York 1388–1396, this psalter is a notable example of the practice of adding marginalia, or figurative designs, to medieval illuminated manuscripts. Ranging from the decorative to the fantastical and grotesque, the provenance of the original art is obscure – whether created with the patron’s blessing, or leaping from the imagination of the painter, or a mixture of both.” A note underneath it said, “If you would like a closer look at the beautiful illustrations in the psalter while you are here, please ask at the information desk for one of our archivists to assist you.” 

“That’s what I’m going to do,” Yuuri declared. “You – you can stay here if you want; I’ll be back.”

Phichit wrinkled his brow. “Why? What did you see? Yuuri?” But he’d already dashed away frantically. Phichit stared after him. _He’s just gone to see if he can find an archivist. It’ll be OK._ But what had he discovered? These types of books were incredible, but Phichit had seen them before. This one was open to some truly weird and spectacular doodles, though, including a long orange creature with tiger stripes, a blue tail that turned into vines and flowers, the pink head of a dog, and an eagle’s beak. He examined the illustrations, glancing behind him now and then, until Yuuri returned, his face more haggard than Phichit had seen it all day. With him was a middle-aged dark-skinned woman with dreadlocks, wearing an ivory tunic and black slacks that flowed around her ankles like a dress. She smiled good-naturedly, introducing herself to Phichit as Dr. Layla Cartwright, and pressed a button which made the lid of the glass case tilt slowly backward. Then she pulled a pair of white fabric gloves from a pocket, put them on, and turned the page of the book to reveal more doodles of people, animals, and hybrids of the two.

“Come closer,” she invited them, “as long as you don’t touch the pages. There are holographic schematics of this book on the Cloud, but I’m always pleased to be able to show visitors in person, if they – ”

“Please,” Yuuri said quietly, his eyes on the book, “there’s a specific illustration I’m looking for toward the back. It’s, um, a heart with initials – ”

“Oh, of course,” she answered as she carefully searched through. “That one’s almost certainly graffiti by someone other than the original artist, very different from the other illustrations. But just as interesting in its own way, I’d say.” Eventually she found what she was looking for and stepped aside. “Is that the one?” she asked Yuuri. “Are you a university student? Most people are surprised to see what’s in these books; they don’t usually come with that knowledge to hand.”

But Yuuri didn’t answer either of her questions. He peered down at the margin of the right-hand page, where there were a blue “Y” and a red “V”, each decorated with curls, dots, vines and flowers, though they weren’t intricate like the other illustrations. A rose-coloured plus sign had been painted between the letters, and they were surrounded by a heart shape in the same colour, which was outlined in black.

“Oh my God,” Phichit whispered.

Yuuri reached his hand out as if to touch the book, then quickly drew it back under the watchful gaze of Dr. Cartwright. Phichit could hear his quick, shaky breaths. “That day…we were visiting the minster,” Yuuri said quietly, as if to himself. “Just looking around, like now. We…” He swallowed, then continued, “The monk who was working on this book was called away, and…”

“You didn’t,” Phichit said in awe. “Really – ?”

Yuuri nodded. “We joked and laughed. He…” Another shuddering breath, and a tear escaped, making a trail down his face. His voice broke as he added, “He kissed purple paint off my cheek.”

Dr. Cartwright looked utterly bemused, and Phichit was about to attempt to put together some kind of convincing explanation. But before he could, Yuuri turned to him and clutched at his coat sleeves, eyes bright and unfocused.

“Don’t you see? All of these things changed while I was still in the past. No one else here might know, but _I _do. So if anything else there changed, like Victor averting his death, _it should already show in the book_.” He tugged on Phichit’s sleeves for emphasis.

“Yuuri – ” Phichit began in alarm.

“Because if that was ever going to happen, it would have happened 728 years ago! That date isn’t going to change! Victor’s going to die before the end of the year!” And his grip finally loosened as his eyes closed and he collapsed to the floor.


	156. Chapter 156

_…understand what he was saying. That he and someone else painted those initials in the book while they were visiting the minster?_

_No, that’s not what he meant, Doctor, honest. He’s confused; he hasn’t been well lately._

_I can see that. Are you sure you don’t want to have him moved? I really think we ought to call an ambulance._

_I’m pretty sure he’ll come to in a minute. If he can just have some space._

_Everyone, stay back please. He’s being looked after. Thank you._

_The thing is – _

_The thing _is, _I’ve studied the psalter myself, and I know that the constituents in the paints have all been dated to the late fourteenth, early fifteenth century. What’s more, under quantum microscopy, you can see that the patterns of deterioration are consistent all the way through them and the other illustrations on the page. They’re contemporaneous with when the book was made – they can’t be modern._

_Well, yeah…like I said, he hasn’t been well._

Yuuri fluttered his eyelids and let out a small moan, trying to pierce the fog in his brain.

_See? He’ll be all right. I’m sorry we’ve caused so much fuss, Doctor._

_Just out of curiosity, what’s significant about 728 years ago?_

_Like you said, he’s a university student. A…A history postgrad. He’s been cracked under his workload lately. Guess it’s a date from something he’s been researching._

_It fits with when the psalter was written. Is that what he’s been researching?_

_I, um…_

He was lying on something cold and hard. Lying – how did that happen? Last he knew, he’d been standing up talking to Phichit, about…

_About Victor and me painting graffiti in a monk’s book. About…about…oh, Jesus. Fuck. About his death date not being changeable. _He moaned again, then opened his eyes to see Phichit and Dr. Cartwright kneeling next to him, their faces full of concern.

“Yuuri?” Phichit said. “Are you OK?”

“I…I’ll be fine.” Though it was a complete lie. How could he even ask that right now?

Dr Cartwright said gently, “I can call a medi-bot to check you over, if you – ”

“No, no, really,” he insisted, slowly sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. Presumably it had hit the tiles on the floor as he’d fallen, because it was throbbing.

“All right,” she replied. “Let me know if you change your mind.” She gave his arm a quick pat, then stood and walked away down the nave, as a small crowd which had gathered to watch also began to disperse. Twice in one day he’d unwittingly attracted an audience. And he’d never fainted before now, either, but that must have been what had happened.

“I’m a knight,” he muttered, standing as he continued to rub his head. “I don’t faint, for Christ’s sake.”

_Who am I kidding? Maybe I could believe it when Victor and I were painting in that book. But now? I’m a re-enactor dressing up sometimes in medieval clothes and armour and swinging a sword around for people to clap at. There aren’t any knights in 2121. I am so fucking deluded. That’s gone. Victor’s gone. None of it is coming back. _

He put a hand over his face to hide the tears that were slipping out. Always betraying him, even in the middle of a place like this where everyone could see. Some were still staring.

“I’m gonna call us a taxi,” Phichit said quietly, linking an arm in his and steering him into an alcove where they had more privacy. “And when we get back, I’m gonna call Mari. That OK with you?”

Yuuri sniffed and nodded.

* * *

“Honestly, I’m not hungry.”

“You can’t live off nutri-pills,” Mari called from the kitchen.

Yuuri shifted on the sofa, cutting his Cloud connection for now; he’d been struggling to concentrate on anything he tried to watch or read. “I don’t,” he called back.

“Phichit said you were eating more when he was here.”

“That’s before I made an arse of myself inside the minster.”

“So you can’t eat now, is that it? I don’t get the logic there, bro. Besides, you’ll like this.”

“Wasabi lamb tikka?”

“Exactly. On a bed of fluffy rice, with teriyaki samosas.”

His stomach gave a lurch and he shifted again, settling into the corner and pulling a cushion into his lap. Mari had arrived three days ago, insisting it was an open-ended stay until he felt he could manage OK by himself. Phichit still came and went, but he was going back to the university and sleeping in his own flat again. Yuuri was beginning to feel like a two-year-old child whose care they were juggling between them.

Mari’s Japanese/Indian/English fusions were fine, and he knew she’d spent a lot of time preparing the meal she was cooking for them now. But when he did eat, it was to make her happy. They’d watched some brainless holo-films together, which passed the time but did little else. His heart stirred when he considered doing more sword drills, but since that day in the minster, it had been difficult to get past thinking of himself as a fraud dressing up to play a part. And he’d shoved the book with Victor’s death date into the furthest, darkest corner he could find, but he knew it was sitting there in the shadows, a testament to how they’d tried and failed to defy fate.

_How does he die? Oh God, Victor, I hope you won’t be alone and frightened. Or stuck in some battle somewhere, without me to help. _Such thoughts always brought more tears to his eyes, which were permanently sore. It hurt to think about Victor at all, let alone like this.

He readjusted his position on the sofa. Mari had talked him into going to the gym, and he’d spent hours there yesterday and today. It was stupid, he knew, after having been out of training for over a week, but it shoved everything else aside and forced him to concentrate on his body. Besides, he needed the exercise. What happened to muscle when you stopped using it? Did it turn to fat? He didn’t want to find out.

When he’d fallen into these habits before, he’d been given sensible, loving advice. Eat. Don’t overdo it. But it was difficult to find other ways of dealing. He no longer had a job, and didn’t know what to do with his days. Mari was obviously worried, and he felt bad about that, too. He’d missed her and Phichit when he’d been gone, and they’d been incredibly kind to him since he’d returned. But he was a burden on them now. Mari had already seen them both through the grieving process once; not that it ever really ended. She didn’t need this again, and she had concerns of her own.

_How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there’s no going back?_ He was no longer the person who’d lived in this flat and fixed tech at the university five days a week, dreaming of something better. He’d fought, and loved, and_ lived_.

_I’m just not sure how to do those things here. But I’m going to have to learn. For myself, Phichit, Mari…and most of all, for Victor. And I have to be able to think of him without getting anxious and tearful every time._

_It’s easy to say “I have to” about a lot of things. But how?_

Mari walked into the living room holding a tray, which she placed in front of him on the coffee table. Then she went back to the kitchen to get her own and sat down in a chair across from him. She was dressed mostly in black today, with a red dragon emblazoned across the front of her tunic and her thick brown hair bunched messily back behind a black cloth headband. She wore her favourite face paint colours today, red and yellow.

“Enjoy,” she said, picking up her chopsticks; she usually preferred to eat with those when at home, while Yuuri used cutlery. Though he was still getting used to having a fork again. It got easier every day, though. Each modern habit did, while the ones he’d learned in the past began to fade. And that thought was enough to make getting through the food Mari had put in front of him a difficult task.

“This is a lot,” he said, looking at it.

“It’s not,” she replied as she scooped rice into her mouth. “Besides, you must’ve worked off hundreds of calories at the gym today.”

“I told you that something like miso soup is fine, if you’re doing Japanese. But you don’t have to cook at all.”

“Miso soup on its own wouldn’t feed a starving mouse, and I know I don’t have to cook. I like to. Let me look after you for a while, huh? You’ve been through shit.”

Yuuri stayed silent, picking at his food. Finally he ate a bite of lamb. It definitely had a wasabi kick to it, as well as the warming flavours of the Indian spices. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do it justice, however, let alone the samosas.

Mari told him about the spa, and the renovations, and Sharon as they ate. Afterward, she poured herself a beer, and Yuuri accepted one after he’d put his leftover food in the fridge. She sat back in her chair and looked at him.

“I’m still happy as fuck to see you, even though you don’t want to be here,” she said, then sipped her beer. “Considering how long it took you to tell me where and when you’d gone, and almost the next day you were saying you were gonna stay there forever, that’s saying something. And in the meantime, you’d fallen in love with a Sir Lancelot lookalike.”

Yuuri almost blew the beer out of his mouth. “He isn’t. Well, I never thought of him like that.”

“That’s what I imagined when he spoke to me. Though softer. Bit of a pussycat, even.”

“Um.” Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Sometimes, maybe? You never saw him with a sword, though. Or in the manorial court. There were lots of different sides to him.”

“What colour were his eyes? You never said.”

“Blue. The most beautiful, light, ice-blue you can imagine, but somehow they were warm, too.”

“His hair?”

Yuuri thought about running his fingers through that wonderful long, fine, fair fringe and sighed. “It…” Then he looked hard at her. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“You know what. Getting me to remember him.”

“Is that so bad?”

“It is when every time I do, it boomerangs. Because then I remember what I’ve lost.” His heart sank. Maybe this was how Victor had felt after Alex’s death. Yuuri had been determined not to shut him out like that – but wasn’t that exactly what he’d been doing most of the time since he’d returned? “It’s shit, Mari,” he said emphatically. “It’s total, complete and utter shit.” He guzzled his beer, the food he’d managed to eat refusing to settle in his stomach. 

After a pause, she said, “You told me I never saw him with a sword. I’ve never seen you with one, either, apart from that one you used to use in Immersion. Phichit says you’re pretty good with it.”

“I’m calling you on change-of-subject tactics,” he muttered into his pint glass.

“So? I’m still serious. Will you show me while I’m here?”

“I don’t know. I feel less and less like a knight as the days go by. It’s turning into a silly thing to call myself.”

“Regardless of that, you can handle a sword, can’t you? Please. Let me see.”

There was a sincerity in her big brown eyes that Yuuri couldn’t deny, and finally he sighed and nodded. “If you insist.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” He drained the rest of his beer, and a message came for him over the Cloud. “Mrs. Wells needs some help.”

“That’s the old lady next door, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said as he stood. “She’s asking if I can unload her new armchair from the drone, because a service robot was supposed to be included to do it and it wasn’t.”

“Need some help?”

“No, it’s OK, I’ve got this. Shouldn’t be long.”

“There’s no hurry, bro. Maybe she’d like some company for a while. I need to call Sharon anyway.”

Yuuri let himself out of the flat and was soon welcomed into the one next door. Mrs. Wells, in tan slacks and a white blouse, and a few strokes of blue and white face paint, sat and watched while he lifted the chair out of the drone and put it where she wanted, though she changed her mind a few times. She was full of praise for how strong he was, but he didn’t feel it; he’d been lifting weights at the gym, and there wasn’t the energy left in his muscles that he needed for this.

“That’s grand, Yuuri, thank you so much,” she said as he programmed the drone to return to base and let it out the door. “You’re such a help. I don’t mean to be a nuisance.”

A refrain he was used to hearing from her. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“I asked some of the other people in the quad, and bought in help and robots sometimes. But none of them are as nice as you.”

He still flinched when he heard someone else say the word “nice”, though he supposed that would go in time as well. “You’re very kind,” he said. “My sister Mari’s been staying with me. I can bring you some of her cooking if you want – though I’m not sure how keen you’d be on teriyaki samosas.”

“I don’t know what those are, but I’d try them.”

Yuuri smiled. “Deal.”

He turned to leave, but she said, “This armour I’ve seen you in – is it real?”

Of course she’d ask about that. She spent a lot of time looking out her window at the courtyard, and also keeping a casual eye on a monitor that showed what was going on in the passageway outside her door. “Yes,” he answered. “It’s, um, it’s a new hobby.”

“I meant to ask you if you’d had a good trip. The university called me and told me you’d gone, but not where.” There was a question in her voice.

“I was travelling and doing research. Just different places, nothing exciting.” _Please don’t ask me any more._

“You don’t seem glad to be back, though.” It was a mild observation, but she was looking at him as if hoping for an explanation.

“Um – ”

“Is everything all right?” she asked quietly. “It’s OK if you’d rather not say.”

Yuuri blinked. She was a sweet lady, and they’d known each other as long as he’d lived in his flat. The least he could do was give her some honesty, he decided. Taking a deep breath, he replied, “I’ve lost someone very dear to me.”

Her face fell in sympathy. “Oh bless you, chick. What happened?”

“We, um…we’ve been permanently separated and won’t be able to see each other again.” _Really, don’t ask me any more. _

“I’m so sorry. If you’d like to tell me about it – ”

“No,” he answered quickly. “I mean, thanks, but I don’t think I can yet.”

“Of course, I understand. You know, it reminds me of my late husband. We lost each other in a way, too.”

Yuuri forced himself to think back to what she’d told him about Andrew Wells. He knew he’d died in the Water Wars; she’d mentioned it a few times and shown him pictures of the two of them from decades ago. They’d only been together a few years and had never had any children. “It’s hard losing someone you love when you haven’t had much time with each other,” he said.

“Oh, aye. I lived for a while in the hope that we’d be reunited, but that wasn’t how it turned out.”

_Snap. _“That must have been rough,” he said aloud.

“I remember it was, yes. I was involved in the Water Wars myself at the time.”

“You were?” She’d never mentioned this before. But then, Yuuri had never invited her to share much personal information, either. They’d only ever been casual acquaintances; he’d done odd jobs for her, and sometimes brought food he’d cooked to share. Why hadn’t he ever tried to get to know her better as a person? His own neighbour, and someone who was almost four times his age. She must have seen and experienced a lot.

“It’s always been hard to talk about those days,” she said. “There was so much upheaval and death. The most devastating wars in the history of the planet, they say, and I believe it.” She shrugged. “But it was also fifty years ago, and that’s a long time, even to me. If I can’t talk about it now – when will I ever? I don’t have much time left.”

Yuuri wondered how to reply. The last thing he ought to do was turn and march out the door as he’d been planning before she’d mentioned her husband. He hadn’t been prepared for anything like this tonight, but we _was _curious, and if it made her feel better to tell someone…?

“I’ll make us some tea, if you have a bit of time to spare for an old lady’s chatter.” She gave him a little smile. “If you feel up to it, that is.”

He didn’t need tea on top of the beer he’d already drunk, and he certainly wasn’t hungry for the snacks she always wanted to serve with it, but it wouldn’t kill him to oblige. “That sounds good, thank you.”

She stood slowly and walked to the kitchen, and Yuuri followed, leaning with his back to the counter as he watched her put the kettle on the boil and get the tea things out. “Andrew was a guerrilla fighter,” she said as she worked. “And I was part of a free news campaign. Sometimes I wondered who had the more dangerous job,” she added with a little laugh. “Well, of course, he did. But I knew quite a few people who disappeared in suspicious circumstances, or were put in prison and never came out.”

“Really?” He would never have suspected Mrs. Wells of having been a dissident in her earlier years.

“Oh, aye. You had to really believe in what you were doing, because your life was at stake; yours and everyone else’s you were working with.” She dropped three teabags into a ceramic pot, white with pink and lavender flowers painted on. “And one day, we got a tipoff in my office that they were coming for all of us. It’s not as if we operated completely in the open, but well, spies were everywhere, and so it came as no surprise. We all got out of London, and I went to live in a small village in the northwest of France, Moncontour, with four other ladies I worked with. We shared a château.” She paused and pulled some packets of biscuits out of the cupboard. “Shortbread fingers? Jaffa cakes? Or are you more partial to gingersnaps?”

“Um, gingersnaps, please,” Yuuri answered, taken aback by the sudden change of subject.

“Milk and sugar?”

“Yes, thanks.”

She arranged everything on a tray, along with two mugs, and carried it to the living room, placing it on the coffee table. They put milk and sugar in their mugs, allowing the tea to make, and Yuuri took two gingersnaps on a small plate for himself.

“This is one of the few things I can still do on my own,” Mrs. Wells said with some pride as she chose a Jaffa cake.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said again, hoping he wasn’t overdoing the politeness. Most people her age had domestic robots to help them; they’d spoken about it before, and he’d informed her that the council would help with the cost, but she seemed to believe that it would take away what autonomy she had left. And, well, robots weren’t people; as humanlike as some of them were, they tended not to be great company. “So…France?” he prompted. “I had no idea you lived there.”

“Oh yes, though the five of us didn’t get on as well living in a house together as we did working in an office,” she answered. “We did our work remotely from there for a while, but things began to die down with the fighting after a year or so, and we were keen to move on. I hadn’t had word from Andrew for a while, but Cloud communications were regularly scrambled or knocked out completely, so I didn’t worry too much at first. I went back to London and looked for him, as soon as it was safe to go. It took me months to find out that he’d been killed in the last stages of the fighting.” Her shoulders slumped, and she stared thoughtfully at the Jaffa cake on her plate.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said, wondering at the colourful life she’d led and the tragedy she’d been through.

She poured tea for them both, and they stirred it and sat back with their mugs. “No need to be, dear,” she said in a quiet voice, though suddenly it seemed that the pain of it lined her face. “As I said, it was a long time ago. But well, you never forget something like that. We’d only been together three years, and married for two of them. He was the love of my life.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say. His own broken heart felt the similarity all too well. He sipped his tea.

She gave a sigh, lifted her mug, closed her eyes, and took her time in sipping her own drink; then she put it back down on its saucer and looked at him. “But time heals, as they say.” With a rueful grin, she added, “A little. Never entirely. But that’s all right. It’s how you know you loved someone.”

Yuuri blinked back tears and swallowed, momentarily hiding himself behind his mug.

“Well, I’d known men before Andrew, and I had some short relationships after he died,” she carried on. “During the reconstruction, you know. But it only went to show that I’d have a job to find someone else like him. He had a very dry sense of humour.” She smiled suddenly. “Could entertain a room full of people with it. He was very popular, my Andrew. But never anything other than open and honest with me. I thanked my lucky stars I’d found him.” She sipped more tea, then picked up the Jaffa cake and took a bite. “Still, I could’ve tried to make a go of it with someone. Maybe love would have grown, in time. Lots of people lost loved ones in the wars, and found new ones, and it didn’t cancel the love they’d had before.” After a pause, she continued, “But eventually I suppose I’d had enough of all that. Trying with romantic relationships. There are other kinds. I decided to hold the best one close to my heart.” She smiled again at Yuuri as she ate. “I imagine you never expected to hear me say such things.”

“Um, well…” He was certainly surprised by her sudden candidness. It had obviously been encouraged by what he’d said about himself, but it was also possible that she hadn’t had anyone to say these things to in a long time. She had no close family left, he knew that much.

She finished her Jaffa cake and picked up her mug again. “The thing is, Andrew wasn’t perfect. Neither of us were.” She gave him a small grin. “No one is. Who knows – years later, maybe we would have started to get on each other’s nerves. Or drift apart, like so many people do no matter how in love they are at first. But with as much time as I’ve had to think about it, I don’t believe so.” Another sip of tea. “Having said that, I’ve grow to quite like my own company. Andrew and I made the most of our time together, and I’ve had the rest of my life to focus on other things, and that’s how it’s been.” She put her empty mug back on the saucer. “Now that I think of it, Yuuri, it’s not as difficult as it used to be to talk about this, after all. Perhaps I feel I’ve had a good innings, one way or another.”

_Don’t talk about your own death, _he thought. _Though maybe when you’re in your nineties, it becomes as natural as deciding what to buy from the market. I wouldn’t know._

“But you don’t need to hear my whole life story tonight,” she added. “Come back sometime and I’ll tell you more.”

She watched him, and he realised he’d been ignoring his biscuits and tea. He gulped the liquid down, then took a bite from a gingersnap. “Sure, I’d like to hear it,” he answered as he chewed. After he’d swallowed, he said, “I, um, appreciate that you’ve told me all this. Andrew must’ve been really special.”

“Oh, he was…he was. And I daresay your own person was special, too. I didn’t catch their name?”

“Victor,” Yuuri answered, taking his one and a half biscuits and standing. “His name’s Victor. And yes, he is.”

Once they’d said goodbye, Yuuri decided to go for a walk around a block or two before returning to the flat and Mari. An evening chill had settled over the dark city, and he was in a short-sleeved shirt without a coat – but if he and Victor could exercise as they’d done last winter without anything covering their upper bodies at all, he could handle this. He needed a few minutes to himself, to reflect on what Mrs. Wells had said and try to gather his thoughts. Not that it was an easy task these days.

Traffic flew overhead as he ate the remains of his gingersnaps, bright lights flashing as the vehicles zoomed past, most of them high enough up that the noise wasn’t too distracting. Down at street level, yellow solar lights from tall lamp posts spilled onto the pavement. Few people walked in this area at night, since it wasn’t particularly scenic or a prime location for entertainment; and even though the crime rate was low, there was virtually none in the sky, which still made it safer up above in that respect. But it gave Yuuri the space he wanted.

He tried to imagine himself at age ninety-something, living alone. Liking it, as Mrs. Wells said she did? He wasn’t sure. It sounded lonely. In that case, could he ever bring himself to try to find someone else? Not now, not in a year, maybe not even five or ten, but…ever? His heart lurched and he felt sick at the thought. And yet he was twenty-four. Mrs. Wells had been in her forties, maybe older, when she’d given up searching. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life like this?

_Look how long it took me to find Victor. I never thought I’d find _anyone. _And I had to travel hundreds of years into the past just to do that._

Emotions aside, he also had a strong libido. But that didn’t mean anything. He had two hands, didn’t he? Lube, toys, Immersion. Well, maybe not that, because he had no desire to have sex with a hologram. Or any human other than Victor. And besides, even though he’d bought himself a new bottle of lube since he’d got back, he couldn’t even bring himself to use that, on his own, in the privacy of his bedroom. Because what would he fantasise about? He couldn’t think about Victor; it hurt too much. Which seemed to leave watching other people or holograms get it on in porn on the Cloud, and that had no appeal at all right now.

_Single and celibate the rest of my life, is that what I’m looking at? Sounds like great fun._

What would Victor want him to do? Find a way to be happy was the obvious answer. But how? He could already feel his heart beginning to race and his throat constricting with all these thoughts that churned and went nowhere. It was too soon, way too soon, to consider how he could possibly move on. He didn’t _want _to; his heart fought his brain every step of the way when he tried.

Coming out here without a coat might not have been the best idea after all, he thought as he began to shiver and tears leaked out of his eyes, tracing icy patterns down his cheeks. Anything could set them off, it seemed; there was never any predicting it, and rarely any logic behind it. A flowerbed. People walking down the street. A plate of food. Just reading a fucking Cloud page.

_God, I’m a mess. What do I do?_

He wiped his face with the back of his hand as he approached his flat, and the door opened to let him in. Then he removed his coat slowly and hung it on a peg on the wall, leaning forward until his forehead was pressed against it. _Tired. So tired._

“Hey, bro,” Mari called from the kitchen, “is Mrs. Wells OK? I’ve got some coffee on if you – ”

Her voice was cut off, and he heard her approaching as he turned around.

“Shit,” she said, looking at him. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Yuuri wiped at his eyes again. “Nothing happened. I…I just…” And he began to sob.

“Hey, come here.” She took his arm and steered him to the sofa. “Sit.”

He did as she said, and she sat down next to him and gathered him in her arms. Yuuri was bigger now than he used to be back in the days when they’d done this before, but as he leaned over, he still managed to nestle his head against her shoulder. The tears fell faster as he hugged her in return.

“_Mou nakanaide_, Yuuri,” she said softly, stroking his hair. “_Koko ni iru yo_._ Daijoubu_.” The Japanese reached something inside of him that felt small and scared, soothing it.

“Mari _nee-chan_,” he sobbed, “_aitai. Mune ga kowaresou hodo aitai. Kono mama da to taerarenai_.”

“_Kimochi wakaru yo_,” she whispered, her hand continuing the rhythmic strokes over his head. “_Wakatteru. Mata kou natta nante sugoku kanashikunaru yo. Ima hidoi me ni atteru kedo, zettai daijoubu._”

“_Dou sureba ii no ka, douyatte ikiteikeba ii no ka wakaranai._”

She let out a small breath. “_Tada idakasete choudai. Onee-chan wa nani mo dekinai kamo shirenai keredo, soredemo _Yuuri_ no tame ni isshoukenmei ganbaru._”

Yuuri choked and clung to her, soaking her shirt as she rocked him softly and made shushing noises. And finally at some unknowable time, the tears dried and his heart slowed, his breaths eased…and his mind wandered into an exhausted sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yuuri and Mari – the way this conversation would have played out in English is slightly different from the translation below, but this is a more literal rendition of the Japanese:_
> 
> “Don’t cry anymore, Yuuri,” she said softly, stroking his hair. “I’m here. It’s all right.” The Japanese reached something inside of Yuuri that felt small and scared, soothing it.
> 
> “Mari nee-chan,” he sobbed, “I miss him. I miss him so much, my heart is breaking. At this rate, I won’t be able to bear it.”
> 
> “I understand your feelings,” she whispered, her hand continuing the rhythmic strokes over his head. “I understand. It makes me so sad that it’s like this again. You’re going through something horrible now, but I’m sure it’s going to be all right.”
> 
> “I don’t know what to do or how I’m supposed to keep living.”
> 
> She let out a small breath. “Just let me hold you. Big sister might not be able to do anything to help, but even so, I’ll do my very best for your sake.”
> 
> Yuuri choked and clung to her, soaking her shirt as she rocked him softly and made shushing noises. And finally at some unknowable time, the tears dried and his heart slowed, his breaths eased…and his mind wandered into an exhausted sleep.
> 
> Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html)


	157. Chapter 157

The next morning, Yuuri thought he might as well make good on his promise to Mari, so instead of lying in bed for an hour or two as he’d got used to doing, he put on his medieval clothes and armour. As he entered the living room, she was watching the guest bed fold back into a sofa and reposition itself on the floor near the coffee table.

“Wow,” she said in a low voice when she saw him, coming closer and touching the plate on his arm. “OK, I confess I’m seriously impressed. This is the sort of thing you were wearing all the time in 1393?” She eyed the hilt of his sword in its scabbard.

“Most of it, yeah. What are you doing?” he asked as she circled round him.

“No plate on the backs of your legs? How do you make sure no one stabs you there?”

“Make sure you don’t let them get behind you? I can’t imagine trying to ride a horse with my legs encased in armour.”

Coming back to the front, she said, “Do knights always wear their underwear on display like that?”

“_Mari_,” Yuuri said with a blush, pressing his legs together as if it would help preserve some modesty. “That’s how men dressed back then. You get used to it.”

“Weird. OK, show me your stuff. Have you got enough room in here?”

“It’s best if we go outside.”

He led her to the courtyard, where he drew his sword and tried to get into the headspace he needed. But he was very conscious of Mari watching. Suddenly, performing in front of a group of strangers seemed less daunting than doing it in front of his own sister.

_I said I’d show her, didn’t I? I have nothing to be ashamed of._

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_Twelve-posta drill. Whole iron door into woman’s guard. Fendente._

And he began to move. Slowly at first, as he loosened his muscles and brought the actions back to mind.

_Fuck, I shouldn’t even have to think about them – they ought to be instinctive. I’ve hardly trained at all since I got back. _

A tremor passed through him; the familiar stab of anxiety. _You’re forgetting, _it said to him. _It’s all going to slip away. You will have lost everything._

“No,” he muttered to himself, forcing the thoughts back. _I can still do this. Window guard. Cut. Long guard. Jump and twist as if I were on the wheel. Thrust._

His body held the memory of it all easily enough. Relieved, he sank his consciousness into his movements, the rhythm and flow. Then added some flips. The world fell away, and he could be anywhere, even a training field with the other knights and squires…and Victor, who would tell him what he was doing wrong and praise him for what he’d got right. And dance with him.

_This is what we did together. No one else in 2121 has seen anything quite like it._

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he eventually came to a halt, lowering his sword. And received more applause; another small crowd had gathered. He waved his sword at them, imagining once more that it was the end of a show, wondering where the hell else he could do these things without being so conspicuous; it wasn’t as if he was deliberately setting out to try to impress anyone. Well, apart from Mari. She was grinning, which emphasised the red and white waves and dots across the tops of her cheeks.

“Not bad,” she commented, walking toward him. She raised an eyebrow and nodded in approval. “So that’s what you were getting up to in 1393, huh? Pretty juke.”

“Thanks,” he said as he sheathed his sword.

“You’ve got springs on the bottoms of those metal shoes, I swear.”

He huffed a laugh.

“But you’re not _fighting_ anyone.” She looked at him pointedly. “Find someone to twat, then put it on the Cloud; you’ll be a hit.”

Answering with a _hmph_, Yuuri strode back through the passage and into his flat, Mari following. Knight or no knight, he needed to keep practising. But she was right; he had no one to spar with. No one could replace Victor, however; not just because of who he was, but also how good he was. They’d been talking about issuing a challenge to Boucicaut – and who in this time was likely to have achieved that level; who even knew how, with no one to train them in the actual medieval methods? He’d had a few peeks at longsword holograms on the Cloud. They reminded him of modern archers, who thought they were impressive without having seen what people like Julia could do.

_So I’m going to put the whole world right about proper longsword technique, and jump on a wooden wheel and perform for them as well? I don’t think so._

As the day passed, Yuuri began to wonder if Mari felt she was doing much good by staying here with him. It couldn’t be her idea of a fun holiday, and he already knew that things weren’t likely to change much for him. He appreciated her company, even though he didn’t feel he could offer much in return right now, but he was wary of letting her slip back into her mothering role. His instincts told him it wouldn’t be good for either of them; he needed to be able to stand on his own without people taking up residence here because they were worried about his state of mind.

After supper, as they sat at the table sipping genmaicha tea while Mari checked the Cloud, he slipped into musings about what Victor would be doing now. It bothered him that he didn’t know. Was he determined to make a go of Victor and Friends? Would he find someone else to run it with him? If not, what else would he do? How was he feeling right now? _Right now _being 728 years ago. Yuuri rested his forehead against his hand, too wrung out to cry, feeling he’d end up going mad with the way his thoughts kept plaguing him.

“Hey, bro,” Mari said gently, and he looked and saw the concern on her face. “Tomorrow morning, why don’t you put some face paint on, and we can think of somewhere to go together. Or let me put some on you. You always wore it before; maybe you just need to get used to it again.”

“We could go out, sure,” he answered. “But I don’t want any face paint yet.”

She let out a small sigh, sitting back in her chair with her cup of tea. “This is shitty, after what happened to _Okasan _and _Otousan_. If you want, I could arrange for you to see a counsellor. What was the name of that one you saw before, who you got on with? Maybe he’s still available.”

“Sam,” Yuuri answered, a picture of him forming in his mind. Of the two of them walking along a beach in Immersion. _Be the water flowing around the rock. _“But that was years ago. I don’t think I want to try to go looking for him; I’ve changed, anyway.” He raked a hand distractedly through his hair. “In fact, I don’t think I want a counsellor at all this time. I don’t want to keep talking about it. I just…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Have to work out what to do with my life.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“Yuuri, the days are going, and you’re not doing anything. You’re going to sink like this. If I didn’t have a job and was sitting around the house without an aim or purpose, I’d sink, too.”

He glared at her for a moment, feeling like he ought to say something defensive. But really, she was right. He put his cup of tea on the table and looked down, playing with his fingers.

Mari carried on, “I got the impression Phichit was worried about the same things, but he was too polite to say. I’m not. I love you, bro, and it’s not good to see you like this.”

_How do you think I like it myself? _he almost snapped in response, but he made himself stay silent.

“Do you have something you could put on the butsudan?”

“No,” he said, quickly looking back up at her. “Victor isn’t dead.”

She wrinkled her brow.

“Not to me,” he added firmly.

After a pause, Mari said more gently, meeting his gaze, “That’s the problem, though, Yuuri. He died back in the 1300s. That’s the first thing you’ve got to admit to yourself, or you’ll stay stuck like this.”

Yuuri put his face in his hands. “No,” he whispered through them.

“Come on, now. Look at me.”

_You don’t understand. I can’t do what you’re asking. _But as the moments passed and she waited quietly, he removed his hands, wiping the tears from his face and sniffing. “What,” he said in a small flat voice.

“Remember when _Okasan _and _Otousan _died, and you said you kept hoping one of them would come out of their room, or appear from around a corner in town, and you’d find out that you’d been in a nightmare and were just waking up? You also said you hoped their ghosts would haunt you.”

The memories pierced him like shards; he hadn’t thought of these things in years and had been on the way to forgetting them. “I was thirteen, Mari.”

She frowned and poured herself more tea, then offered to do the same for him, but he held his hand over the top of his cup. After she’d taken a sip of hers, she said, “You told me once about something you and your counsellor discussed. It stuck with me because it just seemed so _you_.”

Yuuri waited to hear what it was, because she was going to go ahead and say it, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. In fact, the entire conversation was making him wish he hadn’t eaten any supper. Mari had made spicy pork ramen, and it was sitting in his stomach like a rock.

“You said Sam told you that a part of you wanted to impose its idea of what the world _should be _on top of what it _is_. Which apparently is really good if you’ve got goals to aim for, because you can visualise them happening. But as coping strategies go, it’s not the best.”

Yuuri idly traced his fingers over his cup of cooling tea. He knew she was referring to the problems he’d had with Immersion, wishing that could be his life instead of the real one he’d been running away from. And, well, she was also right about how he couldn’t let his parents go, at first. Was he doing the same thing now?

She sighed. “I know it’s hard. I can’t even imagine what this has been like for you, with the time travel and everything on top of it.” She paused, then added quietly, “But once you can be honest with yourself about the fact that Victor’s gone, you’ll be able to start to move on.”

Her words were well-intentioned, and perhaps there was truth to them. Too much, even. But they sent a chill through him which was somehow even worse than the anxiety and the tears. For a moment Yuuri felt scrunched up, small, empty…the pain never stopped.

_I want to die._

But as quickly as he had the thought, he countered it. _No. Victor would be horrified to hear that. I have to hang on for his sake; to find a way through. I will. I swear I will._

Mari was waiting patiently for him to say something. He looked through the window behind her, out at the trees in the courtyard. The only times he’d been there since he’d returned were when he’d gone to do his sword drills in his armour. And an idea formed in his mind.

It wasn’t anything much. And it could well result in another anxiety attack or fainting spell, but somehow he didn’t think so. It might even make him feel more grounded. Calmer. He was willing to take that gamble.

“Mari…” he said, returning his gaze to her, “…I’d like to go to Crowood Castle with you and Phichit.” 

* * *

The chill October wind whipped at Yuuri’s fringe as he stepped out of the taxi along with Phichit and Mari. He’d requested that they stop a good distance away from the castle so he could approach it by foot, just as he’d always done. As they walked along the road, they passed trees in a blaze of autumn colours, their leaves plucked off branches and whirling through the air with each gust. Thick, ragged grey and white clouds raced overhead. Few vehicles flew out this way; there was nothing here but the castle and a few farms, plus the flowing Ouse nearby. Yuuri knew he must have come here on foot or on Lady many times, but there was nothing familiar about it now, from the cement road to the modern signs and buildings.

_Lady. I wonder what happened to her. And Blaze. They’re all gone now, of course. All the horses, all the people._

This trip was going to be difficult, but it was something he had to do. To be in that same physical space again; to chase a shred of what was once there; to come face to face with the weight of the centuries that had passed, and the pieces they’d left behind…He needed this, even if it came close to breaking him.

A small rusty blue sign with white lettering pointing to a dirt road said, “Crowood Castle, ½ km”. They turned right into a small wood. Weeds fringed the middle and sides of the road; few vehicles were likely to ever come this way on the ground, and the sign looked like it had been there a decade or more. Curling brown leaves skated across Yuuri’s trainers, and his long black coat flapped around his ankles.

Phichit, walking to his right, adjusted the collar on his own similar coat so that it stood around his neck. “I’ve actually been here a couple of times,” he said. “Not walking from this direction, but at the castle.”

Yuuri glanced at him. “I never seem to have made it before, myself. It’s not one of the well-known castles people come to the area to see.”

“I guess not. But, um, after that first time I went with Celestino, to collect the box Ailis left for us in the kitchen, I came back a few more times on my own.”

“You did? Why?”

Phichit shrugged. “Because I knew you were there? Sort of. It was the weirdest experience. You know how when you visit ruins sometimes, you try to imagine the people who used to live there, back when the place was in its heyday? And you were one of them. I wondered a few times if I was standing in places where you’d stood yourself.”

Mari huffed a laugh. “I didn’t know you were a romantic, Phichit.”

“Does that sound romantic?”

“In the sense of brooding over the moors in a baggy white shirt and breeches, yeah.”

“Huh?”

Yuuri screened out their chatter as they exited the woods. And there, not far ahead of them on its tall enduring hill, was the silhouette of Crowood Castle. Stopping, he took in the sight. No longer an imposing grey edifice with four stately towers topped by fluttering blue and gold flags, he was looking upon a dark Gothic ruin with gaping holes through which the dull grey of the sky could be glimpsed.

“Oh,” he breathed, and Phichit and Mari fell silent, halting as well, glancing from him to the castle.

“You OK, bro?” Mari asked, gazing at him in concern.

“I…um, it’s just a bit of a shock.” He swallowed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why don’t we look around here before we go up.”

He led them first to the top of another hill where he was sure the castle cemetery had been, though there was no discernible sign of it now. Briefly he wondered if he ought to tell the university’s archaeology department about it, if they weren’t already aware of its existence. But they would have examined many medieval graves already, and probably wouldn’t find anything unique about these. Let the dead, whoever they were – people he’d known, maybe – rest in peace.

Back down and to the west, toward the river, he kept an eye out for the marble pavilion with white columns surrounded by the glade of wildflowers, where he and Victor had trained and loved. But no wildflowers would be in bloom at this time of year, and although he felt certain he was looking in the right place, the pavilion was gone. It should only be a small thing, one missing building over the course of more than seven centuries. So he told himself, even if his heart didn’t want to listen.

He made his way with Phichit and Mari to a large outbuilding, the only one in the area. It was an old brick stable, but not the one he remembered, nor was it in the same place relative to the castle. Which meant he couldn’t point out the training field where he’d spent so many hours experiencing joy and despair and everything in between. Where he’d learned to ride a horse. To use a longsword properly. Even to joust. Where Victor had taught him with patience and love. Where they’d kissed for the first time, and stolen others afterward. He told them anyway, and they listened and seemed interested. But there was no way to convey the _importance_ of it – the intensity of all he’d been through – because those memories were his, not theirs.

_I probably sound like nothing but a dry old tour guide. Telling them about a field. A field that doesn’t even exist anymore._

They hadn’t come here for a tour anyway, Yuuri reminded himself. They’d come to support him. Suddenly he realised how much he needed it, too. The empty spaces where people and places had been and gone were pressing at him.

_Victor. _Tears sprung to his eyes and were chilled by the wind. _If only I could reach out to you. _

Mari took his arm. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, we can see the castle from here. Maybe we should – ”

“Please,” he said quietly. “I’m not anxious. I’m just…” He swallowed a sob. “Anyway, it’s OK. Will you come with me?”

She nodded, and the three of them headed toward the castle hill.

As bewildering as it had been at first; as much as Yuuri had hated it sometimes, and the things that went on there, it was where Victor had been born and lived his life. His home, and theirs. Despite the ruin it had become, being here somehow felt more _right _than being in his own flat, or any other place, since he’d returned.

_Just leave me here, sitting against a wall. I’ll soak into the stones and join the ghosts._

“I take it the escalator wasn’t here in 1393,” Phichit said.

Yuuri blinked. “What?”

He pointed. “Handy. Though I guess the stairs and the rail next to it are, too. What did you all do in the winter when it was muddy? This is a steep hill.”

“We…slogged up it.” Yuuri shrugged. “There was a road here. And, well, grass?” As they approached the bottom of the hill, he eyed the black holographic info screen. “Have you used that before?” he asked Phichit.

“I tried it out. There are a few around. The info isn’t that detailed; mainly just stuff on how lords and ladies would’ve dressed at different times in the castle’s history, and feasting, and what servants did and so on. You’d probably do a much better job if you reprogrammed them yourself.”

Yuuri didn’t reply, but began to jog up the stairs. With easy footholds and no armour on – and no sack of grain over his shoulder – it was far too easy. The teeth of the raised portcullis protruded from the top of the gate, but before Yuuri went inside, he paused to take in the view. 

“It’s all so different,” he said as Mari and Phichit arrived on the escalator. “If it wasn’t for the actual castle being here, I wouldn’t recognise this place.” Swaths of land that had been covered by trees were now fields, bordered by hedgerows – those hadn’t existed in 1393, either. The main road that used to lead away from the castle toward York had been completely obliterated, though he could see now that the ribbon of concrete further in the distance more or less followed the same route. Thatch-roofed clusters of cottages, a haze of smoke perpetually hanging over them, all gone. As well as several church steeples, though a few remained, poking darkly up at the sky.

The gate stood silently open to them as they approached. “You’d know something was wrong straight away if you came here in the daytime and no one was here to greet you,” Yuuri said as they walked through. “Alfric was the head porter; an older man with grey hair and a trimmed beard. He was usually here with a guard called Harry.”

Phichit and Mari made noises of acknowledgement. _Like this means anything to them, _Yuuri thought._ I ought to just stop. _

The courtyard was a pool of green, crisscrossed with paths just as it always had been; the pattern had been preserved all this time. But it had only ever been this quiet in the middle of the night; the gusting wind was all he could hear. He walked slowly along, taking in the crumbling shell surrounding him, Phichit and Mari following not far behind.

The walls were all still here, to an extent, but at a glance it was obvious that the only areas which had been substantially preserved were the great hall and the west wing containing the solar and chapel, all of which still had a roof. The northeast tower that had contained the well where he’d visited Monica and the seamstresses and pages for dance lessons was intact to its battlements, though it looked like the floors were missing at the top. But of the servants’ quarters, the garrison, his room and Victor’s, nothing was left but the stone framework he’d seen dark against the sky from the bottom of the hill, the tops of the walls jagged where the stones had detached and fallen.

He passed through the archway that once had led to the main garrison room, wandering over the grass to stand directly underneath the space where their own room would have been. Fireplaces were suspended in the middle of the towering walls, the places they’d fed long since fallen through. Looking up, Yuuri could see what must have been Victor’s fireplace, and on the other side of the wall the one in the room adjacent. But both had been denuded of whatever character they had once possessed, the white marble and other fine trimmings perhaps having been robbed out long ago to be used elsewhere. All that remained were charred holes in the grey stone. A bird squawked and rustled inside one of them.

What had happened to the broken time-travel sphere he’d stashed up there? Had Victor taken it? Did someone else eventually find it, or was it swallowed by the ground when the floor fell in? How many more times had Victor’s feet trodden across that tiled floor before he’d taken his last step on it?

_Not many. Because he died before the end of the year._

Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly wondering why the hell it had seemed so important to come here. If there was anything left of the people he’d once known and loved, it wasn’t to be found in this decaying pile. And yet his heart was crying out for the terrible damage to be mended; for the castle to be new and whole again, in its rightful state.

He gasped in a breath, which emerged with a shudder as the wind stung his watering eyes. Maybe if he took these walls apart stone by stone, he’d finally find what he was looking for. Or maybe the spirit of the castle had departed, leaving nothing behind but mortar and rock, and a grieving fool who wanted to believe he could wring some kind of meaning or answer out of them.

“Hey.” Mari’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder. “I guess this is where your room was?”

He nodded and looked up, and her eyes followed.

“Not much left of it,” she said.

Yuuri remained silent.

“This isn’t a cheerful place. It must be like going to a funeral for you.” She paused. “Is that it – is that why you came? To say goodbye?”

He toed the grassy ground with his trainer. “Yes. No. I…don’t know.” _If I said I was hoping the ghosts here would haunt me – one of them in particular – what would you think? That I didn’t learn anything from losing _Okasan _and _Otousan_? That I’m still just a child chasing after an impossible dream?_

_But I don’t want to be haunted. Because that would mean Victor’s spirit was trapped here somehow, and that would be the most terrible thing of all. Wherever he went, I hope he’s safe and happy and loved._

“He’s not dead,” he muttered to himself.

Mari looked at him for a moment, then said, “Is there anything else you want to see, or are you ready to leave?”

Yuuri turned to gaze at her properly, and saw Phichit standing a short distance behind. “I’d like to visit the rest while I’m here.”

The great hall, he discovered, was similar to how he remembered it, but the walls had been whitewashed of their blue stripes and gold fleur-de-lis patterns, the tapestries and weapons were gone, the floor tiles were different, and the room was…_slantier_, in that way peculiar to ancient buildings, the ceiling and walls and floor having warped over the years. But Yuuri recognised the stained glass in the windows and the great iron chandelier on its chain, and decided to find out what the info screen in here had to say.

A male voice explained what the room had been used for, and a hologram of a feast from the Middle Ages appeared. The clothing was believable, though the décor appeared to have been chosen by the artist as a plausible guess that wasn’t entirely accurate. As the voice continued to give information about what the hall had been used for and how it had looked at different times in its history, it was accompanied by more holographic recreations. But the only interest Yuuri had in it was when the Nikiforovs were mentioned as the first owners of the castle. Nothing more, however, was said about them.

He walked up the stairs to the solar, Mari and Phichit following. When he’d lived here, he’d only ever ventured down these hallways a few times, and had been in Andrei’s meeting room, but had never seen the rest. The grand fireplaces were intact, but there was no furniture, and again the walls were bare white plaster. Yuuri felt certain that Andrei and Natalia and their successors must have surrounded themselves with luxuries that were no longer in evidence.

Another flight of stairs led them back to the courtyard, where they emerged next to the chapel. Yuuri stared at the archway and caught a glimpse in the dim interior of sleeping marble knights. A chill crept down his back.

The sarcophagus of Alex might yet remain, worn by the passing years. And possibly another monument alongside, almost equally as ancient, depicting a second knight with pointed toes and holding a sword in repose, maybe even with a fine floppy fringe that fell over his left eye…

_No. I’m not going in there. I don’t want to know. I couldn’t bear it._

He appreciated, now, how much courage it had taken Victor to go inside on the day of their brotherhood-in-arms ceremony. That wasn’t something Yuuri felt within himself today. Maybe it would elude him for a long while.

_Why did I come here? Why? There’s only death and ruin left._

_Perhaps that was what Mari meant about this being like a funeral. So that I realised and accepted what’s gone. How can I see the castle in my head the way it used to be, when the way it is now is also burned into my brain?_

_Everyone, everything, is telling me to let go._

_But how can I do that? I don’t want to…damn it, I don’t._

_So what happens then – do I carry on slowly driving myself mad?_

He let out a quiet sob, and Mari came over to take him in her arms. As he cried on her shoulder, the tension that had been building within him from the moment he’d spied the castle on its hill began to ease, though the heaviness in his heart remained.

“So much happened here,” he said in a broken voice, straightening with a sniff, and glancing at Phichit. “It was so alive. You’d never guess from seeing it like this. It’s like…” He stepped back and looked around, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Like digging up a pile of bones and trying to imagine the person who they were once part of. The kitchen had fires burning day and night, and someone was always there, even if it was only to sleep. Servants would come through the courtyard with buckets, brooms, stacks of linen, baskets, sacks, horses, carts…Knights and guards, farm animals, deliveries of supplies, messengers – and the bright colours people wore…I wish I could show you.”

He strode over to the shell of the southeast tower that had been the garrison, silently challenging those old mossy walls to stop him from divulging their secrets. No one else in this time knew them, but he did; some of them, anyway.

“There’s not much left to see of it,” he said as Mari and Phichit joined him, “but I spent a lot of evenings in here, especially when I first came to the castle. My room was just over there.” He pointed, though there was only grass and a hole in the wall where the window had been. “Before Victor and I…before we got together, I used to sit in here sometimes and hope he’d come with Julia; he’d bring his citole and play and sing.” Closing his eyes, Yuuri tried to conjure a memory of the sound; that sweet vibrato which had always washed over him lie a soothing tide. “He had such a beautiful voice,” he sighed, another tear spilling down his cheek.

“I know,” Phichit said. “I heard him sing and play a few times.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow and looked at him. “Of course you did. And how could I have forgotten – I even _recorded _it on my com. When I played it back for Victor, he said it was like witchcraft, the way I’d captured his voice.”

“He wasn’t weirded out by it very long, though, because he was using a com himself for a while.”

“Yeah.” And it seemed to him as if the shadows lightened a little as they spoke, while his heart called forward the very ghost he’d been hoping to find; not spectral or frightening, but simply the man he knew and loved. It seemed appropriate somehow, here in the garrison, and because of that, less painful. If only it could always be like this when he remembered Victor. “I recorded all kinds of things here,” he added. “But to listen to his voice again…that would be…but could I…?”

“Yuuri,” Phichit said gently, coming closer, “um, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I was waiting to mention it until you seemed, well, ready for it. It never felt like the right time while I was staying with you, but now, maybe – ”

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Well…” Phichit took a deep breath and let it out. “Talking about recordings. I, um, helped Victor make one over Dr. Croft’s com, the one he was using until Ailis…in the dungeon…Anyway – ”

Yuuri’s eyes opened wide. “Why?”

“He had me record it so I could keep it. In case of what actually ended up happening. That you were pulled back to your own time by accident. I think he was really worried about that, so – ”

“What did he _say_, Phichit?” Yuuri breathed at the same time as Mari muttered, “Bloody hell.”

“I don’t know,” was the hurried answer. “I’ve never heard it because I promised him I’d leave it between the two of you. So, um,” he added in a small voice, “you could listen if you wanted. Not here, though; I haven’t got the com with me.”

“I wouldn’t want to hear it in this place anyway,” Yuuri said. “It’s too…too immediate for something like that.” He bit his lip. A message from Victor? God. He trembled at the excitement and dread the idea was stirring in him. “Tonight, in my flat, with both of you. If you’re all right to come.” 


	158. Chapter 158

Phichit took two translators out of his pocket. “Mine, plus another one from the university,” he said. “Obviously Victor’s message is in Middle English. Yuuri, you were learning how to speak it; do you want – ”

“I’m already wearing mine,” Yuuri answered. He was sitting in the middle of the sofa in his living room with Mari to his left. Phichit handed her a translator, then put his own in and sat down on Yuuri’s right. “I can speak it a little,” he added, “but that’s no good for this; I need to be able to understand everything he says.”

His mouth was dry, and he began to tremble again as Phichit took his com out of his pocket. He knew he was in danger of feeling overwhelmed by whatever Victor wanted to say, whether that led to an anxiety attack or waves of despair or something equally horrible – but there was nothing he wanted more than to hear the message. It seemed a reasonable assumption that Victor wouldn’t mention anything so private that he’d regret letting Mari and Phichit listen.

“Ready?” Phichit asked.

Yuuri stared at the com in his friend’s hands. “As I’ll ever be.”

And after an initial silence…Victor’s voice, exactly as he remembered it.

“Yuuri, my love…if you’re listening to this, it means you’re back in the future.”

Yuuri hugged his arms around his chest. Victor could just as easily be on the other side of the com, speaking to him right this minute. That voice he’d missed so much. He sounded a little nervous – understandable, with the tech and the whole concept of recording a message, all of which was new to him. But there was a note of sadness, too, as if he were imagining himself into this situation they both had feared. What must it have been like for him to do this, as if Yuuri had already been lost to him – and what kind of dread of the future had led him to it? Perhaps he’d been so concerned about helping Yuuri fight his own fires that he’d decided to keep quiet about his own.

_I wish you’d said. We could’ve supported each other more. Oh, Victor._

There was a pause, then Victor continued, “Phichit kindly agreed to record this message for me. I can’t say I’m used to it, but I’ll do my best. Yuuri…if we’re truly lost to each other, God forbid, then I wanted to be able to say goodbye.”

He choked on his words, and Yuuri felt tears pooling in his eyes. _If only I could reach out and hold you. You sound so real. _

“It’s not an easy thing to do, my sweet – even now, when I know you’re here at the castle, and I hope you’ll never have cause to hear these words. And I can only imagine what it must be like for you.” A sigh, and another pause. “But Yuuri – you’ll never be alone. You have Mari, and Phichit, and in time you’ll meet new people. And I’ll always love you, wherever…and whenever…you and I may be. A feeling like this can never truly die. That…that’s what I sincerely believe.” 

Yuuri let out a shuddering breath, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the tears from his face. Mari and Phichit sat quietly; he didn’t know if they felt embarrassed, or if he did himself. It didn’t matter.

After a moment, Victor continued, “But it’s easy to say those three words, as I have so many times to you. I – I’m not sure I ever told you just what they really mean to me, however. Sometime I’ll have to rectify that, while you’re still here. So, um, forgive me if you’ve heard this before. It’s worth saying again.”

Yuuri imagined him sitting alone in their room, struggling to think what to say, because it was obvious he hadn’t planned it beforehand; this was no speech, but something straight from Victor’s heart. Where had he been himself at the time – training? He sobbed quietly into his handkerchief as he carried on listening.

“It must have been such a shock for you to arrive in the middle of that duel with me. I’ve wished so many times since that I’d known the truth of what was happening, but of course it was impossible. Although I’ve said it before, I’m sorry for what I did, regardless. But from that moment onward, before we even really knew each other, you were an important part of my life, Yuuri. I think…my heart recognised something in yours that it longed for, and already loved. Perhaps you felt the same. I’m so glad we both listened to that.”

_Yes. Yes to everything. _It felt like the tears would never stop, that they’d wash him away, but he didn’t care.

The uncertainty seemed to be evaporating from Victor’s speech, as if his determination to reach out across the centuries had chased everything else from his mind. “I’d only just decided I wanted to learn how to live and love better, and there you were to help me – and you have, my sweet Yuuri, perhaps more than you may ever realise…You’ve brought me new feelings, new colours. Changed my winter to spring, and warmth, and hope. Taught me to appreciate every golden, shining moment, whether that’s been training together, looking for Ailis, sharing our bed and our bodies…so many things, it would be impossible to name them all. And I’ve watched you grow, too. To call this place your home, learning its ways and customs. Yuuri, you’ve become one of the best knights in the land, whether you know it or not, and you’ll beat me one day…a day I look forward to with joy in my heart.”

Yuuri could hardly breathe for the sobs that shook him as he sat with his eyes closed, handkerchief against his face. _I did, Victor, I did, and it was wonderful. You trained me to be able to do that. We were both so happy. Just wait – you’ll see it happen. _Past and present and future seemed to be tangling together, and yet it all made a strange kind of sense.

Victor’s voice grew low and soft. “I never knew it was possible to feel this way about someone. I thank God we’ve had this time together, however long or short it turns out to be, and will treasure it for the remainder of my life. But I want you to promise me something, my love. And I’ll do the same in return. If…” He paused. “Well, not _if_. Since we _have _been separated, from your point of view, we must try not to dishonour what there is between us by allowing it to become a shackle. We both will need to go on, however hard that may be at first. It was you, in your wisdom, who taught me so. Let it not be said that I can’t learn the lessons of the future…or of the extraordinary man who came to me from it and changed my life forever.” After a pause, he added slowly, in a voice choked with feeling, “Live in peace and joy, and may your days be blessed. Yuuri…my heart’s root, my sweeting, my love…_carpe diem._”

With a gasp, Yuuri began to shake, and Mari put an arm around his shoulders. After a moment he opened sore, puffy eyes and looked at Phichit.

“That’s the end,” he said. “He turned his com off after that.”

They sat in silence. _He didn’t know about his death date, _Yuuri thought. _He believed he had more time ahead of him than that. I can’t…I can’t bear it. And he’s not here, his voice is gone, and…and _he’s _gone, and…_

More sobs wracked through him. Phichit touched him arm and Mari moved her hand back and forth on his shoulder. He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing more to be said. They’d heard it all. He was going to disintegrate.

“That was amazing,” Mari said to him quietly. “He loved you so much, Yuuri.”

Phichit added, “I could hear it in his voice over the com whenever he was on. Yuuri, you’re so lucky to have met someone like that. I, um, I’m really sorry about what happened.”

The tears continued to come, but gradually they eased as Yuuri replayed Victor’s dear voice in his head, and the things he’d said. All of them had found an instant home deep in his heart.

_But I never got a chance to say goodbye to you in turn. To tell you how much I love you, and thank you for everything you did for me. I couldn’t leave you a message. I…I just hope you know. Maybe you do._

He was expecting Mari to remind him of the promise he’d been asked to make, as well._ But I’ve been trying, and I still don’t know how to do it. I don’t want to become another Boris Blessington-Stewart, with an eternal shrine to my dead love; that’s madness. But what the hell else can I do? How, Victor, how do I seize the day when it’s all I can do to get out of bed in the morning?_

Once the sobs had turned into sniffles, Yuuri thanked Phichit and Mari for staying with him, then said he needed some time to himself and disappeared to his room. Mari was offering Phichit a drink as he closed the door and lay down on his bed, facing the table beside it. He picked up his com and scrolled through the menu until he found a list of the recordings he’d made. They were only labelled by the equivalent modern date; why hadn’t he thought to name them? He picked one and played it.

“Go on, then,” he heard himself say.

“What, now?” Victor’s voice.

“Yes, _now. _The recording’s started.”

“Oh. All right, then.” The thrum of fingers across strings; his citole. “I still don’t understand how this works – how do you keep sound in a box?” Another thrum; a different chord.

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “I’ll explain the physics to you sometime, if you really want to know. Play something,” he invited him.

Victor did, and began to sing. A ballad that had been new to Yuuri at the time, but which they’d since sung on other evenings, and on travelling days with Victor and Friends. The lyrics told the story of a knight who had fought in the crusades, had become disillusioned with what he’d experienced as opposed to the glory and honour he’d expected, and returned to England with his tales, only to be ignored by a country that believed recapturing Jerusalem was a holy undertaking. It had the melancholy undertones of much of the music typical of the time, minor chords weaving with major ones to cast a haunting spell. Victor’s voice trailed off at the end with a final thrum, and then he said, “That’s it.”

“That was beautiful,” Yuuri enthused. “I didn’t know you had political songs like that here.”

“Really? There are a few. I’ll have to think of some more.”

“It’s just religious songs that survive into the future from this time, and some ballads – Robin Hood, maidens losing their virtue, that kind of thing.”

“Well then, that’s a crime. Are you still recording?” There was a clicking noise, and Yuuri laughed. “Thank you, whoever is listening,” Victor’s voice came loudly. “I hope you enjoyed it.”

Another laugh. “What are you like.” Then the recording ended.

In the silence of his bedroom, Yuuri ran a finger over the little box on top of the com, and the ghost of a smile on his face faded. He found more recordings, including one of the castle musicians accompanying a meal, though what he was straining to hear was any possible conversation between himself and Victor. He only caught a few words; obviously he’d been aiming to capture the music itself. But now that he’d heard Victor’s voice again, he wanted more of it; so much more than he had. Why the hell hadn’t he got Victor to _say_ more, so that he could record it?

_Because I never expected this to happen; to be back here, and so soon. _Or, rather, he’d _willed _it not to happen, as if he’d had any choice in the matter. It had been one of the reasons why he’d hesitated to start a romantic relationship, despite being in love with Victor – because he might have to return to the future and hurt him; hurt them both.

_Victor, I want to think you’re not suffering, now that I’m gone. But you made it clear how much you love me, so I’d just be deluding myself, I think. I’m so sorry. About all of this. But I don’t have any regrets, not for a moment. I didn’t think I ever would, which is why I kissed you that first time…I hope you feel the same._

More tears squeezed themselves out of his sore eyes, and he let them come. Hearing Victor’s voice was like being back at the castle; in fact, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that Victor had been there actually speaking to him, even if he himself hadn’t been able to reply.

He lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, and pictured himself there, as he’d seen it today. Only, this time the ghosts of the others who had lived there were present, standing in the courtyard amidst the ruins. Andrei and Natalia, tall and stately, near the great hall. Emil and Julia by the garrison. And Victor on the grass underneath where their room used to be, a graceful figure in shining silver armour, quietly waiting for him; a trace of the man himself, just this side of the veil, who perhaps could be spoken to. Yuuri held a hand out, but it passed through him as if he were vapour.

“_Carpe diem_, my love,” Victor said with a secret smile. “That was for you – and for me. We agreed to make what we could out of life, did we not?”

Yuuri gazed at him. “Is that what you’re doing, in 1393?” he asked quietly.

Victor didn’t answer – either because he couldn’t, or because Yuuri himself didn’t know, and so couldn’t think of a reply for him to make. This wasn’t even the way he wanted to remember Victor and the others, as shades of their former selves. But he knew that if he tried to indulge in more physical images, where he and Victor expressed their love for each other, it would break him. This was better than nothing. Just.

He continued to face Victor in his vision, whose expression was placid as he waited for Yuuri to speak. After a pause, he said, “Maybe I _can _do this…eventually. Somehow. I…I’d get by. Maybe even find some way to be happy, I don’t know. But without you, Victor?” He gulped back a sob. “There’s no one else like you. I’ll always know what I lost.” He stared into those blue eyes, still full of love, just as he remembered. “I suppose everyone would say I have no choice; that’s how I have to live.” A sudden wave of resolve swept through him…along with the beginnings of an idea – stupid, maybe; crazy, certainly. But none of that lessened the appeal. “Well, they’re wrong,” he insisted. “I _am _going to move on, but not the way Mari thinks.”

He pressed his lips together, eyes flashing, and added, “I’m going to find you, Victor. I’m going to come back to you if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

* * *

Later that evening, when Yuuri emerged from his room, he found that Phichit had gone and Mari was sitting in an armchair, reading something on the Cloud. She looked over at him, and he knew that look; she was trying to work out how distressed he was, and how best to react. His face was dry now, at least, and he no longer felt in danger of falling to pieces. In fact, he was more _whole_ than at any time since he’d arrived, because he’d finally made some decisions.

“I’m going to take up Ailis’s studies in temporal physics,” he announced.

Silence.

“I’m serious,” he added.

“Uh.” She blinked. “Yuuri, look…you’ve had a hard day. It’s late, and – ”

“I’m going to do this, Mari.”

She sighed. “Fine, OK. Just…let’s talk about this again in the morning, when we’ve both slept on it, all right?”

She insisted, and so Yuuri slept on it, and in the morning over breakfast he brought up the subject again. And once more she stared at him, this time with a piece of omelette poised between her chopsticks.

“So explain to me how this has a snowball’s chance in hell of working, because I don’t see it, Yuuri.” She fed herself the egg and spoke while she chewed. “You’ve been upset. Well, more than just upset; I know that. And it must sound like a great idea. But there’s that _minor _issue of actually making it happen.”

Yuri had finished his omelette and was drinking his coffee. “I’m going to find a way to rebuild a time-travel sphere, and make it work.”

She took this in. “OK. Again, I’d have to ask – ”

“There must be a way. Ailis did it.”

“But even she couldn’t repair them.”

“She said she thought she might be able to, given more time.”

“She _said. _And she reliably told you the truth how often?”

Yuuri sipped more coffee. He’d anticipated comments like this, and they weren’t going to put him off. “She was separated from her modern lab. Her notes, her tools…”

Mari chewed more of her omelette. “For fuck’s sake, Yuuri, MI8’s best experts couldn’t even _open _a sphere. You said they tried before they sent you on your mission.”

“I’m a techie; I can – ”

“A _techie_. Not a physicist.”

“Phichit and Celestino are, though. They’ll be there if I need help. Anyway, why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

She eyed him. “I’m not. I’m just saying I think you might have a very hard time once you realise what’s involved, and you’ll get discouraged, and then the depression and anxiety might get worse. Don’t you think it’d be better to do something else that’d make you happy? You’re juke with that sword; why not join a re-enactment society? Or volunteer at the living history museum, like you said the other medieval people did when they were here?”

_Because if one more person tells me I should become a re-enactor, they’ll get to see my sword at close quarters. _“Mari, I want Victor back. Those things aren’t going to make it happen.”

“And what if your plan doesn’t either?” She frowned. “Or, knowing you, you’d keep working on it for years – but what if it still didn’t happen, even then? Or what if it did when you were, I don’t know, seventy years old? Would you still travel back in time?”

Yuuri cupped his mug. Those weren’t possibilities he wanted to think too deeply about right now.

Mari sighed. “I love you, bro. I’m just trying to get you to think.”

“I _have _thought. I have to do this. I at least have to try. I…I’ll learn as I go along.” Putting his mug down on the table, he leaned forward and said earnestly, “If I wasn’t working toward this somehow, I’d fall apart. Again. It’ll give me a focus. Motivation.”

“It’ll also keep you hoping you’ll get something back that’s gone for good.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What else _should _I say? It’s the truth.”

Yuuri swallowed, fighting back a sudden surge of despair. She thought she was helping, he knew, but what he needed was encouragement. He was already well aware of the degree of difficulty he was facing before he’d even begun. “I’m doing this,” he reiterated.

“Right.” She put her chopsticks down, her omelette unfinished. “So how high do you honestly think you can set your hopes, Yuuri?”

He considered, then shook his head. “I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out.”


	159. Chapter 159

The truth was, Yuuri was afraid Mari was right; he was pragmatic enough to know that he might soon realise the impossibility of what he was hoping to do, when all he wanted was some form of comfort. And a purpose. But he had one advantage no one else who’d looked at Ailis’s work did: he’d actually travelled through time. Maybe that would count for something.

That afternoon he went to visit Celestino, who had told him he’d be available in his office. The professor smiled pleasantly when Yuuri entered, and asked him what had brought him there, but he wrinkled his brow when Yuuri responded by asking where Ailis’s equipment and notes were.

“MI8 have them,” Celestino answered. “Why?”

Yuuri took a seat. “Because I want to study them. Phichit said they put everything of hers on ice, so if you told them you wanted to study it yourself, maybe they’d turn it over to you.”

“_You _want to…?” Celestino gave him the same sceptical look he’d recently seen from Mari, which launched them into a similar tedious conversation about how he could expect to make any headway when the experts had failed to do so. If Yuuri couldn’t convince him of the likelihood of his success, he hoped he’d proved his sincerity.

“I want to return to Victor,” he said, “and I’m going to make this my life’s work in order to bring it about.”

Celestino steepled his fingers on his desk and looked at him. “I don’t think anyone would question your good intentions, Yuuri, but…” He sighed. “Ian had a computer and various other things put into storage while he was trying to evade the authorities, which they were able to recover once he was in custody. But I must warn you, all the data is encrypted. If there’s a key, it was probably in Ailis’s head. No one’s been able to crack it. They questioned Ian on numerous occasions, from what I’m told, but in the end were convinced of what Phichit and I suspected anyway – that he was more a lackey than a proper lab assistant, and didn’t understand the tech Ailis was using. She needed a contact here when she went back in time, someone who could also look after the woman she swapped places with, and he was convenient for that.”

“It’s good to know what I’m up against,” Yuuri said. “Do you think MI8 would give you her kit if you asked?”

“Well…” There was a long pause. “I can contact Anisha and see what I can do.”

“Please. And don’t tell her it’s me. Just say you’re studying it in your spare time or something. I don’t want to attract their attention.”

Celestino nodded. “You did a lot for us, Yuuri. It’s the least I can do in return. If they do release her possessions to me, just, ah, don’t damage any of them; they could very well be irreplaceable.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said with a smile. “You’re a big help, Professor.”

* * *

While he waited for things to happen on Celestino’s end, he went shopping with Mari, and they watched holo-films and even played a bit of exercise-Immersion in the living room. She said she could see the change in him and eventually suggested that she return to the spa, as long as he promised to keep in touch. But she wasn’t hiding her concern, and Yuuri knew she believed that the new project would keep him afloat for a while until he came crashing back down again. Well, he would have to prove her wrong.

“I could stay a few more days,” she said as they waited outside the quad for her taxi. “Sharon’s got things covered.”

“You’ve already spent plenty of time here,” Yuuri replied. “You ought to get back. You’ve got a business to run.”

“It’s not that easy to get rid of me, you know.”

He smiled. “Thanks. But I’ve got something to work on now, and I’ll be OK.”

She gave him a sceptical glare. “If it doesn’t work out, or it explodes in your face or something, I want to hear from you straight away, got that?”

Yuuri hugged her. “Got it. I love you. And thanks for everything.”

When the taxi arrived, she continued to look at him while she got inside, as if uncertain whether it was wise to let him out of her sight. Then, as it lifted into the air, she waved. Yuuri watched until the vehicle had disappeared from view.

_I’ve got something to work on now, and I’ll be OK. _He’d been trying to convince Mari of that, but wondered if he really believed it himself.

* * *

In the space of a week, everything arrived from London, and Yuuri was given his old office back plus a lab in which he could do so-called top-secret work on his own. Initially firing himself up with enthusiasm, he soon discovered the problems that others must already have encountered. There were no time-travel spheres, not even broken ones, to work with. And Ailis’s notes, both digital and handwritten, were encrypted. Yuuri couldn’t make any sense of them, and he knew MI8 would have tried all the standard decryption methods, so there was no point in duplicating the work himself.

When he wasn’t at the lab, studying Ailis’s things, he pondered what to do while exercising at the gym, going on runs, practising in the courtyard with his sword, researching advanced encryption methods on the Cloud. Without Mari or Phichit around, he fell back into the habit of taking nutri-pills more often than not, though he ordered in food sometimes, and made himself cook occasionally just so that he didn’t forget how; but even while he stirred the contents of a simmering pot, numbers and letters and other symbols would dance through his head.

He should never underestimate what Ailis had been capable of, he told himself. There was nothing else for it – he needed to find her key, and hope that Celestino was wrong about it having been in her head and nowhere else. Should he request a visit with Ian? But he’d tried to shoot them, and MI8 didn’t think Ailis had shared any important information with him. That would be a last desperate resort, then.

As the days went by, Yuuri carefully took different pieces of Ailis’s tech apart and examined them. She’d also left a couple of toolkits behind, and he tested the instruments inside; sometimes what appeared to be an ordinary laser pen or needle or magnifier could be a disguise for something else entirely, such as a container for data or a piece of specially programmed hardware designed to slot into a computer. But it all appeared to be standard. It seemed he was in danger of being defeated before he’d even begun – but there was either nothing here to be found, or he wasn’t clever or knowledgeable enough to know how to go about it. 

He spent hours combing the Cloud for more information on decryption. Pored over Ailis’s nonsense-data until it began to resemble a strange exotic language that had only been spoken by one person on earth, who had taken the secret to her grave. The symbols teased and mocked him in his sleep, which was becoming increasingly broken after a respite of peaceful nights. He worked long and hard at the gym, as if it could somehow bleed the frustration out of his system. But he knew there was more to it than that: he was already failing at the very project that was keeping his heart tethered to a thread of hope. If he couldn’t decrypt Ailis’s data, he would never see Victor again…and that led him to redouble his efforts, which stubbornly continued to be futile.

He was in the lab one afternoon, staring at a screen full of gibberish, a cooling cup of coffee in one hand while the other raked through his dishevelled hair, when the security program opened the door for Phichit.

“Hey,” he said as he came over to join him at the long table. “I’d ask how it’s going, but I guess it’s not good news.”

“Hey, Phichit,” Yuuri mumbled as he continued to scan the Cloud article in his field of vision: “A phase-based quantum walk encryption system with polarisation chaos encoding”. _Chaos _was too bloody right. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Celestino’s been giving me plenty of work to be getting on with, and we’re taking a trip to London next week to visit a couple of labs.” He peered at the meaningless jumble on the screen. “No headway yet, then?”

Yuuri made a noncommittal noise. “I’ve run this past Ranjit and Kirsten, the IT instructors, and they can’t make head or tails of it either, so I’ve been reading some articles they recommended. Problem is, I think Ailis made the whole thing up herself, and it looks like there’s a randomness to it that’s going to keep defeating any decryption attempts.” He pushed his coffee away and rested his head in his hands. “I’ve spent fucking hours on this, Phichit. _Days. _I…I don’t know what to do.” His heart thumped, and he rubbed his forehead. “It’s starting to feel like…I don’t know,” he finished weakly, deciding it better not to confess that the anxiety and sense of helplessness had gradually been returning. He didn’t want to put Phichit through all that again.

_Mari was right, _that treacherous little voice inside him whispered. _She said you’d only get discouraged. You ought to listen to her more._

“Maybe if you gave it a rest for a while, you’d be able to come at it from a fresh perspective,” Phichit suggested.

“Fuck, Phichit, I’ve thought the same thing about a hundred times since I started working on this. You’d think I’d have had some genius revelation by now, as often as I’ve gone away and tried starting over.” He sighed, then looked up at him. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“Yeah, sure, I know. Have you still been swinging your sword out in the courtyard?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I can’t concentrate on that, especially now that people know me and want to come over and talk about what I’m doing. It’s getting to be like a circus when they see me; I’m gonna have to go out there at 3 a.m., or find a decent Immersion program or something, which I’d probably have to write myself. And I’ve got other things to learn how to do at the moment.”

Phichit pulled up a stool and sat. “OK, then. What about visiting the flat where Ian kept Natalia until she escaped? Maybe you’d find something there.”

“Celestino says MI8 already searched it. Not that they necessarily knew everything to look for, but I’m not sure…” He ran a hand through his hair again. “It feels wrong, somehow. I don’t know how likely she’d be to keep her key anywhere apart from her lab. That’s where she’d need it, where she was working.” After a pause, he said, “Of course. That’s where I have to look.” He hurried to his purple toolbag, tossed a few things inside, and pulled it over his shoulder.

Phichit wrinkled his brow. “What, you mean the basement lab? But it’s all been cleared out; there’s nothing there. Celestino said they even pulled out the bricked-up door and searched the abandoned building in case she got access somehow, but they didn’t find anything.”

Yuuri flashed him a glance. “I’ll satisfy myself about that.”

“Wait,” Phichit said, scrambling off his stool. “I’m done here for the day; I can come with you. Celestino’s got the key.”

Yuuri nodded. “Let’s go see him, then.”

* * *

Switching on the portable lamp he’d brought, Yuuri stood and looked around the room, the darkness now banished to its dusty corners by the white spectral glow. He opened his bag and pulled out two mini-crowbars.

“I’m going to search this place brick by brick. Want to help?”

Phichit looked at the tools in his hand, then at the walls surrounding them. “We’d be here all day and night.”

“Then we’d better get started.” Yuuri’s expression softened. “Honestly, though, you don’t have to stay.”

“No, it’s OK. This is a lot for you to do on your own.” He accepted a crowbar.

Yuuri gave him a small grin. “Thanks.”

They worked mostly in silence, the only noise the scraping of metal against brick. Phichit suggested putting some music on, but Yuuri wanted to be able to hear it if their tools hinted at anything out of the ordinary. They each built up a pile of bricks next to them, coated in dust and cracked mortar and cobwebs, though those were just the looser ones; the rest were left _in situ _as a patchwork of protruding red stone.

“Whoever buys this building next is going to be picked at the mess we’re leaving,” Phichit commented after they’d been working for a few hours, wiping sweat from his forehead with his coat sleeve.

“No one’s been interested for years anyway, obviously,” Yuuri said, glad of the conversation that had interrupted the panic which was threatening to break loose if all they discovered was a mass of old bricks. “Anyway, I’d pay them for the damage. If we find something, it’ll be worth it.”

“I hope we do, Yuuri; we’ve removed a lot of bricks already.” Phichit looked around the room, then turned and got back to work.

_Come on, _Yuuri thought, frantically prying at another brick. But this one was fairly well sealed with mortar; it probably hadn’t been moved since the day it had been laid in place. He blew out a breath and stepped back, examining the wall. _If there’s nothing here…I don’t know. I can’t give up. I – _

His eyes had flicked downward to the bricks that lined the grey stone-flagged floor. There was one nearby that he hadn’t yet tried to pull out, without any mortar around its edges. Though if that didn’t work, and he ran out of bricks, there was always the floor itself…

_Shit. I’m going mad. _He knelt and wedged the end of his crowbar into the thin gap next to the brick, then drew it out with a grating noise. A rectangular black hole gaped, and he got his pocket torch out to peer inside, bracing for another scurrying of dark spindly legs, as spiders and even woodlice had happily taken up residence in the crevices where no one was ever likely to bother them. What he found, however, was altogether different.

“Phichit,” he called excitedly, “there’s something here.”

Yuuri heard him hurry to join him as he reached inside and pulled the contents of the cache out, placing them on the floor in the light. A thick paper notepad covered with a film of dust. Ballpoint pens. A laser gun, a coin-shaped black disc, a small rectangular piece of plain black metal, and a laser pen. For a moment, Yuuri had hoped wildly that a spare time-travel sphere might be hiding in the depths as well, but that was the sum of the contents. And they were nothing to be disappointed about; there must have been a reason Ailis had hidden these things here.

Phichit, kneeling opposite him, picked up the black disc, turning it in his hand. “Any idea what this is?”

Yuuri took it and discovered he could call up a BCI, which he glanced at before replacing the disc on the floor. “Yeah, it’s a cloaking device. It’d conceal the existence of the cache and its contents from laser scans, EMF-field and metal detectors, and so on. Basically you wouldn’t know it was here unless you did what we’ve been doing – a physical search. Whoever MI8 sent here, they obviously weren’t so convinced Ailis would hide anything behind an old brick wall in an abandoned building that they were willing to go to that length to find out.”

“But you were.”

Yuuri shrugged. “Maybe MI8 just assumed she’d be using bigger pieces of tech, too. How many people would write in a paper notebook nowadays when they’ve got access to that? But if she’d been so hooked on tech, she would never have gone back to the Middle Ages; she wouldn’t have been able to stand it. And she was devious.” He picked up the notebook. “No one can hack into one of these electronically, either, so if you have a really safe place to keep it…?”

“Detective Katsuki on the prowl again,” Phichit said with a smile.

“I’m not on the prowl,” Yuuri replied, flicking through the pages. His heart skipped a beat. “Hang on, this is written in normal English. _All _of it, I think.”

“What, really?” Phichit edged closer.

Sketches, half-finished designs, ideas…all in relation to temporal physics and engineering. “Shit, Phichit, we’ve hit the jackpot from the look of it.” Yuuri laughed. “This is incredible. She obviously hid this because it wasn’t encrypted; I guess she couldn’t be asked to do that with every single thing she wrote.”

“Prang, Yuuri – can I see?”

Yuuri handed him the notebook, then examined the laser pen. He tried switching it on, but it didn’t seem to be working. Getting his bag, he put that and the ballpoint pens, the laser gun – Ailis had obviously been concerned about her own safety – and the crowbars inside, hardly daring to allow his hopes to soar. Could this be it – had he found all the information he needed?

“I hate to say it, but this still looks like really obscure stuff,” Phichit said as he read through some of the pages. “I think this must’ve been where she jotted down rough ideas or something.” He gave the notebook back to Yuuri, who took a closer look and had to agree.

“But it’s a definite bonus that it’s in English.” He put it in his bag with the other things before slinging it over his shoulder. “I need to get all this back to the lab and see what’s what.”

Phichit accompanied him, and they took a taxi to the university; the sun had set, most people having gone home for the day, and the corridors echoed with their footsteps as they made their way to the lab and went inside. Yuuri absently shook some nutri-pills out of a container for them both and got glasses of water, and that was their ten-second supper before he switched on the tech and took the items from the cache out of his bag.

The rectangular piece of metal was curious. Yuuri didn’t recognise what it was, though he noticed a slot at the bottom. Grabbing a cable, he was able to plug it into the flat-screened computer that had belonged to Ailis, but nothing happened. Removing it, he got his tools out and tried opening it up, but nothing he did worked. For all he knew, it could simply be something to boost the cloaking device signal, or perhaps a magnetic scrambler. He put it aside and returned to the table.

“I’ve been wondering about this laser pen,” he said as Phichit began reading in the notebook again. “I think I’ll do the same diagnostics on it that I did on Ailis’s other tools.”

These took a quarter of an hour and were inconclusive; it was possible the pen had simply malfunctioned. Should he take it to pieces to make sure? He could find the patience to do that, but…

On impulse, he picked it up and ran its tip along the slots on the side of Ailis’s computer. Five slots along, it slid in perfectly. His heart leapt as he touched the switch on the side. Instead of turning a laser beam on, it seemed to be feeding information into the computer; and seconds later, the code that Yuuri had been grappling with disappeared, leaving nothing but plain English on the screen.

Phichit gasped and rushed to stand next to him. “_Shazam_, Yuuri!”

Yuuri grinned. “Prang,” he said, moving through the documents he now had access to. “Right, Ailis, let’s see exactly what you were up to, and how it can be duplicated.” Phichit laughed and rested a hand on his shoulder as he read along with him.

Half an hour later, however, Yuuri was forced to admit that their celebration had been premature. Ailis had recorded a lot of notes, both on the screen and in the paper notebook, but they hadn’t been arranged for the convenience of anyone else to decipher, and it certainly wasn’t comparable to published research. An understanding of the principles underlying the information was clearly expected – of a physics Ailis had discovered that no one else had ever studied. The complexity was incredible; and worse still, the few schematics and diagrams that existed appeared to be nothing more than half-finished side notes rather than actual blueprints for building components, let alone complete pieces of tech. Eventually Yuuri stepped back from the screen and rested his arms on the table, lowering his head while his heart sank.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled, his head aching from his efforts to understand what had been right in front of him, in a format he could understand this time. “I can’t make sense of this stuff. It’s just as obscure as it was before. I feel like…” He thought for a moment. “A five-year-old coming across the blueprints for a house and deciding to follow them to try and build one myself. It’s completely fucking daunting. I don’t know how I’ll be able to do this.”

“Give it time, Yuuri,” Phichit said gently. “You haven’t got a job; you can work in here and keep studying. And Celestino and I are around to try to help if you want.” He peered at the screen again. “But blimey, I get what you mean. Despite everything I’ve learned about physics, I have to say I’m no wiser than you. This isn’t based on any Newtonian or quantum principles I’ve ever seen. No eiger values or Srinivasarao matrices either, that I can see, which is just weird.”

Yuuri stared at him. “What are those when they’re at home?”

“Maybe it’d be an idea to learn more about quantum physics, if you want to understand temporal engineering,” he replied. “I can get Celestino to help me put together a list of resources for you. This isn’t even a bad place to do a degree, you know.”

“I haven’t got time for a degree.”

“Why not?”

“Because Victor’s going to _die_ before the end of the year.”

Phichit just looked at him.

“If you tell me he fucking died 728 years ago…” He sighed and put his head in his hand again. “It’s complicated.”

“OK, look, here’s a place to start. Quantum entanglement. Maybe you’ll see something about that in Ailis’s notes when you’ve had a chance to read them through properly.”

Standing up straight again, Yuuri thought about this. “Maybe. Yeah…maybe. It might explain why she felt she had to establish some kind of physical synchrony between the point of origin and the destination. Particles that are entangled will mirror each other’s properties even when they’re separated by an infinite distance. Everything in balance.” 

“Hey,” Phichit laughed, “are you sure you didn’t do a quantum physics degree?”

Yuuri shrugged. “You have to know some basics in order to do my job. But two people living in different times aren’t quantum particles.”

“And Ailis wasn’t an ordinary scientist. Keep an open mind, is all I’m saying. Every architect and builder was five years old once.”

Yuuri gave him a wistful grin, his eyes straying back to the screen and the mysterious outpourings of a mind he dared to hope he could fathom, and soon.


	160. Chapter 160

But _soon _wasn’t a factor in the diagrams, equations, or other notes Ailis had left; and between attempting to make sense of it all and learning about areas of quantum physics that could possibly assist him in his task, Yuuri watched the days and weeks slip past. Perhaps now that Ailis’s notes had been decrypted, the MI8 experts might be able to help – but he had no intention of telling them about what he’d been doing, or trying to do. He imagined he could understand, now, Ailis’s fear of them taking her research and tech away and assuming control themselves. They certainly wouldn’t care about him or Victor. As far as they were aware, Celestino had a passing interest in tinkering with the tech Ailis had left behind, and he would inform them of any progress – and that was how Yuuri preferred things to stay.

He had asked Celestino and Phichit to look at the notes, but they were equally baffled. This was between him and Ailis, then, as he continued to attempt to unlock the secrets of her work. He stared for hours…_days_…at the many iterations he found of the coil she’d called a temporal stabiliser, the key component that was damaged whenever it passed through the timestream. He didn’t know what it was made of, and didn’t understand its properties. In fact, he couldn’t even be sure of the scale in the diagrams, as it hadn’t been defined anywhere; and it seemed increasingly likely that some crucial information had been stored nowhere else but in Ailis’s head, either because she was confident of remembering it, or she wanted a final defence against anyone stealing her tech and notes, or both.

Toward the end of November, when Phichit and Mari reminded Yuuri that his birthday was coming up, he saw it as nothing but an annoying distraction. They didn’t celebrate birthdays in the Middle Ages; many people didn’t even know what date they’d been born on. He’d asked Victor once, who said he was told he’d been born on Christmas Day, and so Yuuri had had every intention of celebrating with him when the next one came round, death date be damned. But it was all meaningless now; lost and gone.

Mari asked if he wanted her to come over, but he’d troubled her enough, and said he’d be fine. She sent him gourmet coffee beans, chocolate, and wine by drone, telling him to find someone to be with so he wouldn’t end up sitting in his flat alone, though these days his lab at the university was the likelier place for him to be. He invited Phichit round, and they watched a holo-film and had a drink, and it was done; he was back at his lab the next morning, officially twenty-five and not caring, apart from wondering what his parents would make of the first decade of his life, and what they’d think of it now. He wasn’t sure he wanted to speculate.

Before he began his studies for the day, he sat down on a stool and gazed out the window at the stone buildings and trees and paths across the grass, and the ever-present vehicles flying overhead. And wondered, if he’d told Victor about his birthday and that people here celebrated it every year, what they might have done together. His studies had gradually taken over more and more of his life as he searched feverishly for the knowledge and answers he needed, and he’d had little time to think back on what he’d left behind. At first it had been a relief from the pain in his heart, and the worry and anxiety. But shoving it all away while he was busy didn’t feel like progress, either.

_Don’t forget why you’re doing this. And for who. There must be a happy medium between yearning for him all the time and not thinking about him at all._

As long as he could hope that his research would give him a way for the two of them to be reunited, the anxiety was kept at bay. Would it really be so difficult to open the door a little more to his memories, then? To welcome them back into his life, where they could comfort him and make him smile?

_It can’t be too much to imagine I’m kissing him, can it? In our room together, just the two of us. Taking him in my arms and…and…_

Something inside of him went sharp and tense, and threw him out of the daydream almost immediately, pinging his consciousness back to the quiet lab. Splinters of it were left to stab at him, and he leaned forward and wept.

_Not yet, then…but when, damn it, when?_

“Victor,” he moaned into his hands. “I want you back. Please, God…help me.”

* * *

He spent the day in the lab and the night keeping himself awake with coffee, because he’d promised in the coming day to help Phichit move from his old flat to a new one further out from the city, where it would be quieter. Because it was almost December, if Victor was still alive in 1393, he only had a month left. And Yuuri wasn’t any closer to finding a way to do anything about it.

Having fetched himself another cup of coffee, he sat down at the table, swallowed some nutri-pills, and refocused, opening Ailis’s notebook to the page he’d bookmarked. _Entangling timelines. _With wavy coloured lines that supposedly represented them. Not particularly helpful. But could quantum entanglement really be involved on a macro scale? The cutting edge of physics was focused on the study of the interface between the very small and the very large, since general relativity and quantum field theory had been united in the Second Renaissance during the reconstructive period after the Water Wars; that was one thing he’d learned in his recent studies. And Ailis would have known all about it.

He reflected on what she’d written on the subject of entanglement so far; he’d taken notes of his own as he’d gone along. She seemed to think that was the easiest way to travel in time, by entangling your timeline with someone else’s, so that you’d have a resonance with their time which was strong enough to pull you there and hold you. In fact, it was fair to say that at first she’d believed it was the _only _way, which had made Yuuri increasingly distraught as he’d carried on reading. She hadn’t cared about sacrificing someone else for the sake of satisfying her curiosity, but he did, and he refused to countenance any reinvention of time travel that included it. Besides, it meant you were forever dependent on the other person to…well, stay alive.

At the very end of her notes, she’d posed a question about whether there were other ways to establish synchrony between two points in time. She seemed to have no answers to this, however, and obviously had travelled the only way she’d known how, by swapping with Natalia. Yet if what she’d said that day in Immersion had been true – which was of course open to doubt – she’d been thinking about it again during her time at the castle, and might even have learned how to alter a sphere as well as repair it, so that travelling no longer required two people to change places.

_She might also have been bluffing. How much could she really have achieved in 1393, away from so much of her modern tech? When she said she had reason to believe there were other ways, why the hell didn’t I ask her to explain?_

_Because I never expected to be back here, trying to return to the past._

_If I manage somehow to replicate her existing tech, I’d be replicating the timeline swap too, because I don’t understand much about what the fuck I’m actually doing._

He bit back the frustration and sipped his coffee, briefly wondering why, if Ailis had got as far as musing about whether there was a way to avoid the swap, she’d gone ahead and used a sphere anyway, instead of spending more time on research. But then he remembered her notebook saying that if she were trapped somehow in another time, Ian would have to keep her counterpart under his thumb, and kill her if necessary so that she could return. Which meant she’d seen the person she’d swapped with as nothing more than an insurance policy, and a convenient one at that. She’d _wanted _the timelines to be tied together. 

It shouldn’t have been surprising, but it had made Yuuri seethe inside. After all those protests that she’d only killed because she’d had no choice, because Celestino and his agents had forced her hand, etcetera…Then again, someone she’d never met, never seen, who Ian would look after for her – maybe it was an abstract concept that she hadn’t felt a need to worry about. At any rate, Yuuri was disinclined to venture too far into Ailis’s troubled psyche, though it was difficult to avoid while he was studying her research. There was certainly a stamp of ruthless cunning on her genius which was making his hours in the lab less pleasant.

When it got to him, however, he thought about Victor, as he did now; things that seemed safe, which didn’t provoke the anxiety. Looking into his blue eyes. Hearing his voice; Yuuri listened to his message so many times now that he’d memorised it. Training with him. Watching him dance with his sword as it sparkled in the sunlight. Even though the images filled him with longing, they warmed his heart and inspired him to keep going.

The arcs Victor drew with his sword became rainbows, the colours trailing out like ink dissolving in water…like the waves in Ailis’s notes. Yuuri’s mind drifted with them, until he was no longer aware of the lab, or even where he was, or when. He saw the darkness of space. Timelines. _Lifeline_s. Playing out, weaving with those of others; tangling, separating. Vibrations like the beating of hearts; pulses of light, of essence…so many of them – billions, trillions, before and behind, caught in the web of time.

Though it wasn’t a web, it was a _field_, just like gravity; not part of three-dimensional space, or even spacetime, but layered with other fields – all of them existing together to create the structure behind the reality, invisibly holding it together, imposing its rules. Just like pi was 3.14, and electrons had a negative charge, and the speed of light was just about 300,000 kilometers per second. Because that was how it was.

Ailis had reached into the field of time, the timestream, and found ways to begin to manipulate it, like a 2D stick figure popping up from a piece of paper and discovering a whole new world with undreamed-of properties. If he focused, if he looked hard enough, then maybe, just maybe, he could see it, too – the timestream and its workings, as predictable and describable as the orbit of the earth around the sun. Night turning into day. The ticking of a clock …_his _clock, his creation; and as the pendulum swung back and forth, a bright rainbow emerged from the darkness inside, swirling and billowing, flowing from the table, while motes of dust danced in front of the window, in shining sunlight from a blue medieval sky…

“Yuuri?”

He opened his eyes. His head was resting on the table, a half-full mug of cold coffee next to him. Blinking, he sat up, trying to work out where he was and what was going on. His lab. Phichit was here. Fuck, he’d been asleep – and _fuck_, he’d almost had something before Phichit had awakened him. It was lingering, still, in the back of his mind. Web of time…fields…lifelines. How did it all fit together?

“What have you been doing – have you been here all night? I stopped by your flat, and when you weren’t in, I thought this was the next obvious place to check.”

“Yeah, I…fell asleep.” Yuuri picked up his mug and poured the coffee down the sink, then returned to the table. “I’ve been going through Ailis’s stuff and watching Kaiser-Farasi maths tutorials.”

Phichit raised his eyebrows. “You’re learning Kaiser-Farasi maths? Jesus, those classes gave me nightmares, and _I _had the first anxiety attack of my life before I took my exams.”

“Sounds savage.”

“Don’t you think it is?”

“I’ve only just started, and it’s hard, but interesting. And no exams, no anxiety.” Yuuri pulled a hand over his face. Coffee, more coffee was required. “I had this dream, though,” he continued, going over to the machine and pressing buttons. “It was…important. I was dreaming about time. Want a drink?”

“Uh, no, thanks. But if you ask me, Yuuri, I’d say you’ve been working too hard. You’ll be seeing time-travel spheres and stuff in your waking moments if you carry on like this – plus you’ll make yourself sick. Nanobots can’t cure stress-related illness.”

Yuuri stuck his mug under the machine and took a sip, then screwed his face up. “I need to take this thing apart and have a look at it; it makes the foulest coffee. I guess it didn’t matter so much at four a.m.” He chucked the mug back in the sink. On second thought, he rinsed it out, filled it with water, took some nutri-pills out, and gulped them down. Then he looked at Phichit. “And _don’t _tell me Victor wouldn’t want to see me doing this to myself. I have to work this out.”

“OK, well, will you at least let me buy you a decent cup of coffee on our way out to my flat?”

Yuuri took a calming breath, his head beginning to throb. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

* * *

He was tantalised and frustrated in turns by his dream throughout the day, while he and Phichit filled drones with things from the flat and directed robots to do the heavy lifting; they were usually expensive to rent, but Phichit had borrowed them from the university. Yuuri thought he might have benefitted from doing some of the harder work himself, however, since he’d been spending so much time in the lab and his office that he’d been letting his exercise slide.

_You’re going to lose your fitness, forget how to use your sword, and be fat and tired and depressed and anxious. One month until the end of the year. You’ve accomplished nothing._

_Shut up, _Yuuri told the voice in his head, deciding he’d find time to go to the gym tomorrow. 

But his dream continued to nag at him. There was something he needed to remember about those lifelines he’d seen. They’d streamed out of his clock as if they were calling for his attention – beautiful, iridescent…like the interlocking peacock feathers in Victor’s cape.

_Is he still alive? Am I already too late? But…he died long ago. _

_No – I refuse to think of him like that._

All the usual things, spinning round and round in his head. This was the wreck of his life, and he was bobbing along like a cork, full of energy and enthusiasm for his work one moment, floored and feeling hopeless the next. They’d be telling him to take more than kleptol if he wasn’t careful, and he hadn’t touched that since those first terrible days; he needed his heart and mind as alert as possible, even if they weren’t quite intact.

He and Phichit worked into the evening at his new flat, which was larger than his old one, located in a wooden eco-building with communal gardens on every third floor. “I think you’ll like it here,” Yuuri said as they supervised the robots in putting the final pieces of large furniture in place. “Your hamsters, too.”

Phichit glanced at their travelling cage on the table. “Don’t I know it. Thanks for your help today. Hey, we should have a proper meal to, you know, commission it. When was the last time you ate, as opposed to taking nutri-pills?” When Yuuri didn’t answer straight away, he said, “If you have to stand there and try to remember, it’s been too long. C’mon, let’s look on the Cloud and see who does food around here.”

In the end, they ordered pizza and sat on the sofa to eat it while Phichit put on a crime-drama holo-show. It was good, but Yuuri struggled to stay awake, nodding off on a few occasions. He was vaguely aware of a policewoman taking a suspect’s fingerprint with a small electronic pad to which he touched his finger, giving her instant access to a database that contained everyone’s prints – the usual procedure being that they were taken at birth – and their criminal history. Yuuri sat up when he saw this, suddenly wide awake.

“Wait – that pad.” He accessed the projector’s BCI and had it pause and zoom in while he took a good look at the device. Then he leapt off the sofa and grabbed his coat from its peg. “I’ve got to get back to the lab,” he said distractedly.

“What? Why?” Phichit asked from the sofa.

“I need to look at something there.”

Phichit stood and got his own coat. “I’ll come, too.”

“You have a new flat to sort out.”

“It’s usable. Come on, Yuuri, what’s up? You hardly slept last night – you sure you’re feeling OK?”

“I’ll explain when we get there,” Yuuri replied, hurrying out the door.

* * *

“Shit, it has to be here somewhere.”

Yuuri rummaged through a pile of tech on the shelf while Phichit looked on near the table, bemused. Searching through a drawer next, he finally found what he was after, then took it over to Phichit and held it up triumphantly.

“That’s like the fingerprint pad the policewoman was holding. Why have you got one?”

“When I first went through Ailis’s tech,” Yuuri explained, “I didn’t know what this was, and then when I decrypted her notes, I concentrated on those. But I think I may have an idea of what to do with it now, though it’s a long shot. You sure you want to stay for this? It could be a while.”

“Course I do. I’ll order in some coffee from Jo’s, where we went this morning, if that’s OK with you?”

“Yeah, juke.”

Phichit went on the Cloud, then watched him work. Yuuri found a cable to connect the device to Ailis’s holo-computer. “Initially, I tried plugging all the tech I didn’t understand into this,” he said, “because it’s basic and modern, and there’s a lot of space on it, so it should be able to run just about anything. But you’ll recall that it was all encrypted, so there wasn’t much I could actually do. The show we were watching reminded me I’d forgotten this little gadget, though, so I’m going to try to figure out what it does.” He connected it to the cable, and the cable to the computer. _This is going to work. It’s going to._

A black sphere the size of a dinner plate materialised above the strip of metal. “Whoa cow,” Phichit said. “What the hell is that?”

Yuuri stared at it, frowning and trying different commands via the keyboard. “It didn’t do this the first time I plugged the gadget in, before everything was unencrypted. Whatever this is, it doesn’t seem to have a menu. I can’t find one to access manually.”

“Doesn’t it have a BCI? An earpiece or something?”

“If it ever did, it’s been lost.” Yuuri picked up the pad and tried pressing his finger to it – and a shining, quivering blue line appeared within the sphere. “Is that me?” he whispered in awe.

“What is it?” Phichit asked.

“I…” Yuuri swallowed. It was like the streaming lights in his dream – and it _felt _like them too, though he wouldn’t have been able to put into words exactly how. “I could be wrong, but…I think it’s my lifeline,” he said.

Phichit muttered something in what sounded like Thai. “That’s got to be a hologram, right? It can’t be real.”

Yuuri stared down at the device he’d thought was an ordinary computer. Maybe Ailis had accomplished even more than anyone had given her credit for. Could this be a time machine, too, in a way? One that connected with the heart of the timestream itself? And, holy shit – if it really was…?

“I don’t know. But the first thing I need to do is build a custom BCI piece, which is going to take a while. Then I’ll see what I can do with it, if anything.”

Phichit was still gazing at the sphere. Quietly he asked, “You don’t suppose I could have a go…?”

“Sure; press your finger to the pad and see what happens.”

He did, and the blue line was replaced with an orange one, quivering gently like the first. Phichit blew out a breath, saying something else unintelligible, eyes wide.

Eventually Yuuri spoke, breaking the spell. “If we want to know what this is, I ought to start researching it. Build that BCI piece, for a start.”

Phichit blinked, coming back to himself. “Yeah…You’ve got to tell me what happens – but make sure you get some sleep tonight, OK? Your brain’ll work better afterward.”

Yuuri nodded, wondering how he’d manage to achieve that after what he’d just seen.

* * *

He was back at the lab early the next morning, sheer exhaustion having dictated that he shut his eyes for several hours; but he’d scrambled out of bed, keen to get back to work. The previous night, he’d designed an earpiece and ordered some parts for it, which soon arrived at the lab, and by lunchtime he had a functioning BCI. However, it was difficult to decide how to program the controls when he didn’t even know what they needed to _do_. The black sphere and the coloured lines shimmering across it; those were capabilities that had previously been hidden until he’d plugged in and unencrypted the fingerprint device, and he wasn’t any closer to understanding them now.

He got his laser pen out, removed the outer cover of the earpiece, and tried attuning it to popular frequencies before he hit on the one that had been programmed to work with the computer – and finally he was able to bring up a menu.

_Yuuri the tech ace – knight of the modern world, _he thought briefly with a little smile. But the idea of a laser pen being his sword and the lab being his arena didn’t sit right. Flooding into his mind was a memory of a cool breezy day in the training field at the castle…the smell of fresh earth and foliage damp from rain…the clang and clash of armour and swords…grunts and shouts, grappling, vying for supremacy, to get that all-important touch which would win the round…and Victor, who Yuuri longed to best, while fighting off the distraction of his own desire…

He blew out a breath and shook his head, and was once again in the silent lab, surrounded by tech, with coffee and nutri-pills to hand. His heart told him _no, go back, go home_ – but this was how he was going to make it happen. All the modern trappings that had briefly thrown him were his to make use of, including this mysterious invention of Ailis’s, whose workings he was striving to understand.

Drying his face with a handkerchief, he focused once more on the earpiece. What it was able to do through the interface, he discovered, was beyond what ordinary modern computers could achieve. It was…intuitive, almost as if his direct thoughts could control it.

But there was no _almost_ – it was actually happening.

“Fuck,” Yuuri breathed, “there’s no need for a menu at all. There’s not even any need for…” He chuckled wryly and removed the earpiece, whose only purpose had been to show him that it hadn’t been necessary in the first place. All you had to do was concentrate your thoughts at the computer, and it must be able to make sense of your brainwaves. Jesus, where did Ailis’s talents end? If she’d lived, and if she’d had a mind to, she could have brought about so many scientific and technological advancements, and won the most prestigious awards the world had to offer; yet she’d chosen to test her time-travel tech by herself, becoming trapped and ultimately losing her life in the process. Yuuri wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand what had driven her to such an end, but he was grateful for the legacy she’d left, in the tech and the notes he could study and learn how to use – and hopefully rebuild.

_A direct thought-to-tech interface – that’s almost as revolutionary as time travel. _But it took some getting used to; the brainwaves obviously had to be strong, clear, and precise. It was even better when Yuuri closed his eyes and felt his way into it, the way he imagined someone might use ESP, as if he were exploring the mechanical mind of the computer. There were two temporal signatures stored in its memory, his and Ailis’s, though it was more like the knowledge had suddenly come to him than that he’d read the actual information anywhere.

_Ailis’s temporal signature…her lifeline. _He called it up, then opened his eyes to find that the dark sphere had reappeared, this time displaying a vibrant red thread that was severed at the end. After some trial and error, he worked out how to zoom out and in, and discovered that a small section of her lifeline, at the very end, was tangled with a copper-coloured one that emerged out of the black space at an angle. However, the copper one continued after the tangle, bending back in the direction from which it came.

_That must be Natalia’s. So…what does mine look like?_

_Am I going to see it cut off somewhere, too?_

But he had to look; there was no containing his curiosity. He called it up, then zoomed out…but couldn’t see a clear end to it, not like Ailis’s. Did that mean he was going to live a long life, or that its length hadn’t yet been determined, or something else? God only knew all the meanings contained in what he was viewing. Zooming out further still, he gasped as he saw that a glowing green line was tangled with his own – Justin’s, surely; but that one ended at the tangle, as Ailis’s had, while his bent backward and carried on.

_What else is there to see, I wonder? _He continued to zoom out, meeting only darkness at first; but then there was another lifeline, a yellow one, with no indication of who it belonged to. Yuuri tried different ways of requesting the information from the computer, but it either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell him, and he knew he was possibly using the wrong technique to find out; the dynamics of the new interface were all but unknown to him. Zooming further and further away, more lifelines appeared, and still more, until a beautifully intricate shining webwork of colours emerged, with threads of different lengths running in all directions, some pulsating softly while others vibrated like seismic waves from an earthquake.

It was unutterably beautiful, if mystifying, and Yuuri spent many moments staring at them all, including his own, as if it had the power to reveal the secrets of his life – past, present, and future. But the bright line kept them close as it undulated across the black sphere, silent and hypnotic. 

That day, and in the ones following, Yuuri combed through Ailis’s notes, the ones on her ordinary computer and in her notebook as well as those he’d discovered on the holo-computer, which had been decrypted along with the fingerprint device. He was acutely aware of the passage of time, each day pulling the world closer to the end of the year. To complicate matters further, he knew that the lifelines weren’t the only entanglement Ailis had created: there was also the temporal one, in which time passed the same in both places linked by the people who had swapped their lives with each other. In what was clearly an effort to safely anchor the traveller to their new time by creating such symmetries and resonances, which she must have believed stabilised the timestream, Ailis had introduced problems that would be difficult to address.

Which therefore begged a crucial question that Yuuri silently asked himself one grey afternoon, the bite in the air a harbinger of the approaching winter: if he were able to re-create a time-travel sphere – and he still had no idea how to build a temporal stabiliser – would he be able to visit any time before the corresponding one in 1393? Or, because it was the beginning of December now, and he’d been away for two months, would it have to be the same if he went back? Might he be obliged to visit a world in which Victor had already died?

_Jesus, no…just, no. And, how can it have been two months already? _The time had passed too quickly, though it felt as if it those weeks had each lasted an age. Perhaps time really was nothing but a perception relative to the observer. But that wasn’t right, either, because he knew he was up against a very real barrier as well.

_Those limitations that are frightening me – they have to have been peculiar to Ailis’s own inventions. That’s not necessarily how any tech I made myself would have to work._

_So while I study, plan and build, I improve on what she did. Easy, right?_

He decided to concentrate his efforts on the thought-controlled computer and the sphere it generated, and the notes he’d found pertaining to them. Ailis had discovered, to her obvious disappointment, that the sphere couldn’t be used for time travel. It was impossible, apparently, to touch anything within, let alone enter it. However, when she mentioned that _light _could affect what was inside, Yuuri sat up and took notice. Did that mean, as Phichit had suggested, that what he was seeing in the sphere was real, as if he were looking into another dimension…a pure field?

According to Ailis, the answer was yes. She’d tried sending millisecond pulses from her laser pen to her own lifeline, and felt something electric in her body; she’d lost consciousness for a day and had decided not to do the same thing again. Yuuri marvelled at the recklessness of experimenting on herself as she seemed to have been in the habit of doing – had she really placed so little value on her own life?

But what he read next was even more interesting. She said she believed that a single millisecond pulse of light would be enough to detangle two lifelines. Which meant she’d had that information before her own trip into time – which _meant _she could have told Ian how to detangle her lifeline from Natalia’s, but hadn’t. Ailis really seemed to have viewed her as her ultimate emergency ticket back home…until she’d escaped, and Ian had been disinclined to pursue her too assiduously. What a mess she’d made for herself.

As interesting as it all was, though, Yuuri didn’t see how it would help him prevent the swap from being a necessary part of time travel in the first place. He was also at a loss for ideas about how temporal synchrony might be achieved in other ways. And all he had to work with was the computer Ailis had so mysteriously adapted. He needed to remove as much of that mystery from the equation as he could, and decided he had nothing to lose by carefully taking it apart and examining its innards minutely. Fortunately, unlike the time-travel sphere, it wasn’t any harder to open up than an ordinary computer; but when he saw what was revealed in front of him, contained within the space of that rectangular metal strip, he stared in open-mouthed amazement.

He’d never seen anything like it, and it might as well be alien tech for all the sense he could make of it; just like the inside of his com, when that had been necessary to try to fix, he was almost afraid to touch any of it for fear he’d end up making the problem worse. But, he reminded himself, the only problem this time was his lack of understanding. There must be key components here that would open the window, or whatever it was, onto the timestream.

He invited Celestino and Phichit to come have a look, but they weren’t any more familiar with what they were seeing than he was himself. Ailis hadn’t left any notes behind, either, regarding the technical schematics. It was only when Yuuri sat down on a stool at the table with the intention of taking the device apart piece by piece that he suddenly had a new idea, and got out the toolkits Ailis had left behind. In them, amongst a collection of seemingly random tiny components, he found what appeared to be duplicates of some that were contained within the computer. It might be possible, he speculated, from studying how the original was put together, to come up with something very basic – which, with a great deal of luck, might even work, given time and patience. Did he really have enough of both – ? But what other way forward was there?

The task took days, and seemingly endless trial and error. If the grief that continued to weigh down his heart didn’t tear him in two, Yuuri was certain his attempts to replicate such an intricate piece of tech that he had little understanding of would finish the job. But one afternoon – Thursday, Friday, he wasn’t sure – he found himself putting what he hoped were the finishing touches on a small, simple magnetic laser-driven circuit that looked the same as what Ailis’s computer contained at its heart. If Ailis hadn’t left the spare components behind, he knew he wouldn’t even have got this far, because he still had little comprehension of what they were or did. Replicating the thought-interface was completely beyond him, but he reckoned – hoped – an ordinary manual connection would work.

_I think this ought to give me an image…I’m pretty sure that’s what it’s meant to do._

He’d housed the makeshift device in a black box the size of a thin chocolate bar, and with a deep breath to steel himself, he put the top on and poised his finger above the switch whose function was on and off, nothing more. Because yes, this was the twenty-second century, not the nineteenth, he thought grimly to himself.

_Please, just let this do something, for a start._

A sphere appeared above it, the same size as the one Ailis’s computer had summoned, for want of a better word. But this one was white. Like a cloud. White…endless white. Without the thought-interface, Yuuri couldn’t zoom in or out. Perhaps he could build in a connection for the fingerprint device – but would it be compatible? His intuition, as well as his own two eyes, told him that what he was looking at wasn’t the same thing as the lifelines in the timestream, which he’d taken to watching sometimes in hypnotised fascination when he wanted to try to relax. So if it wasn’t that, what was it? Or might it only be a kind of blank screen waiting for something to focus on?

Recalling Ailis’s notes about sending millisecond pulses of light into the timestream, he got his laser pen and tried it, but nothing happened. He experimented with sending different kinds of light into the sphere, at different strengths and frequencies, but the results were always the same. The energy was _swallowed _somehow, because it didn’t pass through and come out the other side, as it ought to with an ordinary hologram. But that was the only puzzle piece Yuuri could glean from his experiments, which drained him as the hours passed.

_I’d make a fucking lousy scientist, _he thought with a huff as he slumped onto a stool. _Some of them work a lifetime to achieve their goals. Did I really think I could waltz in here and do that in time for Christmas?_

Christmas. Victor’s birthday. He’d be twenty-nine.

_How is any of this even going to get me back to him? I still have no fucking clue how to begin trying to replicate a time-travel sphere._

Someone could, maybe. Given more time. Improve upon the design, even, so that it didn’t break in the timestream, and the entanglements Ailis had built into the original were no longer necessary. Someone with her creative and intellectual genius.

_That isn’t me, and never was, and I’m fucking fooling myself if I ever thought I could come close to matching it._

He shuddered and sniffed back tears. A break, that was what he needed. The frustration would die down and he could try again. He called Phichit over the Cloud.

“Hey, Yuuri, what’s up?”

“You still in the building?”

“Just winding down for the day, why?”

“I, um, I could do with a drink. You up for one?”

Phichit huffed a small laugh. “Bad day, huh? 

“I guess so. I don’t want to drink too much, I need a sharp mind – ”

“That’s a shame. But sure, I’m up for it. Actually, I was gonna go with a couple of people from the TA office down the hall, but you could come with if you want?”

“Sure.” Anything to get his mind off his frustrations for a while.

It turned out that Phichit’s colleagues were a young man and woman. While Yuuri quickly picked up that this had been meant as nothing more than a friendly social outing on Phichit’s part, it was clear, however, that both his colleagues had other designs. There was a dance floor at the pub they went to, and the woman, Farah, talked Phichit into visiting it with her, which meant Yuuri was left alone at their table with Phil, who had short ash-blond hair, hazel eyes, and no reservations about flirting.

“They’ve got a great hemp beer here – my turn to buy, if you’d like to try it,” he offered. “Better than this stuff.” He lifted his mostly-empty pint glass.

“Um, no, thanks,” Yuuri replied, trying to spot Phichit and Farah on the dance floor. “I’ve got work to do at the uni.”

“You work evenings? That’s dedication.” When Yuuri didn’t reply, he said, “So what do you do there, exactly? I’d guess an athlete, am I right? You’re fitter than any jack I’ve met in donkey’s years.”

Yuuri blinked, feeling his cheeks go red.

Phil put his chin in his hand and gazed at him. “And where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking? Sorry, is this too many questions?”

Yuuri turned to look at him pointedly. “I’m from York,” he said. “And I’m a knight. Excuse me.” He pushed his half-full glass away, stood, and elbowed his way across the dance floor until he found Phichit. “I have to leave,” he said quickly, as Farah stared at them both. “I’m sorry. Thanks for bringing me along, but I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?”

He walked back to the university, glad of the fresh air. He’d been inexcusably rude, he knew; whoever Phil was, he hadn’t deserved that. But Yuuri had got the impression that he wouldn’t find it difficult to corner someone else, and had probably already done so by now.

On sudden impulse, as he walked along the dark, quiet street under intermittent solar lights, he murmured, “Mee dweling is in the wohd, say-ess Robyn, by thee Ee set richt nacht. Mee nahm is Robyn Hohd of Barn-ess-dale…” His voice began to waver, and cracked on the final line. “A felauw thoh has lahng socht.”

He fell silent as he wiped his tears away with his coat sleeve. _Shit. It’s getting harder to remember – my script; Middle English. If I had to perform tonight, I’d struggle._

Perform? Who was he kidding? He’d never be doing that again. Instead, he’d be spending night after day after night at his lab, alone, hunting for the Holy Grail or the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow or something equally as feasible.

_That’s the anxiety talking. Well, it can fuck off and die under a rock. There, that’s told it._

He bought a large cappuccino at Jo’s and re-entered the university building, meeting no one else as he walked down the bright white corridors to his lab. Once there, he sipped his drink and studied Ailis’s notebook for a while, then decided to do some research on the Cloud. He’d put aside the maths tutorials for now and had been watching a series of field mechanics videos that Phichit had recommended. They made a weird kind of sense to him, just like his dream where the lifelines had streamed out of his clock – as if travelling in the timestream had given him an intuitive feel for them. But a feeling was not the same as an intellectual grasp, mathematical proofs, blueprints, or tech. It wasn’t going to explain what the spheres were that the holo-computers conjured, or what was inside them. He needed to learn the concrete concepts behind it all, needed to…

_What I need is more coffee. I’m going to get up and get some._

_Now. Right now…or maybe after I rest just a minute._

_Rest…_


	161. Chapter 161

His cheek was warm. The other was leaning on something hard. Yuuri sat up on the stool, his back aching. Jesus, the sun was streaming through the window – how long had he been asleep? He hadn’t meant to spend the night here. Again.

_I ought to just move my bloody bed in and save on rent._

He looked woozily at what was on the table in front of him. At one point yesterday, he’d been examining the gadget he’d built. The cover hadn’t been replaced – bad practice, if dust got into those delicate components; why had he gone out drinking and then come back here? And on top of that, he’d left the switch on. The white sphere was still there, as it must have been all night.

But had he seen something there just now? A movement – distant, as if through a fog? Or was he imagining things while he was trying to wake up?

Yuuri rubbed his eyes and leaned closer, peering. And bloody hell, yes – there _was _something coming into focus; an image without sound. He was looking at a woman with brown hair swept back behind her head, wearing a flowery dress and horn-rimmed glasses like they’d had in the 1960s. Glancing up and around his lab, and then back at the sphere, he wondered if she were in this very room – those cupboards on the wall across from him, scratched and worn but soundly built, appeared to be behind her, looking shiny and new. She walked from one side of the sphere to the other and disappeared for a moment, then reappeared, moving in the other direction, only to vanish once more.

“Hello?” Yuuri shouted at the sphere, feeling like a wazzock but needing to know if she could hear him. “Hey – is anyone there? Hello?”

No response. _Fuck this. _Yuuri lunged forward and reached his hand straight into the sphere. Even though it was swallowed just as the light had been when he’d beamed it in, he felt nothing, and was able to safely withdraw it – a fact he was belatedly relieved about. He sat and watched the empty room inside the sphere for a couple of minutes, until it faded back to the blank white he’d been staring at for days. The whole strange incident left him with the impression that he’d briefly tuned into some distant signal.

He continued to watch, on the lookout for any further colour or movement; but when ten minutes had passed, he decided to work on other things. The device was left permanently switched on, and Yuuri checked it almost constantly at first, then every now and then as the day went by, but it showed nothing more.

Phichit came to the lab later that afternoon, and Yuuri apologised for his behaviour and abrupt departure from the pub the previous evening. “I hope you didn’t get any trouble from Farah about it,” he said as he idly stared into the sphere, which had remained stubbornly white since the woman with the horn-rimmed glasses had flitted through it.

“No, she was fine. I don’t really even know her, but I see her and Phil around, and they asked me if I wanted to go to the pub with them, so…anyway, I was just wondering if you were OK.”

“Am I ever OK?” Yuuri mumbled, rubbing his forehead and looking at the sphere as if it were a crystal ball whose revelations could be conjured if the querent concentrated hard enough. “But yeah, I just came back here to work.” Then he looked up at Phichit. “Didn’t you mention beforehand that I was already connected?”

Phichit’s eyes widened. “It wasn’t supposed to be that kind of get-together; I didn’t even know Phil was interested in men. Anyway…” He lowered his voice. “…you still think of yourself as connected?”

“You know I am. Why else have I been doing all this work in here?” Yuuri sighed. “Maybe going out, full stop, is just a bad idea right now.”

“If you ask me, you might feel better doing more of it, not less.”

“I’ve got research to be getting on with.”

Phichit looked at him, then eyed the sphere. “So what’s that?”

Yuuri scratched his head. “I wish I could show you. It hasn’t done anything since yesterday afternoon.” He explained what had happened as the surprise grew on Phichit’s face.

“This stuff you’ve been doing here is incredible,” he enthused. “I never know what you’re going to come up with next.”

“Nothing particularly useful, anyway.”

“How do you know? You have to research it, Yuuri.”

“I don’t have the bloody time!” Yuuri exclaimed, then put his head in his hand. “God, Phichit, I’m sorry. But – ”

“You’re afraid of not being able to get back to Victor before the end of the year. I know.” He stared at the sphere again. “But this is still stuff I’m sure no one’s ever done before, apart from Ailis – and who knows how much of it she understood herself? This university was founded in the 1960s, so it’s possible you were looking back in time. Are you sure you can’t do it again?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I didn’t _do _anything the first time. I just left the machine on. I’ll let you know if anything amazing happens, like if the woman steps out next time and says hello or something.”

Phichit laughed. “It’s already done amazing stuff. But yeah, definitely keep me updated.”

There was no change in the sphere that day, or in the evening; and the next morning Yuuri made sure he checked it at the same time as when he’d seen the woman, but she didn’t reappear. His constant vigilance was at last rewarded the next day, however, when the sphere seemed to be trying to make up for its lack of recent activity, though no variables had obviously been altered. But who knew what the influences on it were, and whether they were even rooted in this time, place and dimension.

The visions always appeared as if from a mist, and vanished back into it. The first new one featured an old-looking house with wood panelling inside, possibly seventeenth-century vintage. This time, however, Yuuri didn’t even get to see a person or any movement or action within the scene before it faded. Later, he found himself confronted with a grassy knoll and fields in the distance, and someone riding past on a horse; he could make out a man with a long dark coat and a tall hat. As the woman had done, he appeared from one side of the sphere and crossed to the other, and was soon gone.

Heartened by this, Yuuri researched the area where the university was located and learned that a manor house had once stood there – well, quite possibly precisely _here_ – which had been owned by the Langton family; Charles Langton had been a wool merchant and wealthy city official at the time of the Civil War. Was it his house that Yuuri had caught a glimpse of? And could that mean he was seeing this very spot at different points in time?

Regardless, it was all the evidence he needed, he decided, setting his jaw in determination. There was one place he had to take the device to try it out. Even if he couldn’t interact with what the sphere showed, he’d be able to see it, and that would be worth something. A whole lot of something.

He picked up his own notebook and Ailis’s and put them in his toolbag, along with his gadget, which he packed carefully. It was time to think of a name for it – but what?

_A temporal window. Not creative, but it’ll do. That’s sort of what it seems to be. _He almost forgot his coat as he rushed out, calling a taxi on the way.

* * *

_Crowood Castle from the air. Victor, I wish you were here to see it with me._

All the times in the past that he’d wished he could…but it seemed so small as he looked below, broken and brooding as it was never meant to be. Like a home that had partially burned down.

_I went through all this before, with Mari and Phichit. I know what it’s like in there. And I’m not going to let it bother me this time. It is what it is. If – when – I go back, I can forget I ever had to look at it in ruins._

He was unprepared, however, for how it felt to step out of the driverless vehicle, which quickly rose into the air on its way back to the city, leaving him to stare up at the crumbling pile at the top of the hill. It didn’t seem a popular place to visit; again there was no one else about as he began to walk up the stairs.

_I wonder what people would make of it if they saw me here in my medieval clothes and armour, _he thought with a small grin, trying to lighten his heart. Then it faded. _They’d think I was from a bloody re-enactment society and probably ask if they could have their photo taken with me. No fucking way._

At the top of the stairs he hurried through the gate, resisting the automatic urge to turn right into the garrison and trot up an extinct stairway to the room he and Victor shared, and strode across the courtyard to the great hall. A sign outside said it was open til four, just after sunset, which gave him a few hours.

Once inside, he sat down on the cold tiles in a corner and unpacked, placing the temporal window in front of him and switching it on. White fog, as usual. He put the notebooks on his lap, took a ballpoint pen – thinking absurdly for a moment of Thomas of Cowthorpe – and began to work, glancing at the sphere at frequent intervals.

“Are you OK there?”

Yuuri looked up and saw a middle-aged black man in jeans and a heavy green fleece gazing down at him. A logo on the fleece said “Historical Preservation Society”. Yuuri thought he sounded American or Canadian.

“I’m fine, thanks,” he replied. “Just, um, doing some research for the university and testing out some new tech. If you want to check out my credentials – ”

“No, no need to do that,” the man answered, coming closer and looking curiously at the sphere. And shit, Yuuri had been in such a hurry to get here that he hadn’t prepared a story to cover what he was really up to. “So what’ve you got there?”

“This? Uh, it’s a prototype for the next generation of info screens. Eventually they’ll replace the ones here at the castle.” _Prang, Yuuri – nice one. _“I’m just having trouble getting it to work today.”

“Wow, ting. These old things are way past their use-by dates. Are you an expert on the castle, then? A history professor or something?”

“Or something,” Yuuri replied with a polite smile, looking back down at the notebooks.

“There’s some debate about whether the original stable stood on the site of the seventeenth-century one that’s there now,” the man continued. “I heard the university was planning to send some archaeology students this summer to survey it with laser tech.”

He waited, obviously hoping for an answer. “It wasn’t there,” Yuuri stated, “so I doubt they’ll find anything.”

“Really? Has it been surveyed before?”

“Um, yes.”

“Oh.” The man hesitated. “I didn’t know that. We’ve been trying to raise funds to get them to come in here, too, so that we can find out more about what the great hall really looked like when the castle was first built by Baron Andrei Nikiforov. The floor tiles aren’t original, and we’re pretty sure the walls weren’t just plain white either, but it’s been hard to find evidence – ”

“Um – sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Frank. I moved here from Ohio ten years ago.” He smiled. “I love York. It’s so quaint and historical.” Then he glanced around the room. “And y’know, I always thought this castle was kind of a forgotten treasure. It’s pretty dramatic, up on the hill like this, and what’s left of it is beautiful. So I volunteer here a few times a week.”

Yuuri looked at him thoughtfully, his heart stirring, and gave him a little smile. “The tops of the walls had a sky-blue stripe running along them, decorated with a gold fleur-de-lis design,” he said. “There were tapestries and weapons hanging below. The floor was mostly large black and white tiles, but there were some with designs on them, too – fish, crossed keys, trefoils, and so on. That chandelier – ” He pointed. “ – was there, full of lit candles during meals. The high table was on the wooden dais; behind it on the wall was a large banner with the Nikiforovs’ coat of arms. Andrei, the baron, sat on a carved wooden throne. To his left was his wife Natalia, and to his right was his son, Sir Victor; his other son, Alexander, died when he was a young man. Next to Victor was…” Yuuri had fallen into a confident stride, but he swallowed now and took a breath before going on. “Sir Justin la Rose. Victor and Justin were in love and lived together as partners.”

Frank’s mouth was hanging open; he kept looking at the walls and the dais and back to Yuuri. “Are you serious? How do you know all that?”

“Like you said, I’m an expert on the castle.”

“I didn’t know who Sir Justin la Rose was.”

After a pause, Yuuri said, “He was a traveller from a faraway place, who thought Victor was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.”

Frank blinked. “Are you writing a book about this or something? It’s incredible.”

“No, I…I’m just putting information together for the new screens, that’s all.”

“This is wild, though.” He gestured to the sideboard, which instead of displaying the family’s most expensive possessions, now housed a glass case. “Crossed keys, you say?”

Yuuri realised Frank wanted to him to come have a look; it wasn’t something he’d visited when he’d been here with Mari and Phichit. Glancing again at the sphere, which was still white, he stood reluctantly and followed, wondering how long the man would want to talk about the castle; hopefully not until closing time. He’d enjoyed humouring him, but it was coming at a cost, and he already felt tired.

“Is that the kind of thing you mean?” Frank asked, pointing at something in the case. Yuuri leaned over and saw a square red tile with two crossed gold keys outlined in black. “It was found in the courtyard. They thought it might’ve come from the great hall, but they weren’t sure.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said quietly. “Right in the middle. Where the musicians would’ve sat to perform during meals.” His eyes flicked across other items in the case. Many were obviously from later periods. But there were others here…Jesus.

“T-The cream, yellow and blue tiles…” he said in almost a whisper, “…those were in Victor’s room. They made mosaic patterns on the floor. A-And…” _Why is that here? We had it in the tent with us. Did he come back here to the castle? Victor, what happened to you? _

“You mean the ceramic lamp?” Frank asked, following his gaze. “That was found in what was once the garrison. It was used – ”

“Victor kept it to the side of his bed, burning at night, so he could see in case he needed to get up,” Yuuri forced himself to say. “Those diamond patterns scored into the sides are…um, distinctive.”

Frank was staring at him in astonishment. “You sure you’re not making this up?”

“It’s all true.” Yuuri flashed him another polite smile. “I’d, uh, better get on with my work. Closing time…”

“Oh – oh yeah, sure. Hey, thanks for sharing all that. I can’t wait to see these new screens; they’ll teach me and the other volunteers a thing or two, never mind the visitors.”

“No problem.”

Yuuri sat back down on the floor and stared at the white sphere, wondering if he’d missed anything it might have shown during his conversation with Frank. When he was alone again in the hall, he let out a long breath, but it did nothing to relax him, and the shivering that overtook him wasn’t entirely due to the cold air.

_I’m not going to think about it. It’d be stupid to speculate. Who knows where my own things would be likely to end up if I…if I died suddenly._

A tear trailed down his cheek, and he forced all further thoughts out of his head as he doggedly pinned his gaze to the sphere; which, seemingly with equal determination, did nothing until Frank returned at a few minutes to four, reluctantly requesting that Yuuri leave so he could lock up, and thanking him again for sharing his knowledge of the castle.

But as he waited in the gathering darkness for his taxi, one thought lodged itself in his brain and refused to budge; and for the first time in almost two months, Yuuri felt anxious stabs in his throat and chest, fighting them off, and wondering if he might well need the kleptol to help him this time.

Something Frank had said…something that had already been determined by whatever had occurred 728 years ago.

_I didn’t know who Sir Justin la Rose was. _

* * *

Phichit balanced the pizza box in one hand while clutching the carrier with two large cups of steaming cappuccino in the other as he walked down the hall. Yuuri would be in his lab, as he always was in the evenings now, working frantically and sustaining himself with nutri-pills, water, and what passed for coffee from that ancient machine. If only he could achieve some kind of balance, things would surely be easier for him. Phichit tried to help when he could, but he knew that once Yuuri had his heart and mind set on something, a mountain would be easier to move.

He’d been keeping a quiet eye on his friend ever since those first few days. Yuuri had taken to exercising for a while, as if he were trying to wear himself out so much that his memories wouldn’t haunt him because he was too tired to think. Then it was this massive project to learn all about Ailis’s work, so he could build another time-travel sphere. Phichit admired his determination. But he was frightened that Ailis’s genius, and her strange obscure half-complete notes, would be too much for him in the end. And when _that _happened…well, he didn’t want to speculate.

Not that what Yuuri had already discovered wasn’t absolutely juke. The sphere that showed the lifelines, and the one that sometimes gave glimpses into other times, were possibly some of the most incredible inventions of modern days, not including the time-travel spheres themselves, which Yuuri was doing his nut about because he didn’t know how to build them yet. Because, well, of _course _he should’ve worked it out in the span of two months or so.

Phichit shook his head as he thought about it. The door to the lab opened for him and he went inside, to discover Yuuri on a stool with his forehead in one hand, scribbling something in that paper notebook of his. The white sphere, which he had on all the time now, shone over the top of the little device that projected it.

“One pepperoni pizza with cheese and pineapple,” Phichit announced as he approached the table.

“Hm?” Yuuri looked up. There were shadows under his eyes. “Phichit. What’ve you got?”

“Pizza. And coffee. Let it never be said your best friend doesn’t deliver.”

A small smile crossed his face. “That was thoughtful of you.”

“Oh, I expect payment in full tomorrow. How about another display of your amazing sword skills?”

The smile disappeared. “I’m too busy right now.”

Phichit opened the pizza box and took a slice. The cheese was still hot, and strings stretched as he picked it up. “Doing what – staring at that sphere all day? Isn’t there a way to, I don’t know, make it show you something?”

“If there is, I haven’t found it yet.” Yuuri stared down at the pizza as if it had sprouted two heads.

“This is your favourite kind, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I just don’t know how hungry I am. But I’ll try to eat some.” He picked up a slice and took a small bite.

Phichit hated seeing Yuuri like this. He’d been concerned enough when he’d fainted in the minster to call Mari; she understood her brother in these moods, or seemed to. But sometimes he wondered if anyone really could understand what Yuuri had been through. After all, the only other people ever to have travelled through time were either dead or in the past, so there was no one he could talk to who’d been through same thing.

And he was pining himself sick over someone he was probably never going to see again. Phichit wanted to think that Yuuri really would find a way to build another time-travel sphere. But so far, from the sound of it, all he’d done was make use of Ailis’s existing tech and spare components. Not that he hadn’t already surpassed all reasonable expectations – but even if he did end up succeeding, it was likely to be a long time in coming. And in the meantime, what sort of life was this? He was anxious, not sleeping, pushing himself toward some kind of breakdown.

_I’d give anything to see you with Victor, and happy. The way you sounded when you used to talk to me over the com. I just wish you’d give yourself the chance to feel like that again in your life here and now. Maybe you’d meet someone else, if you tried._

But then, Phichit had never been in love. Whatever had hit Yuuri had hit him hard; had utterly blindsided him. He still had trouble trying to understand that, and found it a little disturbing if he were honest.

“It’s good pizza,” Yuuri said, seeming to warm to it. “Makes a nice change from nutri-pills.”

“We should go out somewhere soon, a pub or something.”

Yuuri eyed him. “And meet another Phil? No thanks.”

“Just for a drink. Maybe we could listen to one of those bands at The Eagle.”

“At the moment I’m – ”

“Busy. I know.” Phichit finished off his first slice and helped himself another. “How’s the work coming, anyway? You said you were taking that temporal window gadget to the castle – any luck yet?”

Yuuri’s gaze dropped to the table. “No. I thought a few times that I saw some colour or movement, but it was impossible to be sure. I’m going to keep trying. I don’t even know if it can look into the future or present as well as the past. There seems to be no way to control it.”

“In that case,” Phichit said gently, unsure how Yuuri would react to this, “why not give it up for now and work on something else?”

“I know, I know,” Yuuri replied, putting his half-eaten pizza slice down as if it suddenly disgusted him. “It’s just…”

“You’re hoping you’ll see Victor,” Phichit finished for him. That much was clear, anyway. “But well, with 728 years to choose from…do you honestly think that’s likely?”

Yuuri looked at him with burning eyes. “I don’t know. but I’m going to try.”

“Can you interact with what you’re seeing?”

“No.” He sighed. “It’s not going to be possible to travel in time, either, until I can build a temporal stabiliser. But there aren’t any of those hanging around, and Ailis’s notes on it aren’t exactly useful.”

“So you can see into other times, but it isn’t time travel.”

After a pause, Yuuri said quietly, “No.”

“So why are you doing this, then? Even if you did happen to see Victor, he won’t see you back, will he? You won’t be able to talk or anything.”

Yuuri looked around the room as if considering what to say. Then he replied firmly, “Look, if I _could _just see him again, it’d be incredible. I’ve worked so hard on this, and what else have I achieved?” His voice began to waver. “I can’t understand all these things Ailis did, and I don’t know how long it’ll take me to make actual time travel possible again, if I can do it at all. Or by then, whether it’ll be…too late for him.” He shook his head, eyes bright. “I don’t know, Phichit! Just let me have this for now, if nothing else.” He sank his head into his hands.

A long, silent moment passed. Then Phichit said sombrely, “How long will you keep going to the castle, trying to see something there?”

Yuuri blinked. “A-As long as it takes. It’ll show me something there eventually, I’m sure, like it did here.”

Phichit nodded, but his stomach sank, and he suspected they’d end up with a lot of leftover pizza. If anyone asked him, he’d say Yuuri was bordering on obsession, if he wasn’t actually completely there already, with the program and the T-shirt. But maybe this was something that was important for him to do – or not do, until he became willing to ease up on things.

It might be time to call Mari again…but he’d wait and see first.

_Yuuri, I just want to see you OK and well. If anyone deserves that, it’s you._

* * *

Yuuri sat in the taxi, hands in his lap, as the rain pattered against the carboglass. Another trip to the castle.

He was fairly sure he knew what Phichit thought about it all. His friend felt sorry for him, and was worried; he thought he was trying to accomplish too much in too short a space of time. Above all, like Mari, he believed Yuuri should be trying to accept the inevitable and move on. That he was stuck here in this time, would never be reunited with Victor, and sooner or later would have to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

_I’m already the world’s foremost living temporal engineer, aren’t I? Unfortunately, that’s not saying much. But why should I give it up? I want to believe I can do this._

For now, there was the question of what the white sphere actually was, whether a window or a portal or just an image projector. The past few days, when he’d gone back to the great hall, he’d finally seen things. The grassy top of the hill with no castle, not even a pile of stones; it had only lasted for seconds before it faded. Next time, though the castle was still absent, a man walked past, close enough for Yuuri to be able to scrutinise him before he disappeared from the field of view: long scraggly blond hair, a helmet with a noseguard, and a round shield with a boss on his arm. A Viking? It seemed a reasonable assumption. Then the empty hill again, which eventually vanished into the white fog.

_I wish I knew how to replicate the thought-interface. I need to be able to see the castle in medieval times. _

The taxi landed and he grabbed his toolbag, tossing his umbrella outside into the rain; the little silver ball cleared the side of the vehicle and then opened into a wide blue waterproof awning which hovered just above Yuuri’s head, sensing his body heat. He walked up the stairs once more, the rain drumming on the material over his head and spilling and dripping down the sides. It hurt to keep doing this; to see the castle in ruins time and time again. This wasn’t how he wanted to remember it. But he was determined to use the temporal window to catch a glimpse of it the way it used to be…with a certain person inside.

He slogged across the grass, on which sheep were grazing today, seemingly unfazed by the deluge – climate control were usually able to confine weather like this to the nights; it must be a fierce storm up there – and entered the great hall, his umbrella landing gently on the floor at a tilt so that it could dry off.

The musty smell typical of very old buildings seemed amplified by the damp today as he sat down in his customary corner. There was no heat in here, though in medieval times a fire had always been blazing in the hearth on days like this. The walls were never this bare, either – and exactly who had decided to cover the floor with bland terracotta tiles with a black trefoil stamped on them? It was completely and utterly wrong.

He sighed and took his notebook and Ailis’s out, glancing at the white sphere before he got to work – and promptly dropping them as he scrambled to get closer to the colourful image that was quickly emerging from the mist.

A meal, that was what he was looking at. Right here in this room. And everything as he remembered it – the stripes on the walls, the tapestries, the tunics and houppelandes, and headgear of all kinds, from chaperons and circlets to wimples and coifs. Servants hurrying to and fro in the middle of the horseshoe of trestle tables, all covered with white cloth and dishes and cups. And at the high table – surely that was Andrei and Natalia. Yuuri didn’t recognise anyone else near them, and there was certainly no Victor, but he swallowed his disappointment and continued to take in every detail he could. The Nikiforovs looked so _young_. Andrei was actually rather dashing, with high cheekbones and red lips, while Natalia was ethereally beautiful. Yuuri watched with wide eyes as they spoke to each other and the guests on either side of them, and ate and drank. But all too soon, the picture faded; it never stayed long.

Yuuri continued to stare into the fog, wondering if today he might get lucky and receive two glimpses into the past, but eventually was forced to concede it wouldn’t be as easy as that. He picked up Ailis’s notebook, but after he’d read the same sentence three times and realised he still didn’t know what it said, he gave up and put it aside, looking into the sphere once more.

“I’m gonna have to lock up in ten,” Frank announced, making Yuuri start. “Sure is crappy out; good thing you brought an umbrella.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said vaguely. “Um, Frank – do you mind if I could have those ten minutes in here by myself? To…to finish my work today?”

Frank looked at him in mild surprise. “Well, you’re always beavering away when you’re here – must be a big project, getting all that info ready for the screens. Sure, Yuuri, I don’t mind.” He smiled. “Back in a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said as Frank disappeared through the archway. He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked for the extra time, since the volunteers liked to start locking up before they closed the main gate. There would be other days. And others, and others…stretching out how long? His mood suddenly felt as dismal as the weather, despite the fact that he’d seen Victor’s parents.

_Come on, damn you. _Fog and more fog. He looked up and around. _Victor and I ate our meals here, along with most of the other people at the castle, living our lives together…but am I really so desperate to try to cling to what’s gone that I have to keep coming back here just to try to catch a glimpse of him, even if he’d be totally oblivious to it if it happened?_

What was more, he was guilty of romanticising it all, and he felt a surge of anger at himself as he thought about it. He and Victor had started the travelling troupe because they hadn’t wanted to continue living the way they’d been here. No more fighting, no more violence; just doing what they’d been born to do, enjoying it, and entertaining people in the process. But even before he’d got to know Victor, he’d been disturbed by the strict social hierarchy here, like a microcosm of the wider society, which placed villeins and servants on such a low rung that they were virtual slaves.

_Was I learning to conveniently forget about that? The young girls who slept in the kitchen? The people who heated water over a fire on the roof just so that the nobles could have it flowing through pipes into their rooms? Ethelfrith with her perpetually sore red hands? At least with Victor and Friends, we had total control over who we hired, what we asked them to do, and how we paid them – and we made sure they were content with that._

_I’m an oversentimental, grieving idiot._

With his insides in turmoil and tears threatening, he leaned forward to switch the temporal window off – and caught a flicker of colour in its clouded depths. He jerked his hand away and got as close to the sphere as he could, holding his breath as the mists cleared. The same room, looking as it should, but empty this time; no meal. _Wait_ – there was someone walking down the stairs from the solar – a man, solidly built, black cap, green and gold tunic, fair hair and skin…could it be, could it really be – ?

“_Victor_,” Yuuri whispered hoarsely, instinctively raising his hand as if to reach through and stroke that beautiful floppy fringe out of his face. “Oh my God…” His breaths shuddered, and tears trailed down his face. “I can see you, you’re just _there_, and I can…” He shook his head.

What time was he looking into? Victor was about the age he remembered him to be. Then he saw the locket on his chest containing a wisp of his hair, something to remember him by…_Jesus_…and it broke his heart to see the expression on his face. This was Victor after Yuuri had gone. Why had he come here, why wasn’t he with the troupe?

His hand continued to hover near the sphere, desperate to be able to make physical contact. Victor needed someone to hold him – needed _him_. But there was nothing Yuuri could do other than sit here and watch in silence as he walked heedlessly across the hall.

Just then, something seemed to pull Victor out of his thoughts, and he stopped and gazed directly ahead with an expression of surprise and puzzlement.

“It’s me, Victor, it’s me – Yuuri!” His voice echoed through the empty hall. “I’m here! I’m right here, looking at you now – can you see me? Victor!”

Yuuri watched him close his eyes briefly, seemingly pained. Then he started forward again, as the fog began to gather and the colours faded.

“No, don’t go!” Yuuri shouted. “Victor, _Victor, _it’s me, your Yuuri – don’t go, don’t go!” He flung out his hand and reached into the sphere as if it were possible to grab Victor and pull him through it. But that was no more likely that it was for himself to be able to jump through into the great hall of 1393. His arm simply didn’t exist past the contours of the white ball, as he’d already discovered in his lab; and after a moment he reluctantly pulled it back.

“Don’t go,” he choked out, clapping his shaking hand to his face. “Don’t go…oh God…” He sat back, shivering, sobs wracking through him. The great hall itself seemed to fade, and the castle, and the world around it; and the only things that existed were Yuuri and the pain that squeezed him from the inside out, which went into hiding from time to time but never had any intention of letting him go. As if he’d ever want it to…because within that pain lay the memories of the man he loved with all his heart.

Gradually he became aware of his palm on the cold tiles, the lash of rain against the great window. His rasping breaths. Tears spattering over his coat, a wet face. Notebooks strewn next to him. Dazed, he took it all in, pulling a handkerchief out to mop the tears away even as they continued to flow. He wasn’t sure he could stand. But he reached out automatically to switch the temporal window off just as Frank’s footsteps sounded in the passageway outside the hall.

“Hey, Yuuri, I hope you don’t mind if – jeez, jack, are you OK?” He hovered near the door, looking at Yuuri in concern.

“I…um.” Yuuri scooped his possessions up and put them in his toolbag, wiped his face once more before putting his handkerchief back in his pocket, then slowly got to his feet. “A bad day…you know, one of those where nothing seems to go right?” He gave him a weak smile, picking up his toolbag and walking over to his umbrella, which shot up and over his head.

“Must have been one helluva a day for sure,” Frank said. “Anything I can do?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Thanks, I’ll be fine.”

“Your taxi’s outside. I called it into the courtyard so you don’t have to slog through all the rain and mud.”

“That was very kind of you.”

Frank escorted him to the vehicle, continuing to gaze at him as if afraid he might keel over at any moment. Yuuri thanked him again, they said goodbye, and he was soon in the air, staring out at a heavy grey sky sinking into the day’s end.

_Be careful what you wish for, they say. You might just get it._

He leaned his head against the carboglass and closed his eyes, knowing he’d just paid his last visit to the ruins of Crowood Castle. In his single-minded resolve to see Victor, it had never occurred to him that doing so would make him feel even worse. Yuuri could see that he’d been upset. And he knew nothing about the life he was leading, other than for some reason he was back at the castle – temporarily or permanently, there was no way of knowing. He also couldn’t be certain of the timeframe. He couldn’t be certain of anything.

He ached to take him into his arms. They’d chase each other’s hurts away.

_I love you, Victor. I always will. And I’ll find a way back to you, I swear._

But somehow he didn’t think the temporal window was going to help. It was a basic, inferior copy of the black sphere full of lifelines that was Ailis’s original invention, just as all he’d been able to manage in the way of controls was _off _and _on. _But even _that _wasn’t interactive in the way he needed it to be – because what he _needed _was another time-travel sphere.

And now he couldn’t get that vision of Victor out of his head. It wasn’t the way he wanted to remember him, and had been made all the more horrible because he was pretty sure it was real; that the moment he’d witnessed had actually occurred. But there was nothing he could do about it, and he’d been left with endless unanswerable questions.

He hugged his arms to his chest, wondering if he should call Phichit, but he’d taken up a lot of his time and energy since he’d returned. He ought to find more friends, but well, it wasn’t something he’d ever been very good at. Or perhaps he’d get some relief for a while with an injection of kleptol…but no, the pain would still be there waiting for him when it wore off.

The rain hammered at the carboglass as the taxi lowered outside the quad, and Yuuri got slowly to his feet and went inside.

* * *

Two weeks into December, and he was only leaving the lab to go back to his flat to shower and sleep. While his experiences at the castle had dampened his spirits, the deadline of the year’s end ensured that he carried on doing everything he could in the time that was left to him.

Phichit noticed that he was no longer turning the white sphere on, and so he explained what had happened on his last visit to the castle. Waiting to see what it might show him was a waste of time anyway, he declared; a distraction from other more productive lines of enquiry.

_Productive. _Maybe after a great deal more research and trial and error. He needed to absorb the knowledge from the Cloud tutorials he’d begun watching. Maybe do a degree after all. Delve into Ailis’s tech in patient, systematic detail so that he could begin to properly understand what it was and how she’d put it together. All those things he’d haphazardly tried to cut corners with, because if the end of December came and went and he hadn’t found a way to travel back in time, it would feel as if Victor had truly died…and that wasn’t a situation he wanted to explore.

Ultimately he was going to make that an arbitrary deadline anyway, because he’d find a way to achieve his goal without swapping places with someone, or having to stick to any specific date once he was tangled up with a particular time. But researching the possibilities would require time and knowledge that he didn’t currently possess.

He dozed off at the lab table one evening, and was once again made to relive the nightmare of being pulled away from Victor and back to the present, confronted with a pool of Justin’s blood while he desperately searched for a nonexistent tunnel back to 1393. But he awoke with a jolt when Mari called over the Cloud. It took him a moment to recover, splashing water on his face and getting himself a cup of coffee while trying to convince his sister that he was all right and just a bit upset, though he was sure she wasn’t buying it.

While he was relieved to have been jarred out of the dreams that were troubling him increasingly, he wasn’t sure what to make of her invitation to spend Christmas at the spa with her and Sharon. Perhaps she had a point about him not spending it alone, but going there would mean he was away from the lab and his studies. And his memories of the previous Christmas, of 1392, were still fresh in his mind. The Lord of Misrule. All the fasting during Advent – and the Church classifying a beaver as a fish, which brought a flicker of a smile to his face. How Victor had given him that peck on the cheek under the kissing bush, hanging over their heads in the middle of the great hall; a few seconds of initial intimacy that had meant so much.

Somehow a feast of overcooked turkey, Christmas pud, crackers and paper crowns, and bad holo-shows – or sitting by himself in a hot tub or sauna, for that matter – didn’t appeal. But Mari left the invitation open, and encouraged him to find out what Phichit was up to if he didn’t want to travel.

What Yuuri wanted to do was whatever he _could _do here in his lab. Seek out some last-minute bolt of inspiration, perhaps. Something. Anything.

_Be the water flowing around the rock,_ Sam had told him years ago. But that was impossible. He’d be the rock and tell the water to go to hell.

The following afternoon, he was adding to his notes from Ailis’s diagrams on her computer, the sun dipping low on the horizon outside the window, when he received a call from Phichit.

“Yuuri,” he said in a voice that sounded oddly urgent and somewhat breathy, “I’m on my way to your office with a visitor for you.”

His brow knitted. The receptionist greeted visitors; it was part of a trending backlash against too much dehumanising tech. What was more, he wasn’t the sort of person who _had _visitors, not since he’d taken up work in the lab and stopped fixing people’s broken gadgets. And he hadn’t ordered anything recently, not that he could recall.

“Yuuri?”

“Who is it and what do they want? I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I’m kind of busy – ” 

“Trust me, you’ll want to drop whatever you’re doing and come.” And he cut the call.

Yuuri sighed and shook his head, getting up and leaving the lab while wondering at the odd message. When he entered his office, however, no one else was there yet. “Phichit, what the hell,” he muttered, picking up an electronic organiser from his desk. There wasn’t much call for these nowadays, but occasionally it was nice to use tech that didn’t impose its data over your field of vision.

Standing next to the window to catch the last bright rays of the sun before it disappeared, he checked the weather planner from climate control. Pleasantly warm and dry for the time of year. He ought to do some exercise outside; he’d been neglecting a lot of things while he’d been so focused on his studies. Phichit wanted to go see a band at The Eagle. Then there was Mrs. Wells; he hadn’t visited her since that day she’d told him about her husband and the Water Wars, because he hadn’t been around to do it.

_In the new year. I’ll do all that stuff. Just a few more weeks – I’ve got to keep trying. _

The door clicked open across the room, as it was programmed to do when Phichit was there. Yuuri lingered on the planned temperatures for the next few days, wondering why Phichit wasn’t saying anything, before reminding himself that he was meant to be coming up here with someone – and wondering why _they _weren’t saying anything, either.

“Yuuri.”

He jerked his head up and swivelled it around to look toward the door, his mouth dropping open as the organiser fell from his hand to the carpet.


	162. His True Love Is Flown (Part 21)

_A pretty little brace for someone’s supper today, _Julia thought with a grin, lifting the two grouse on the line and admiring their shining feathers as she walked through the camp. _I’m afraid you had no chance, with me around. _She must find a more challenging target next time, she decided. A flightier creature, perhaps a pheasant.

She arrived at the big cookfire just in time to see the master striding quickly away in the opposite direction. Strange; there wasn’t usually such urgency in his manner unless he was in a hurry before performance time. Geoffrey, one of the cooks, was there with his red beard and coif, and she handed him the grouse, then cleaned her hands on her cloak and pulled it more tightly about her, adjusting the bow and quiver on her back in the process.

“Is something wrong?” she asked him. “Why was the master hurrying away, do you know?”

Geoffrey stared with a heavy brow in the direction in which he’d gone. “He was shouting something that might have been in another language,” he replied. “Most distempered, he was. We didn’t know what to do. Do you have any notion of what might be ailing him?”

“No,” she answered, her heart filling with worry. “Where did Sir Justin go – was he here?”

“Indeed he was, but he must have left. Do you suppose they had an argument?”

Julia shook her head in confusion, then scurried after the master until the glinting back of his armour was in view; as she’d guessed, he was heading toward his tent. From the speed and nature of his stride, he was still troubled, and unusually, he didn’t stop to speak to anyone he passed; Beth tried to catch his attention, but he ignored her.

Maybe the two of them really had been in an argument. But the master shouting at Yuuri…? He wouldn’t do that, she felt sure. The two of them were positively disgusting together at times, though well, Julia was fond of them, so she didn’t mind too much.

The master had untied the tent flap and lifted it up to go inside when she ran up to him. “Master?” she asked tentatively.

“Not right now, Julia,” came his low, quiet response as he entered, his back to her. Her heart quivered. This was not his customary demeanour at all.

“Please, master – did you and Yuuri have a fight? Geoffrey said…”

He placed his palms on the table, his head hanging down in front of him. “No.”

“I’d like to help if I can. You seem distressed.”

After a long pause, he finally turned to look at her, and she gasped to see his face streaked with tears. If it _had _been an argument, it must have been the fight to end all fights. But he’d said that wasn’t what had happened. He preferred not to be openly distraught in front of her, she knew that, and it must have been why he was trying to make her leave. What in God’s holy name had brought this about?

“He’s gone,” he said, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

“W-Who’s gone?”

“Yuuri,” he moaned, a hand fluttering up over his mouth as if attempting to prevent his spirit from escaping that way.

“_Did _you have a fight?”

“What? No, I said no.” He took several breaths and sniffed. “We were…sitting next to the cookfire, talking. Then he – he started to fade away before my eyes. I think we both noticed what was happening at the same time, a-and we tried to reach out to each other, but…by the time my hand was where his had been, there was…nothing to hold.” He swallowed and added in a choked voice, “He was gone.”

“What devilry was this?” Julia breathed, eyes wide. Yuuri, vanished into the air? No, it was inconceivable.

The master’s face was blotched and his breaths uneven, but he made a visible effort to present a slightly more dignified appearance, quelling his sobs and wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I believe it must mean that the real Justin has died in the future,” he said, “and Yuuri’s been pulled back.”

Julia gasped. “Of course – like the lady appearing when Ailis died.”

The master nodded silently as more tears ran down his cheeks. God in heaven, this was a calamity. Julia reached into her purse and pulled out a cloth, which she gave to him, and he held it to his face, a picture of despair. It took a great deal to cause the master to lose his composure; he’d clearly been distempered when Yuuri had run away to York, but it was nothing like this. And he and Yuuri separated thus…oh Lord, she hadn’t thought this day would ever come, or perhaps she would have…she _should _have…but no, she couldn’t think about that right now.

“Does he have any way of coming back?” she asked. “Another sphere…” But she already knew the answer. He shook his head.

A long moment passed, and she began to feel awkward, on top of her attempts to swallow the news of Yuuri’s disappearance herself. Her heart had dropped into her shoes. He was from such an advanced time, had known so much…how could this have happened?

“Master – ”

He held a hand up. “I – I’m not myself, and…I’m not certain how long I shall be able to speak.” He trembled and buried his face in the handkerchief, his shoulders continuing to shake.

_God must surely hate me in this moment, _Julia thought, her own eyes beginning to brim with tears. The master had trained her to be a knight, however, and if he were coming undone, she must be the glue for them both. Who else was there, with Yuuri gone?

“It’s not unmanly to weep for a lost loved one,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It grieves me also.”

He looked at her for a moment, then sank into a chair, hiding his face in the handkerchief once more. She went to him and placed a hand on his plated shoulder. “Please, master, is there anything I can do?”

She waited, and after a while he looked up and said distantly, “I don’t know, I…” And his voice trailed off. He didn’t tell her again to go; didn’t say anything at all, though the tent would be flooded with his silent tears before he was through. She decided to try a different approach.

“Sir, Henric will give the order to begin breaking camp soon. If you’d prefer to stay here where it’s private, shall I tell him to wait until he’s had word from you? I’m not aware of what our schedule is, but if Yuuri isn’t here…” She choked on the words. After all the times she’d treated him with less than the respect he deserved, or outright disdain, he’d been so good to her in return. She’d give anything, she decided, for him to be here now and for the master to be happy again.

With a slight nod, he replied, “Yes…yes, that’s a good idea. I must think.”

But it looked as if thinking was quite beyond him at the moment as he stared ahead, unseeing. Julia poured him a cup of thin wine from the jug on the table and placed it next to him, then stood and waited. He ran a shaking hand over his pale forehead, then curled his fingers into a fist and held it against his mouth as he closed his eyes, which continued to leak.

“Thank you,” he whispered eventually. “I – I knew…that this might happen. I was afraid of it. But I tried to make myself forget. Whatever risks were involved, I didn’t hesitate once I knew I loved him.” He looked at her with wet, red-rimmed eyes. “He was worth it, Julia. A hundred times over.”

She swallowed and nodded.

“At least we had Victor and Friends…we had that together, for a while.” He sighed and rested his arm on the table, putting his face in his hand. “Oh…my heart is in pieces.”

Julia wanted to weep herself, just from the sight of her master before her, which was terrible to behold. But she would do what she could for them both. “We still do have Victor and Friends,” she said. “You love it, master, and it doesn’t have to end. Perhaps you could concentrate on that.”

He looked at her, then stared at the vacant side of the tent again, tears continuing to streak his face. But of course it was stupid of her to say that when he’d only just suffered such a loss. And yet it didn’t change the fact that they were still here with the troupe. At the same time, she shouldn’t stand here and try to push him to make decisions. It was all terribly confusing. She would leave him alone for now, as he desired.

As she turned to go, however, he said in a voice rough from crying, “Julia. Tell Henric and Oswin that I’ll need to see them this afternoon; I think it best if we spend another night here and break camp in the morning. Spread the word – and add that there will be an important meeting over supper.” He paused and slowly picked up his cup of wine, as if focusing on keeping a steady hand, and took a draught.

“Victor and Friends isn’t coming to an end, is it?” she couldn’t help asking, dreading his response.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. I can scarce believe what’s just happened.”

He looked around the tent, and Julia noticed Yuuri’s things in different places – a table with a mirror on which there were two razors and combs, his blue cotehardie draped over a chair, a spare pair of boots at the foot of the bed. Then the master’s gaze returned to her. 

“I need time to think. By supper, I will have come up with something.” He added in a whisper, seemingly to himself, “I have to.”

“Is it all right if I tell Emil?”

He considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, he needs to know.”

Julia stared at this man, her master, who looked suddenly years older and weary to the bone. She bowed to him.

“Thank you, Julia,” he said quietly. “You’re the best squire a knight could hope to have.” But his words stung her already troubled heart.

_You mustn’t say that. I don’t deserve it._

She exited the tent and relayed his messages to the appropriate parties, then found Emil sparring with Philip in the training field and took him aside.

_It seems mad to have to do this when everything feels so normal. As if the master and Yuuri should be walking around the tents, talking to members of the troupe, or training and rehearsing here. One or both of them could appear at any moment and wake me from a dream…or a nightmare._

“Julia?” Emil said, taking in her expression while Philip looked on from a distance in concern. “What is it?”

Her immediate impulse was to cry in relief that she’d found someone sympathetic to break the awful news to, which included the state the master was in. But she contained herself and explained what had happened, as Emil’s blue eyes gradually widened and his face fell.

“The real Justin must be dead,” she concluded. “And the master is inconsolable. He’s thinking at this very moment what to do about the troupe, and has called a meeting for everyone over supper.” She sniffed. “Emil, everything is falling apart so suddenly – ”

“There, now – one thing at a time,” he said quickly. Then he placed a hand over his mouth and chin, a faraway look in his eyes. “God have mercy. This tale takes the heart clean out of me.” His voice was soft and quiet. “You say this only occurred a short while ago?”

“Yes – I followed the master just as he was leaving the cookfire; it must have happened only moments before.”

Emil let out a shuddering breath and stared at the horizon. “My poor master…he’ll be quite overcome with grief. And not even a chance for us to say farewell. I pray God he has help where he’s gone.” He fell silent and looked around, as if in contemplation. Then he raised his sword to the sky. “I shall carry his old weapon with honour, and think of him when…when I wield it,” he declared, his voice breaking. A long moment passed, and he lowered the sword and turned to Julia. “Did Sir Victor say aught of what’s to happen next?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t know himself when I left him.” Finally a tear slipped out. “Emil, what will we do?”

To her surprise, he gave her a hug. “We’re their squires. We must keep our heads about us, even in times of trouble.”

“I know. But this…it’s terrible.”

He patted her back, and his tears fell onto the shoulder of her cloak. As he drew away, he quickly wiped them with his sleeve. “I think the best thing to do for now, old girl, is to get on with things as we usually would, and wait to discover what Sir Victor announces at supper.” After a pause, he continued, “I know you’re worried, but you should leave him in peace until then. I expect this will be a very sore trial for him.”

She nodded and dried her face with her cloak while Emil walked slowly to a bewildered-looking Philip, presumably to tell him a version of the story that didn’t include Yuuri’s real identity. As she turned to leave, it struck her that both the master and Yuuri had anticipated this eventuality, they must have done, though she’d never seriously considered it herself. And now that it had happened, it made what she had to do that much harder. But how could she? It wasn’t just harder – it was impossible.

It would feel like a long wait until the meeting at supper, and she wanted to weep for the master, Yuuri, and herself. And everyone in the troupe. But she would rise above that as a good and true squire. So what should she do? Practise on the wheel? She went to where it had been placed in the training field, but couldn’t bring herself to go on it, not with the tragedy that had befallen its two masters.

_It’s not unmanly to weep for a lost loved one, _she’d said. Yet it was difficult not to curse her own weakness. She decided to set up a stationary target to shoot arrows at, moving it further and further back until she began to miss, which only made her frustrated while her thoughts continually strayed to the master.

He wasn’t at the meal, however, and the food tasted like ashes in her mouth. She listened to the conversations surrounding her and knew that everyone was wondering where he was; gossip was rife about an argument between him and Justin, especially since no one had seen him since the morning. She wanted to tell them to stop; that it hadn’t been like that at all. It wasn’t her place to do so, however, and she must wait to discover what the master would say.

Eventually, as drinks were being shared around the fire, he came to join them. He’d removed his armour and put his black cloth cap on, which stood out against his pale hair and drained face, and made them look ghostly. His eyes were still red-rimmed, but his face was dry. Silence fell as he approached the fire, his demeanour solemn and seemingly collected.

“I’ve asked you all here this evening because of a sudden unfortunate turn of events,” he announced without preliminary. “Justin has been…called home. Back to his family’s castle, on business so pressing that it was necessary for him to leave with all haste.” There were darting glances and low mumbles as he paused before continuing. “I promised not to betray his confidence, but it’s unlikely he’ll be able to return to us. I hasten to add that there was no argument between him and me, and he left in good faith, and…and love,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “I’ve therefore made a number of decisions since his departure. Henric will be helping me to manage the troupe.” He looked toward the steward, along with everyone else, and the man gave a nod. “And Oswin will continue to advise us both. We’ll…” His voice hitched again. “We’ll all obviously need time to alter the acts in which Justin featured, and to adjust the show. I’ll change what I’m doing on the wheel to a solo act until I can work out something better. We have a few days of travel ahead of us yet, and plenty of time to think and plan.” He took a deep breath and carried on, “Neither Justin nor I would have wished for this situation to come about. But we’ll continue as a troupe as long as there are enough people who desire to do so.”

The silence pressed on until they all realised that his speech, such as it was, was at an end. Then another collective murmur washed through the group like a wave, and Anselm, one of the acrobats, spoke up. “Well, I’m staying,” he said in a loud voice, pint mug in hand. “This is the best travelling troupe I’ve ever belonged to – and you, Victor, and Justin have made us what we are. I for one am going to stick it out, since problems will crop up occasionally, and I’m not one to abandon my colleagues.” Responses of “Here, here” were called out around the fire.

Bardolph, a fellow acrobat standing next to him, raised his mug. “I’m with you,” he said. “Who else is?”

Julia looked on as the others in the gathering announced their determination to remain as well, and her heart was glad to hear it. The master’s expression was noncommittal, but he thanked them all and called them loyal and true, and the best men and women in the land. He spoke the words fair enough, but neither they nor the smile which he briefly presented to them touched his eyes. And when they insisted he stay for a drink, he initially refused, but gave in after a great deal of persuasion. Julia raced away to fetch a jug of hypocras just for him, and hovered nearby once she’d poured him a cupful.

There were many questions about Justin, and he had to repeat several times that he was not at liberty to break his oath and divulge information. All he would say was that Justin deeply regretted not being able to say farewell, and very much wanted to remain, but unfortunately it was impossible.

Along with sympathies and commiserations were enquiries about the show. Did he know what he would do as a solo act? Would anyone take Justin’s place in other acts, or would they be scrapped? He answered truthfully, as far as Julia could tell, reiterating his previous words to the troupe, and adding that he needed more time to think, and they could all talk while they were travelling. Tactful, diplomatic. He’d been born into it, and she’d seen it many times, with nobility and important clergy and even the king.

But she also heard the growing strain in his voice; caught the weariness in his eyes, and something more disturbing which might be fear, or even panic. Only she and Emil understood the true degree of the loss he was bearing.

_The master needs Yuuri here; he was his anchor. I’m a fool to think he would, or should, confide too much in me or anyone else in the troupe. I may be able to read him, but that counts for little._

_God, you are cruel to have done this. Condemn me for it if you will, but that’s how I feel._

As the drink flowed, there were many toasts to Justin and many kindly words spoken in his honour. The troupe attempted at first to include the master, thinking he might want to add something himself, or that he would appreciate their gestures, though a few of them understood enough to see that he was grieved by the loss of the man he loved and gave him his space. Although he lingered at the campfire, he seemed to be sinking further and further into himself, and into his cups; and Julia had no choice but to serve him as he required.

Eventually he motioned for Henric to join him. They spoke of travel arrangements, and a shiver passed through Julia when she heard the master tell his steward to have someone go to his tent and pack Yuuri’s things into chests and take them away, ready for the journey in the morning.

“He left his possessions here?” Henric said with a knotted brow under his bycocket hat.

“I told you, he was in a hurry,” the master replied before taking another draught of his wine.

Henric looked at him oddly, as if hoping for an explanation; but when none came, he said, “Very well, but tonight in the dark?”

“I can’t bear to sleep in the tent with them around me.” Julia discerned an edge to his voice now. “Please, have it done quickly so that I can retire with what peace I can find.”

There was a frankness in his dealings with Henric and Oswin that didn’t often emerge with other troupe members, though probably the hypocras he’d imbibed had something to do with it too, Julia thought. She watched as Henric acceded to his request, quickly marshalling several servants to carry out the task. And when he returned to report that it was done, the master thanked him and took a torch, then left in the direction of his tent. Julia followed.

When they arrived, he turned to look at her as if he were surprised she was there. She didn’t think he was actually drunk, though his eyes were bloodshot and bleary; that could have come from all the crying he’d done, however.

“Would you like me to enter and keep you company a while, master?” she asked.

He considered this, then attempted to untie the flap while still holding the torch. His fingers fumbling, and seemingly in danger of setting the tent alight, Julia took the burning wood from him and held it aloft.

“I appreciate your concern, Julia,” he replied, “but there’s no need to nurse me.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” she insisted. “I’m worried about you, master. I know you miss Yuuri. And I’m very sorry he’s gone. Emil and I miss him, too; everyone does. But it’s hardest on you.”

The look in his eyes was difficult to fathom, especially in the torchlight. After a moment, he said, “I’ll be all right. I always am.” Then he flashed her a small grin.

She scowled, searching her brain for useful words.

“Good night, Julia. And thank you.”

She bowed, as she must, and left him, her heart feeling like lead in her chest. There were other things she could have said, given more time to think of them, that would have been far better. That she _should_ say, but dared not.

And she was beginning to wonder how she ever would. 


	163. Chapter 163

Victor smoothed his fingers along the back of his black-gloved hand. Today was cold, and it was reaching him underneath his armour; surely Julia felt it more acutely up on the wheel while she practised. There was as yet no plate mail for her to wear, and none to borrow as she was so slender, but she had a costume which Beth had provided and he’d paid for: a silver samite long-sleeved shirt and hose ending in pointy toes, with black and white patterns in the fabric.

She loved the costume. Victor thought she’d love the idea of performing on the wheel with him, too, though it was all he could do most days to force himself up there, and of course she sensed it. That, and the fact that he was supposed to be watching her now in order to critique her performance but was allowing his mind to wander inexcusably, were indications of deeper problems that he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to make a pretence of dealing with.

It had been a month since Yuuri had gone, and Victor wanted to weep whenever he looked at the wheel. One month of performing on it, practising on it, and training Julia to share an act with him. It was full of broken memories – Alex, and now Yuuri. By all rights, it ought to be burned. But no, how could he think such a thing?

“Master!” Julia called, smoothing her costume and staring at him from the middle of the wheel. “That was perfect, surely?”

_What was perfect? I must pay closer attention. _“ ‘Perfect’ is quite a strong word,” he hedged, though it was probably good advice regardless. “I daresay most of what I do isn’t perfect.”

“I doubt the audiences would agree with you.”

“They don’t understand our methods.”

She made a _hmph _and waited for instructions.

“Let’s see you go through the routine again,” he said, promising himself he would watch properly this time, and she got back to work.

She was good at this, in her own way. Whereas he and Yuuri had been quite physical in their act, she was theatrical, and easy and light to lift, and could perform more spectacular gymnastics, particularly because she wasn’t weighed down with plate mail. But even now in practice, the look in her eyes was difficult to comprehend. They had a strange glint sometimes, even when she shot her arrows, which she did with quiet efficiency nowadays rather than the exuberant energy Victor had always known her to have.

Was it her own grief for Yuuri? he wondered. Emil’s behaviour he could understand; he was more subdued than usual, but had sworn to train even harder with his new master as a homage to his old one; that being Sir Edward Greuze, who they had taken on in Nottingham after misadventure had stranded him there. Julia, for her part, was more difficult to fathom. Victor knew she’d come to care about and respect Yuuri; perhaps he wasn’t crediting that enough. Though it could also be the effect of her master’s permanent state of distemper.

He couldn’t change that, however, any more than a flooding river could be dammed after the fact. The tears weren’t even the worst of it, though he’d felt embarrassed at first when Julia had seen him openly weeping; it was best to try to project an appearance of fortitude to the others. But she knew the real reason for the tears, and there was a gentleness and empathy about her that seemed to have grown with age.

The worst of it was what they attempted and failed to ease: a terrible pervasive emptiness; a sense that the world was out of balance, colder, greyer, without his love in it. At the same time, everything reminded him of the wonderful man who had been and gone. The wind whispered his name, and waterfalls sang it. The earth remembered the tread of his dear feet. And wherever Victor went, he slept in a bed that Yuuri no longer shared with him. Ate meals without his beloved neighbour and confidante. Trained, practised, and rehearsed in the acute awareness of silence where Yuuri’s voice had once been. Ached for a touch that would never come. 

Julia had halted and was gazing at him in concern as tears streaked down his face. Swiping at them with the back of his gloved hand, he called, “Keep practising – I need a moment,” and trotted away to the nearest shelter he could spot, a wooden latrine that had been appended to the manor house’s stable. Hurrying inside, he shut the door behind him and leaned against the wall, shuddering and raking his fringe out of his face as he inevitably breathed in the reek.

“Fuck,” he whispered, shaking and wishing he could wrap his arms around himself, which was not an action that could be easily accomplished in a suit of armour. Everyone in the training field must have seen him go; probably had noticed how distraught he was. And he’d left Julia alone and worrying.

_I’ve made a spectacle of myself by running away like that._

He allowed the tears to flow, wondering how long it would take for them to stop – today, tomorrow, weeks, months…It had not been like this with Alex, because he hadn’t permitted it. And yet, the pain was hardly preferable to the numbness that came of stuffing his feelings down. No matter what he did with them, they would always be there, waiting to make themselves known. He closed his eyes.

_Yuuri, my sweet love,_ _I can’t bear that you’re gone. Why is it that we always seem to end up having our worst fears visited upon us? _

_What are you doing right now? Oh, I wish I knew. I hope Mari and Phichit are there for you…they must be…but will anyone in your future time understand how you feel when you tie your armour on and wield your sword? Can that world accommodate such a talent when no knights exist? If only…if only I could see you, just once again, and know that you’re safe and well._

Each breath brought a fresh intake of the offensive smell in the little room; bundles of lavender had been wedged in the corners, but they were old and faded. Wiping his tears away again, Victor tried to imagine Yuuri so close that he could detect his much pleasanter scent; nuzzle him, and revel in it. But it was impossible in here, just as it would be impossible anywhere else, because he couldn’t _remember _it. Why hadn’t he thought to keep a pillow aside?

_Because it would kill me. Just as it would to take his clothes out of a chest._

_I truly am a coward._

With a final wipe of his face, he pressed his lips together. _A coward would not do what I’m going to do now. I can’t hide in here forever. _He opened the door, knowing how he must look, determined to do his job nevertheless. Julia needed him.

He strode past the sparring knights and squires, who sent him glances, some lingering longer than others, though they soon returned to their training. Julia was sitting on the rim of the wheel with her cloak on, hugging her legs to her chest, and she blinked as he came to stand in front of her. His behaviour was distressing her, he knew, and he must do better somehow with mastering it.

“I’ve been…somewhat distracted today,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“I just wish I could help.”

“You already do. Come, now – you were showing me your routine. I want to see your flips. Then I’ll join you and we can practise together, and have Emil or Philip turn the wheel. But you must get your timing down correctly first.” He gave her a little smile, hoping it didn’t look too unconvincing amid a splotched face and bleary eyes.

She considered for a moment, then nodded and stood, flinging her cloak to the grass. Victor backed away to watch again. And this time he was completely attentive for…well, significantly longer, at least. She fell once, between the spokes, but pulled herself back up and resumed her jumps and spins. Several times he called advice out to her, and she responded by making improvements. It was little different from instructing her in the longsword. They made a good team, he thought as he watched her spring lightly from spoke to spoke.

She was helping him more than she probably realised, by making him remember his duty, now and at other times. The day Yuuri had disappeared, he’d wanted to cease to exist. But she’d reminded him of the troupe; and the look on her face when she’d asked him if it was coming to an end…how could he disappoint her, and all the others? He would carry on for them. For the members of Victor and Friends, whose livelihoods were in his hands. For Yuuri, who had poured his heart into helping to make the project a reality and a success, and who would not want to see Sir Victor Nikiforov lie down in defeat. And for Alex, because the wheel should never have been left to weather on top of that hill, lonely and neglected, for so long. For them all…if maybe not for himself.

Fortunately, he was a good performer and an even better knight, and those virtues had pulled him through a month’s worth of performances during which he’d felt off colour at best, and almost paralysed by despair at worst, and many things between, sometimes running the gamut in a single night. If he drank a little to excess at times, to blunt the pain for a while, he never did it in a way that would interfere with the show. If he felt a need to disappear on his own, where no one would see him quietly breaking into pieces, he ensured he was present and intact enough when it was required of him. Henric and Oswin always knew how to find him. And sometimes, on a day that wasn’t quite as difficult as usual, he was at ease in the company of the troupe, whether they were travelling or performing or gathering around the cookfire afterward. Then he could imagine they had a future…even if his own was clouded by grief and confusion and the prophetic book that said he would die before the year’s end. In dark moments, it no longer sounded so terrible and foreboding, and that disturbed him most of all.

He’d nevertheless been attempting to recapture the joy of performing that had once filled him, to focus just on that when the time came. But it continued to elude him – how could he expect otherwise when his heart was so burdened? It had taken two years, and Yuuri, to find that spark again after Alex’s death. If it were ever to return, he suspected he would have to accept that Yuuri would never come back, that he was lost to him forever, and attempt to move on in whatever time was left to him. Yuuri had taught him how to do it with Alex. Now he had to do it with Yuuri himself.

“No,” he said quickly. Julia must have heard him, because she paused and waited for an explanation. “Land on your left foot, not your right,” he added, because he _had _been watching, even if his mind would not stay tethered. “Put more power into your twist and you can do it.”

She tried again, and did better, and he nodded, wondering what kinds of choices he was really giving himself. As long as his memories and feelings for Yuuri had such a hold over him, nearly every day was a struggle to run a business, perform to the best of his ability, and train Julia, not to mention the hundreds of other tasks related to those things. It didn’t help, either, that his heart, in its search for hope and comfort, kept insisting that if Yuuri could suddenly be pulled into the future, perhaps one day he could reappear just as suddenly. Because his time was full of wondrous technology that seemed capable of magical things.

_But he was always quick to insist that it wasn’t magic. And Ailis was the only one who knew how to travel in time. The means to do so disappeared with her. I’m a fool if I allow myself to continue to try to grasp at such nonsense._

_I’d also be a fool to ignore my feelings for Yuuri, even if they slay me anew every morning when I wake. I won’t do it._

_There must be other ways forward. I just…haven’t discovered them yet._

“Master,” Julia called as she halted once again, “behind you.”

Victor turned to see a young man with flowing brown hair and a feathered cap jump down from his chestnut horse, holding a scroll with a red ribbon around the middle. He wasn’t one of their own messengers, but sometimes prospective patrons who had heard of the troupe sent word that they wanted them to visit and perform.

“My lord,” the man said, “I was dispatched to seek you out and deliver this message.”

“From whom?” he asked curiously, pulling the ribbon off.

“Boucicaut, my lord.”

Victor’s eyes widened. The knights and squires heard as well, and Julia leapt off the wheel, pulling her cloak back on as she hurried to join him. “Then you’ve travelled a long way.”

“Not at all,” the man replied with a smile. “He’s here in England.”

“Indeed? Thank you. Please have your horse tended to, and take a rest from your journey.” The messenger bowed and left.

“What does it say, master?” Julia asked as the others also gathered round.

Victor scanned the contents of the scroll. Of all things. Yuuri had suggested they go to Boucicaut, but it seemed he wanted to come to them. The excitement this news kindled in him just as quickly died, however. If only it had arrived a few months back, when it might have – _would _have – meant more to him. Before Yuuri, he’d enjoyed the swordsmanship he’d achieved for its own sake. But as he’d trained his protégé, watched him blossom, and awakened to his enthusiasm until the blood raced again in his own veins, it had become so much more. The culmination of which had been this troupe. And now…without Yuuri here to share in the experience and the challenge, what did it matter whether or not he could beat Boucicaut, or anyone else, at sparring?

“_Master,_” Julia insisted.

Very well, then; let her look. Having digested the contents, he handed the scroll to her, which she took with eager hands.

“Boucicaut wants to meet you!” she gasped. “He wants to _beat _you!” She huffed a laugh. “That will never happen. You’ll send him with his tail between his legs back to France, to be sure.”

“I haven’t yet made a decision about this,” he said. “I’ve hardly had the chance.”

“What does it say?” Emil asked, attempting to lean over to read. But Julia pulled the scroll away.

“Thus speaks Boucicaut,” she announced in an official-sounding voice. “To Sir Victor Nikiforov, greetings. During the course of my sojourn in this fair country, I have heard tell of a travelling troupe both strange and fantastic. My chief source being Sir Richard Vernon of Haddon Hall, who claims to have been most delightfully entertained by you. He mentioned to me, also, that my name had arisen in conversation, and that you confessed to being a student of mine. I have therefore made it my task, while in the heart of this region in which you and your troupe perform, to track you down and, God willing, to arrange a meeting.”

Julia looked up at the others, smiling, though Edward wrinkled a dark brow. “Who is this fellow?” he asked.

“Only one of the best knights in the world,” she answered. “But not _the _best. The master is better, as he’ll prove to him.”

“Julius, remember yourself,” Victor mumbled.

“I _am_, sir. What a wonderful opportunity to prove your mettle.”

_I don’t need to prove it. And it’s being tested in other ways on a daily basis._

“He continues,” she said, “I admit I am most intrigued by one whose talents are sung by those who have met him; and I would have the experience of them, so please you, to satisfy myself that I have not yet met my match. My invitation extends likewise to Sir Justin la Rose, your…” Her voice died, but not soon enough, and she gave Victor a worried look. But he nodded to her; he was made of sterner stuff than would see him blench in public at the mere mention of his love’s name.

“…chivalrous colleague, whose abilities with the longsword have also been lauded. Sirs, if you are willing, my travels will take me near Crowood Castle during the second week of December, and I can be at your disposal then for a few days. My messenger is prepared to deliver your response. God bless and keep you, from your most humble servant, Jean le Maingre – brackets, Boucicaut.” A look of confusion crossed her face. “I thought his name _was _Boucicaut.”

“It’s that as well,” Victor said as he took the scroll from her and rolled it back up.

“What will you tell him?” Her eyes were alight, and the other fighters awaited his response.

After a moment, he replied, “I see no reason to do this,” though he felt a stab of guilt when Julia’s face fell.

Now Chris spoke. “You’ve wanted to test yourself against him for years, Victor. Why not take the opportunity while he’s here?”

Philip added, “Think of the honour and the prestige, my lord.”

_Those mean little. I would make a poor host, and a poorer opponent. _“It’s a diversion I don’t need just now,” he said quietly. 

But Julia had not given up; of course she wouldn’t. “Didn’t you say we’d be spending time at the castle over the Yule? You could be there to meet him and tell him how much you admire the exercises he devised. You do, master, I know it. Perhaps he could even teach you – and all of us.” She and the others looked at him expectantly.

Victor made a show of pausing to think, then said with a small grin, “Oh, very well. If I must.” _For you, if not for me._

He wasn’t at all certain of what he _did _want. Apart from the one thing he could no longer have.

* * *

It was arranged that the troupe would return to the castle for the first two weeks of December, and Boucicaut’s visit was fixed for the second week. Throughout November they continued to travel and perform, both indoors and out, though inside was far pleasanter now that late autumn had settled over the land. Victor had a brazier in his tent, and many of the other performers had taken to sharing accommodation so that they could enjoy the benefit of one as well, since the troupe didn’t have the means to provide them for each individual or pair. He wondered if they would lose any performers who decided they’d rather not continue waking every morning to freezing fingers, toes and faces. Or, for that matter, a distracted and morose manager.

But though a few servants came and went, everyone else remained. Victor renewed his resolve every day to focus on the tasks at hand, and found it increasingly easy to lose himself in them, especially with the familiarity of the new routine he’d settled into, and the talent God had blessed him with which pulled him through the shows regardless of the state of his mind and heart. He promised himself he wouldn’t deliberately exclude Yuuri from his life, not the way he’d done with Alex. But that was the most difficult challenge of all – because between being faced with the cutting pain and empty ache that the memories brought, and the numbness of forcing his mind elsewhere, the latter felt like more of a relief.

_I told myself I’d have the joy of him in my life while it lasted, _he mused one morning on his way to the cookfire for a brief dinner._ I’m robbing myself of even that. Would Yuuri want to know that he caused me so much pain?_

_But he didn’t cause it. I’m just not dealing with this very well. _

He tried to conjure a favourite image of his love, something that might gladden his heart, and saw his eros dance. The very first time he’d performed it in the arena at the castle, so beautiful and seductive. Victor wondered how he hadn’t realised at the time that those searing glances were for him alone; that Yuuri was reaching out to say with his body what he couldn’t yet speak with his tongue.

But as always, Victor couldn’t hold on to it; the longing to reach out in return and take Yuuri in his arms, and the knowledge that it would never again be possible, ensured that much. And it left him feeling worse than before as he strode past the tents, his cloak billowing behind him.

_Does this ever change? Will I live to be a hundred and look back to the late flower of my youth, when I was given the happiness of a lifetime in the space of a few precious months, and still grieve for its loss?_

_No. Because I won’t live to be a hundred. I probably won’t live to be twenty-nine._

He pulled his cloak more tightly around him; he hadn’t donned his armour yet, though on top of his ordinary clothes, the plate would provide good protection from the cold and elements.

_Since when was I in such a feeble state that those things bothered me?_

Henric met him in passing, and they briefly conferred about the upcoming journey to the castle before going their separate ways. While having little to do with the performance side of things, the steward really was an excellent organiser, and the troupe respected him. Victor had been quietly ensuring that Henric would be able to handle everything involved with running it on his own, if need be…if anything happened to its last remaining founder. Not that he’d said anything about his looming fate to anyone. Sometimes he even wondered if death would enable him to see his Yuuri once more.

_Fie, I’m being morbid, _he chastised himself as he followed his nose the rest of the way to the cookfire. _I still have a life to live. And I may yet be able to ensure it continues into the new year. That was why Yuuri gave me that information, in case he wasn’t around. Because he thought he might die in the duel._

_But that didn’t happen; we had more of each other than that. My beautiful, brave knight…my sweet Yuuri._

He brushed a tear away and made his legs continue to walk. Suddenly he decided he wouldn’t need much food.

It was a little early to arrive at the cookfire, he realised, and there weren’t many others there yet. He got a bowl of salmon pottage with carrots and leeks seasoned with verjuice and grains of paradise, and a hunk of brown bread, from one of the cooks. Yuuri had been the one to start requesting the bread, and though they’d clearly thought it outrageous, they’d of course obliged. Now Victor preferred it as well; it was more filling and flavoursome than the white. If the members of the troupe had found the two of them eccentric in various ways, it was something they’d got used to. But he’d cause a scandal if he openly ate brown bread at the high table in the castle. Natalia would probably understand, but Andrei would be apoplectic. The idea remained to tantalise him for a moment, nevertheless, before it disappeared; not because he lacked the courage to do it, but because his heart was troubled enough without such additional grievances.

He sat down next to Emil on a log and dipped his bread in the pottage.

“My lord. I was just having some dinner before preparing to serve Sir Edward.”

“Naturally. A squire must eat.” Victor paused before taking a bite and said, “How are you finding things with him?” Not that Emil would ever have a bad word to say about anyone unless they were particularly monstrous; and chivalry dictated that he speak of his master with respect. But Victor could read between the lines when it was needed.

“He’s very capable, sir,” he replied, stirring his own pottage. “As you know. It’s an honour to train and perform with him.” He gave a polite grin, then looked down and sipped from his spoon.

“He has a…large personality,” Victor offered.

Emil nodded. “I suppose you could say so. He certainly takes to his roles with energy, especially the sparring ones. And I do believe he has the loudest voice of all of us.”

“I should allow him to announce the acts, then.”

“But you do it so well, sir.”

“Do I?”

Emil looked up at him. “Of course. This is your troupe; you shaped it to your strengths, you and…and Yuuri.”

Victor stared at his bread. “We did. But he’s no longer here.”

“I know, sir, but…well – ” He lowered his voice, though there was no one else within earshot. “ – the word around the troupe is that everyone thinks you’re coping admirably. That you and Julia are a good act – different from what you were doing, but still good – and our patrons are as pleased as they ever were.” He paused. “My old master, I feel, would be proud.”

Victor let out a shuddering breath. “Oh Emil, if only it were that easy. But I’m glad to hear you say so.”

“I’ll never forget him, sir,” Emil added, watching him carefully. “He may be from a far future time, but he was born to be a knight, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, I would.”

“It was a privilege to watch the progress he made from where he began. I learned a great deal from him, and not just about knighthood and chivalry.” He pressed his lips together as if momentarily pained, and Victor was reminded that he himself was not the only person who felt the loss. “I do miss him, sir. He was a good master…and a good man.”

Victor nodded, his appetite vanishing completely. It was a relief in a way to talk about Yuuri to someone else who’d truly known him. But it was also pressing down upon him unutterably. 

“I hope it’s all right to say these things, sir? I know you’re grieved – ”

“No, it’s…it’s fine. We _should _keep his memory alive.”

“There were all those things he taught us about the future,” Emil continued, seemingly heartened by this. “And that day in Immersion – I shall remember it for the rest of my life, sir. Our experiences in the World War One trenches and no man’s land, especially.”

“You saved our lives, Emil. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“We saved each other, wouldn’t you say, sir? But who else could ever claim they’d experienced such things, so terrible and wonderful?”

“I…yes, I agree.” _I mustn’t cry. Not here at the cookfire._

“Do you think there’s time for us to have a drink in his memory?” Emil asked with a little smile, his eyes bright.

After a pause, Victor answered, “Of course,” and Emil arose and poured them each a cup of thin wine. Victor put his meal on the ground, his insides too knotted to contemplate food, and accepted the drink. _Please don’t make a speech, _he thought as Emil sat back down. _I don’t think I could bear much more._

But all Emil said, as he raised his cup with a solemn nod, was, “To Yuuri.”

“To Yuuri,” Victor echoed softly, doing the same, and they both drank. He stared into his wine, wishing Yuuri could know that they were thinking of him now. That his Vitya thought about him all the time. A tear escaped and slid down his cheek.

Before Yuuri’s arrival at the castle, Victor had believed his life to be ordinary for someone of his status, a palette of the earth: autumn, stone and cloud. Fields, armour, weapons, horses. Then suddenly there was Yuuri, painting purples and oranges and yellows and blues over it all. Victor couldn’t help but be entranced, even before he’d known him as anything other than Sir Justin Courtenay. And now he was gone, far too soon, with winter coming once more; bare branches, brittle brown leaves, grey skies and long dark nights.

Victor swilled the wine in his cup, then took another sip, his thoughts flitting back in time again. He’d wanted to learn what it was like to love deeply. Yuuri had taught him to grieve, as well. But what did it avail him now? He was conscious every day of Yuuri’s absence. The love Victor felt for him had nowhere to go and was eating itself. And the tears he tried not to cry in front of other members of the troupe would dam up inside, building to a pressure that beat against him until he scarcely knew his own name.

He stood, grabbing his bowl and bread and putting them with his cup on a nearby table for the cook to dispose of as he saw fit, doing his best to keep his hands steady. “I need a bit of time before I go to the training field,” he said to Emil.

“Of course, my lord. I hope I haven’t distressed you. If it were better for me not to talk about – ”

“It’s fine,” Victor replied quickly. “I’ll be ready to perform later; I just…” He swallowed. “Excuse me.” 

His tent wasn’t far, and he kept his eyes on the ground as he strode away. As soon as he was inside, he tied the flap and sank slowly onto his bed, scooting back until he bumped against the headboard. Then he pulled his legs to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and wept, resting his head on his knees and soaking his hose. There was no salve for such a wound. Nothing but longing, longing for the years between them to evaporate and his love to return to his arms.

_They’ll need me outside. We have a show to get ready. _

_Another moment, just a bit more time…_

_Would Yuuri want to see me like this? I’m dishonouring his memory. I should try to remember the best of him, like I did earlier when I recalled his dance. But it hurts so much to think about what I’ve lost._

He uncurled himself, trying to relax as he recalled Yuuri’s big sparkling brown eyes and his laugh. Victor had long desired to hear it more often; and once the threats from Ailis and Tyler were gone, that treasure had begun to open up to him, especially in the exhilaration after a performance. Yes, that particular joy was still there in his heart – he could feel it now.

_We reached so high together. We chased the sun. First with Alex, then with you, Yuuri…both different, both wonderful. _

_Why did I have to lose the two people I loved most in the world?_

_No – if I add Alex to this, I’m done for. Oh Lord._

_Think of good memories._

All the ways Yuuri had shown his love. Wanting to make his home here, in this place that must have seemed savage to him. Entering Ailis’s obvious Immersion trap in order to free him from the cell in the dungeon. The passion with which he’d taken on Victor and Friends.

_I couldn’t doubt your feelings for me. I was so blessed._

Something in his heart eased a little, and while the tears still trickled out, they were mixed with a warm wistfulness that encouraged him to continue.

The determined way he sparred, so hungry to beat him. The touches, exquisitely gentle and deliciously rough, that said so much. His tight embrace, their lips sliding and pressing. How he loved to seduce and tease, though he could flip that on its head and be open, pliant, receptive…and oh, the yearning in Victor’s heart was an ache that every part of him knew.

Was sex so varied in the future – was that where Yuuri had got his ideas from? Even now, it was rare for Victor to wear his armour without a stray thought about what Yuuri had done to him in it that last day, God in heaven…and the memory of it was making him hard. Yet he sensed something muddy and dark lurking inside him as well; a voice in a never-ending refrain: _He’s gone, he’s gone…_

Determined to ignore it, Victor recalled that moment in the stable. With his body covered in clothing, his gambeson, metal plates, sword at his side, being so suddenly and easily made vulnerable to the man he loved despite all that shielding had driven him wild.

His hand strayed downward, and he touched himself for the first time since that day, pressing and gripping, as a sigh escaped his lips. _A moment, that’s all I need. It’ll make me feel better. Let me still have this. _

But the pleasure only faded as the ache became so cutting that Victor’s body refused to obey his commands, softening as the tears returned. Defeated, he gave a quiet moan as he slumped onto his side, shoving an arm under his pillow.

_I’m half a man, with half a heart. What am I to do?_

This time a different image came to him: a knight with piercing blue eyes, dark hair, and a short beard. It seemed that he was standing in a grassy field, perhaps a training ground, and his hands rested on the pommel of his sword, which pointed into the earth. Victor was alarmed to discover that it was difficult to conjure his features exactly – time was truly nothing but a scourge, erasing the best of life as it pushed ever onward. But he knew those eyes and that voice, even if they were only shades of what once had been.

_You’re as whole as you ever were, Vitya. This is grief. You’re still learning about it._

“I don’t need to learn any more,” he mumbled. “Once was enough. Losing you pierced me to the heart. Losing Yuuri tore it to pieces.” More tears leaked onto the pillow.

_You’re my big brother. Father’s heir. The manager of this fine troupe. You’re stronger than that. _

“I don’t feel it.”

_You were the one who told Yuuri _carpe diem _in that message to him._

“I can’t seize the day myself. I have nothing.”

_But you _are _strong. Were you not tempted that day to fold the entire troupe and return to an uncertain future at the castle? To run from every responsibility, and everything you’d built with Yuuri, in an attempt to escape from yourself? Even then, you were stronger than that, and you didn’t need me to tell you so._

Victor had no answer to this. But he recognised the truth in it, and wiped his eyes with the sheet, his tears drying.

_Be open to what is yet to come, Vitya. _

“How? There can’t be much. I’ll be dead before the end of the year.”

Something in the shadow of his brother’s presence indicated that there was more to know, more to say. He himself was wrong, but Alex wasn’t prepared to, or couldn’t, explain how.

_Love is worth the pain, brother. _

Victor sniffed, raked his fringe from his face, and sat up – just as Julia called for him outside the tent.

“Master,” she said with her usual trepidation these days, for more often than not, she came in to discover him with red-rimmed eyes, “are you there?”

“Come in, Julius,” he said, using her male name in case anyone was with her. But she was alone as she untied the flap and entered, wearing her samite costume underneath a brown woollen cloak and hat, and a pair of sturdy boots.

“I was wondering if you’d like to join us in the training field. If you feel up to it. It’s a fine day, and the show is in a few hours.”

_You were tempted to run…you’re stronger than that. _Victor stood and looked around the tent. Yes, he did still have the troupe, for now. And there had been a reason why he’d suggested the project to Yuuri in the first place, that last evening of the king’s visit, when they’d stayed at The Dove til dawn. Because there was more than one kind of love. He loved wielding a sword, and making his body do beautiful things, and delighting an audience. It wasn’t the same without Yuuri, or Alex, and his heart was still heavy. But perhaps today he’d be able to see the show as an appreciation of what was still left to him, instead of a grim reminder of what he’d lost.

“You’re right,” he said to Julia, who had been quietly awaiting his response. “It’s time I got out there.” He cast his eyes around the tent and went to a chest in the corner, opening it and rummaging inside.

“What are you looking for, sir?”

“Ah, here they are. Fetch me the tray from the table, will you?”

She did so, and handed it to him, looking puzzled. He placed three jars and brushes on it, then stood, and her expression brightened when she saw.

“Face paint! But you haven’t used that since…”

“Since Yuuri left us. I know. Wouldn’t you say it was time, then? It would be a shame for it to dry up.”

“Paint me first – please, master. I’d like silver and blue to go with my costume.”

He gave her a small grin. “Not just yet. These can wait for later, after we’ve done some training. And aren’t you forgetting something, squire mine? I require my armour.”

She scrambled over to collect it, then brought it back in a heap, choosing a vambrace to tie on first. “Will you practise the backflip where you catch me, if I get Philip to turn the wheel?” she asked eagerly. Perhaps, Victor thought, he’d been correct in his surmise that her heavy mood of late had been largely a consequence of being caught in the wake of his own. He owed it to her and everyone else to change what he could of that. They had a few more shows before they returned to the castle.

_For you, Alex. And you, Yuuri. That’s how I’ll show my love._

“Of course,” he said to Julia; and this time he managed a smile that didn’t feel as forced. “We have an act to polish up, after all.”

* * *

Victor watched as Yuuri fell.

One misplaced step, and down he went, into the black pit. Victor lunged forward, screaming his name, reaching for the hand that was desperately flung up to clasp it. But he was too late, too late, and Yuuri was plummeting out of sight, calling to him – 

“Yuuri!” Victor cried; and again, as if the very force of it would bring him back, “_Yuuri!_”

His eyes flew open as a bang sounded around him, but he’d been robbed of his vision. For a moment, his heart still racing, his brow lined with sweat, he thought they must both have fallen into the pit, caught separately in some hideous void where they would never find each other, or a way out. A cry escaped his lips, drowned out by more bangs.

But no – the bangs were only the flapping of the side of the tent as a storm blew outside; the angry kind which often came at this time of year, more bluster than rain. That was what had awakened him. He rolled onto his stomach, linen shirt twisting underneath him, and raised himself up on his elbows, his head hanging over the pillow.

“Fuck,” he whispered, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. He was wrung out from these nightmares. For once, when he’d gone to bed, he’d felt satisfied with his performance in the show, and had fancied he’d felt a tug of the old joy of it at his heart; perhaps, in time, he could make something of if he continued to try. And although the nights were worse than the days, he’d dared to believe that he’d been poised to have a restful one. God knew he needed it.

These dreams were so _real_. Always calling to Yuuri, never in time to stop him from fading, falling, being pulled someplace from which he could never return. Victor’s heart shattered in them repeatedly. It was astounding that there was anything of it left.

Ears filled with the fury of the storm, and eyes focused on nothing but the blackness in front of him, he concentrated on his breaths until they slowed; then he collapsed back down onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow. It had to be some unknowable, inhuman hour; a time at the transition between very late and very early that only monks ever marked. That always seemed to be when he woke like this.

_Yuuri, what have you been doing where you are? _he wondered, as if the intervening years were nothing but a wall between their rooms, and perhaps if he tried hard enough, he might be able to hear something from the other side. _Do you have nights like this, too? I hope not. Has the anxiety been troubling you? Or…_Or had he already begun to move on? And yet Victor knew that what they were to each other wouldn’t fade so quickly – while at the same time, it was what he ought to be wishing for his love; for them both.

He turned onto his back, pulling the blanket higher; but sleep was elusive, and not just because of the storm. He was alone with the longing, and there was little else to do in the night other than accept it as a troublesome bedfellow until he finally did manage to drift off. But that could be hours, if it happened at all.

The draught that had blown out both his little oil lamp and the candle on the table was rustling the pages of a manuscript there; a skit he’d been given to read as a prospective new act. And suddenly an idea formed in his head. He didn’t know if it would be helpful, or even healthy – but just now, in the dark and dead of night, there was a wonderful sparkling appeal to it.

Shivering as he pulled the blanket off, he arose and put his boots and cloak on, then stoked the brazier, uncovering glowing orange embers from under grey ash and adding new wood, which began to smoke. He lit the candle against a coal and replaced it in the middle of the table. Opening a chest, he took out a stack of blank paper, a quill, and a pot of ink – and sat down to write. 

_My dearest Yuuri,_

_We’ll be breaking camp later this morning and travelling to Clitheroe Castle, the seat of our faithful chancellor’s family, the de Laceys. I’d like to say I wish he could be there to see us perform, but I doubt he would have much interest. His father, however, was intrigued enough to extend an invitation to perform two shows. After which, we will be repairing to our own castle for the beginning of December as an early Christmas holiday. _

_Henric is helping me to manage the troupe, while Oswin continues to handle the finances. We are carrying on much as before, though Julia is performing with me on the wheel. It is more of a gymnastics act than a sparring one, which seemed suitable for her. <strike>It can never replace</strike> <strike>She enjoys</strike> <strike>I enjoy it, but I’m always aware</strike>_

Victor rubbed at his forehead, the quill poised above the paper, his heart sinking. This didn’t feel right, not at all. He bit his lip, thought for a while, and carried on.

_She has a silver samite costume reminiscent of plate armour, which she likes very much. And Emil has been training hard; he has a new knight, who is a goodly fellow, but inferior to you in every way. The weather has been cooling, and we lost a few tents to a storm a week ago, but were prepared for such an eventuality. I anticipate that one morning we will wake to snow, and_

He let out an exclamation of annoyance and shoved the quill into the pot of ink. Was he really such a coward? Why had he got up to do this, with the intention of confiding things that were close to his heart, when all he could accomplish was the driest, dullest letter anyone could ever have penned to a stranger, let alone a loved one? Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

_But it was. I just need to do what I intended to do. I can’t be frightened of my own feelings; that’s absurd. _The candle sputtered as the wind outside continued to blow. After more thought, he resumed writing.

_What I really want to say is this. Yuuri, I love you. I feared that you’d be torn from me thus one day, and then it happened, and I despaired as I watched you disappear. I want to reassure you that life continues apace in the troupe; that this dream you and I shared hasn’t died. And yes, I am part of it, as I was before. Though my heart is troubled, because my partner, my lover, my best friend is lost to me. While I steer our direction with what I believe to be a steady hand, my own life feels rudderless, and I know not which direction to take. Is it so for you also, my sweet? Have you decided how you will go forward? Or are the nights long and full of tears for you as well? If so, I hope Mari and Phichit have helped, and that as time goes on, we will both be able to remember the best of each other without always thinking of that one terrible moment of loss and subsequent ones of grief._

Victor paused, and a tear fell onto the paper before he could stop it, making a small inky smudge. If he were intending to send the missive to Yuuri in reality, he’d perhaps reconsider the parts where he’d confessed things that would cause worry. Or…perhaps not. This was _Yuuri_, who would want to know about the whole of him, the bad with the good. Just as he’d hope Yuuri would do the same in return. Love did not conceal; it was not afraid of honesty. He wiped his tears away with his cloak and carried on.

_For now, however, my heart continues to foolishly wish that by some miracle I will see you once again. I miss you with every breath I take. I want to continue to laugh with you, and bear each other’s sorrows, and train, and live and love. And I still desire you with every bone in my body. My life was blessed with you in it. I shall do my best to honour that, and move forward treasuring the memories of what we had together. You taught me so much, and you helped me become a better person. _

With a sigh, Victor sniffed back more tears. His hand was trembling, and he took a moment to steady it.

_My sweet Yuuri, I would travel in time myself, searching for you, if only I had the means. I love you more than words can say. I always will. Even if I cannot see or speak to you, my heart is with you always. I wish I could tell you so; but if Phichit has played my message to you as he promised, you’ll know. I had considered re-recording it with him over your com one night more recently while you were asleep – I hoped you’d forgive me for the secrecy – but as I prayed that it would never be needed, the days passed, and then it was too late. _

_Although you will never read this, I feel better for writing it – and may be inspired to add more as time goes on, whatever remains to me. I feel closer to you this way, as I haven’t since you left. Please forgive the ramblings of someone who loves and misses you and cannot sleep through the middle of the night. _

_I am truly, sincerely, and forever_

_Your loving_

_Vitya_


	164. Chapter 164

“A pox on it!”

His boots rang out on the tiles as he slammed the door behind him and sank into a chair with a huff.

_I’m behaving no better than a child._

_But God’s teeth, it makes me mad._

O happy jug of hypocras. Victor grabbed it and poured himself a cup, then took a draught.

Andrei was being impossible, wanting him to visit the Duke of York on his behalf and discuss estate boundaries _again_, because there had been another dispute. Victor hadn’t even been present to witness the details, and such matters were not the reason he’d come to the castle. That was what galled the most – the fact that if he hadn’t gone to travel with the troupe, he would have carried out the task as a matter of course. But he _had _gone, had started a new life, and Andrei cared nothing for it. As far as he was concerned, his son was back from his meanderings, and it was time for him to return to the serious business of the castle. He knew they only planned to stay for two weeks.

“Well he can bloody well send someone else,” Victor grumbled aloud, slamming his cup on the table for emphasis before picking it up again and taking another draught. “He has plenty of officials.”

On the way to his room, he’d met Natalia in the courtyard. “You should tell him,” he’d said to her in clipped tones. “About what happened to you. Everything. God knows it might show him how petty these other matters are.” And then he’d stormed off. But of course he hadn’t meant it, and trusted she had enough discretion to know it would be disastrous to do anything other than remain silent on the topic. In fact, he’d quickly regretted his behaviour; she hadn’t deserved that.

With a sigh, he finished his cup of hypocras, taking no time to savour it, and then poured himself another, drinking until his head thickened and his thoughts no longer burned. He lit a third candle to further dispel the evening darkness, and sat and watched the flames dance while he nursed his wine.

His parents weren’t the real reason for his ill humour, and he knew it. No, it was because he was back at the castle, and that was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. He was no longer directly in the midst of the troupe, half of whom had left to go home for the two weeks, while the other half had lodgings here and were free to do with the holiday what they pleased. All of which meant the days were slower and quieter. He’d been exercising, training Julia, and riding Perun, who’d been rather neglected apart from when jousting had been included in their show. But none of it compared to the often hectic daily life of managing and performing in the troupe.

It left spaces into which memories could creep – and they were everywhere here, especially in this room. Few of Yuuri’s possessions were still on open display, but it was the knowledge of everything that had passed, and the intimacy of it. All the places and ways they had made love. The bed they’d shared. Their daily conversations. Dancing to Phichit’s music, listening to the stories he’d played for them. Everything Yuuri had told him about the future. Victor could almost hear his laughter, sighs and moans, the way he said his name and called him his…

He choked and spluttered on his drink, washing it down with more. No one else had ever known him in that way, so deeply. And now he was dealing with it alone here at the castle, living in the room that had been theirs, still with Yuuri’s things in cupboards and chests, which he would have to go through when he felt brave enough to do so.

Ah, he was being ridiculous, he thought as he topped up his cup. He kept Yuuri in mind every time he wrote in the journal he’d begun, and it helped. He _liked _it. Maybe he even needed it. But then, he was pretending to himself that Yuuri was actually there; that they were communicating. That was different from staring at an empty room. Perhaps he should move to another. It didn’t matter if it was small. 

_No. I’m not shutting him out of my life. I don’t think I could if I tried. He and Alex, they’re in my heart, and I’m never doing that to either of them again._

And if he attempted to catch something of Yuuri that remained behind here, who could blame him? Victor had slept in his bed in the adjoining room on a few occasions, though Yuuri himself hadn’t slept in there much. And, well…if he’d kissed the face of the clock a couple of times, thinking of the hands that had wrought it…?

_These are surely signs of a disturbed mind._

A voice inside of him demanded, _Did you actually mean anything you said in that recording? _Carpe diem. _This isn’t how you seize the day._

It had felt like he’d been learning how to do it again with the troupe. But their sojourn at the castle was proving a sore trial; he should never have agreed to it, not for Boucicaut, not even if King Richard had decided to come back.

What he needed most of all was to sit on his bed with Yuuri holding him, stroking his hair, pressing soft kisses to his head and face, telling him everything would be all right; that he was there for him, and they were together. Oh, he needed it so much, he could hardly bear it.

_This isn’t how you seize the day._

“I can’t, Yuuri,” he said on a broken moan as he stared at his cup. “I’ve tried, and I can’t.” Though the only response was the pervasive silence that pressed at him from all sides.

_If it’s too difficult to carry on with Victor and Friends, if that isn’t what I really want to do…what’s left to me? _

He drank his wine and thought about this as his head swam. How much hypocras had he got through since he’d sat down? It was hard to keep track, but he hadn’t meant to get soused. There was no performance tonight, that was the problem. No urgent necessity to train, or to do anything other than sample the drink. The troupe had picked it up in Harrogate, on the way here, and it was very good.

_What…what could I do? _

_Travel, maybe. Go a long way away. I’ve always wanted to see the Arab world. Something completely different. Study, learn a new language. And find some means to make a living. _

_Or would that just be running away from my problems?_

Then that voice inside of him broke in once more. _Why speculate? You don’t have much longer to walk the earth. All you have to look forward to now is your death._

Victor drained his cup and shoved it away. _Well, then. If I’ve been impossibly separated from the people I loved in life, perhaps there’s a place in heaven where we’ll meet again._

He pulled the gold locket out from underneath his tunic and stared at the beautiful enamelled vines, leaves and flowers, before closing his eyes and gripping it tightly.

_This. My signet ring. Objects. Things. The real people in whose honour I wear them are gone forever._

A noise escaped his throat, and he bent forward, hiding his face in his hands as his body was wracked with sobs.

* * *

The master did not appear at supper, so Julia assisted with serving the other knights, though she couldn’t help but feel concerned; he usually told her if he would be otherwise engaged, and either asked her to bring food and drink to his room, or not to bother.

He hadn’t been himself since they’d arrived at the castle; it was like a permanent cloud had descended. Of course he’d already been missing Yuuri while they’d been travelling with the troupe. But this seemed darker somehow, and all the worse for it. He didn’t want to go to the main garrison room to visit with the other fighting men like he used to. Nor did he seem interested in visiting with the other performers in the troupe, though as they were all officially on holiday, she supposed there was not much reason to. And he hadn’t touched his citole in…well, as many weeks as Yuuri had been gone.

With these thoughts swirling in her head, she got through the meal, then arranged a tray of food in the kitchen with a jug of thin wine – he might prefer hypocras, but he’d become rather fond of it – and took a lantern to light her way, a balancing act she’d performed many times. But as she crossed the courtyard, she felt heavier with every step.

This was what she’d wanted him to stay for? To put him through such suffering? Then she was truly wicked. There was little she’d be able to do just now to redeem herself, but perhaps little things would add up. She could just about believe it if she tried hard enough.

She opened the door to the main garrison room, exchanging greetings as she passed the blazing fire; they knew what she was about and gave her plenty of room. Shouts and laughter trailed behind her. It would be a good night to play music and sing. But she knew by now that there would be no persuading the master. He didn’t know the new knights and squires at the castle, and would be more amenable to spending an evening with the members of their troupe; though without a gathering area like this, they tended to stay in their rooms once darkness fell. Maybe he’d be willing to go with her to see Chris, Philip, Edward and Emil, who had often visited together in Chris’s old room since they’d arrived.

The corridor was cold and dark, and the flame from her lantern threw an orange glow over the wooden floor and white walls as she walked. Somewhere upstairs she heard a door slam – surely in the direction of the master’s room. She hurried up the steps to the first floor, then rounded the corner and halted outside his door, raising her hand to knock.

But it was unusual for him to be so distempered that he slammed doors; perhaps it would be better not to disturb him just now. She unlocked the door to the adjoining room that used to be Yuuri’s and put everything down on the dusty table there, then turned to go – but halted suddenly, staring at the door between the two rooms.

What she was considering was another wicked thing that a squire should never do. But she was already in too deep for it to matter. And she was worried about the master, so her motive was pure. Going to the door, she very gently depressed the latch so that it didn’t clink, and pulled it open just a crack, peering through.

Yes, he was in his room, sitting at the table and drinking from a cup. Hypocras, that was what she’d served him last. He seemed to be brooding over his thoughts as he stared at the candles in the middle of the table, swilling the wine in his cup or resting his chin in a hand, sighing, biting his lip. And drinking. Zounds, but he was polishing it off fast. He said, “I can’t, Yuuri. I’ve tried, and I can’t” in a small, shaky voice that sounded nothing like his own. Not long afterward, she watched him close his eyes and grip his locket; he kept some of Yuuri’s hair in there, he’d said. Then he put his face in his hands, and the weeping pierced her to her heart. 

Choking back a cry of dismay, Julia dashed from the room, forgetting to grab the lantern, though her footsteps were sure even in the dark. Passing back through the corridors, she re-entered the main garrison room quietly, attracting little notice, and climbed the winding stairs toward the room the squires shared in the turret; she, Emil and Philip had been given temporary beds in the armoury on the storey above. With luck, everyone would be drinking downstairs or elsewhere – and so it proved to be when she arrived in the room, where weapons and pieces of metal and leather lined the walls, glinting in the light from the fire. She lit a candle and placed it on the table, then grabbed her saddlebags from the foot of her bed and pulled a chest out from underneath it, and hastily began to pack her things. 

“Julia? What are you doing?”

She whirled around to see Emil standing in the archway, looking confused. Shit – she’d dared to hope she had a chance of doing this without being discovered. Cramming a nightshirt into the chest, she replied, “I’m going back to my family. I’m in disgrace.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Whatever for?”

She glanced at him, then continued to pack. A chest and a set of saddlebags – the servants had brought them up here, but maybe she could manage them both. On second thought, no, they would require two trips to the stable. And a packhorse, because Boudicca could not carry it all. _Shit. _This would require further thought, but unfortunately Emil had found her.

“Julia, what’s happened?” he pressed, walking into the room as his eyes followed her movements. “Does Sir Victor know you’re doing this?”

“No, he doesn’t.” She took her toiletries from the little table beside her bed and shoved them into a saddlebag.

“If you’re running away, there must be a reason. How can you possibly be in disgrace?”

She glanced at him as she worked. “I’ve done something terrible,” she in a flat, quiet voice. “But I can never tell. If the master ever finds out, he’ll draw and quarter me and send me packing anyway.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I hardly think that’s likely. But running away is not something a squire does. Certainly not when her master needs her.”

She stood up straight, trying to find words in the midst of her growing agitation. Why hadn’t she left this for later? Or she could have tried to sneak out in the night, when the others were asleep. Though admittedly it would have been a challenge. “He doesn’t need me. He’ll find another squire, and a better one, who won’t disappoint him after he’s placed so much trust in them.” Then she heaved a great sigh, forcing back tears. “Oh Emil, I don’t know what to do!” Her eyes flitted over the things she’d packed.

“Whatever has happened, surely the way to fix it is by putting things right.”

“I don’t know how!”

He thought for a moment, then sat down on his bed and patted the space next to him. “Come, tell me what you’ve done. It can’t be as bad as all that.”

“I assure you, it can.” She silently debated, then decided it would at least relieve her of some of the burden to tell him. He might decide she deserved to be drawn and quartered too, but it would be easier to hear it from Emil than the master.

“Oh, very well,” she sighed, her shoulders drooping in resignation as she sat down. “That day we were stuck in Immersion – that’s where it started…”

* * *

_My dear Yuuri,_

_I doubt you’d guess where I’ve been today. Justin’s family needed to be informed of his death, so I rode out myself to bring them the news. I could just as easily have sent a messenger, but I was curious, as I’d never had dealings with them personally. And I concede that I feel a burden of guilt for the sufferings my family have visited upon them._

_I have always been glad that you were never obliged to live with them and put up a pretence of being their son – though my moment of weakness when I tried to send you there is something that will forever shame me. Their residence is an old Saxon manor house, dark and draughty, quite befitting the mood of its master, Edmund. He was sitting in a grand chair in the great hall, with an enormous hunting dog on either side of him, surrounded by his wife Agatha and what must have been every servant in the household. He had greying shoulder-length fair hair and a trimmed beard, and rich flowing robes with many gold ornamentations, underneath which was a full suit of chain mail. It seemed as if he fancied himself a member of the royalty of old – or wished me to do so._

_“My lord,” he said, and it was clear the words stuck in his throat, “to what do we owe the pleasure of such a visit after nigh on a full year of being annexed by your family? We pay our taxes faithfully. Is there more you require? We are forced to live humbly already, as you can see.”_

_What I saw was a large warm hall containing dozens of well-fed people, and the glimmering gold brooches on his robes, and his wife’s; I daresay my father has not treated them ill as tenants. But what I said was, “I offer my apologies in advance, sir, for the dread tidings I bring. I felt it prudent to tell you myself, as I have formed a firm friendship with your son Justin, and am deeply grieved by what has occurred.”_

_Agatha gasped, and her hands flew to her face, but her husband glowered at me. “What is this new burden you seek to lay at my door?” he demanded. “What of my son?”_

_I had come prepared with a story to convince them. They did not know aught of the travelling troupe, and would have believed it dishonourable, even scandalous, and so I told them you had been killed in a jousting tournament – an honourable way for a knight to die, in the absence of any battles. _

_“I hope he did us proud,” Edmund said when I had concluded._

_“Indeed he did,” I replied. “In fact, Justin’s manner was much smoothed and tempered during his time at Crowood Castle. He proved himself an honourable and chivalrous knight to the end, and was called by us Sir Justin la Rose – ” _

_I must admit I had not anticipated the fire of anger that leapt into the man’s eyes at my words, though more fool me. My family had taken his estate, his money, and his son, and even as he sat on his throne-like chair amid the remains that had been left to him, he was forced to call me Lord._

_“I see you saved the final insult to the last,” he practically spat at me. “My son was not weak and effeminate; he was no Rose. I doubt he bore the shame of it as gracefully as you say, although having been forced to live as your servant, he would have had no choice but to submit. The correct epithet by which he was called, as you well know, was ‘le Savage’. Fitting for the fierce fighter he was, though it was not I who named him so.”_

_I dug inside myself for patience at this point, because I was finding it difficult to reconcile this attitude with what he had written in his messages to Andrei. “Sir,” I said, “as sorry as I am in what must be a sudden time of grief for you, I cannot help but recall your initial words to my father: ‘Justin is no longer a son of mine. Do what you will with him, for he has shamed the name of Courtenay.’ ”_

_“Those were indeed my feelings then,” he replied. “They were also hard words intended to spur Justin into action, so that he might redeem himself. He would have understood this.” He stared at me and huffed. “And you wish me to believe that he would forge a friendship with his gaoler? If he did so, I can assure you it would only have been to gain your confidence so that he might be permitted his freedom once more.”_

_“You do a good man an injustice,” I said, thinking not of you, my sweet Yuuri, the one who had borrowed Justin’s appearance, but of what you had told me regarding the real Justin, and how his distemper had eased as he’d settled into his new, if brief, life in the future. “Last March, if you recall, Justin was granted his freedom through no machinations or scheming; nothing but chivalrous deeds, such as his high ranking at the tournament at Stamford Bridge. And he chose to remain with us.”_

_“I can only wonder at what kind of bewitchment or devilry would have caused him to do so.”_

_“Can you not entertain the possibility that he was happy there?”_

_“Certainly not. He was caught up in the den of our oppressors.”_

_A collective gasp was breathed in the hall. My father would have punished the man for his insolence, and I was at least required to acknowledge it, especially in such public circumstances. “I must ask you to remember yourself, Edmund, and to whom you speak. I cannot answer for the deeds of my father, nor can I undo them. If you feel you have been hard put to it, you must take up the matter with him. However, if you deem it appropriate to address his son thus, it will be deeply frowned upon, and your circumstances, such as they are, will be further diminished. I hope I make myself clear.”_

_After a drawn-out pause, and with a face that looked as if it had been sucking a bitter orange, he said, “My lord, I assure you I meant no offence. Please forgive my rash speech. I am but a newly grieving father, and my lady, as you can see, is sorely affected.”_

_I could empathise, if it had been the truth, though it felt more like a convenient excuse for having vented his true feelings to me. The little care he and his wife had shown for their son while they had believed he was at our castle further belied this show of grief, though the tears that ran down Agatha’s cheeks seemed genuine enough. Still conscious, as well, of all the reasons why I could not expect a single person in this place to harbour any love for my family or myself, I was considering my parting words when Edmund spoke again._

_“Presumably this means my stipend for Justin is at an end?”_

_“You presume correctly,” I said, rather tight-lipped, as it was clear where his priorities lay. “My condolences to you and your lady. I’m very sorry for your loss, and whether or not you believe my words to be genuine, I miss him as well.”_

_Thus spoke Agatha for the first and only time on this visit: “Thank you, my lord. It’s kind of you to come to us in person. Godspeed.”_

_I nodded and turned to leave. And while I was crossing the hall, my dear Yuuri, you may imagine how disconcerting it was for me to see a portrait of you on the wall, in the midst of what presumably were other members of the Courtenay family. Of course it was a painting of Justin, but we had come to have a curious relationship with that visage, you and I, had we not? It was a slightly younger version, without the long hair and goatee that had been present when you first arrived. And I could not help but feel a flush of love at the sight. I had kissed you as Justin many a time, and might not have found it so very difficult to do other things, too, while you had that appearance, though I know we agreed it were better if you looked like yourself, and that was how I preferred it. But I had come to see Justin’s face as a mask for your own, dear to me in its way, with the essence of you forever in the eyes – always brown, of course, instead of his blue._

_That was why I briefly considered offering to buy the portrait at any price Edmund named, and why also I quickly thought better of it. I could see straight away that while it might have been a true likeness of Justin, it was not one of you, even when you resembled him. He had an aristocratic way of holding his shoulders and tilting his head that would have been natural for someone born into wealth and privilege, but which was endearingly alien to you. More than that, however, was the obvious fact that you were not present in his eyes, which were cold and hard, like the sapphires in your sword. While I would have given anything to possess a likeness of you in any form, this would have frustrated, even tormented, me. And so with one final glance at that face, I carried on until I had left the hall, left the manor, and was breathing the cold, fresh air outdoors on Alyona. I doubt I shall set foot on that land again._

_A hard frost had come in the night, and its white glaze coated the fields and bare trees as I rode, with the icy wind on my face. In times past, I might have found it invigorating. But it was difficult today not to think of it as a reminder of more things that have been and gone, the warmth and colour and teeming life of the summer having sunk back into the earth. Yet it seems like yesterday when we were picking the first wildflowers of the season, in a hopeful spring when your skills as a knight were blossoming, too…and our love. I have lamented upon the brevity of the time God allowed us together, my Yuuri, and what possible purpose that served, or whether the cruelty of the situation was itself some kind of lesson. I confess I am just as confused now as ever, though perhaps my mistake lies in attempting to find any sense in it at all._

_Doubtless it’s silly of me to say this, but on that ride back to the castle, my heart called out to you across the land, and the horizon, the sky, and the years. “Come back to me,” it said. If you can, Yuuri my love, if it is at all possible, if any way exists, then know that I will be here with open arms, ready to embrace you and weep with gladness when I look upon your beloved face again. Come back to me. It is a selfish, impossible wish. But so be it._

_I intend to continue writing to you, for all that; it’s almost as if you are here with me again when I do so, though perhaps I’m merely fooling myself. I miss you unutterably, my sweeting. Would that I could at least have had the chance to say goodbye. <strike>These missives will have to serve, though they are a poor substitute. </strike>_

_With all my love,_

_Your Vitya_


	165. Chapter 165

“Is there…will there be anything else, master?” Julia asked, having delivered hypocras and a bite of supper to him as he’d asked. She fidgeted with her cloak, wondering how she could so much as look him in the eyes.

“Not as such,” he replied. “But Julia, stay and talk with me?”

Normally she would be overjoyed to receive such an invitation, especially while he was partaking of a meal, which meant she would have his undivided attention and possibly be lucky enough to share a bit of the choicest food. He never used to break with custom like that, but since Yuuri had come, he’d got more relaxed about such things.

Yuuri. If only he’d never left.

The master came to stand in front of her and tilted her chin up with a finger, concern written on his face. “Something’s wrong,” he observed. “It’s been wrong for a while, too, I believe. You’re not yourself.”

She swallowed. “Are any of us, with Yuuri gone?”

His brow wrinkled. “Do you truly miss him so much?”

“Well…yes,” she said, crumpling more of her cloak. The fact of the matter was that she’d promised Emil to tell the master the full truth, the sooner the better. But she’d already been wanting to do that for weeks and weeks. _How _was the question. He really would draw and quarter her, especially since so much time had passed.

“In that case, maybe this will help a little.” He walked to where three elaborately carved wooden chests sat in the middle of the room, two of them closed and one with its lid open. Julia gave a little gasp when she spied what was inside; on top of a stack of fabrics was what had undoubtedly been the brown cylindrical hat that Yuuri had never liked to wear but had to, at meals or when it was cold outside.

The master reached into the chest under the fabrics and pulled out a long brown cloak, then stood and approached her. “You’ve been packing his things away,” she said quietly. And when she studied his face, she saw that his eyes were red and his cheeks blotched with pink. He was often thus nowadays, but there was a solemnity to his bearing as well, and she shuddered, imagining how difficult it must be for him to do such a thing. “I could help, if it would ease the burden,” she offered.

But he shook his head. “This is something I must finish doing myself. I thought he might like you to have this; it’s quite fine.” He handed the cloak to her, and she smoothed her fingers over it.

“This is some of the softest wool I’ve ever felt. Too luxurious for a squire, surely.”

“Please, take it. Otherwise, its fate will be to sit in the castle wardrobe gathering dust for…I don’t know how long.” He sighed, glancing back at the chests. “I ought to have most of these things distributed to the poor, or others who need them. But I’m afraid I can’t bear to part with them, not yet. However, I’m sure Yuuri would have been delighted to know that you were given something of his to make use of.”

_I don’t deserve it, master. You have no inkling of how very true that is. _But she could hardly turn it down. “Thank you,” she muttered, folding the material carefully and tucking it in the crook of her arm. Her gaze strayed to the chests again. “Have you packed all of his things, then?”

He looked down to where his fingers were idly drawing a design on the table. “I’ve made a start. There are a few items remaining in the wardrobe, and as for the closed chests…” He paused, taking a breath. “Those are his possessions that I asked Henric to have packed from our tent.”

She wondered why they were here now, when surely their place would be in the Nikiforovs’ wardrobe along with the open chest, once it was full. The secure room was in the solar and overseen by Percy, who was in charge of the family’s most important valuables, as well as their clothing. The master must have had the two chests brought here. Was he intending to go through those as well? But that would upset him greatly. The wound was still fresh and deep…and she couldn’t bear to think more upon it, because it made her feel as small and unworthy of honour as an ant trodden underfoot.

“You shouldn’t be alone with…with it all,” she said.

“I’m surviving. It’s a way of remembering and respecting him.”

She looked down at the fabric bundle under her arm. “I shall do so every time I wear this.”

“Very fitting. So have you changed your mind about staying with me a while?”

She’d been giving him mixed messages, she realised. When in fact she was secretly glad he didn’t want her to help with Yuuri’s things. It was all too terrible to think upon, and she felt she might well burst if she had to remain much longer.

“Another time, master, so please you,” she forced herself to say. “Your food will be getting cold; it’s already passed through the courtyard and corridors from the kitchen.”

He nodded. “All right. Thank you. I’ll see you in the training field tomorrow after dinner, then.”

“Master,” she acknowledged with a bow. And fair fled from the room.

* * *

Victor sat down heavily, reflecting upon his squire’s odd behaviour as he eyed the food on the tray without touching it. It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t simply distraught about Yuuri; there was some other underlying cause she was unwilling to divulge – and that was disturbing, because to his knowledge, she’d always trusted and confided in him.

_She’s almost sixteen. That’s getting toward a ripe age. I must allow that she has her own mind, and that it’s her right not to tell me everything. _

But she was his squire, and his charge, and of course he worried. He reflexively reached for the jug of hypocras she’d brought – then stilled his hand, his eyes straying toward the chests once more.

_No. I’ve been drinking too much, and that’s not the behaviour of someone who’s found his courage. When I return to that task, I’m going to have a clear head. _

Julia had brought him two small bowls of food and some bread, as he’d requested. But even that didn’t appeal. No foods did right now, and he’d been in danger lately of causing insult to Fernand with his lack of appetite.

_I must eat. That’s what I always told Yuuri when he was distempered and overtraining. I need to follow my own advice, or what good is it to anyone?_

Victor forced the meal down, telling himself his body would thank him, though it felt more inclined to bring it back up until he followed it with the one mazer of hypocras he’d decided he would allow. Then he stood, taking a deep breath and staring at the chests for a moment, before going to the wardrobe and opening it.

Two linen shirts lay folded on a shelf. Victor picked them up and carried them to the open chest, placing them next to the hat. Most of the clothes beneath were those that had once belonged to the real Justin, which Yuuri had never worn because he said they looked clownish. He hadn’t really understood current fashion, but that was all right, because he still looked beautiful in anything he wore.

And that thought was what renewed the tears; Victor had known they wouldn’t be long in coming. He’d been right in his fear that this would be the most difficult task of all, because more than anything else, it emphasised the fact that Yuuri was no longer here and would never return. These things he’d worn and used, some of them many times, would not feel his touch again.

Victor hung his head for a moment, his tears dripping onto the linen as he attempted to compose himself, and eventually his thoughts began to clear a little. His love hadn’t left much in the room after he’d packed for travelling with the troupe; he’d owned little to begin with. His clothing from the future was tucked away at the bottom of the chest, as were his nanobot injector, time-travel sphere, and Ailis’s bright white light. As helpful as it could be at night, Victor had always thought it harsh, like someone had filled it overfull of moonlight that flooded out, making everything in its path look flat and ghostly. There, safe and hidden, those items would remain.

Well. There was no more putting it off now; one more thing awaited his attention. Standing, he returned to the wardrobe and opened the little chest that contained Yuuri’s gold livery collar. _This was supposed to be for you, my love,_ he thought as he took it to the larger chest, kneeling down. _If only you’d been wearing it that day._

But of course he hadn’t. It had been a foolish gift. Victor had been a creature of habit even then, believing that the best thing to give was something stunning that was worth a king’s ransom – because he was a wealthy baron’s son, and knew that Yuuri had never owned anything like it. But hadn’t Yuuri taught him to be better than that?

_I should have commissioned a second locket. _Something more likely for Yuuri to have had somewhere on his person when he’d disappeared. Victor briefly touched his chest, his own locket with its precious contents resting there. But Yuuri hadn’t seemed disappointed in receiving the livery collar. He’d liked it, in fact. And how princely he’d looked in it. How enticing, when it had been the only thing he was wearing. Victor clutched the gold necklace and held it against him, squeezing his leaking eyes shut as the moments passed. Then he kissed the shining gold and placed it on top of the shirts, before closing and locking the chest.

_That’s one finished, _he thought as he wiped at his face with his sleeve and sniffed. He stared at the other two, brought here at his request. That first day, he didn’t have it in him to go through Yuuri’s things and place them in the chests himself, but he’d always intended to revisit them. However, that time didn’t have to be now. It would be easy to have them returned to the family wardrobe; as easy as it had been to tell Henric to have them packed. The items inside had been part of Yuuri’s day-to-day life up to the point where he’d disappeared, and looking through them might break him. But Victor was determined to do it.

He opened the first chest and began removing the contents, placing them carefully on the floor. Boots, cloaks, toiletries…and oh. Stacks of paper, some of them bound with string. He knew these. _Robin Hood and Sir Guy of Gisborne. _The script from their troubadour act as well. Pages of choreography, some of which was being used in the show, while there appeared to be new ideas here too. And Yuuri had made notes for himself on learning what he called Middle English, particularly about how to pronounce letters and words.

Victor caressed his fingers over the pages. _You worked so hard on these things, my love. You were so passionate about our troupe…about everything you took on. _He paused again. It felt like something was squeezing where his diaphragm was, tense and tight, and he released a shaky breath.

_I can do this. I _want _to do this. _He heaved a sob as he gently replaced the manuscripts, then the other items, and closed the chest. Only one remained…which meant he knew what it contained. It was some time, the clock on the table ticking it away, before he felt ready to open the lid, which he did with trembling fingers.

Tunics, workaday hose. Yuuri’s blue cotehardie. And oh, here were his samite shirt, royal-blue chaperon, and the matching hose with the pointy toes he’d always laughed at. Victor remembered the conversation they’d had on Easter Day, after these clothes had been presented by Percy and fitted by Monica. One she’d gone, Yuuri had stared down at the toes, tapping his feet on the floor to make them flap, though they were stuffed with a stiff material that kept their shape.

“I’d like to know who started this weird fashion,” he’d said. “Phichit can’t find any documentation of some king deciding to start a trend that everyone else wanted to follow. Whoever was responsible, it lasted a bloody long time.”

“You look very dashing,” Victor said, admiring him in his new finery.

“Don’t you feel a little like a duck when you wear something like this?” He made the long toes flap some more, and Victor laughed.

“Those are nothing like duck’s feet. Everyone will be stunned by your beauty.”

Yuuri snorted, then his expression softened. “Honestly, I think it’s an incredible outfit, and, well, thank you. Fashion has its silly foibles in any era, I suppose.”

“If you don’t like the toes, you can ask Monica to remove the points.”

“No, I won’t do that.” Yuuri walked in a circle as if testing the footing of his hose. “I’ll get used to it.” Coming to a halt, he looked at Victor and asked, “Do you know why they do this at all, or did someone just up and decide one day that pointy toes were really rather fetching?”

Victor smiled. “Perhaps they did. But it’s said…” The smile became a smirk. “…that the length of the toe is an indication of the length of a different appendage.”

Yuuri guffawed. “You’re joking. But no – you’re not, are you? That must be why women don’t wear these.”

Now it was Victor’s turn to laugh. “I never thought about it like that.”

“It won’t be long before huge codpieces are so fashionable that even kings will be having their portraits done while they’re wearing them, and they’ll have straight faces like it’s just a normal thing.”

Victor moved closer and said in his ear, “So are you telling me I was making a statement about the size of my lover’s cock when I commissioned your footwear?” And there was that lovely pink blush flaming across Yuuri’s cheeks.

“You tell me,” he countered.

_Well played, my love. _“You see, they’re what would be called fashionably long. Anything longer looks like you’re trying too hard and are attempting to make up for some lack. Whereas anything shorter would look…stunted, perhaps. I’d say yours are just right.” Victor smiled an inch from his cheek and added in a purr, “Which, indeed, yours is. More than adequate to the task. I wonder if you’d like to refresh my memory later.”

“I’d refresh it right now if we didn’t have somewhere to go,” Yuuri responded with hooded lids, pulling him into a kiss.

Now, alone in the silence, a small fond grin fading from his face, Victor glanced at the place in his room where they’d been standing that day, lit not by the shining sun of an Easter morning but the dim orange glow of the fire and reflections from the candles on a chill December evening. Nine months’ difference. And Yuuri had been gone for more than two of those.

Victor put the outfit aside with a sigh as more tears fell, but he continued to hold each item of clothing up in front of him once he removed it from the chest, examining it as if the scrutiny would somehow conjure the spirit of its owner. And at the very bottom, there it was – the eros ensemble. Victor took the doublet and raised it slowly; then, holding it by the back of the high collar, draped the hem over the lip of the chest and traced the smooth contours of the material with his fingertips. 

That first time he’d seen Yuuri wearing it, in the arena, he couldn’t help but admire Monica’s deliciously wicked fashion sense, which flattered and teased in all the right places. He’d wanted nothing more than to reach his hand past that gapping collar and caress the contours of Yuuri’s bare chest. And do other things besides. There was no way he could have known how much those clothes would come to mean to both of them. Amazingly, apart from a few stitches that had needed mending, the outfit had stood up superbly to all the uses it had been put to.

Victor held the doublet to his face and inhaled. And _yes_, it was still there – Yuuri’s scent. So close that he could surely touch him. Embrace him, love him. But he was hundreds of years away, and the longing was impossible, and impossible to ignore.

With stuttering breaths, he folded the doublet back up and placed it on top of the other ensemble pieces, following it with the rest of the clothes, slow and deliberate. Then he lowered lid of the chest until a shimmering pool of sky-blue fell into shadow and was gone. The click of the key in the lock sounded through the stillness of the room. 

Victor placed a palm on the dark wood and leaned forward slowly, until his chest and cheek were touching it as well. Another sigh. A quiet sob. And soon he was weeping freely, moments turning into hours turning into days for all he knew, because it seemed the tides would cease, and the rivers of the earth run backward, before he could ever stop.

* * *

_Yuuri my darling,_

_ I organised your possessions last night. I hope you’ll forgive me. Someone had to do it, and I thought I would be the best choice, although it took me until then to start. It couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid._

_I’ve given nothing of yours away, however, apart from a cloak to Julia and a tunic to Emil. Your possessions from your future time are safe. For whenever they may be needed? I possess a foolish heart._

_ <strike>Why did you have to leave me? Oh my love, I know it wasn’t your fault, or anything you ever wished for. Fate has played us both cruelly. It’s been so very hard to bear.</strike> _

_What now, with your life packed in three chests? I have the locket which contains your hair. It rests against my heart, because you yourself cannot. _

_ <strike>The rooms here are empty, full of ghosts. I feel like one myself sometimes.</strike> _

_Julia is trying to help, <strike>though she has troubles of her own, I know not what</strike>. Emil is good also, and honours the memory of you in his own ways. Andrei is, on occasion, insufferable, though that is only to be expected._

_But I digress. I suppose the original topic is a difficult one. <strike>Erasing</strike> <strike>Removing</strike> Organising your things, so that they are tidy. <strike>Out of sight?</strike> I feel shamed by the necessity. Too many memories, which are too accessible, can have the effect of unseating my reason. It’s only because I love you and miss you, my Yuuri. You are still in my heart and mind, and nothing can change that, nothing._

_I begin to believe that the worst thing Ailis did to me personally was to take away the com which I’d had the use of. Imagine if we’d been able to talk to each other still. And yet I’m being selfish again, because that is not a relationship which could properly sustain you. A voice from a wrist device cannot experience things with you; cannot be present in the ways you need. So perhaps it was actually a favour that Ailis did for us. However, it does not feel that way to me. _

_ <strike>I’m not certain these scribblings are making sense. Perhaps I should stop. </strike> _

_My dear, sweet Yuuri, my heart is heavy and I long for us to be in each other’s arms. I could say it a thousand times and it would be as true as the first._

_Be safe and well, my rose. I love you._

_Your Vitya, always_

* * *

“More hypocras, Victor?”

“No, thank you,” he replied, waving the jug away that Natalia was offering him. They were sitting together at the table in her room, and she’d just closed the shutters on the gathering gloom outside, lighting a taper and taking it around the candelabras. They were tasks her servants would ordinarily perform, but the two of them required privacy. And, Victor thought, she seemed to have taken to doing more things for herself since her return, which reminded him of Ailis’s behaviour while disguised as his mother. He’d already told her about the woman’s desire to go riding without an escort, and she’d laughed and said she could well imagine.

“Hypocras was always your favourite, or has that changed?”

“It doesn’t do to overindulge. Besides, Advent is a time for abstinence.”

She poured a mazer for herself with a small smile. “Fancy you saying such a thing.” She sipped, looking thoughtful. “The variety of drinks in the York of the future was bewildering. I still haven’t decided what my personal favourite was. I suppose I rather liked hot tea with milk and sugar, if for no other reason than drinking it was a ritual in which so many people indulged, several times a day. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

Victor’s thoughts strayed to the previous evening, when he’d recalled Yuuri’s reaction to receiving his hose with the pointy toes. And his heart ached. Oh, would it ever stop? It was always wonderful and terrible, mixed together. He reconsidered Natalia’s offer of the hypocras, but decided his response had been the right one.

He’d been taking the opportunity during his stay at the castle to spend a little more time with his mother, while it was still there to be had. They’d gone riding together, and she’d asked him to visit her here in her room, the purpose of which appeared to be nothing weightier than to chat about the future. Once she’d gathered that he was interested and could bear it, she’d been keen to carry on apace. Clearly she appreciated being able to share these things, and was glad he was willing to listen. But Victor’s motivation was rather more selfish, because as she brought that world to life through her words, it felt to him like he was reaching out to Yuuri, who had resumed his life there. He suspected, however, that she was aware of it, and was content with the fact.

She was looking keenly at him now. “If I’d only known about Yuuri and his roots and connections in York, I would have tried to do more for you while I was there,” she said quietly.

Victor’s brow wrinkled. “What could you have done?”

“Learned more about his life, perhaps? And then brought the information to you. Met with this friend of his, Phichit. And the professor who’d given him his mission.”

“I assure you, they were keen to find you as well. If we’d known it was you who Ailis had swapped with, much unpleasantness might have been avoided.”

“For you and I both,” she sighed. “However, I have no regrets about how things turned out for me; I met some kind and fascinating people. But I’m so very sorry that Yuuri is lost to you. I wish I’d had the chance to get to know him better. There was a light in your eyes when you were with him. I’m sure I’d never seen you so happy.”

Victor swallowed back his tears. _Not in front of my mother. How embarrassing. _He wiped his sleeve across his face, then sat with his hand over his mouth.

“Oh, my son. I play the charming hostess so often, and yet when it comes to more personal matters, I seem to put my foot in it. It can be difficult to unlearn the habits of a lifetime.”

Victor rubbed his forehead. After a while, he looked up at her; she was sipping from her mazer again, seemingly lost for what else to say. “Tell me more about the future?” he asked.

The tension eased from her frame as she obliged, while the grief slowly ebbed back to its corner in Victor’s heart. Many of the things she’d been choosing to describe to him were seemingly so simple and ordinary that they perhaps hadn’t occurred to Yuuri to mention when they’d had similar conversations. Buildings heated to the desired temperature without the need to light fires. Cooled on hot summer days as well – with ice and frozen delicacies abundantly available to everyone. Devices that would invisibly lull you to sleep by relaxing your brain. Medicines that did what they were supposed to do, without the risk of making the condition worse. Victor wondered, if the future provided such a degree of extraordinary comfort, how much of a hardship it had been for Yuuri to live here at the castle – and, worse still, in the tent village.

_He went willingly. And he was happy with me; I don’t need my mother to tell me that. Perhaps I’m overestimating the importance of such things, when there are other factors involved. Yuuri could have lived out his life here as if he’d been born to it. And he loved me. Loves me. Oh Lord, no more tears. _He wiped his eyes again as he listened to Natalia.

“Their Cloud devices are like the wristband I saw Yuuri wearing,” she said. “They don’t enable them to speak to someone across time, but they provide instant communication with anyone else wearing one, anywhere in the world. I’ve often imagined what it would be like if people in our time had access to such a thing. When you think about dispatching a rider all the way to London, for instance, just to take a message, and then waiting for him to return…the king himself can’t do any better than that.”

Victor rubbed his chin and considered it. That day in Immersion, when they were with Ailis in the tall building and she and Yuuri had been discussing what she could choose to do that might accomplish some good in this world, neither of them had thought to mention it, perhaps because it was as ordinary to them as breathing. Victor knew almost nothing about their tech, but he’d hazard a guess that Ailis might have known enough to be able to build a communications system – if not an intricate Cloud device, then maybe something like the telephones they’d used in World War One. Armies would be able to talk to each other instantly. Kings could negotiate across borders and oceans. People in distress could call for help, and be answered. Supplies summoned. Visits negotiated. If they had a single telephone to use for Victor and Friends, with prospective patrons calling them to arrange shows…? He imagined someone like Thomas de Mowbray, the Earl of Nottingham, sitting at his desk and holding the piece to his ear. _Can you be here, then, for St. Egwin’s Day, a week on Thursday? You say you’re only two days’ travel away? I’m delighted to hear it. Jolly good show, my dear chap._

Victor chuckled. Natalia gave him a bemused smile.

“I was thinking about how such communications might change things here,” he explained. “Did you have a wrist device yourself?”

“I did, though I didn’t always wear it. Even if I’d brought it back here with me, however, there would have been nothing for it to connect to.”

“No.”

“But the tech wasn’t the whole of it. The city, for example – it was very clean, and without any noxious odours that I ever came across. Can you imagine that in the York you know here?”

“It would be a miracle.”

“They looked after even the lowliest people, as well. I never saw beggars or cripples on the streets. The sick and wounded were healed, and the councils looked after those who needed help.”

Victor recalled the moment he’d passed through the gate into York with Yuuri on their way to meet with the duke. “Then let it inspire you as an example for what to do here,” he told Natalia. “Continue to help Andrei manage the estate. Ensure no one goes homeless or hungry. But don’t be a nursemaid – empower them. Give them access to education. Pay them for the work they do.”

She looked at him silently for a moment, then said, “I hear Yuuri’s words in your own, I think.”

“I’d be proud to say so. He opened my eyes to many things.”

“My experience did that for me also.” She sighed. “But I’m one woman. I shall do what I can here, but I fear it may amount to little.”

“Little is better than nothing. And you have money and influence. Father listens to you.”

“To a point.” After another pause, she said, “This is the last time I’ll ask, I promise. But will you not reconsider giving him an injection of nanobots? If he’d been here during the plague, he would have received one.”

_Don’t do this to me. _“It’s as well that he wasn’t,” Victor replied, looking down. “We don’t know what his cause of death will be, as I’ve explained. And someone in as powerful a position as his could inadvertently change the course of history. He’s closer with the king now than he was, and if he were asked to attend court, he could potentially be an influential adviser. I’m sorry, Mother, but – ”

“Yes. Yes, I know.” Another sigh, and she drained her mazer and poured another. “But it was worth a try.” Sipping her wine, she added, “What a boon such an invention could be here, though. No one would ever have to die of plague again.”

_If only we’d been able to save Alex. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? _“Quite.”

“I even heard tell that limbs and organs could be grown from samples of a person’s own body, and used to replace damaged or missing parts. Victor, it was the most astonishing place. Closer to heaven than we are here, to be sure.”

_I’m glad Yuuri can have the benefits of it again then, at least. He must have missed them. _For a brief moment that day in Immersion, Victor had thought they might actually get the chance to enjoy them together. Yuuri had asked him, and he hadn’t hesitated to say yes; his heart had known what it wanted. However, they’d found a different path, here in 1393; though it had involved Yuuri relying on Justin to stay alive, and dealing with Victor’s death date, neither of which had been resolved as they’d hoped. And now, what was the way forward? Could there be one at all? He presumably had only days left to live, and a shudder passed through him at the thought.

Perhaps these types of conversations with his mother were best avoided after all. She hadn’t really known Yuuri, and as she’d admitted herself, she was lacking somewhat in tactfulness when it came to discussing the dead –

_Is that really how I think of him? That he’s dead? God’s blood, what’s come over me?_

_But isn’t he, to me? How is there any difference? _

He pulled the locket out from under his tunic, allowing it to hang where he could see it. _May God strike me down if I continue to believe so. _

“Victor?” Natalia had put her mazer down and was looking at him in concern.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing. “It can be difficult sometimes, talking about these things.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No; I just need some time. I – I’d better go.”

He said good evening and made his way down the stairs into the great hall. Though the trestle tables hadn’t been set up yet for supper, the aromas of frying fish and baking bread wove in from the kitchen. He ignored them, deciding this would have to be another night spent in his room. Sitting at the high table in view of everyone, expected to endure the evening’s entertainment and enjoy himself, was too pressing a task. He’d argued with Andrei about allowing Henric and Oswin, or even Edward and Chris, to sit next to him at the table, but his father refused to acknowledge anyone else from the troupe as of great enough social rank to have earned the place, and Victor didn’t have the heart to continue the fight. When Boucicaut arrived in a few days, he supposed the two of them would have enough to talk about; that was a guest of whom the baron approved. But Victor’s feelings about this, as in so many other things lately, continued to seesaw unpredictably. Sometimes he found himself looking forward to the visit, while at others he regretted ever having accepted the offer.

The leaden light from the large window seemed a suitable match to his mood as he walked across the tiles. What was it that had briefly made him laugh in his mother’s room? He couldn’t remember. Perhaps if he found Julia –

In the middle of the hall he stopped, with a feeling as of icy water trickling down his back. The shiver went from top to toe.

_Yuuri._

If his love were standing in front of him this very moment, Victor could not have had such a strong sense of his presence. It was, it was _him_ – but how? Had his ghost found a way to visit him from beyond – ?

_He’s not dead._

More illusions brought on by grief, then? It must be getting to the point where he could no longer even trust his own reason. Coming back to the castle had been a terrible idea, no matter what Boucicaut had wanted. As long as Victor wasn’t mistaken about _that _as well. Or his own name. He closed his eyes briefly, willing what was left of his senses to return. But God in heaven, he could _feel _Yuuri, as if he’d been imbued with his very essence. _Oh…_

_I’m a complete and utter fool. This will make me physically ill if I allow it to, and then I’ll be no good to anyone._

He left the great hall, taking a deep breath as he arrived in the courtyard, hoping it would clear his head, though it was no cure for a sorrowing heart. Just outside the garrison, he met with Emil, who had appeared from the gate with Edward’s armour in his arms; Victor was still getting used to the fact that he was attending to someone other than Yuuri. He stepped aside to give him room, but instead of passing, Emil halted and gazed at him.

“My lord, I’ve been meaning to have a word with you.”

Victor raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

“If what I say isn’t to your liking, please tell me to be silent. It’s just that it was around about this time last year that Yuuri came to the castle. Julia and I miss him, and of course you do as well, though we haven’t spoken much about him. Would you…do you think you would like to meet for a drink and a toast to him, and perhaps the three of us could remember together? If not, I’d quite understand…”

Victor considered this. After what had just happened with his mother and in the great hall, his mind told him it would only make matters worse. But then he considered his alternative plan, which had been to sit in his room by himself. As good as he’d been the past few days about avoiding too much drink, how else was he likely to end up passing the time? Perhaps doing what Emil was suggesting would help all of them.

_I need keep trying to concentrate on the memories of Yuuri that I treasure, or I’m in danger of always associating the man I love with pain and sadness, and that’s the last thing I want to do. Another call for me to be brave, then._

“Yes,” he said. “That’s a good idea. Tonight in my room at compline.”

Emil looked at him in surprise. “Tonight – are you certain?”

“I am. Pass word on to Julia if you will, Emil, and ask her to bring Mistress Shaw’s best thin wine. We’ll use it to toast to Yuuri tonight.

* * *

_My love, I had the strangest experience today. I had been visiting with my mother in her room; we spoke about what she’d learned of your time while she was there, and many other things. Then, on my way out through the great hall, I was overcome with a sensation I had never felt before, and it was strong enough to cause me to stop and wonder at it._

_I thought at the time that I must be burning with grief like a fever, because you were there. I know not how to describe it. It was as if you were standing before me, but I could not see you; however, I was as certain of it as if you had been present in flesh and blood. I only wish I had mastered my discomfiture and lingered, because it’s the closest I’ve felt to you since that day I lost you. That bright, sparkling star at your core…I don’t think I ever told you that was how it felt for me to be with you, but my heart knew it for what it was, even if I was not listening at the time._

_Many here would say that I was under the spell of witchcraft, or that a devil of deception had come to tempt me into some folly. I told myself that it was the product of an overheated brain. But as I sit at the table and write now, I refuse to believe anything other than that I truly felt you, even if I cannot say how it was possible. I only hope I will be blessed enough to be revisited thus again one day, when I am better able to appreciate it. And that it is not a sign you are in some hurt or distress – banish the thought._

_Emil and Julia will be meeting me here in the room later tonight, when we intend to mark a year since your arrival at the castle with shared memories and a toast. It was Emil who suggested it, and I acceded. In truth, my love, it hurts me to remember, because then I feel the loss of you more keenly. But perhaps being with the squires will help. I hope you would be able to do the same for me; that you could recall my face and my smile and feel able to smile in return, rather than weep. Or perhaps that’s asking too much just yet, because it’s more than I am able to achieve; though given time, I hope I will._

_I’m smiling now for you. Believe it even if you cannot see. _

_Your ever loving _

_Vitya_

* * *

They sat together for an hour or more, through several toasts and many recollections. Emil spoke of Yuuri’s first days and weeks at the castle, and the simple things he hadn’t known about life here; then how he’d grown to become a chivalrous knight who truly seemed to be at home in this time, even if there were things he hadn’t liked about it. Julia retold the story of the day he’d revealed to her who he really was, and how he’d sought her help to shoot Ailis with an arrow, saving his life and enabling him to retrieve the nanobots that they’d used to cure the people at the castle of plague. She also revealed more about the time the two of them had spent together while Victor had been recovering, and he couldn’t help but smile at how Yuuri had made his projector give him the appearance of having grown a long beard, and the difficulty he’d had in getting rid of it.

They all talked again of their experiences in Immersion, and then Victor spoke of training Yuuri for the duel, and remembered Mari and Phichit, and he mentioned how Yuuri had thrown Mistress Ramsay’s bowl of mouldy bread out the window that day he’d had toothache, which made them laugh. For a while afterward, they discussed Victor and Friends, though that was less of a memory as such, as the three of them were still involved with it. Because it was so recent, Victor felt it cutting into him in a way the other things they’d talked about hadn’t; and though he’d been proud of how he’d been bearing up throughout the evening, his tears threatened to make an appearance for the first time.

“He was in such earnest about so much of what he did,” Emil was saying as they shared around more of the thin wine. “Once I got used to it, I have to say I found it inspiring. It made me wonder what I might be able to do myself if I put my mind to it.”

_As he lived, and as he loved, _Victor thought. _Yes, that’s very true._

“He said some odd things,” Julia put in. She’d been unusually solemn and quiet, though Victor thought perhaps that might be true of them all; the atmosphere at the table had been reminiscent of the gathering of friends and relatives after a funeral. Bittersweet, he would have said.

“What struck me,” Emil responded, “was how well he did with hiding them from us until we knew he was from the future; then he spoke them more freely. I thought it very skilful.”

“Apart from ‘nice’,” Victor murmured, swirling the drink in his cup, and silence fell.

“Yes, my lord,” Emil agreed, “there was definitely that.”

Julia was staring into her own drink. “I wonder who decided to make two letters mean so much. ‘OK’. He said it all the time. It must stand for something, but I never asked.”

The conversation faltered as each of them became preoccupied with their thoughts. Then they drank a final toast, while Victor wondered whether getting together like this had truly been beneficial. He didn’t feel worse for it. He wasn’t anything like drunk; the thin wine had been proof against that. It had been freeing, in a sense, to speak aloud about the man they all missed. But the squires hadn’t been witness to Yuuri’s deepest hopes and fears. The honest, naked core of him, revealed in precious trust. Their entire relationship as lovers; the many pleasures they’d given each other, and how they’d expressed so much through the intimacy of their touch. And above all, the bond they’d formed which by all rights ought to withstand anything, including the intrusion of time, though that was proving to be a barrier which might never be physically breached again, now that Ailis was gone.

These were things Victor could not share. Yet they were the ones that hurt the most, because they’d come together to form what he was certain had been the most intense, extraordinary relationship he would ever experience in his life. A love that still burned bright, despite the little that remained for it to feed on.

Swallowing, he rested his forehead in his hand, and this time it was impossible to stop the tears. He sat back in his chair and looked away as he wiped them with his sleeve. “I’ve done well up to now,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

After a long pause, he heard Julia say in a low, quiet voice, “Master, I have something to tell you.”

Giving his face another wipe, he looked at both of the squires. Emil stood with a nod to Julia and a brief hand on her shoulder, then returned his gaze and said, “Thank you, my lord, for a very moving evening. I’m sure my old master would approve, and it even felt in a way like he was here with us, which has meant a great deal to me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with a bow, he left.

Victor’s brow clouded as he took in Julia’s expression, which appeared to waver between determination and trepidation, and waited for her to explain what she’d meant. There was a _knowing _in that look Emil had given him; some secret between these two. As she seemed to be having difficulty finding words, he decided he ought to prompt her, though it was in that moment when she finally spoke.

“Emil is aware of what I’m going to say – he’s the only one who is,” she began very quietly. “He said this was the right thing to do, and I knew it, and wanted to for a long time, but I was frightened. I knew how disappointed you’d be in me, and angry, like the very flames of perdition. Whatever punishment you deem fitting – ”

“Julia, what is this about?” Victor interrupted, his heart beginning to hammer. She’d never spoken to him thus before; but then again, she was still young, and what troubled someone of her age might be viewed from a different perspective by someone older and wiser. A broken bow, an indiscretion, a loss in a competition with another squire or knight…but why was she so certain of punishment from him?

She bit her lip and blinked, then reached down below the table; it looked like she was opening the purse on her belt. Pulling something out that glinted in the candlelight, she placed it in the palm of her hand, which she silently extended across the table.

A time-travel sphere.

Victor’s jaw dropped. He must be imagining things, just like he’d thought in the great hall earlier. But he could _see _this. Had she been looking through Yuuri’s chest of possessions; somehow got the key, or broken in, so that she could remove it? Though why would she do such a thing?

With a shaking hand, he reached out to take the golden sphere, and examined the screen on the top. It wasn’t Yuuri’s after all, because whereas the screen on his was blank, this one displayed a row of black zeroes with a small silhouette of an hourglass next to it. He let out a quivering breath as he cupped the sphere with both palms now, feeling the smooth cold metal.

“It’s like the other future-devices,” Julia told him in the same quiet voice. “If you think at it, it puts words and pictures in your head, and you can control what it says. Yuuri called that sort of connection a BCI, but I don’t remember what – ”

“How?” Victor asked, shooting a penetrating look at her. “_How_, Julia? Where did this come from, and how long have you had it?”

She blenched. “Master, I’m so sorry…”

Victor’s mind whirled as he struggled to maintain some semblance of calm. He would never have thought _this_, never. “_How long?_”

In almost a whisper, she answered, “Since that time I was in Ailis’s dungeon lab, after I got out of Immersion. I found it in a cupboard before the fire started, and…and I kept it.”

Victor’s mouth moved, but no words came out. How could it be, that he was holding one of these and it appeared to be functional?

By God and Christ and all the saints – _was _it?

Finally he stammered, “Y-You _kept _it? Without telling me, or Yuuri?”

Tears were streaking down her face now, and she nodded and sniffed. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” she said on a sob. “I thought no one would have any use for just one sphere, since Yuuri said only one person could travel with it. And Ailis was dead, so she wasn’t going to be using it to go back to the future, and Yuuri wouldn’t need to go either – he didn’t want to anyway – ”

“But you had it and you never said a word!” Victor practically shouted. “Who knows what we could have done with it – what Yuuri might have done, with the knowledge he has?”

“I _know_, master, and I’m sorry!” Julia wailed. Her speech tumbled out amid more tears. “You don’t know how sorry I’ve been. As time passed, I felt worse and worse and thought I ought to say something, but I knew you’d be cross with me. I told myself no one would want it, and you and Yuuri were happy, so I’d keep it as…as a trophy.”

Victor’s jaw continued to hang. Julia clearly had some awareness of the magnitude of what she’d done, thank God for small mercies, because he’d never seen her looking so wretched.

“Then when Yuuri disappeared…” she stumbled on as he continued to glare silently with wide eyes, “…I _had _to tell you. B-But I knew what that would mean, too. That you’d leave to be with him, and I wouldn’t ever see you again.” Another loud sob. “I couldn’t bear the thought. First Yuuri, then you, with the rest of us left behind. The two best knights in the land, gone, and…and I’ve loved you both. But there was nothing I could do about Yuuri, and y-you were lost to us in grief.”

Victor looked down at the table, feeling the truth of it in the midst of his anger.

“And the thought of what you would do once you found out, after all this time…” She choked on another sob. “What you must think of me now, after everything you’ve taught me, everything that’s happened…it’s hardly to be borne.”

He heard the feeling in her words. It sounded genuine. But that didn’t change anything. “Hardly to be borne?” he bit out in a low voice as he glared at her once more. “I’ll tell you what’s hardly to be borne. Two and a half months of grieving for Yuuri when I could have attempted to go directly after him. With my heart split open and my nights broken and my days hardly better. Thinking I’d never see him again; nursing a hopeless wish for him to return somehow. _That _is what _I _was bearing – while you knew you had this device the entire time. You saw how I was, saw what I was feeling, and still…_still _you said nothing.” He let out a shuddering sigh, a tear slipping down his cheek, and removed a hand from the sphere to wipe at his face before resting his forehead in his palm. “I…I can’t believe what I’m hearing, Julia. It grieves me sorely to discover that you could do something so thoughtless…so selfish.”

She was sobbing with her face in her hands now, but after a moment she took a handkerchief from her purse and rubbed it over her face, still sniffling, breaths heaving. “As you say…I’m selfish, and I know I’ve disappointed you gravely. I’ve never been so ashamed of anything I’ve done, a-and I was going to leave, and go back to my family, so that you wouldn’t have to look upon me – but Emil saw me packing my things.” She plucked with distracted fingers at her sleeve. “I – I wouldn’t have gone anyway, master, honestly, and taken the sphere with me. Well, I didn’t want to go at all, but I just didn’t know how to get it to you…sneak it under your pillow, put it on the table and leave it…but Emil told me that if I wished to maintain any shred of honour, I must face your wrath and give it to you myself, or I would never rest easy, and neither would you. I just wish there were some way to make it up to you.” 

Victor stared at her until she looked down, her fingers at her sleeve now quietly frantic. As livid as he’d been, it was beginning to drain away, especially now that he’d expressed his feelings on the matter. Though he hadn’t even mentioned Yuuri, and how he was surely grieving as well. They could hardly have landed in a worse mess if a troupe of monkeys had been let loose upon everything they possessed…one misguided, mischievous monkey in particular.

“You’ve gone some way toward that by giving me this – later, if not sooner, it’s true; but at least you’ve done the right thing in the end.” 

She blinked, sniffing again and crumpling the handkerchief in her hands.

“Your deeds have been shamefully unworthy of a squire – and one on whom I’ve lavished a great deal of time, attention, and care.”

A nod, and more tears.

Victor was convinced, however, that she was sincerely sorry; her behaviour since Yuuri had left could be understood now in that light, even if the tears were predictable after what he’d said to her. It was possible he’d even made a mistake himself in becoming overly fond of her, so that she’d been willing to guard his presence so jealously…but no. Caring for someone was not a weakness, either in him or in her. And to a fifteen-year-old squire, a girl in a brutal world of men who lived away from her family and was utterly devoted to him, and who therefore would quite possibly be terrified of the idea of losing him…what she’d done had perhaps made a certain kind of sense, even if it had obviously not been thought through. At the same time, however, the way she’d placed her own potential brief pain from his anger and disapproval above his own suffering, thus prolonging it…

“Oh, Julia,” he sighed. “You’ve tried my patience with this sorely. I don’t know how you can honestly profess any loyalty to me, ever again, when you’ve caused such harm not only to me, but to someone I love dearly.”

“I shall pack my things and leave at first light,” she said, her head hanging low. “It’s been a poor repayment for everything you’ve done for me, master, and every kindness you’ve shown, and I roundly deserve – ”

“Don’t be so hasty,” he said to her. “I’m much angered, and I want to be certain you understand why, and what the consequences of your behaviour have been. However, despite how I feel this moment, I would not send you away. There are also mitigating circumstances.”

Her eyes were wide, and her tears were drying now, though she continued to clutch at her handkerchief. “There are?”

“Apart from the fact, as I said, that you finally gave me this sphere, it would seem you’re the reason it’s here in the first place, when it might otherwise be lying incinerated and crushed under tons of earth, where the ruins of Ailis’s lab are.” She brightened a bit at this as she watched him. “I must think.”

He stared at the sphere, and suddenly via the BCI saw the set of instructions that Yuuri had said was called a menu; it was similar to the one on the com he’d possessed for a short time. This one was very basic, however. It wanted a day, month, and year, and there was the hourglass off to the side. Choosing the middle field and starting with “1”, he counted through, watching the names of the months flash above, until he arrived at “12” and “December”. But it would not be wise to set anything else now, in case he accidentally activated it. He wasn’t certain how that was done, but it looked as though it should be easy.

And at last he began to take in what this meant, as he continued to study the palm-sized little miracle from the future in front of him. He could see Yuuri again. _Be with _him. Or attempt it. It felt as if he were waking from a dream.

“Shall I leave you with that, master?” Julia asked. 

Victor looked at her long. She dried her eyes once more, a picture of misery. “We’ll need to speak again – I think tomorrow is a good idea. When my head has cooled and we’ve both had time to think.”

“Thank you,” she said with a quick sigh of relief. “But – you won’t try to leave before then?”

He glanced down at the sphere before returning his gaze to her. “No. Assuming this device works, I have much to do beforehand.”

She nodded and bowed. “Master. I…hope you’ll be able to find it in your heart to forgive me one day.” And with a final sniff, she disappeared out the door.

Victor held the sphere up to the candlelight, momentarily dazzled by the sparkles on its surface. And despite what had just happened, and his feelings about it, he knew that he already had forgiven her, though it wouldn’t hurt for her to reflect on the matter overnight and into the following day, as he was certain she would.

It was hard to remain angry, in fact, while he held this device in his hand. His heart fluttered as he considered the possibilities it might offer, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile while he turned the sphere around with his fingertips, wondering what Yuuri would say, wherever he was and whatever he was doing just now. If he could only know.

After some time, his thoughts strayed to York. That was where he would go; and once in the future, he would seek out the university. But where, precisely, should he depart from? Would he land in the exact same space in 2121? He’d never thought to ask Yuuri about that; he didn’t know where Ailis’s lab had been in relation to the arena at the castle. And his mother had been in an ale-house in the city when she’d been…when she’d…

_When she’d been pulled back to the past._

Just as someone else from the future would be, if Victor used the sphere.

Pulled away from his own life and the people who cared about him, to land here, with no say in the matter. No projector. No translator. No idea where or when he was. No way back.


	166. Chapter 166

Victor shuddered, placing the sphere on the table as if it were poisonous.

“Oh…oh Jesus,” he murmured through a constricting throat as a hand fluttered over his mouth. _Oh…by all that’s holy. No. No, this can’t be. You cannot put something like this in front of me – the one and only way back to Yuuri – only to do this. No._

And then his thoughts ceased altogether as he sat and stared, unmoving, at the sphere. Eventually he took several deep breaths, wrapping his hand protectively around his locket. _Time shouldn’t be a barrier between us. This sphere has to have come to me for a reason. I must be meant to use it. God would not be so cruel._

_But didn’t he separate us in the first place?_

Another shiver shook through him. He gasped out a sob.

_Wait. Ailis – she said something that day in Immersion, when we were in the tall building. She was speaking over the com to the woman in the future. Anisha, that was her name. Oh, I can’t think, my reason is unseated…_

He tightened his grip on the locket, trying and failing to force the tears back. His stomach clenched, and he began to regret the supper he’d eaten earlier, though it had only been modest. And the watery wine churned through it. He’d never expected…never thought…

_I am Sir Victor Ivorovich Nikiforov. Knight, and son of a baron. My aim is true with a sword and a lance. I uphold justice and…and…_

He tipped his head into his hands, knowing the hollow words for what they were. Yuuri had made him see what real justice was. His titles meant nothing. Weapons had never gained him anything he’d truly desired. There was no comfort to be had from any of it.

_Despair won’t achieve any good. Think. What did Ailis say? That there was a possibility of repairing the spheres. That appears to have been the truth. Anisha expressed a concern that if Ailis repaired all three spheres, then whoever might use the third would have to swap places in time with someone. _

Victor wiped his brow with one hand, continuing to hold the locket with the other, as he forced his mind back to the words he’d heard. There had been so many, so much had happened…

_Ailis told Anisha she wouldn’t entangle her timeline with someone else’s if it could be avoided. But what she said after that was complicated; I didn’t understand it all. She had reason to believe it was possible to…something about synchronising two points in time without the exchange of two physical bodies. That was it. _

He couldn’t seem to stop shaking. This wasn’t like him at all; his courage was deserting him.

_Think. The implication was that she could prevent a swap from occurring. She repaired at least one sphere. Could it be possible that she adapted it in such a way? But how would I know?_

He stared again at the sphere, wishing it were true, and that the device could somehow tell him so. But the BCI made no mention of it.

Despite his overwrought brain, he tried to imagine what Ailis would have done. She’d brought two spheres with her, she said. At least one had been repaired in secret. She must have intended to use it herself in an emergency, if there were no other options left to her. So why hadn’t she done so when she’d placed him in the cell in her dungeon lab? Her identity had been discovered.

_She thought to kill us, and then return to impersonating my mother at the castle. She had a great deal of confidence in herself until the very end._

_None of that is important now, however. The sphere must have been intended for her use. If she’d activated it, she and my mother would have returned to their original places in time, so she would have had no need to introduce a new function that cancelled a swap. _

His mouth had been going dry during this chain of reasoning, while a wave of nausea passed through him. He couldn’t abandon hope, not now, not with a time-travel sphere in front of him that could take him back to Yuuri.

_Dear God, please…_

Wiping another shaking hand across his clammy brow, he considered again. _She didn’t get Yuuri’s sphere; it’s locked away in his chest. She might have repaired the second one in her possession. But why would she do so, since she had no desire to be accompanied back to the future by anyone here? And any spare sphere she took with her would be disabled during the journey, useless upon her return._

_Therefore, the logical conclusion is…_

He stifled another sob.

_…is that this is the only sphere she repaired, and despite what she said to Anisha, it’s unlikely to do anything other than what it was originally designed to do. If I used it, I would most probably swap with someone from the future._

_In which case, it would be an unconscionable act._

_Unconscionable. _

He was struck with another wave of nausea and leapt out of his chair, dashing to the garderobe just in time. Bracing himself against the wall with one hand and clutching his locket with the other, he retched, wishing all the pain inside of him would spill out and away as well. Sickness was followed by tears as he stood unmoving for some time, coughing and swallowing the vile taste. Eventually he went to the pitcher and basin and washed his face, then returned to the table and rinsed his mouth with thin wine. It seemed like no intervening time had passed, and he stared once again at the gold sphere that gleamed so prettily in the candlelight, as if tempting him to use it anyway.

_Never. I would never do that to someone else. No matter how deeply it broke my heart to refrain._

_Oh Yuuri my love, what am I to do?_

He slumped over, rested his head on his arm, and stained the table with his tears.

* * *

The white globe of the moon bathed the castle in its milky glow while the waters that covered the courtyard rippled in the breeze, throwing glints like shards into the dark heavy night.

Victor looked down, his mind sluggish, uncomprehending. He stood ankle deep in the water. It trickled down his naked silver body from his face, tears like tiny streams that flowed unendingly. They must have been coming for ages, night and day and night as he stood here, paralysed in grief. The breeze picked up, December chill against wet skin; his feet were numb beneath the freezing waters. A shiver rippled through him, and he wondered when he would ever be able to walk away. The courtyard was inundated while the last breaths of warmth remaining to him were torn away by unseen icy fingers. More tears came, and still more, as they always did.

_Victor._

A thought, or a memory. He was alone.

_Victor._

The night wind whispering through bare boughs.

_Here._

Stiff-necked, he turned his head to the great hall. The window spilled warm yellow light onto the waters. But the fire was always left to die down overnight. The servants had rooms; no one slept in there.

The pull was persistent, however. Someone wanted him to come, he felt it. Someone waiting for him.

His feet resisted his efforts to stir them at first, unfeeling cold blocks; but with one step and then another through the lapping frigid waters, they became easier to move. As he approached the hall, he saw flames dancing in the marble fireplace through the window, and suddenly longed for the warmth and light like a lost love. There had been no need, no need at all to stay out here for so long, and he could not remember why he had. He knew the person inside agreed with him; it all should have been obvious, but it was all right, he was here now.

As Victor passed under the archway, he saw that the grey stone under his feet was dry. And he was wearing the clothes he’d had on before: boots and hose, green and gold tunic, black cloth cap. His locket, too. He entered the hall, looked around and saw that it was inexplicably empty, and went to stand by the roaring flames. Oh, but they were the sweetest relief. He held his hands out in front of him.

_Victor._

Was it a voice, or the crackling of the fire? Something made him turn to the archway across the room which led to the solar. The glow from the fire hardly reached so far without the assistance of candelabras, but in the deep shadows that pooled at the bottom of the stairs, a darker silhouette stood. Victor’s sight told him that it was a tall man with dark hair and silver plate which caught the faintest yellow gleam. But in his own mind’s eye, there was also pale skin, a neatly trimmed beard, and blue eyes that regarded him, steady and insistent. Victor wanted to whisper a name, but it seemed the effort and noise would break the stillness gathered in the room like a benediction.

His attention was drawn next to the opposite corner, where the wall containing the entryways met the wall of the great window – and his eyes widened when he saw a white globe hanging inches over the floor, casting a pale light on the black and white tiles beneath. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.

_You fetched the moon and brought it here, _he thought.

The figure at the stairs was amused for a moment. No, that wasn’t what this was. Something more important to him than that. He’d never been one to sit gazing at the moon like a wistful poet.

_Perhaps. But I’d do it with someone I loved. Yuuri…_Victor’s heart gave a lurch. Even as he choked back a sob, however, he realised that the grief belonged outside; hope was here.

_But how? Where?_

The globe. The sphere.

He approached the corner. There was something he needed to know about the light. Was he meant to touch it and heal? No. Could he capture and use it in some way? No. He closed his eyes and tried to feel his way into it, as with a BCI. Hope again. Hope and warmth on the other side, amid the sadness.

_I don’t know what to do._

Locket…belt? Were these his ideas, or…? He didn’t understand.

The illumination in the room winked out, like a cloud passing across a star. Victor turned to look at the fireplace – dark, cold. No embers, even.

He made things difficult sometimes, it seemed. _That _wasn’t his own thought, but he didn’t disagree with it. Not that he did it on purpose.

The soft clink of metal shoes echoed in the room, as if down a tunnel from far away, approaching. Then the silhouette was next to him, more woodsmoke across a candle than a solid black shape. What followed was like a scene out of the corner of Victor’s eye, sensed in shapes and movements, broadly sketched rather than delicately painted. His purse was untied and opened, the time-travel sphere removed; and the shadow knelt in front of the white globe with it in a palm. Then he turned his head to look at Victor, who could swear he smiled.

_Watch._

The shadow extended his hand into the globe, where it became solid flesh while the sphere glowed. A white hum encircled it – then it popped open with a _crack _and a burst of light, sending Victor reeling into nothingness…

_What…happened?_

_Alex…_

It was dark. His back hurt. So did his arms and neck, which were resting on something hard. Floor? No…no, he was sitting. Where? His eyes opened slowly.

Oh…his own room. The fire had burned down to orange embers, and a lone candle flickered softly in the middle of the table. His tears still puddled on the wood, though his cheeks were dry. Gradually he straightened in his chair, muscles protesting.

He rubbed his head drowsily. Whenever he thought or dreamed of his brother, he was usually as solid and real as everything around him. Not a shade tied to the shadows who could barely speak. This…this was something new. What could it mean?

The time-travel sphere glimmered near the candle flame. _It’s still here. Closed. Well, of course it is. I was dreaming._ Victor took it in his palm. The source of all his dashed hopes.

_Grief is behind. Hope is here._

But was that just a reflection of his wishes? If the dead really could communicate in this world, might it be as subtle as a thought flashing through one’s mind…or a dream? It wasn’t what the stories and plays would have anyone believe, with their spectres clanking chains and wailing, terrorising the senses of the living. But maybe…maybe it was what _he _could believe. Or be open to, at least.

_Is that what you want me to do, Alex? _Victor thought as he stared at the sphere. _Will it stop me from swapping places with someone from the future? _But there was no answer; no thought entered his head, other than a wish that it could be so, and tentative curiosity about what he might find in the great hall if he went there. _You’ll find nothing, _his rational mind said to him. _It was only a dream, and you will have got your hopes up only to have them crushed again. There’s no white globe; you saw for yourself earlier._

But something unusual _had _happened there. Somehow – and he didn’t think it was merely a wish, either – he’d felt Yuuri. Might the globe in his dream be connected with that?

_It makes no sense. None of it does._

_But if there’s any possibility that it could help me get back to him…oh God, if only…_

He pressed his lips together, stretched and stood, then went to the peg where his cloak was and pulled it over his shoulders. Grabbed a lantern from the mantel and lit the candle inside. Took the sphere, placed it in his purse, and entered the cold dark of the night. Yuuri’s clock had said it was ten minutes past three. An odd time, perhaps, for an errand, but there should be no one around to disturb him.

A full moon shone pale onto the grey stones of the castle, but there was no shallow lake of tears in the courtyard, no icy breeze on his naked body. He was almost surprised as he strode across the dark grass. Even though the vividness of the dream was quickly fading, it felt as if he really could come to a standstill and weep until it covered the ground. But whatever was in the great hall was meant to give him hope, was it not? If he believed the dream.

The window was black as Victor approached, passing under the silent shadowed archway and down the short length of corridor to one of the wooden doors that were locked and barred overnight, a precaution due to the fact that the family’s most expensive possessions were on display inside. He removed the iron key from his purse and unlocked it, then slid the bar and entered, holding the lantern high.

The wood in the grate was crumbling to faintly glowing ash. No white sphere in the far corner. Taking a breath, Victor crossed the room until his lantern light picked out the flight of steps that led up to the corridors in the solar, but no human shape was waiting for him in the darkness.

_There’s no reason why I should expect to see anything unusual here. It was a dream, just a dream._

_But if so, then nothing will happen to the time-travel sphere when I take it to the corner._

His boots made muffled tapping noises across the tiles as he went there and knelt as he’d seen Alex do. Placing the lantern on the floor, he removed the sphere from his purse and paused, biting his lip and briefly closing his eyes.

_If nothing happens…_

He left the thought unfinished. With the sphere in his palm, he moved his hand in the empty air, slowly. Back and forth, up and down, making slight adjustments every time.

_What am I doing in here in the small hours of a December night? I’m an idiot, prey to my own desperation. I no more saw Alex in here than I did the king of the faeries. _

But wait – the air felt different where his hand was moving now. Like a summer’s day before a thunderstorm. A tiny tremor ran through his fingers and up his arm. Moving the sphere inch by inch, he chased the source of the sensation. Closer, closer still – a diameter around a point; and he began to penetrate to its heart.

What the nature of it was, or how it had come to be here, he did not know. Only that something _was _here, invisible but real. His hand trembled and his heart fluttered.

_Courage. Whatever happens, I was led here. It was meant to be._

It felt as if a dense cloud of gnats were beating their minuscule wings and bodies at the skin of his hand, millions at a time. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“God’s bones,” he murmured, mastering the desire to quickly pull away.

The sphere had started to glow white. Or – not the sphere itself, but energy of some kind surrounding it; he could feel it vibrating through his fingers. It pulsed and arced, and he fancied he could hear a faint sizzling or crackling noise. Would his hand be burned?

_Courage._

With a _crack_, the top of the sphere opened and swung back on a tiny hinge…and the inside of the time device was revealed. Victor held his breath and stared. An incomprehensibly intricate network of shining silver was nestled inside, with tiny coloured filaments of light running between the parts like a glowing web.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

One cylindrical piece stood in the middle, taller than its surroundings, with a tip that shone the same blue as the emissions from the laser guns. If the depths of the sphere contained a sorcerer, this could be his finger charged with magic, ready to cast a spell. Not that Victor believed such things.

But he could feel the mysterious energy continuing to build, the white light beginning to dazzle him, though his hand remained unharmed. It flowed through his body, filling him with the imminent sense of –

A loud buzz, and then another _crack _with a bright flash. Victor was propelled backward, landing on the floor with a thud, still clutching the open sphere as if his life depended on protecting it. A lightning strike in this very room could hardly have been any different, and he blinked away the residual glow of it from his eyes before scrambling to his knees and peering down into the sphere once more, his heart racing. Had it been damaged? Broken?

The silver components with their web of light appeared untouched, however, as did the finger-like projection in the middle – though as he raised the sphere to his face and gazed at it intently, it seemed that the metal itself was alive with an inner fire, casting a dim white light onto the metal surrounding it. But lightning was destructive; you did not alter the insides of such a complex device with it. You used a laser pen.

Victor closed the lid of the sphere, and the seam where the two halves came together disappeared. When he attempted to pull it back open, it resisted his efforts. If he didn’t know better, he would swear there was magic here. But did it still work?

Sending his thoughts into the sphere, he was rewarded with the simple BCI menu, just as before. It had also remembered the “12” he’d entered while he’d been with Julia, and the little hourglass was still there. By all appearances, it was unharmed.

The question was…what would it do?

* * *

_…kept it in her possession all this time. I’d never suspected a working sphere existed, let alone that Julia had it. When I say “working”, however…well, I shall come to that shortly._

_It was only when she’d gone from the room, and I was reflecting upon the undreamed-of good fortune that God seemed to have brought my way, that I realised I would most likely be swapping places with a man from the future if I used the sphere. I could not do such a thing to another. But to have been presented with that opportunity, only to have it snatched away…oh Yuuri, it pierced me straight to the heart, and I confess that every last bit of my mettle vanished forthwith in that moment, because it was like losing you all over again. _

_But then I had a dream last night. How do I begin to explain? Alex was in it, and I wonder also if it had something to do with the feeling I described in my previous entry, of you reaching out to me in the great hall, of being there, though I know it must sound incredible. Were you, though? Were you there? But I digress. It started rather strangely, as dreams do. Then I thought, or felt, someone calling to me…_

_…I do not know what has been done to the sphere. If I examine the situation logically, its function will still probably be to cause me to swap places with a man from the future. And despite what occurred in the great hall, a dream is only a dream. Or is it? There is no “despite”; something astounding happened last night. You must know what I’m thinking – that my brother sent me a message. I don’t believe it’s so very impossible. He knew what was grieving my heart, and showed me what to do to make it right. Could a link have been established between our times, or could the process that causes the swap have been undone?_

_I returned to my room afterward and sat pondering in front of the fire for some time, with my heart pulled this way and that as my brain taxed itself. The two arguments ran thus. I recalled my earlier decision that I cannot force someone away from his place in time, and on that point I will never change my mind. However, something happened to the sphere, and that is also a fact. As naïve as it may sound, I believe Alex came to me in a dream and showed me what to do, and that he means for me to use the sphere. I would trust him in this world or any other._

_And that, darling Yuuri, was the deciding factor for me. Faith. Ironic for a man who has little to do with religion, but no matter. I of course long to be with you again, and anyone who did not know me well might assume that I am choosing to use the sphere out of pure selfishness. If I’m honest, I cannot deny there may be a grain of truth in it. But you of all people would, I think, understand that I believe the likelihood of me swapping places with another man is low enough now to take the risk. It grieves me that any risk at all is involved, and for that, may God help me if I turn out to be wrong. However, I swear on my love for you and my brother that I do not think I am. _

_Having thus passed the night, I caught some sleep before turning my attention today to my wayward squire. I would have thought her above such a deed as she has done, but she is at an age where impetuousness can easily triumph over reason, especially for one whose feelings can be so deep and passionate. In that sense, my love, you two have always reminded me of each other. Was it like that for you when you were younger? I fear it might have been for me, and I am not fond of looking too closely at my memories of the time, lest I be revisited by embarrassments that would still rankle now, at almost twice the age._

_However, I am also attempting not to reflect in detail on those weeks and months you were lost to me, lest my anger with Julia returns. Perhaps she will never understand the sorrows that were visited upon me until she finds love herself. I could give her gongfermour duties for <strike>a year</strike> a month. Yet she is capable of such good as well, and has saved both our lives more than once; and I know her affection for me is genuine and heartfelt, which ironically must have contributed to the temptation not to give me the means to leave. Oh, it still makes me mad to think on it – but it was a mistake, and she knows it. She already grieves for you, and soon she will grieve for me also, and that will be her own sorrow to bear. I will of course miss her, too. These thoughts are tempered with the knowledge that had the sphere been in my possession sooner, perhaps it would have come close to driving me mad, for I would soon have realised I could not use it. Maybe I should not use it even now, but I have chosen to trust that it will be all right, and I will not falter. _

_It is tempting to speculate about what may await me in the future. The many things you and Natalia have told me about. The people I would meet, the things I would do. Above all else, the unbridled joy that would fill me at seeing you again, my dear love. I cannot help but be curious about what you’ve done since you arrived back. If you’ve found your feet, perhaps with Mari and Phichit’s help. If you ever thought there was any possibility of returning to me<strike>; if there’s room in your life now for me. But of course there will be</strike>. _

_I say I would like to speculate. But I dare not go down that path too far, not with a heart that is still fragile from the losses it’s borne, to which this hope might yet be added. That would indeed be cruel, but I must be practical. There is no knowing what Ailis did with the sphere, or what happened to it in the great hall. Perhaps I will not work the controls correctly. I might land in the wrong time, stranded with a broken sphere, granted that I even survived the journey. If I therefore placed all my hopes for success in a chest and locked it away in my heart until such a time that it might be safely opened, perhaps no one would blame me. And that time, God willing, will be soon – when I look upon your beloved features once again, my Yuuri. Oh if only, if only I could tell you – for if I fail, how will you ever know that I tried? _

_Today I will begin to plan for my permanent disappearance from this time and place. I need to think about what that will mean for me and others, and how best to arrange things. All this time, I wondered what to do about my life; how to move on. Whether the troupe was something I could still love and sustain. But I have a firm purpose now, and a goal, and it is within my sight. _

_Can I allow myself to believe that it’s possible to join you in 2121? By all the saints, let it be true. God grant that it is only I who travel, and not also another who is forced to take my place here. Surely my brother would not let that be so. I therefore turn my thoughts to the great journey that lies ahead, which my heart longs for in this moment. I dream of looking upon your face again, and holding you in my arms once more, my beloved Yuuri. _

_in faith, hope, and abiding love,_

_your Vitya_


	167. Chapter 167

Boucicaut soon arrived for his visit, although the plans Victor was making were foremost in his mind. The famed flower of chivalry was garrulous, energetic, courteous, polite…and if a bit pompous as well, it was perhaps only to be expected in one whose name was known across Europe.

His three-day stay at the castle attracted much interest both locally and from further afield; they received curious visitors from York and other cities and towns. Victor entertained him during meals, and they discussed exercise and training regimens, though he could no longer be sure what use the information would be to him; what lay ahead in his future. It was hard to think past his desire to see Yuuri again.

Putting his musings aside as well as he was able, Victor spent a large part of each of the days in the training field, where Boucicaut instructed diverse groups at all skill levels, including the knights of the castle and those from the troupe, the squires, and even the young pages, along with Abelard and occasionally Andrei himself. Apparently seeing in Victor something of a kindred spirit, their guest regularly asked him to assist with demonstrations, and he was happy to do so. 

It was enough of a change in him for Julia to notice, even if her own manner was solemn; Victor knew she was not looking forward to his departure. His heart softened a little more toward her with each passing day, and he ensured they had time to train together, and hunt with bows and arrows from horseback.

Boucicaut sparred with him informally on numerous occasions, though when their official contest was held, it was an event that attracted a sizeable crowd, including most of the residents from the castle and the members of the troupe who’d remained for the holiday. It would still be a topic of conversation a year from now, Victor reckoned, as closely fought and entertaining as it must have been for their audience. But it grieved him that Yuuri couldn’t be there.

Upon his departure, Boucicaut asked him if he would like to correspond, as he had an idea about collaborating on a more formal system of training that might rival those of Fiore and Liechtenauer. It fired Victor’s imagination and made him wish that he’d sought a proper introduction to this man years ago, when plenty of time had remained for such things. The answer he gave was that he was planning to embark upon lengthy travels a few days hence, though he was honoured by the invitation and hoped they might work together at a future time. And to his initial surprise, he found some comfort in the thought; for if there had been no time-travel sphere, this might have been something interesting and satisfying to do when so many other doors had seemed closed to him.

Now that he had more time to put his affairs in order, he kept a voluminous leather bag in his room that he filled with the things he wanted to take with him, changing his mind frequently, packing and unpacking and packing again. He wanted to take everything, including the contents of Yuuri’s chests in the family’s wardrobe, and it was a terrible shame that he had to be so judicious. But well, he didn’t think the time-travel sphere had been designed with a packhorse or a wagon in mind. It wasn’t that he feared he couldn’t manage without it all, or that he was so attached to luxuries that he couldn’t bear to part with them, but rather that whatever he brought with him would be the only mementos he and Yuuri would keep of this place, barring the very few items Yuuri had himself travelled with.

Always assuming that Victor would arrive, intact, in 2121. He’d already envisioned meeting a horrible death in the timestream or some other unnameable place, with all these fine possessions destroyed along with him, and wondered again at the courage it must have taken Yuuri to fight off such anxious thoughts when he’d first travelled. It was some comfort to tell himself that if that were what lay ahead, his dream would have been different, with Alex communicating to him somehow that he shouldn’t go at all.

While Julia and Emil were aware of his intentions, his mother was not, and it was a very different conversation to their previous one when he visited her room again in the evening and explained about the time-travel sphere and his dream. The surprise was clearly not welcome, and her face fell, though she conceded she also believed it possible that Alexander might have come to him. They were standing next to a candelabra, the soft light spilling onto her white wimple and dress, but it did not light her eyes as she reached out on a brief impulse to grasp his sleeve.

“These time-travel devices are experimental, you said so yourself. If Ailis attempted to repair one of them here, without all of the tech she would have had in the future – who knows what will happen? You might be throwing your life away.”

“Do you think Alex would have counselled me so, if that were the case?”

After a pause, she answered, “He counselled nothing, according to you. You saw his shade. Something happened to the sphere. But I don’t think you understand any better than I do what it was. And what if you indeed swap places with someone – do you have any conception of what that’s like?”

Victor toyed with his signet ring. “I believe Alex wants me to go, and somehow he gave me the means to do it. I was upset about not being able to use the sphere, and that was when I had the dream – ”

“My beliefs, Victor, might stretch to the strange powers of spirits and dreams – to an extent.” She added in an urgent tone, “But you must yourself know that such visitations cannot be entirely relied upon. Sometimes a dream is only a dream.”

“He showed me what to do,” Victor replied somewhat sharply, for her words struck at his own fears. “The sphere is altered, just as it was in the dream.”

“Altered, how?”

“I don’t know. But I trust Alex.”

“I don’t know if I trust a vision of him in a dream enough to give my blessing for you to risk your life in such a way.”

“Mother, I have to do this,” Victor said, gentling his voice but keeping it firm. “I could carry on as I am, but something’s missing, and it’s Yuuri – the light he brought into my life. If there’s a possibility that I can have that again, it’s what I want more than anything else. I intend to find him, or die trying.” He gazed at her, then swallowed as he realised the import of his words, seemingly at the same time as she did.

“That may be what will happen,” she said quietly. “Have you not considered? This thing that’s been prophesied to kill you by the end of the year.”

“Yes.”

She stepped back, eyes flashing. “Is that all you can say – yes?” When he didn’t answer, she continued, “You grieved for Alexander. Can you not grieve for Yuuri? You’re still young and strong, and have so much ahead of you.”

“What – what do I have ahead of me?” Victor asked. “The idea for the troupe was conceived with Yuuri, for him to perform and manage with me. It isn’t the same without him. If I returned to the castle, that would be worse, because I’m isolated here, and spend my days training for duels and battles I don’t want to fight. Few other possibilities present themselves. Besides all that, you know what 2121 is like, if I make it there. A good place to be. With Yuuri, it will be even better.”

She crossed her arms, sighed, and looked down. “I was just getting to know you,” she said in a small voice, then met his gaze again. “The adult you. It felt like I was beginning to make up for lost time. And I was hoping to continue, despite your journeys with your troupe. You’re the only son I have left to me.”

_You had years to get to know Alex and me._ But perhaps she’d needed to wait until her trip to the future before she quite knew how. They both had done what they could since she’d been back, however, and that in itself was more than Victor would otherwise have expected.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Truly. But this is the final journey I must make. I could learn to live without him – but I don’t want to. I’ll never love another like I’ve loved him. Don’t you see? I _have_ to do this; I have to try.”

Silence fell between them again. Eventually she said, “What will I tell your father? I…we’ll never see you again.”

This was on more solid ground; he’d already thought through the practicalities. “I’ll leave the castle with the troupe, and Andrei can think I’ll be staying with them. That’s what everyone else here can believe as well, apart from you and Julius and Emil, who know the truth. After a few months have passed, I need you to say you’ve received a message from me, containing my last words before I died of plague. I’ll write it beforehand and leave it with you so that you can present it at the appropriate time.”

“Like Alexander,” she whispered.

“No one should question it. But it seemed…fitting.”

She sighed. “Oh…this will be the strangest farewell.”

With a small grin, Victor carried on, “Once you’ve announced my death, I wish to request two monuments in the chapel, next to Alexander. I’ll write the epitaphs. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes, of course. Two?”

“I’ll give you the details before I go. And…I still recommend Julius as my heir.” Victor had reconsidered this after what she’d done with the time-travel sphere, but it hadn’t taken him long to decide that she remained the best choice; and if it came to pass, he would have ensured a legacy for her. “He’s growing in maturity and wisdom. And he’s been trained by me.”

“I’ll bear it in mind. That’s something I may have some sway with Andrei about. I know he likes Julius.” She adjusted her wimple, then bit her lip. “If feels to me as though you’ve already died, and yet here you are. I…I lost you many years ago, Victor, and I’ve known, since I returned from the future…I’ve known somehow that I already left it too late to try to make amends. I am sorry.”

She was holding back tears; Victor couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her cry, if ever. Perhaps when Alex had died. He felt them in his own eyes, and took her gently in his arms as she sniffed.

“It’s all right,” he said, hugging her close.

* * *

Victor went hunting with Andrei with bows and arrows on horseback as a final outing together, though he couldn’t tell him as much. He’d hoped at times that he and his father might achieve a better relationship, but in reality, he knew how unlikely it was. Apart from the issue of the duels Victor had fought in order to win lands for the family, Andrei was a baron, the lord of the manor, and had been training his son to be the next one; and in his eyes, that meant a solid, tough, no-nonsense education.

He was indeed a hard man to love, though Victor reckoned he did, in his own way. There was a softer side to him that rarely showed, which enabled him to be tolerant of things his son had done that many others would have punished. And the two of them shared certain talents. Andrei had been a formidable swordsman and archer in his day, and was still highly proficient in both, even if he gave little time to them now. Victor had mixed feelings about leaving him, but he could reflect on those at his leisure. If he survived his journey with the sphere, he might be too embroiled with whatever he found at the other end to think of much else for some time to come.

It was his intention to attempt it soon, but before he left, he wanted to do what he could to ensure the wellbeing of the members of Victor and Friends. He therefore summoned Oswin and Henric to his room, informing them as they sat at the table that he wanted to sell the troupe. They gazed at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve loved the time we’ve had together,” he said. “But I didn’t expect Justin to leave as he did; at least, not quite so soon. I’m going to stay with him, which means I’ll no longer be able to travel with the troupe.”

“But with you leaving,” Henric said, “how will the troupe survive? We’ve already lost Justin. And who would be willing to take the risk of buying it?”

Oswin quickly answered, “I can think of no one.”

“The remaining members are very talented,” Victor replied. “They could adjust their acts, which they’re used to doing. Hire a few new people.”

“_Who _would hire them?” Oswin pressed. “Only a wealthy nobleman could afford to buy such an outfit and ensure there were funds to run it, especially if on occasion it made a loss.”

Victor gazed levelly at Henric. “Your organisational skills are second to none, and I hope I’m right in observing that you’ve enjoyed helping to run the troupe, and feel it’s a worthwhile endeavour.”

“Of course,” he answered, “but – ”

“Would you be willing to buy it from me at a low enough price?”

After a long pause, during which the clerk and steward exchanged bewildered looks, Henric said, “I’m afraid I don’t understand. I could never afford it.”

Victor named a sum, and the man stared at him before answering.

“But that…that’s nothing for you, Victor. You’d lose a fantastically large amount of money. I couldn’t – ”

“_I _could. I’ll be leaving a purse here at the castle; some for the squires Justin and I have had to release from their bond to us, some for the estate – and some to contribute toward the running of the troupe. Anything you paid me could be put directly into that, so in actuality, you wouldn’t be losing anything.”

Henric wrinkled his brow. “This is most unusual. What is there at Justin’s castle that would summon you both away from the troupe and cause you to part with your money and squires, if I may ask? I confess that I and others were wondering how it could be that Emil didn’t leave with his master when the two of them seemed so close. You say now that Julius won’t be going with you?”

Victor rubbed at his fringe underneath the black cloth cap. He couldn’t blame them for their curiosity, but it would have to go unsatisfied. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. However, my heart would be glad to know that the troupe was carrying on, in safe and capable hands.” He gave them both a small grin. “I’ll have perfectly adequate means for survival.”

Oswin let out a long breath. “Indeed, it’s all very mysterious. But, well, if this is what you want, Victor, I’ll support it. Wholeheartedly. Better that than to see the troupe disband, and with winter coming on.”

“Henric?” Victor raised a hopeful eyebrow.

The stunned expression had never quite left the steward’s face, and he looked from one to the other. “Well, in that case…” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening, then gave a little laugh. “I’d be foolish not to agree. You have a deal.”

* * *

The evening before the troupe’s departure, Victor said a final goodbye to his mother – and to his father, though of course Andrei remained unaware of his son’s true intentions. Afterward, carrying his lantern, its filigree design spilling an intricate pattern over wood and stone and grass as he walked, he visited Alex’s sarcophagus for the last time. He didn’t linger long, for his brother was no closer to him here in the chapel than anywhere else, and the place was ghostly in the dark.

_Something extraordinary is going to happen to me tomorrow, brother mine, _Victor thought as he stood before the silent white marble form. _And I have you to thank. I know not how you found the means to come to me in a dream, but you’ve given me the hope I lost many weeks ago. I confess I don’t comprehend it all, but I’ve chosen to believe that you’ve given me a great gift. _He huffed a wistful little laugh into the stillness of the room. _And here was I all this time since you’ve been gone from us, thinking your love was gone as well. I’m so glad I was mistaken._

_I doubt, however, that I’m protected in any way from my own folly or aptitude for error. I may yet lose my life in this endeavour. End up in the wrong place and time, there to live out my remaining days in whatever way I can. Go nowhere at all, and be left to work out what to do here, now that I’ve given ownership of the troupe to Henric. But my fondest hope is that I’ll arrive in Yuuri’s time, and find him, and live with him. You must have seen into my heart and known that, and so you came to my assistance when no one else could._

He ran a slow hand over the cold stone. _I wonder if you’re here in this chapel 728 years from now. But it’s no matter. I know you’ll always be with me. _

He kissed his signet ring while taking a final long look at the sleeping knight, then exited the chapel, footsteps echoing. As he crossed the courtyard on his way to the garrison, he spied another dark figure holding a lantern and going in his direction; they met just outside the archway.

“It _is _you,” said Chris, his blond hair glinting in the firelight. “I’ve been thinking about new acts for the troupe – plenty of time to do it while we’ve been here. Could I run an idea past you? It’s for a dance I could perform with Anselm and Pat. I even have a song in mind; perhaps the musicians already even know it – ”

“Chris.” Victor raised a hand to halt him. “I – I’m sorry, I honestly am, but…I’ve sold the troupe to Henric.”

Chris could hardly have been more shocked, it seemed, if a siege tower had suddenly appeared above the battlements. “What?” he breathed.

It grieved Victor’s heart to see him so. Chris’s love for performing with Victor and Friends had been an inspiration. “It’s a secret until I announce it to everyone tomorrow. I’ve had to make hasty arrangements – though the troupe is not disbanded, you can be assured on that point.”

“But why? Are you leaving – is it something to do with Justin? I never asked what happened with him, I didn’t want to intrude, but – ”

“Yes and no.” Though how was he to qualify that, without making up a chain of lies? Victor looked at him. They’d known each other for years, even if they’d never been close, and had lived and performed together. Chris had come into his own as he’d done so, nurturing a side of himself, as Victor and Yuuri had done, whose existence most men would never be willing to acknowledge. But it was the expression on his face that touched Victor now, as if he’d just been told he was going to lose something dear, with no idea of the reason. Victor might be done with the troupe, but God willing, it would live and thrive with people like Chris at its heart.

“Come up to my room for a drink,” he invited him, “and I’ll explain. It’s time you heard the truth…all of it.”

And so, over the long course of the evening and into the night, Victor told him about who Justin really was and why Yuuri had arrived; about Ailis and the future. When Julia stopped by to ask him if there was anything he required, she was pleased to discover that he’d decided to take Chris into his confidence, and kept them supplied with Ingrid’s best hypocras and snacks from the kitchen. There was a heaviness in her manner, however, and Victor thought it not unreasonable to guess it was because he was leaving on the morrow.

Chris listened avidly from across the table, asking questions once in a while, though mostly he was content to listen and make brief comments while they ate and drank. By the time Victor brought his story to the present – removing Julia’s part in it by having the sphere found by his mother in her room – Chris’s eyes were glazing over in wonder at the onslaught of information. They widened when Victor showed him the time-travel sphere before replacing it in his purse.

“I have the means to join him now, or attempt to,” he said. “That’s what I’m going to do tomorrow. Everyone at the castle needs to believe that I’m departing with the troupe, but shortly afterward, I shall be saying goodbye and explaining that Henric is the new manager. It will be abrupt, I know, but…” He sat back in his chair with a small sigh. “I don’t have it in me to travel and camp and perform again for the sole benefit of easing the transition. Julius has his two acts on the wheel, and others could learn to use it. Maybe you.”

Chris scratched at his stubble. “Perhaps, though none of us will be as spectacular as you and Just – as you and Yuuri were. And if the troupe didn’t work out for me, I daresay your father or another lord will be in need of a knight, though I’d be sorry to lose this new life. It suits me.”

“It does,” Victor said with a small grin, sipping from his mazer.

“The future. Immersion. Laser guns. Jesus.” Chris chuckled and reached for an olive.

“You’re not…upset that I didn’t tell you before?”

“Who else knows – just the lady and the two squires?” When Victor nodded, he continued, “You had secrets to keep, and no reason to tell anyone else, including me. But I benefitted without knowing it, didn’t I? You and your companions acting like sheriffs, hunting down this female criminal from the future. And these – what did you call them – that Yuuri gave everyone to cure them of plague.”

“Nanobots.”

“I’ll never get ill again?”

“It’s unlikely.”

“God be praised,” Chris said with a sigh as he reached for the drink and another piece of toast topped with honeyed ginger and hypocras, and Victor laughed. “Will you write this all down in a book? Because I’m certain I won’t remember a tenth of it. It’s the most wondrously strange tale I’ve ever heard, and I don’t even know if I would have believed it if you hadn’t shown me that gold sphere.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course not. You’re disappearing tomorrow.” The look in his eyes was unreadable. “So why did you decide to tell me now?”

Victor poured more drink for them both while he considered. “It’s not that I wouldn’t have trusted you. Julius and Emil were only informed because we needed their help. If Ailis, disguised as Natalia, had heard a single stray word that hinted at who Yuuri was pretending to be at the castle, his life would have been in instant danger.”

Chris nodded. “Fair enough. I was just curious.”

“Now that I’m leaving, though, it can be your information to do with as you choose. Andrei mustn’t know, but if you wanted to tell someone like Philip – ”

“Oh, he’d never believe it, not in a month of Sundays. Who would? But suddenly so many things make sense.” He swirled his wine in his mazer, then took a sip. “Yuuri seemed so lost at first when he arrived at the castle. I tried to be friendly towards him, but he tended to keep to himself, very quiet. I thought it was just because he’d lost the duel with you and had been made to come live at our castle. I would have tried to help him if I’d known.”

“From what I’ve gathered, Emil did admirably in that regard.”

“I daresay. Angels and devils could turn up, with the dead rising from their graves and Armageddon approaching, and that squire would hardly bat an eyelid; I think he’d be more worried about how clean his master’s armour was.”

Victor laughed. “You have the measure of him there, I’m sure.”

They drank in silence for a long moment, and then Chris said quietly, “I could tell you were distempered. Well, terribly aggrieved would be more accurate. I knew it was because Yuuri had left, we all did, but of course I didn’t know the full story.” He rubbed once more at his chin. “It must have been dreadful for you.”

Victor looked down. The familiar weight that used to descend on him when this subject arose was no longer there. He was caught in transition, he realised, living in neither one place nor the other, trying to keep his hopes and fears under tight rein as he awaited the next day.

Chris continued, “But you’ve been a complete professional, Victor, just like Yuuri always was. And while I’m no expert, I’d swear none of it ever showed in your performances. You’re the best. You always will be.”

“That’s good of you to say,” Victor replied quietly.

“It’s true. Whatever you do in this future time, you should find a way to continue what you’re so good at and what always meant so much to you.” A wistful look came over him. “I’d like to think of the two of you performing on a wheel together someplace where the people speak and dress strangely, and so many things are different, while they still can see the magic in what you do, and will love you both.”

Chris’s eyes were bright, and Victor felt tears in his own. “You’re very kind.” After a pause, he added sombrely, “It was a mistake for me not to get to know you better years ago. We could’ve been friends all this time.”

With a tiny grin, Chris replied, “Well, I tried, didn’t I? I just went the wrong way about it.”

“You didn’t. It’s difficult, men like us, finding the right balance sometimes. I could have done with someone to talk to like this.”

“Me also.” Chris breathed a big sigh, emptied his mazer, and said, “But that’s all in the past. You know, I’m glad you sold the troupe to Henric. I’m looking forward to getting back to it, even if you’ll be well nigh impossible to replace. Thank you for leaving that opportunity open to all of us.” He glanced around. “And for this kingly food and drink. I never knew what your room looked like until now. Do you reckon they’d allow me to move in for a few nights next time we stop by the castle? That bath bucket is the most scandalously luxurious thing I’ve ever seen.”

Victor huffed a laugh but remained silent.

“I’ll miss you,” Chris said with a grin, though there was sadness in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Victor reached across the table and they clasped hands.

“I know you’ll find Yuuri, Victor. And when you do, give him greetings on behalf of everyone in Victor and Friends, won’t you? Tell him we wish him happiness and blessings…because he’ll have them when he sees you again.”

Victor let out a breath as a tear trailed down his face. “Thank you. I will.”


	168. Chapter 168

The December sun shone bright but chill as it hung low in the sky, casting buttercup-hued rays across the grass. Three long shadows preceded their riders on the ancient Roman way to the city of York, wide here and covered with stone in most places, though treacherous muddy patches could still catch a traveller off guard. Most of the traffic came from the opposite direction, as business in the city concluded for the day; few were seeking to approach to enter unless they desired a room for the night. The low knell of a churchbell sounded the hour of vespers, soon echoed by others from the north, within the city wall, which could be glimpsed on its hill around bends and through gaps in the bare branches of fringing trees. 

Victor guided Alyona off the road toward a patch of pines, Julia and Emil following, until they’d gone deep enough to be well hidden from the road and were unlikely to be disturbed. In a clearing carpeted with brown needles, smelling of resin and the damp of leaves and earth, he reined his mount to a halt and tied her to a tree, the squires doing the same.

“Well done, girl,” he said, patting his horse affectionately on the rump as he began to untie his possessions. He paused to stroke her mane. “I’ll miss you.” Unfastening one of the saddlebags, he removed the lead rope that would tie her to Boudicca on the way back to the castle and fastened it to her reins, coiling the remaining length on the saddle.

Julia stood and watched him. “Are you certain you don’t want a cloak, master? Perhaps it would help you be less…conspicuous in 2121.”

He glanced down at his armour, which she’d polished for him the night before. And at the large, heavy leather bag he intended to carry on his back. And his citole. “It would just get tangled with all these things I’m taking with me.”

“But a knight in armour walking through their city – ?”

“All the better to attract Yuuri’s attention, then.”

She huffed a laugh. “Sir, do you honestly intend to just ask someone to take you to him? He said this city is much larger in his time – many thousands of people. Will you even be able to make yourself understood without a translator?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet what I’ll do,” he said with a casualness he didn’t feel. “It will depend on the circumstances. Thanks to Yuuri, Ailis, my mother, and Phichit and Mari, the ways of that time won’t be completely alien to me. And I can take care of myself.”

“You’ll no longer have a squire.”

Victor put his bag on the ground and turned to her. She suddenly looked very small inside her bushy brown fur coat and hat. “And you must get a knight, like Emil has Edward. Someone who can – ”

“There will be no one else like you,” she interrupted with a hitch in her throat. “Never.”

With a small sigh, Victor said, “Perhaps not. But that’s only because everyone is different. You’re fifteen, and not yet a knight, but if anyone deserves the title, it’s you. And you,” he added, glancing at Emil before addressing her again. “You must find someone who will give you that chance.”

She set her lips in a firm line. “Tell me,” she said after a moment, “how would you have replied if you’d been advised to find someone else to love because Yuuri had gone?”

The words bit keenly. “That’s different.”

“Not so much. I’ll work things out in my own way, but you are irreplaceable.”

“Oh, Julia,” he sighed. “Grieve if you must. But don’t cut short your chances at a good life. If you wish to remain true to me, then remember me in gladness when you wield your sword, or shoot your arrows, or perform on the wheel.”

She swallowed and nodded.

“You still intend to stay with the troupe, under Henric’s management?” 

“I haven’t changed my mind, master. I don’t wish to give that up. I just never expected to be doing it without you and Yuuri.”

“Nothing has happened quite how we expected.” Victor gave her a small smile. “I hope I’ll get a pleasant surprise when I look at the history books and discover that you and Emil became knights and lived long, happy lives; though the two things, unfortunately, don’t sit so well together.” An idea came to him then, and this time he addressed them both. “I want you to remember one thing Yuuri told me. The next great battle will take place in Agincourt in 1415. The English will win. Surely two less archers can’t make much difference.”

Emil raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be forty years old then, if it pleases God for me to live that long.”

“I’ll be thirty-seven,” Julia said. “Young enough to still have a good pair of eyes and hands, I should hope.”

“I don’t want to think about you going into battle,” Victor told her.

She frowned. “What use is being a knight if you don’t?”

“It’s a question I’ve frequently asked myself.” After a pause, he added, “But whether or not you become a knight, what’s important is that you live, Julia, and do what you love. That would mean a great deal more to me than any title you might receive.”

“I’ll do my best,” she replied quietly.

Taking a breath, Victor continued, “I’ve also recommended you to the lord and lady as their heir. ‘If anything happens to me’ is what I told my father, since he’s unaware that this is my last day here.”

Emil’s eyes widened as he smiled at her, while she gasped. “You can’t mean it, master. After – after what I did with the time-travel sphere? I don’t deserve – ”

“It’s behind us now.” He tilted her chin up with a finger. “Yes, you do deserve it. Just be certain to keep a good head on your shoulders. And remember the talks we’ve had about ways to better the lives of the villeins. If you do inherit, then do what you can for them, and light the way for others to do the same. Let Yuuri’s knowledge and wisdom do some good here after he and I are gone.”

She blinked with bright eyes. “I will. I promise.”

After a pause, Victor continued, “In the unlikely event that a man from the future appears in my place after I leave, I want you to have this. It would reassure me to know that you had it to use for your protection, regardless.” As he opened the purse at his belt and took the laser gun out, he recalled how he’d told Julia about Ailis’s claim in Immersion that she would be able to prevent the time-swap with any spheres she repaired, which Emil had been present to hear. Victor had been prepared to tell them about his dream if they raised any questions, but neither of them had. It must be that they trusted him to know what he was doing. If only he could believe it himself.

“If he does appear,” he said as he handed the gun to Julia, “he may be hostile or very frightened. If you need to shoot him, keep the setting on stun. And remember that my mother is prepared to offer him a place at the castle; you can leave him there on your way to rejoining the troupe tomorrow.” _Please, God, _he prayed silently one more time, _don’t let any of this be necessary. If it is, then I’m about to make the most grievous error of my life. _

“Rest assured, my lord, that we would keep a close watch on him,” Emil said.

Victor nodded, continuing to gaze at Julia. “Yuuri trusted me to keep this, and now I’m trusting you,” he said gravely. “Use it wisely and only in extreme need. Don’t let others see you doing so. And above all, don’t let anyone else get it. This one device could change the course of history, as powerful as it is – which is the very reason why three people came from the future to try to find Ailis.”

Julia placed the gun in her purse. “I understand. And try not to worry, master. We’re as good as knights now, in your estimation.”

_That won’t stop me from worrying about you, _Victor thought as he strapped his bag and his citole over his back. From now on, he would be powerless to do anything other than leave her in the hands of fate, which was more disturbing than he was willing to admit, though this was a poor time to do anything other than show his faith in her ability, and Emil’s, to look after themselves and live their lives. Swallowing, he tugged at the straps of his bag, and the ones that held his citole in its harness; they seemed secure.

“Do you intend to leave from here, master?” Julia asked. “Wouldn’t it be better if we were within the city walls?”

“The city is much bigger in Yuuri’s time – you said it yourself. It extends well beyond the boundaries we’re familiar with. Besides, I don’t need witnesses surrounding me when I say goodbye – and you don’t need them watching me vanish. I rather think it would be difficult to explain away such a piece of witchcraft.”

Emil nodded. “Then this would seem a good place for it, my lord.”

_No one will ever call me that again. How strange._ Victor stepped forward and gently gripped Emil’s arms. “Thank you for the care you gave to Yuuri from the very beginning, when he had no one else to help him. For saving his life and mine in Immersion. And for supporting us with Victor and Friends. You’ve gone beyond anything that would be expected of a squire…you’ve been a true friend.”

Emil surged forward and hugged him around his metal plates; and after Victor got over his initial surprise, he smiled and embraced him in return, as far as the encumbrances on his back would allow. He heard the squire’s voice say, “Remember us to Yuuri. I hope you’ll both be happy together.”

When they separated, Emil’s eyes were bright, though Julia’s cheeks were already streaked with tears. Victor approached her and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “May God and the angels and saints look after you, Julia de Montfort,” he said softly. “I’m proud to have watched you blossom in your talents, and as a person, while you’ve been my squire. You’re that, and so much more. I’ll remember you always, and keep you in my heart.”

She sniffed and said brokenly, “Tell Yuuri what I said, please, master…don’t forget.”

“Of course I’ll tell him.”

A sob escaped her throat. “Oh, master,” she cried, hugging him. Victor’s own cheeks were wet now as he held her tight.

After a long moment, they reluctantly parted and wiped at their eyes. Then Victor took several paces backwards as the squires stood with their horses, watching him in silence. He removed the golden sphere from his purse and stared down at it while a light breeze sprang up and ruffled his fringe.

These could be the final moments of his life if something went wrong. What if, in 2121, there was a wall right here? What if he discovered, too late, a vehicle coming straight at him? Or might he arrive standing above or below ground level, so he would either plummet to his death, or…

_Sweet Jesus, no – I must stop thinking about these things. I’ve made my decision, and this is what I’m going to do. If it’s my final act, so be it…but surely Alex would not have used my dream to give me the means to cause my own death. Hope and faith – I have both. _

Setting his jaw firmly, he pulled up the BCI and wondered, not for the first time, what date to select. He could attempt to make it that day ten weeks ago when Yuuri had disappeared, only in 2121. However, Victor had heard enough of what Yuuri had said about the way their times seemed to have synchronised, once he and Ailis had travelled to this one, that he didn’t dare try to interfere with it. The fourteenth of December, 2121, was therefore what he chose, and as soon as he had entered the full date, the little black picture of the hourglass began to flash.

His heart raced as he looked up and took in Julia and Emil, both with solemn expressions; Julia wiped another tear away. Behind and around them, the three horses, the grass, the trees. A golden sun sinking toward the horizon of a day at the end of 1393. The year he was not meant to survive.

_God be with us all. Watch over these faithful squires. Let me live through this and see Yuuri once more._

With a silent goodbye, he gathered his courage and sent his thoughts at the hourglass, willing it to activate, because that seemed to be the only thing to do.

Nothing happened, at first. But then it was as if he’d walked into the Immersion fog, his surroundings beginning to fade to white. The last thing he saw before they vanished entirely was Emil and Julia gazing back at him with wide eyes. Julia was gripping Boudicca’s reins and raising a hand in farewell, and he tried to do the same; but the ground and his weight on it disappeared, and he clutched the sphere tightly with both hands as he felt himself being pulled about as if in a tempest.

He cried out, but it was drowned by a sudden roar in his ears, like giant waves endlessly crashing on the shore. Where was up and where was down? Would he land on his back like a beetle, his possessions crushed? God in heaven, what was to become of him?

He felt, rather than heard, his own shout as he was wrenched backward. With a boom and a flash, something solid appeared under his feet, and he reeled as if drunk. He threw an arm out to regain his balance, continuing to grip the sphere with his other hand, and came to a halt, slowly straightening.

_I’m breathing. I’m standing. There’s daylight. Thank God. But did I swap places with someone? How will I ever know? Will lifelong uncertainty become my penance? But even that is nothing like the price my counterpart may be paying this very moment._

He’d acted, however, and it could not be undone. And he’d come here for a reason; it was important to concentrate on that. He looked around as the thundering pace of his heart began to slow, trying to take everything in at once.

He was on a street. Covered in a grey strip of stone, like the ones he’d seen in Immersion London, with wide paths on either side. The fact that it looked like it belonged in the future, and he was neither falling onto it from above nor stuck in the ground below, was reassuring. An area to his left was covered by nothing but grass and trees planted in rows, like the place where their hovercar had crashed in Immersion; Yuuri had called it a park.

And he was still holding the sphere, whose screen had gone blank. No BCI appeared at his command; no date, no hourglass. Broken, just like Yuuri’s was. He tucked it into his purse.

A buzzing noise approached from above, and he jerked his head up to discover flying vehicles in the sky. They were high and difficult to make out, but most appeared to be oval-shaped, and while the majority were silver or black or white, there were flashes of colour, too. Victor picked out red and blue, and one that looked like it might have stripes on the side. They reminded him of bees flying to and from a hive, and they sounded something like it as well.

“By all the saints,” he whispered, momentarily entranced by the sight.

Something bumped into his side. He started and looked down to see two young women walking past. They glanced back at him, and blushed and giggled to each other, and he smiled back despite his confusion. They wore…it wasn’t hose on their legs. Trousers. One had a long red coat in a similar style to Yuuri’s, and loose shoulder-length black hair, while the other had a puffy grey coat that ended at mid-thigh with oddments stitched all over it – pockets, loops and straps. Her hair was short, thick, and lilac-coloured, with a sprinkling of silver over it like fairy dust. That was fascinating in itself, but the most interesting thing about them was the face paint Victor had glimpsed when they’d looked his way. The black-haired woman had pink and yellow swirls near the corner of each eye, and the lilac-headed one’s eyes were lined all the way around in bright blue – the sort of thing he imagined people from Yuuri’s time would wear, because they were similar to the patterns Yuuri had painted himself.

_Is this it – the fourteenth of December, 2121? _

Why hadn’t he thought to stop the two women? He desperately needed information about where and when he was – that was by far the most important thing, however distracting his surroundings might be.

Victor was considering catching up to them when he heard “Excuse me” from behind, and turned to find a woman and a boy there, staring at him. She was older and less colourful than the other two women, with long brown hair wrapped and pinned around her head, and a grey coat to her ankles, though she had face paint too – white and gold and orange over one eye, from brow to temple, like an exploding firework. The boy looked to be about six, with a puffy olive-green coat and a swirling black geometric design down one side of his face. He continued to gaze in unabashed fascination, and when Victor glanced around, he saw other passers-by who were doing the same, as he met several pairs of eyes. Then someone zoomed down the road on a blue machine with two wheels, balancing on a little seat in between, pedalling. Victor’s jaw dropped. What had that been? Yuuri hadn’t mentioned –

“My son really likes your knight costume,” the woman said mildly, snapping his attention back to her and the boy.

He blinked. Yuuri had said that Middle English, as he’d called it, had been easier to understand when he’d read it, because the pronunciation was so different from what he was used to. If this woman was speaking his modern version, Victor was finding it equally unintelligible. Once again he regretted not asking Yuuri or anyone he’d talked with over the com to teach him more. 

“Ee prei theh, sei that eft igain? he asked, hardly daring to hope she’d understand.

After a pause, the woman laughed. “What language is that?”

“Ee am speking Englisch, madam.”

The boy reached a hand out and touched his scabbard as if it were an animal that might bite. His eyes grew wider, and he smiled up at Victor. “That’s juke,” he enthused, before pulling his hand back shyly.

_I know that word. Yuuri must have said it dozens of times._

“Am Ee in York?” he asked the woman.

“I’m sorry?”

“Es this York?” Victor rephrased, wondering what else he could possibly say. He couldn’t try French, because it would be the French of hundreds of years ago. They didn’t speak Latin here, did they? “_Haecine urbs York est? Ubi sum?_”

“If you’re asking if you’re in York, then the answer’s yes,” she replied, gazing at him in confusion. “Don’t you – wait a minute.” Then she gave a little laugh. “Oh, I get it. You’re pretending to be a knight. I must say, you look the part. Are you a tour guide?”

Victor wrinkled his brow, but decided her tone of voice implied a switch from confusion to contentment, which must a good thing. “What es the yer?” he asked her, hoping the simple words would be understood.

“Is that a trick question?” she said with a chuckle. “Am I supposed to answer ‘the high Middle Ages’ or something?” But as Victor waited, she finally said, “It’s the year of our lord two thousand one hundred and twenty-one, my good sir. I’m afraid you’re a little past your time.”

Victor smiled in relief. _God be praised. _

“Thank you,” he said. Now, would she understand if he asked her how to get to the university from here, and would he understand her reply? He didn’t know where Yuuri lived, but he knew that Phichit and Celestino worked there. And possibly Yuuri as well. Someone there might be able to help him, at least. “Nostou hoh to ga til the universiteh?” he said, enunciating each word precisely.

“I didn’t catch that. Something about a university?”

_God grant me patience. And us both the ability to communicate with one another._

They spoke brokenly for a while, and Victor thought she eventually caught the essence of what he was saying. She seemed to be giving him directions, but the meaning of her gestures was clearer than her words. The task merely of finding the university was going to be difficult, he’d quickly realised, as language was a barrier, and he had no map. He’d have to ask others as he went along, since he’d gathered that the way from here was not straightforward. It was obvious, as well, that he would stand out from the crowd wherever he went. Perhaps he should have taken Julia’s advice about wearing a cloak.

“I hope that helps,” the woman said. “I’ve never met anyone who tried to be so authentic. You’ve even got those leggings they wore back then, and no Cloud wristband.” She pointed to the black band on her wrist. The boy had one also, and his gaze kept returning to Victor’s scabbard.

“Can I see your sword?” he asked, and touched the pommel in that same timid way. Victor didn’t understand what he’d said, but he could see that the boy was keen. His mother wouldn’t summon the police, he hoped, if he drew his weapon. These people had helped him; the least he could do was amuse them a little, if that was what they wanted.

He stepped back, wrapped his hand around the hilt, and pulled it out, pointing it at the boy but smiling at the same time to show he meant no harm. “Noh, yong knaue, thi fals and fel misdeidis sal be unpunish-ed na mo. For Ee wil venge the unselii giltles of thi loth wikkednes.” He raised his free hand theatrically and brandished his sword. “Mak theh redi for mi vengerous blad, sari carl. Haue at theh!” He did a little twirl and a leap, then landed in an attacking pose with a clatter. Even an audience for Victor and Friends would have deemed it a melodramatic performance, but the boy looked like someone had just placed a dish of sweetmeats in front of him.

Victor tossed his sword into the air, and it twirled; he caught it neatly just beneath the pommel, then knelt in front of the boy and guided his hand to the hilt, where small fingers gripped. “Methinkis it yet somdel hevi for theh, yong maister. But thoh wil soon bei of age to begin fostring as a page, an it liikes thi kin.” He assumed they understood little of what he was saying, though it felt good to say it anyway, and perhaps they would catch a word or two that they knew. The boy removed his hand and ran his fingers over the golden pommel.

“Kilo-_ting_,” he said. “Are you a real knight?”

And Victor knew now what they were talking about, in part, or so he thought. _Nite _was how they pronounced _knight_; he’d heard Yuuri say it before, but it had been some time ago. He hazarded an answer to what he thought the boy was asking.

“Sertes, Ee am a _nite_ in soth. Sir Victor Nikiforov, bi mi feith.” He bowed.

“Reuben Landry, sir,” the boy said, bowing back.

Victor smiled again as he stood. A boy his age at a castle would have seen many knights before, but he supposed Reuben Landry had never set eyes on one at all until now. There was something surprisingly enjoyable about being a novelty like this; but he would have to be on his way. He sheathed his sword.

“Would you mind if I took your picture?” the woman asked. Victor didn’t understand the question, but the boy hurried to stand beside him, and she tossed something into the air. It looked like a silver coin, and darted about, then stopped to hang weightlessly at head height a few feet in front of him. Before Victor could begin to guess at what she was doing – harmless, surely, but also baffling – she said, “Done. Thanks so much.”

“Let me see,” the boy said to her, and suddenly a beam of light shot out of the coin, projecting a vision of him and Victor. It had to be a hologram, but it was like looking at shimmering ghosts in a mirror. Victor’s lips parted as he silently stared.

_That’s me as I am, right this moment. In my armour and with all these things on my back, and my hair dishevelled from my journey in the timestream. _He ran a hand through it. _What else is here that I don’t yet know about? I shall begin to need my courage to round every corner in this city. But how silly of me. This is Yuuri’s time, and it’s peaceful. Mostly._

The hologram disappeared as quickly as it had sprung into being, and the silver coin obediently flew back to the woman’s hand, like a falcon returning to its owner. “Thank you, erm, Sir Victor. And for letting Reuben look at your sword. You’ve been very kind.” She took the boy’s hand. “Say thank you, Reuben.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, giving Victor a small wave, his eyes seemingly not wanting to let him go as they moved off.

“Par fei, litel maister,” he replied with one last smile. Then he strode in the direction in which the woman had gestured, thinking that if there were charming lads such as this one here, it could not be a bad place.

As he went, it was difficult to take his eyes away from these people of the future with colourful faces and comparatively drab clothing. All of them were painted, though commonly it seemed to be restricted to small curves or lines around the eyes. Yuuri’s was beautiful, that day he’d programmed his projector to give him swirls of electric blue; so exotic and sensual. And then they’d got used to using real paint when they were in the troupe. It no longer ached to think of these things now – they would remember together. Yuuri was _here _somewhere, he _had _to be. 

Victor was conscious that the people he passed didn’t seem to want to take their eyes off him, either. Some waved, while a few laughed. It reminded him of the reception that foreign people sometimes received in his own time, particularly if their skin was an unusual colour – though the ones he saw on these streets who had brown skin, or eyes that reminded him of Yuuri’s, seemed at home. He’d occasionally travelled incognito when he didn’t wish to attract attention to himself, but that had been different; he’d merely been overlooked. Here, he appeared to be the oddest thing on the street.

_It doesn’t matter, _he told himself as he walked._ I just need to find Yuuri._

More people requested his hologram; they had flying silver coins like Reuben’s mother. Victor allowed it, and posed and smiled, asking them in turn for directions to the university. Which all took time while they attempted to communicate. The whole business would be different if he’d journeyed to a distant land for a holiday and had been looking forward to an adventure and a challenge. This was more than just another land – it was hundreds of years in the future, albeit a place he thought he’d understood something about.

Looking around as he walked, however, he decided he’d been rather cavalier in that assumption, and could only guess at the unspoken rules here. Those who hadn’t noticed him often stared ahead with glazed expressions, whether they were stationary or walking, while some spoke or laughed when there was no one with them. Victor wondered if they were using the Cloud; Reuben’s mother had seemed surprised that he wasn’t wearing a wristband. If he bought one, he’d fit in better, and might have access to a map. But would anyone accept his coins? And where would he need to go – a tech shop? Surely his lack of future-English would defeat him in such a place.

There weren’t many shops here anyway, that he’d noticed; not like the London he’d visited in Immersion. No towering buildings, either. They seemed older, without so much glass and metal, though nothing here resembled the buildings of hundreds of years ago, even though Yuuri had said that 2121 York still contained much from that period. Victor passed red-brick edifices, houses built into hillsides, and agglomerations that looked like cells in a honeycomb; he watched a young man with a trailing blond ponytail arrive outside of one that was three storeys up, riding a hoverboard like Boris Blessington-Stewart. The door opened in front of him, he stepped inside with the hoverboard following, and then the door shut. It seemed humans had joined birds and insects in their mysterious life in the skies. Did Yuuri live in such a place?

And that buzz of vehicles overheard, almost constant. Occasionally one would land somewhere nearby, either to collect or disgorge people, with no driver inside. Victor knew he ought to be more curious about it all, and he supposed he would be under different circumstances. Talking more with the people who wanted his hologram, or attempting to. Lingering in front of shop windows. But all he wanted now was to arrive at the university. If no one he sought was there, perhaps someone would be able to tell him where they could be found. That was, if they were able to understand each other.

He wondered how far away Yuuri lived; it could be quite a stretch, if he frequently travelled in those flying vehicles. Victor was used to running long distances in his armour, but he’d ridden Alyona for eight hours today, and already felt oddly drained from having been here. He was also, truth be told, growing tired of attracting so much attention. The only way to bring his armour with him had been to wear it, as he was not about to leave it behind, but of course it wasn’t something the people of this time were used to seeing. 

The sun was beginning to sink behind the trees and buildings, throwing the road into shadow, when the last set of directions Victor received took him to what seemed like a village on a long, sinuous lake. He crossed the sweeping grey curve of a bridge, like a calligraphic brushstroke, with elegant metal rails that were smooth and cold, pausing in the middle to watch a small white boat propel itself through the water while two occupants, a man and a woman, sat inside and took in the view. What the oarsmen who steered ships up and down the Ouse wouldn’t have given for such a vehicle. And had Yuuri ever walked over this bridge? Perhaps he’d been here many times. It was a beautiful spot.

_I have to move; it’s getting dark. _On the other side of the bridge, amid more patches of grass and trees, was a large paved expanse and network of paths among the buildings. Tall lamps on black metal poles were beginning to shine, pale and without flame. Other lights burst into life as well, and many windows glowed. Victor marvelled at how the people here had tamed the night and shoved it aside, going about their business in a continuing artificial day. No wonder Yuuri was glad to have had Ailis’s light – it must have been strange for him to have lived in rooms that were illuminated in the late hours by nothing other than candles and a fire in the grate.

_How could I have felt that I knew him so well, when so much of his life here was a mystery to me? I can’t imagine travelling to this time myself and suddenly having to pretend that I’m as much at home as everyone else. And I didn’t land in the middle of a duel, either._

_But I do know him well. I do. And that was what he wanted; he shared so much with me. _

_Oh Yuuri, are you really here? Are you safe?_

He wandered closer to the main cluster of buildings. So many different colours and materials and shapes. One had the inward curve and outward flare of a goblet. Another looked like two drums merging into each other. The continuing difficulty of his task struck him as he wondered which of the many buildings to approach first.

As he penetrated further into the maze, searching for something likely and asking himself if he really understood anything of what that ought to look like, he passed men and women who mostly appeared to be about Emil’s age. They were more openly interested in him, too, whistling and gesturing and shouting things he didn’t understand, though he could guess their import. To them he was a curiosity, and some seemed to like it, while others hoped to embarrass him.

_Hey, jack – juke suit of armour, _he heard, and _Show us your sword, Lancelot. _Which he believed he mostly understood, though the mocking tone of voice made the meaning clear anyway. Some of them simply laughed as if he were stupidly outrageous, or just plain mad. He’d never experienced such insolence before, as a knight and the son of a baron – but then, he was neither of those things here.

In his own time, he would not hesitate to teach these youngsters a lesson in humility and respect. But this was a different situation entirely, and he wasn’t going to waste his time trying to deal with it. He simply walked past, ignoring them, until he arrived at a tall silver pillar labelled “Information Point”. It was smooth and plain, but as he stared at it, a BCI appeared in his vision. A woman’s voice said, “Welcome to the University of York. Choose from one of the options on the menu.”

Victor paused, marvelling. The voice had been _in his head_, as opposed to something extraneous that his ears had heard. A year ago, if this had happened to him, he would have wondered if he’d been possessed. And for a brief moment, he questioned whether he really was going mad, so heavily did the weight of the strangeness in this place settle upon him.

_Nonsense. I’m lucky to have found a source of information, and we speak the same language enough for me to comprehend it, mostly. This could be the aid I was searching for._

The voice spoke again, reading out the menu choices. _Admissions. Jobs. Undergraduates. Research. Map. _Ah, that was what he wanted. As he thought at it, a colourful map appeared in front of him, superimposed over the paths and buildings. Truly astounding…but as he examined it, his heart began to sink. He’d been to Oxford once and seen the university there, with its grand church-like honey-coloured buildings. This place seemed to favour function over adornment, and was vast and sprawling. There were no obvious indications of where he should try first. Derwent College, Roger Kirk Centre, Helix House, Chemistry Buildings. You were clearly expected to already know which one you wanted to visit, and this showed you where it was.

Victor raked a hand through his fringe. The shadows were deepening, and the fact of the matter was that he was lost, in both time and place. If he had no success today, he would not be able to walk to an inn and pay for a meal and a room. It was cold to sleep outside, and he was in his armour with many possessions, all of them valuable in their own way; he could not make himself a target for thieves and brigands. There were still criminals in this time, and it had produced Ailis; his safety wasn’t assured.

A quick stab of panic shot through him. At its heels was a reminder that he might have taken someone’s place just to be here, a heavy concern that would never sit right with him. Why, as soon as he’d appeared, hadn’t he had the presence of mind to ask those two women if anyone had been standing in his spot? Perhaps if he located the right history books here, he might find some information, if the man ended up doing anything of note…but no, that was fanciful thinking indeed.

Victor felt wretched in that moment.

_I’ve been in fights to the death and maintained my composure, _he told himself._ Giving in to fear now would be foolish. Surely I’m close to my goal, and I have the wherewithal to cope with this, come what may._

He looked around, wondering if there was anyone nearby who would be willing to assist him, though he groaned inwardly at the thought of another conversation full of misunderstandings and gesturing. But so be it. He spotted a tall, slim man emerging from a nearby red-brick building; he had a dark trimmed beard with patches of grey and very little hair but no hat to warm his head, wore a long tan coat, and was carrying a leather case. There was a mildness about his posture and stride that suggested he might be amenable to approach. The man’s eyes widened upon seeing Victor walk up to him.

“Good evening,” Victor said pleasantly. “Ee sek aftir a bilding, and Ee prei thoh miight help mei. It mun be for quantum physics other tech repair,” he said, recalling that those were Phichit’s and Yuuri’s specialisms.

“I’m sorry,” the man replied politely, his brow knitted in confusion. “Were you asking about the physics and electronics buildings?”

Victor didn’t know what electronics were, but Yuuri had taught him the word _electricity_, and _physics _was part of _quantum physics_, so this sounded hopeful. “Ee prei theh, tell mei wherr thei er?” When the man stared without reply, he simply said, “Wherr?”

The man considered, looking slightly flustered. “I was just on my way home, but…well, it’s not far. Come on, I’ll show you.” He turned and began to walk, and Victor fell into step beside him. They passed a tiny square pond with water shooting up in the middle, and he wondered what function that served.

“Where are you from?” the man asked as they went along. “I can’t place the accent.”

“From?” Victor echoed. How could he explain that he was from here, but hundreds of years in the past? “Ee am…from Ruseea cam.” Hopefully his guide would not attempt to speak to him in Russian, because presumably they would still be at cross purposes after the changes time had wrought.

“Oh, I see,” was all he said. “I have to say I’ve never heard anyone speak English quite like that.” He glanced at Victor. “You here for a re-enactment?”

Unable to answer because he didn’t understand the question, Victor simply smiled. Their stilted conversation carried on as they approached a three-storey grey and black building with many windows. He asked the man if he knew Yuuri Katsuki, or someone called Phichit or Celestino, but he shook his head.

“This is a big university, and I work part-time in the philosophy department, so I don’t come across many scientists or techies, if that’s who you want to see. But if you ask inside the building, the receptionist should be able to look the names up and tell you where their offices are.”

Victor answered with a well-meaning grin, having taken in none of this, his gut beginning to twist in frustration. He was led to the other side of the building, which opened onto one of the city streets. Lights flashed in the sky as vehicles passed overhead. People walked by and stared at him. He turned to the glass doors, beyond which was a large room with a white-tiled floor that appeared empty apart from a woman with short blond hair and a grey jacket sitting behind a very long curved barrier.

“There you go,” the man said. “Just talk to the receptionist; she’ll help you.” He paused. “Well, I hope you find who you’re looking for. Good luck.” And with that, he started back in the direction from which they’d come.

“Thank you,” Victor called after him. _Receptionist_, he’d said. Who or what was that? It had sounded important.

He ought to go through the doors, but his feet didn’t seem to want to move. Inside, there would be more staring people and broken conversations. Was it the correct building? The man had said there was more than one, though many of them appeared to be interconnected, either directly or via glass-covered walkways high up. Immersion London had prepared him for very little of this. And Yuuri had been with him most of the time.

_Yuuri – _that was who he’d come here to find, and that was what he was going to do. He’d already risked his life by using the time-travel sphere, so how was it that a set of glass doors should intimidate him? Ridiculous. If he had Perun here, he could charge in on him, sword drawn, and announce that he’d come to see Yuuri.

_That would just embarrass him. I must stop being so silly._

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward.

* * *

“Hey, Caskata, don’t forget prep at nine tomorrow morning,” Phichit said as he tidied the work area in the lab.

“No problem,” she replied as she went to the door with Jian. The two students said their goodbyes and left, and Phichit began the process of shutting down the quark-gluon plasma simulator. It would take all night to cool.

Caskata and Jian were astrophysics undergrads who Celestino had asked him to work with, rather than condensed-matter physicists like himself, but there was a lot of overlap. Only a few years younger than he was, they were also the first students whose coursework project he’d been put in charge of, though it was just for a month’s worth of sessions in the plasma lab. He was glad they were nice, hard-working and responsible; they were bound to get good marks.

As he navigated the simulator’s BCI, he wondered if he ought to go see Yuuri, who would be over in his private lab just as surely as York City had won their last zero-G football match. The tech he had there was weird, and a little frightening to be honest. At least he’d stopped going back to the castle with it, as far as Phichit knew. But Yuuri was also anxious about the end of the year coming up, and he might get so desperate that he’d decide to try something stupid or dangerous; he was clever enough to be aware of what he was doing, or the risks involved at any rate, but Phichit wouldn’t put it past him, especially where Victor was concerned.

“I can’t be around him all the time,” he murmured as he mentally flipped switches in the simulator. But he was worried. He’d have called Mari again by now, but thought maybe Yuuri wouldn’t be happy about that, possibly seeing it as a lack of faith that he could get on and live his life.

“He isn’t, though,” he sighed.

He shook his head and continued with his task. But his thoughts strayed to his friend again, cooped up by himself, feverishly trying to accomplish what it must have taken even Ailis years to do. _Maybe he’ll be willing to go to a pub. No Farah or Phil this time. Especially no Phil. _It was embarrassing that he hadn’t known Phil was a snapdragon, but how did you ask someone a question like that when you thought you were only going out for a group after-work drink? Worse, he’d really liked Yuuri, even though to Phichit’s knowledge they’d hardly spoken more than two words to each other. Phil had asked a few times since then if he’d arrange for them to meet up accidentally-on-purpose again, and he’d told him Yuuri was definitely unavailable, though it had taken the jack a while to give up on the idea.

While Phichit was glad he finally had, he wondered if and when Yuuri would actually be open to seeing someone again. As far as he was aware, Victor had been his first. But if he also ended up being his last, that would be awful for him. Phichit had been starting to think that as nice a jack as Victor was, and all the other juke things about him that Yuuri had mentioned, those few months they’d been together could end up ruining the rest of his life.

_He got over his parents’ deaths, _he thought as he finished with the simulator and went to stow his things in his backpack. _Sort of. I guess no one ever really gets over something like that. Maybe he was this way when they died, too. Maybe it just takes time. I wouldn’t know; I’ve been lucky so far._

Come to think of it, Yuuri probably wouldn’t want a drink, because he’d be keen to get straight back to work with a clear head. But there was no harm in trying to get him to come out for a walk, or even to share a meal in his lab, Phichit supposed, if he didn’t want to leave. They could talk about field theory, maybe, since that was his latest interest.

Strapping on his backpack, he mentally switched off the lights, leaving the slowly fading white ball behind its carboglass. The door opened for him and he stepped into the corridor, receiving a call from Maria the receptionist downstairs at the same time.

“Phichit, there’s a…man here wanting to speak with you. He asked for Yuuri Katsuki first, but he’s not answering calls, and the system won’t tell me where he is.”

“He’s doing classified work,” Phichit answered, beginning to walk down the corridor, “and he’s got a system bypass. But I can get through to him. Who’s the jack who wants to see him?”

“I…I’m having trouble understanding him. He doesn’t, ah, speak much English.”

Phichit knitted his brow. “OK, I’m on my way down.” As he cut the call, he wondered who on earth it could be. A student? But Yuuri didn’t have much to do with them – or anyone here anymore, actually. He came and worked in his lab and went home.

_And why would a visitor ask to speak to me if he couldn’t speak to Yuuri? This is weird._

Most students were gone for the day by now, and the halls were empty. Phichit went down a flight of stairs and arrived in the reception atrium as the sun was setting. Maria was at her post behind the long desk at the far end, with a tall man across from her whose back was currently turned to the rest of the room. He was wearing gleaming silver plate armour and looked like a medieval Santa Claus, with a leather sack and some kind of lute strapped to his back. Yuuri hadn’t sounded keen to join a re-enactment society. But maybe he’d changed his mind, and this person was here to collect him for an event…in the dark? No, that couldn’t be right. And he would have mentioned it anyway, wouldn’t he? Well, if something like that was going on, it could only be a good thing, and a healthy sign.

As Phichit approached, the man turned to look at him. He was pale, and…well, _stunning _seemed to be the best word. Very light short hair with a fringe that flopped over his left eye. Clear blue eyes. Muscular. In fact, he really looked the part; he even had medieval-style clothes under his armour, including those bizarre underpants they’d worn between their hose. Not…that he ought to be looking at that, Phichit thought with a blush. And anyway, if Yuuri had been talking to this man about the Middle Ages, he’d know exactly how to dress.

But where and how had they met? He also seemed to fit Victor’s description, sort of. Before Phichit could mentally go through the implications of Yuuri trying to find a Victor-substitute, however, the man spoke. 

“Phichit?”

“Yes? Hi.” Phichit approached, while the man took a few slow steps toward him. Closer up, he was…still stunning. With an expression that seemed to imply he couldn’t believe Phichit existed. Though it looked friendly, too. Bloody hell, what was all this about? “Um, Yuuri didn’t tell me anyone would be meeting him here. Was he expecting you?”

There was a long pause. _Why is he staring at me like that?_

“It es theh,” he said softly. “Thi vois. I herd it on the com mani a tiid, but…Ee am sikerli herr with theh noh.” He huffed a small laugh, as if the situation was continuing to astonish him. “It es right gohd to sei theh at last.” 

His eyes said to Phichit that he knew him. His words were almost indecipherable. His voice…good God, his voice…Phichit sucked in a breath and stared hard. And while his mind knew it was impossible, crazy, he said on impulse, “Victor?”

He smiled, seemingly both pleased and relieved, and nodded.

A rush of excitement swooped through Phichit, so quick and strong that he felt almost drunk. “Holy…holy shit,” he just about managed to murmur.

Victor – it had to be him, though God only knew how – came closer and clasped his arms in greeting. Phichit did the same after a pause, though he was surprised he could even lift his hands. He felt like someone had whacked him over the head with a brick, minus the headache.

“But how can it be you?” he breathed. “How did you get here? What…?” He looked quickly at Maria, who had been watching in fascination. “He’ll come with me, thanks,” he called. Then he took Victor by the arm and urgently steered him down the hall, not even sure where they were going yet. If he took Victor straight to Yuuri, Yuuri would have a heart attack, probably. Though he might have that anyway, because these two were going to have to get together, and soon. But there was a problem that had to be sorted out first.

“You’re speaking Middle English,” he said, deciding on a direction for them to take. Back up the stairs, for a start. “I can hardly understand you. Come to my office; I’ve got one of Ailis’s translators there.”

“Hastou a translator?”

“Yeah. Obviously you don’t. But how the blinking hell did you get here, Victor? This is like some kind of weird dream. Yuuri said all of Ailis’s tech was destroyed in her lab.” When Victor stared in confusion, he said, “How did you get here?”

“Hoh am Ee cam herr?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Ee haue a time-travel sphere.”

They entered Phichit’s little office, and Victor took the gold sphere out of a pouch on his belt and showed him. Phichit had seen others like it before – Dr. Quincey, Dr. Croft, Yuuri. “Shit, it really _is_ you…but how the hell did you get one of those? I hardly know what to say. Um, wait.”

He slung his backpack on the floor, then hurried to a desk drawer and unlocked it. _He can’t be real. This can’t be happening, _his mind kept telling him. His mind had been wrong a lot today. Locating a translator, he took it out and rejoined Victor, who was watching him curiously. A light leapt into his eyes when he saw the device, and when Phichit gave it to him, he knew straight away what to do with it. It was quickly in his ear, and then he was smiling again.

“Thank you. Can you understand me now?”

“Loud and clear,” Phichit laughed, delight bubbling up inside of him. Then he asked again, “Where did you get a time-travel sphere?”

“Ailis must have repaired one before she died, and it was found. Is Yuuri here?” He returned the sphere to its pouch, eyes shining. “I couldn’t understand the lady at the desk, and I doubt she understood much of what I said, either. Please…” he added, swallowing, “…tell me he is, or at least that he returned safely and is all right. I dearly wish to see him.”

The love was clear in his face and words, just as Phichit had heard many times over the com. As if it wasn’t already from what he’d just done, coming here to find Yuuri even though there would be no going back. Not unless the poor jack he’d swapped with died, as Justin had. And shit, if _that _happened again…

“Let me see if I can get him over the Cloud. Come with me – his office is in the building. I’ll tell him to meet us there.”

“He’s here?” Victor said, following him out the door.

“He’s usually working in his lab these days.”

“He has a lab?”

“He’s been studying temporal physics. Time travel.” Phichit glanced at him as they walked. “Hoping to get back to you.”

Victor smiled in surprise.

“He’s still trying to work out what Ailis knew and copy what she did. He isn’t going to be building time-travel spheres anytime soon, I don’t think. But he’s been really worried about you. Well, I’m sure he can tell you everything himself when you see him.”

Victor was silent, as if contemplating the wonders of this, and of his surroundings, looking at the floor and the windows and the lights.

They were _both _going to have heart attacks when they saw each other, Phichit decided – and he was going to at this rate, too. He called Yuuri, who answered, though Victor wouldn’t be able to hear his voice.

“Yuuri,” he said, “I’m on my way to your office with a visitor for you.” He could feel Victor’s eyes on him. When Yuuri didn’t respond, he said his name again.

“Who is it and what do they want? I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I’m kind of busy – ”

_How am I supposed to tell you over the Cloud that the man you’ve been pining after for the past few months has suddenly appeared from 1393 in reception? _“Trust me, you’ll want to drop whatever you’re doing and come.” He cut the call.

“Is he going to meet us?” Victor asked.

Phichit slowed his pace to give Yuuri enough time to get to his office. His lab was near to it, down a flight of stairs, but they were getting close too. “Yeah, he’s on his way now. He’s really been missing you, Victor. You know, you’re going to have to tell me about how you found your way here to the uni. In…in your armour. Speaking Middle English.” But Victor seemed hardly to hear him; his eyes were focused now on the corridor ahead. “Sometime soon,” he added quietly.

They stopped outside the office door. “If he isn’t here yet,” Phichit said, “we’ll wait inside for him.”

Victor unstrapped the things from his back, remaining silent as he did so. Was he actually nervous? But well, the two of them had been separated for a while, and over such a distance, that Phichit supposed it was only to be expected. When Victor was finished, holding on to the straps of his bag and lute, Phichit gave him a warm smile. “Welcome to 2121,” he said as he sent a thought at the door, which opened for them.

Yuuri was standing next to the window, his head tilted down in profile as he studied an electronic organiser. He was wearing the usual office gear – white shirtsleeves rolled up, black trousers and shoes, dark blue waistcoat with a silver design like vines which he’d left unbuttoned. Neglected hair, no face paint. Phichit waited for him to look up, but he seemed more interested in what he was reading, as if assuming his visitors would join him when they felt like it. He mustn’t have heard Victor’s quiet gasp upon seeing him.

_I’m not going to be the first one to say anything, _Phichit decided, glancing at Victor. His lips were parted, and the emotion on his face was plain to see, though harder to decipher. Concern? Relief? Surprise? Love? Only Victor knew. 

He closed his mouth, and his expression softened. “Yuuri,” he said in a low, quiet voice.

Yuuri looked up sharply, then turned his head toward them; his jaw dropped as his organiser fell from his hand to the floor. Brown eyes stared, wide, uncomprehending. Victor stared back, as if hypnotised.

_Honestly, these two. _“Go in,” Phichit whispered. As if suddenly remembering where he was and what he was doing, Victor picked up his bag and his instrument and took a few steps into the office, putting his things down next to him.

With a last look at Yuuri, a slow smile spread across Phichit’s face. They’d get over it. He’d leave them to it; as soon as the door had opened, he’d felt like he was intruding on something very private. Yuuri knew how to get hold of him if he needed to.

He slipped away, the door shutting behind him. _I’m so happy for you, Yuuri. Happy for you both, _he thought, walking back down the corridor in a daze.

* * *

_Translations_

_Victor on the streets of York:_

“My son really likes your knight costume,” the woman said mildly, snapping his attention back to her and the boy.

He blinked. Yuuri had said that Middle English, as he’d called it, had been easier to understand when he’d read it, because the pronunciation was so different from what he was used to. If this woman was speaking his modern version, Victor was finding it equally unintelligible. Once again he regretted not asking Yuuri or anyone he’d talked with over the com to teach him more. 

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” he asked, hardly daring to hope she’d understand.

After a pause, the woman laughed. “What language is that?”

“I’m speaking English, madam.”

The boy reached a hand out and touched his scabbard, as if it were an animal that might bite. His eyes grew wider, and he smiled up at Victor. “That’s juke,” he enthused, before pulling his hand back shyly.

_I know that word. Yuuri must have said it dozens of times._

“Am I in York?” he asked the woman.

“I’m sorry?”

“Is this York?” Victor rephrased, wondering what else he could possibly say. He couldn’t try French, because it would be the French of hundreds of years ago. They didn’t speak Latin here, did they? “Is this city York?”

“If you’re asking if you’re in York, then the answer’s yes,” she replied, gazing at him in confusion. “Don’t you – wait a minute.” Then she gave a little laugh. “Oh, I get it. You’re pretending to be a knight. I must say, you look the part. Are you a tour guide?”

Victor wrinkled his brow, but decided her tone of voice implied a switch from confusion to contentment, which must a good thing. “What is the year?” he asked her, hoping the simple words would be understood.

“Is that a trick question?” she said with a chuckle. “Am I supposed to answer ‘the high Middle Ages’ or something?” But as Victor waited, she finally said, “It’s the year of our lord two thousand one hundred and twenty-one, my good sir. I’m afraid you’re a little past your time.”

Victor smiled in relief. _God be praised. _

“Thank you,” he said. Now – would she understand if he asked her how to get to the university from here; and would he understand her reply? He didn’t know where Yuuri lived, but he knew that Phichit and Celestino worked at the university. And possibly Yuuri as well. Someone there might be able to help him, at least. “Can you tell me how to get to the university?” he said, enunciating each word precisely.

“I didn’t catch that. Something about a university?”

_God grant me patience. And us both the ability to communicate with one another._

They spoke brokenly for a while, and Victor thought she eventually caught the essence of what he was saying. She seemed to be giving him directions, but the meaning of her gestures was clearer than her words. The task merely of finding the university was going to be difficult, he’d quickly realised, as language was a barrier, and he had no map. He’d have to ask others as he went along, since he’d gathered that the way from here was not straightforward. It was obvious, as well, that he would stand out from the crowd wherever he went. Perhaps he should have taken Julia’s advice about wearing a cloak.

“I hope that helps,” the woman said. “I’ve never met anyone who tried to be so authentic. You’ve even got those leggings they wore back then, and no Cloud wristband.” She pointed to the black band on her wrist. The boy had one also, and his gaze kept returning to Victor’s scabbard.

“Can I see your sword?” he asked, and touched the pommel in that same timid way. Victor didn’t understand what he’d said, but he could see that the boy was keen. His mother wouldn’t summon the police, he hoped, if he drew his weapon. These people had helped him; the least he could do was amuse them a little, if that was what they wanted.

He stepped back, wrapped his hand around the hilt, and pulled it out, pointing it at the boy but smiling at the same time to show he meant no harm. “Well, young rascal, your villainous deeds will no longer go unpunished. For I will avenge the hapless victims of your vile treachery.” He raised his free hand theatrically and brandished his sword. “Prepare to taste my avenging blade, cowardly cur. Have at you!” He did a little twirl and a leap, then landed in an attacking pose with a clatter. Even an audience for Victor and Friends would have deemed it a melodramatic performance, but the boy looked like someone had just placed a dish of sweetmeats in front of him.

Victor tossed his sword into the air, and it twirled; he caught it neatly just beneath the pommel, then knelt in front of the boy and guided his hand to the hilt, where small fingers gripped. “I think it may be a bit heavy for you yet, young master. But you’re of an age to begin training as a page soon, if that were to your family’s liking.” He assumed they understood little of what he was saying, though it felt good to say it anyway, and perhaps they would catch a word or two that they knew. The boy removed his hand and ran his fingers over the golden pommel.

“Kilo-_ting_,” he said. “Are you a real knight?”

And Victor knew now what they were talking about, in part, or so he thought. _Nite _was how they pronounced _knight_; he’d heard Yuuri say it before, but it had been some time ago. He hazarded an answer to what he thought the boy was asking.

“I am indeed a real _nite_. Sir Victor Nikiforov, by my faith.” He bowed.

“Reuben Landry, sir,” the boy said, bowing back.

Victor smiled again as he stood. A boy his age at a castle would have seen many knights before, but he supposed Reuben Landry had never set eyes on one at all until now. There was something surprisingly enjoyable about being a novelty like this; but he would have to be on his way. He sheathed his sword.

“Would you mind if I took your picture?” the woman asked. Victor didn’t understand the question, but the boy hurried to stand beside him, and she tossed something into the air; it looked like a silver coin, and darted about, then stopped to hang weightlessly at head height a few feet in front of him. Before Victor could begin to guess at what she was doing – harmless, surely, but also baffling – she said, “Done. Thanks so much.”

“Let me see,” the boy said to her; and suddenly a beam of light shot out of the coin, projecting a vision of him and Victor. It had to be a hologram…but it was like looking at shimmering ghosts in a mirror. Victor’s lips parted as he silently stared.

_That’s me as I am, right this moment. In my armour and with all these things on my back…and my hair dishevelled from my journey in the timestream. _He ran a hand through it. _What else is here that I don’t yet know about? I shall begin to need my courage to round every corner in this city. But how silly of me. This is Yuuri’s time, and it’s peaceful. Mostly._

The hologram disappeared as quickly as it had sprung into being, and the silver coin obediently flew back to the woman’s hand, like a falcon returning to its owner. “Thank you, erm, Sir Victor. And for letting Reuben look at your sword. You’ve been very kind.” She took the boy’s hand. “Say thank you, Reuben.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, giving Victor a small wave, his eyes seemingly not wanting to let him go as they moved off.

“Indeed, little master,” he replied with one last smile. Then he strode in the direction in which the woman had gestured, thinking that if there were charming lads such as this one here, it could not be a bad place.

* * *

_Victor with his guide at the university:_

“Good evening,” Victor said pleasantly. “I’m looking for a building, and I wonder if you might help me. It would be for quantum physics or tech repair,” he said, recalling that those were Phichit’s and Yuuri’s specialisms.

“I’m sorry,” the man replied politely, his brow knitted in confusion. “Were you asking about the physics and electronics buildings?”

Victor didn’t know what electronics were, but Yuuri had taught him the word _electricity_; and _physics _was part of _quantum physics_, so this sounded hopeful. “Please, can you tell me where they are?” When the man stared without reply, he simply said, “Where?”

The man considered, looking slightly flustered. “I was just on my way home, but…well, it’s not far. Come on, I’ll show you.” He turned and began to walk, and Victor fell into step beside him. They passed a tiny square pond with water shooting up in the middle, and he wondered what function that served.

“Where are you from?” the man asked as they went along. “I can’t place the accent.”

“From?” Victor echoed. How could he explain that he was from here, but hundreds of years in the past? “I’m…from Russia.” Hopefully his guide would not attempt to speak to him in Russian, because presumably they would still be at cross purposes after the changes time had wrought.

* * *

_Victor and Phichit:_

“It’s you,” he said softly. “Your voice. I heard it on the com so many times, but…I’m actually here with you now.” He huffed a small laugh, as if the situation was continuing to astonish him. “It’s so good to finally see you.” 

***

“You have a translator?”

“Yeah. Obviously you don’t. But how the blinking hell did you get here, Victor? this is like…some kind of weird dream. Yuuri said all of Ailis’s tech was destroyed in her lab.” When Victor stared in confusion, he said, “How did you get here?”

“How did I come here?”

“Um, yeah.”

“I have a time-travel sphere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Adrianners has been a star with her translations! If you haven't already, I highly recommend visiting her [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html) for this story.


	169. Every Beat of My Heart (Part 22)

Yuuri stopped breathing and his mouth dropped open.

Impossible.

This was some cruel trick someone had played – or he’d finally, ultimately cracked, just as he was afraid he would. As Mari and Phichit had been warning him, since he’d insisted on driving himself so hard.

Oh _God, _he looked so real. Oh God…

Phichit hovered in the doorway for a moment, as Victor – _Victor – _stepped inside, carrying an enormous leather bag and…his citole of all things, also in leather straps. As he put them down, Phichit smiled and disappeared, the door shutting at the same time.

_He saw Victor, too. Or my sick mind is making Phichit up, along with everything else. Jesus Christ, what’s happening to me?_

Victor looked as beautiful as Yuuri remembered him. More so, because he hadn’t seen him in over two months, and the images he’d tried to conjure of him in his head had been blurring and fading, as he’d known they would, though that hadn’t made it any easier to bear. Polished armour – had Julia done that for him? No, because this was a vision, it couldn’t be real, this was just the kind of thing he’d dream up if he’d lost touch with reality. Medieval clothes. His locket was resting over his breastplate. And Yuuri was caught in those blue, blue eyes, so warm as they gazed at him…

_Oh God. _It was perfect in every detail. So perfect it was agonising.

“Hey,” Victor said, followed by a small smile, though there was uncertainty in his features, too.

_Mental illness is cruel. It gets you where you’re most vulnerable and tears you apart._

_Or…or he really is a hologram. _Yuuri’s mind tried to tell him there were obvious reasons why that wasn’t the case, but he wasn’t sure what to believe right now; whether he could trust his own senses.

“Phichit gave me a translator,” Victor said. He added tentatively after a pause, “How are you?”

It was his voice, exactly. Yuuri had it on his com, and that guaranteed he’d never forget it. His heart responded to the sound, compelling him to go toward it and embrace the man it belonged to. But he remained where he was.

Victor blinked. “You look…like how I remember. I kept trying to conjure your face in my mind.” Another pause. “Yuuri, I…” His voice trailed off.

“Are you a hologram?” Yuuri blurted. “If you are, I just need to know…it’s all right.”

After a silence, Victor said, “A holo…? No.” Then, softly, “I’m real, Yuuri.”

Of course he wasn’t a hologram. This time his brain battered the door down and gave him obvious reasons why not. Who else here knew about Victor? No one but Phichit, Celestino and Dr. Fay, none of whom would ever do anything like this. And Yuuri was fairly certain no one but him knew about the locket. Or what the citole looked like. Or what _Victor _looked like.

No, this was something deeper and more sinister altogether. Too much grief. Too much kleptol, though he’d resisted the temptation to touch that for a while now. Lack of sleep. Overwork. Anxiety. The whole fucking lot thrown together.

“H-How do I know?” he asked the vision. “That…that you’re real?”

“You’re not imagining me, Yuuri, I promise – ”

“It could be the anxiety,” he said in a rush, raking a hand through his hair. “My brain’s doing things…that it shouldn’t.” This was worse, far worse than a sense of doom and not being able to breathe. It was a clean break with reality. “I need to be in a hospital.”

“Why?” Victor said, knitting his brow in concern. 

“I’m going mad.”

Victor puffed out a breath, then untied his purse and reached inside…and there was a time-travel sphere in the palm of his hand. He waited, studying Yuuri’s face, obviously trying to contain some strong feeling. His hand trembled slightly.

Yuuri’s jaw went slack again as he stared at the sphere. Either this was some new insidious permutation of the illness…or Victor had travelled in time to join him. Because somehow he’d come into possession of _that_.

Which was more likely? Which was real?

_I _must _be going mad. But I…I have to try. I have to see._

Yuuri came forward, slowly, his gaze alternating between Victor’s and the sphere. _Please, God, let him be real. I don’t know how it could be possible, but…_He reached out to take the sphere. Their fingers brushed as he did so. Warm. Solid.

The sphere felt solid, too. Weren’t hallucinations more like dreams? They weren’t this convincing, were they? Yuuri didn’t know; to his knowledge, he’d never had them before. Breaths quickening, he examined the sphere. The screen was blank, just as his own had been after he’d travelled in time. The weight felt about right. Smooth gold metal.

He put it down on the desk nearby and quickly turned back to Victor, that mixture of emotions still glimmering in his eyes. Yuuri raised his hand and very slowly brought it up to the level of Victor’s chest; it hovered over his heart. He quivered inside, knowing what he desperately wanted to believe, fearing it would lead to his destruction if he gave in to the caprices of a broken mind.

“I’m real, my love,” came Victor’s soft wavering voice.

The sound of the words shredded every piece of logic Yuuri had been clinging to, and he pressed his hand against the metal, cool and gleaming. It was as solid as the sphere; as the fingers he’d briefly touched. Victor let out a breath. Yuuri held his hand there for a long moment, hardly aware of moving closer, leaning in – and there it was, after all this time; forgotten, but he’d recognise it anywhere. Victor’s scent, uniquely his own. All the times they’d been together…Sparring. Hugging. Making love. Sleeping in the same bed. Wrapped up in each other. Each moment had been so very, very real, as this was, as it _had _to be; as his heart had been telling him from the second Victor had appeared in the doorway. Everything else he’d been listening to since had been poison from the treacherous part of his mind that played on his fears – and he’d let it in, again. It left lingering doubt, even now.

_If I can’t find faith in Victor, and in what I’m experiencing, what good is faith at all? This is right, as impossible as it seems. And I know it, damn it, I _know _it. _

He heaved a breath. _It’s him, and he’s alive and solid and here – oh God, he’s really here. _

Choking back a sob, he surged forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed him hard. _How, how is it you, how can this be happening? _But the feel of Victor’s lips, the way his mouth moved under his own…just as he remembered, smoothing the jagged edges of his thoughts until they faded and scattered. Yuuri pulled him tight, and felt plated arms wrapping around him as a little stifled cry escaped Victor’s throat. Then he broke the kiss to nuzzle into Victor’s neck, wishing he could pull him closer and closer still, until they were fused. His chest heaved, breaths stuttering, and he wept openly against Victor’s skin, fingers pressing against the plate on his back as if hoping desperately to find the softness underneath.

“Victor…” he bit out amid the tears. “Oh, Victor.”

A hand cradled the back of his head, the other clasping his back. Victor pressed kisses into his hair as his own shuddering words came. “My sweet Yuuri. Oh my love, I’ve found you. Thank God I’ve found you at last.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.” It came out as a whine. Yuuri didn’t care.

“I’m here. I’m real. Oh, it’s so good to see you. To hold you. I…” Victor’s voice choked off, and another kiss landed firmly near Yuuri’s temple.

They held each other silently, their broken breaths and sniffs the only sounds in the room, until Yuuri pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. Victor’s was pink and tear-stained, his eyes bright. He took a handkerchief out of his purse and wiped at his own eyes with a shaking hand, then dabbed at Yuuri’s face and put it away.

“Oh,” he said with a faltering little smile, and pulled out a square of paper. Unfolding it, he showed it to Yuuri, whose eyes went wide as he recognised the map he’d drawn months ago, when he’d been explaining to Victor what the earth looked like and what the countries on it were.

“I thought you’d burned it,” he whispered.

“You told me to. But I’m sorry, Yuuri; I couldn’t. It was too precious.” The little uncertain smile again. “I’ve taken good care of it, though the directions weren’t as useful as I might have hoped.”

Yuuri let out a tiny laugh. Even here, even now, Victor could do the silliest, most surprising –

“Shit,” he breathed as a sudden wave of panic swept through him. “We’ve got to get you to the lab.”

Victor refolded the map and put it back in his purse. “Lab?”

“You’ll have swapped places with someone here,” he said quickly. “Anything could be happening to them.”

“Maybe; I don’t know.”

Yuuri blinked at the unexpected answer. “Are – are you thinking about what Ailis said in the sugar building in Immersion, about how she could prevent the swap if she wanted to?”

“No. Something else. It…would take some explaining.”

“You’re not sure if you swapped?” Victor shook his head. “OK. I need you to come with me – if you _have _swapped with someone, I think I can untangle your timelines.”

Victor’s eyes widened. “How?”

“It’ll take some explaining.” Yuuri darted away, grabbing his electronic organiser from the floor and shoving it into his trouser pocket. Victor put the sphere back in his purse, then picked up the huge leather bag he’d brought; Yuuri rushed over and took the straps of the harness containing his citole, still marvelling that it – that Victor himself – was here in his office. The door opened in front of him, and he hurried out with Victor following.

Yuuri quickly led him through the corridor past staring students, and down the stairs, then through one more corridor to the door of his lab, which opened for them. They put the things they were carrying on the floor, not having spoken a word since leaving the office. Dashing to Ailis’s holo-computer on the table and mentally switching it on, Yuuri briefly turned to Victor, who was lingering near the door, looking around the room with a bewildered expression.

“Do you want a coffee?” Yuuri offered, traditional hospitality rearing its head above a sea of awkwardness that he had no time right now to examine. _Jesus, I’m an idiot. _“But you’ve never had a real one,” he said as he switched other things on. “The stuff from the machine is shit anyway. There’s water from the tap if you want it? And some mugs by the sink.”

_What am I doing? _he thought as he brought up the program he needed. _Does he even know what a sink is? And this is the love of my life I’m talking to, not some guest._

But he heard the water running, and soon Victor had wandered over to join him, holding a mug covered with a cartoon design of poodles, which he stared at and sipped from. Before he could say anything, however, Yuuri scurried to a drawer and began hunting through, trying to put his thoughts in some kind of order. _Whoever he swapped with could be shot by an arrow or stabbed any minute. Be run over by a horse and cart. Fall off a cliff or into a lake and drown. God knows. He’d be disorientated enough to be that vulnerable. _But what had Victor meant about not knowing if he’d swapped?

_I’m not losing him again. I’m not. _Yuuri found the fingerprint device and trotted back to the computer, plugging it in.

“This is like a magical cave,” Victor mused. “Or Ailis’s lab.”

Yuuri mumbled as he concentrated as best he could on the computer and brought up the black sphere.

“What is that?” Victor asked, eyeing it.

“A way of untangling timelines. I hope.”

“You discovered it?”

“Sort of. With the help of what Ailis left here.” Yuuri took a quick breath and turned to him. “Right, we’re going to do this. If…if you’re OK with it. I haven’t done it for real yet.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Ailis wrote about it in the notes she left. She used this computer to find her own timeline, and…pointed her laser pen at it.” He paused. “And, um, overdid it and ended up unconscious for a day. But all it needs is a single millisecond pulse, according to her.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “Her timeline?”

“Or lifeline. You can affect it through this machine. She said.” Yuuri’s heart pattered as he thought about this. He would never want to use Victor for an experiment. At the same time, however –

“I trust you, Yuuri,” Victor said quietly. “Do whatever you need to do.”

“If it works, we should see your lifeline and the other person’s untangling, though I don’t think it’s going to bring him back here. It’d just mean you wouldn’t be able to affect each other anymore if one of you…” His voice trailed off.

“I wouldn’t have used the sphere if I thought I’d swap with someone,” Victor said fervently. “I…I couldn’t live with myself.”

“But you did come,” Yuuri said in confusion. “What – never mind.” He held the fingerprint device up as Victor took a final sip from his mug and put it empty on the table. “Press your finger against the flat area.”

Victor followed his instructions, and they watched the sphere. _Come on, come on, _Yuuri thought. _We need to get this done. I just hope to God it doesn’t hurt Victor. _

A line emerged, running horizontally across the sphere; pink, undulating in barely perceptible slow waves, as beautiful as the man it belonged to. Despite the urgency racing through his veins, Yuuri stared at it.

“Is that…my lifeline?” Victor said in awe. When Yuuri nodded, he added, “Like the Fates. Clotho spun the thread of life onto her spindle. Lachesis measured the length allotted to each person. Atropos cut the thread when the appointed time came.”

_Does that mean, when I zoom out, that we’ll see Victor’s death where his thread’s cut? _Yuuri swallowed. _But we have to do this. He can’t be pulled back in time, or live the rest of his life being afraid of it._

_The rest of his life…here in 2121, with me. _

But he couldn’t dwell on that incredible idea, either. He had to act. “This machine’s thought-controlled,” he explained. “I’m going to zoom out, and if you’ve swapped with someone, we should be able to see it.” He began to do so, realising he was holding his breath. Victor watched beside him. Further and further out he went, as the line became thinner with distance.

“I don’t see anything but the pink line,” Victor said, peering at it.

“No, I can’t see the end of it like I could for Ailis. I don’t know if…well, if that means you’re destined to live a long time, or because you haven’t died yet; I don’t understand a lot about it. But there’s nothing tangled anywhere I can see.” He zoomed out so far that the line began to fade from view. “Nothing,” he said in astonishment. “No tangle.”

Victor was still gazing intently at the sphere. “You’re certain?”

“I…I think so, yes. Look.” Yuuri switched the program. “Ailis saved her timeline, and mine and Phichit’s are here, too.” He brought up Ailis’s red one, cut off at the end where the copper line was tangled with it. “That’s hers…and Natalia’s.” Phichit’s orange one was next, and Yuuri zoomed out to show that his was like Victor’s, with no other lines interfering. Then he brought up his own blue one, with the green line tangled somewhere in the middle. “Mine and Justin’s. His is cut off at the tangle.”

“What a lovely blue,” Victor murmured. “They all move differently. Yours is like a string played on my citole. I wonder what it would sound like.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile; he’d never thought about it that way. A harmony – a symphony – of lifelines. Then he called Victor’s back up. “There are no tangles on yours. You can see for yourself.”

Victor held a hand out as if to touch the line inside the sphere, but he stayed it, hovering. Yuuri heard him exhale and saw that his eyes were suddenly brimming with tears. “Thank you, Alex,” he said quietly.

Yuuri placed a hand on his plated arm, wondering if it was some kind of prayer Victor had just spoken. But he had to ask the question that had been burning in him, now that it was clear there was no danger. “How did you do it?” he breathed. “Where did the sphere come from?”

Victor blinked and sniffed, then looked at him. “How I got it…would take more explaining. But having the possession of it fair broke my heart, Yuuri, because I couldn’t use it; I couldn’t condemn someone else to a new life he’d never asked for in a strange place and time. I was…” He paused. “It felt like my undoing, to have it there and not…well. Then I had a dream that night.”

The account that followed was one Yuuri would never have anticipated. It was amazing enough that Alex seemed to have visited Victor in his dream; but then when he was shown how to hold the sphere in the very corner where he himself had been sitting not long ago with the temporal window…it sent a shiver down his back. Could it be a coincidence? However, as Victor continued, describing what he’d done in real life upon waking, he knew there was only one explanation, and his heart began to hammer.

“The temporal window,” he said excitedly when Victor was done. “But I didn’t think anything could be affected through it.” Victor looked at him blankly, and Yuuri dashed over to it, switching it on, with Victor following. “This must have linked our two times,” he said rapidly, his mind racing to make sense of what had happened. “It’s a copy I tried to build of Ailis’s holo-computer – the one we were just using. But it does something different.” The white sphere appeared as he continued. “I thought I was only seeing snatches of other times through it, like holograms. So I started taking it to the castle because – ”

“The castle?”

Yuuri nodded, then said more quietly, “It was hard to go there and see it in ruins like that. But I hoped I might get a glimpse of…”

“Me?” Blue eyes gazed into his own.

“Yeah.” After a pause, he went on, “I saw your parents in the great hall when they were younger. Then I saw…you.” Victor’s mouth dropped open. “You were wearing your green and gold tunic, and cap, and…and locket.”

“That was only a few days ago,” Victor said, eyes wide. “In 1393. I’d been speaking with my mother, and came down the stairs into the hall, and…” He paused, searching Yuuri’s face. “…I felt you. Your spirit was there with me; I knew it. I didn’t see you, but – ”

Yuuri’s heart leapt. “Victor, I _was _there! With this machine. I was calling to you; trying to reach through and touch you. But…” He let out a breath, then added brokenly, “all I could do was watch you walk away.”

“But you _did _touch me, my sweet. Just not with your hand.”

Upon hearing the term of endearment, Yuuri lost his train of thought for a moment. “And then you dreamed that Alex showed you where to go in the hall and what to do.”

“Yes.”

“C-Can I see your sphere again?”

Victor took it out and handed it to him, and Yuuri glanced around as he tried to recall the different places in the lab where the temporal window had been when he’d seen something in it. “I’m not sure where I had this set up each time. If the time-travel sphere was functional,” he mused, “it’d theoretically enable someone to form a link, like you did, with this room in the 1960s, a manor house in the 1600s, or a place where a man in a tall hat rides past on a horse, which isn’t much to go by. There’d be enough temporal synchronicity to enable a person to go there without needing to swap with anyone, and stay. It could even be done at the castle, as long as the rift, or whatever it is, is still there.”

He hurried to a window, Victor joining him. “I’m sure I was sitting near here when I saw that manor house.” As he moved the sphere around in front of him, the hairs on his arm began to tingle. “I can feel the energy.”

“Yes, I felt it too,” Victor said. “Like before a lightning strike.”

Yuuri continued his motions, the effect growing stronger until it seemed that his hand was at the heart of the rift – and the sphere popped open with a cracking noise that knocked him back slightly. “Holy shit,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Then he looked into the open sphere, heart fluttering. “I’ve never seen the inside of one of these before.”

“I have,” Victor told him, “and the finger in the middle had blue light on its tip, though it doesn’t now.”

“That must be the temporal stabiliser.” He huffed a laugh. “Oh my God.” Then a louder laugh, with an edge of desperation into which all those strained hours of study suddenly poured. “It’s here – it’s all here, right in front of me. Everything I’d been trying to understand, without any components to actually look at. Fucking hell, I don’t believe it.” He shook his head and laughed once again, then noticed the concern, and perhaps alarm, in Victor’s eyes, and told himself to be calm. “I’ve spent a lot of time in here working on this,” he said more soberly. “But, well…it makes no difference now.” He closed the sphere and gave it back to Victor, who returned it to his purse. “You’re here,” he said quietly, “and that’s what matters.”

Victor looked down at the table next to him. “I could have forced someone to take my place in 1393, without their consent or a way back. Despite the dream, I…I couldn’t be sure that wouldn’t happen.” He stared at his fingers as they idly traced the grains of wood, and Yuuri could see that this was haunting him. He knew he needed to say something, though it was hard to force his brain to function right now.

“If I’d been in the same situation? I’d hate to think of it. I felt bad enough about doing what I did to Justin.” He took a deep breath, trying to put the pieces together to explain, while part of him refused to stay quiet, telling him _Victor is here – if you’re really, really sure you haven’t cracked. _And, _After all that time you were in an agony of grief, it’s over, all over, and don’t you just feel like collapsing now? _And, _What’s it going to be like here, the two of you in the present, in your little flat? Will it work? Will you cope? Will he like it? _He wanted to shout at all of it to _Stop. _

“But Victor,” he continued, “as soon as Ailis said she might be able to repair the three spheres, I’d already jumped to the possibility of you using one – that was what I thought of first, before she implied she could prevent the swap. And when you appeared in my office upstairs, it wasn’t on my mind then either. I…I’m not proud of it. But you were right all along – your dream showed you what to do. Besides, if you _had _swapped with someone, I swear I would’ve kept working here in my lab to find a way to bring him back without you having to go, too. I wouldn’t have given up – ”

“You never do, my love,” Victor said softly. Yuuri stepped toward him and threaded their fingers together. He wondered if Victor had noticed them tremble. Standing here in the lab wasn’t helping. They needed to…to rest, after this. And be together. 

“We should go to my flat,” he suggested. Victor nodded, and Yuuri called a taxi over the Cloud while he shut down the kit in the room. Then he grabbed his coat off the peg and pulled it on, calling Phichit as they left. “I’m taking Victor home,” he told him. Another wave shook him when he heard himself say the words, and a tear slid down his cheek.

“I thought you might. Keep in touch, OK?”

“Sure.” Yuuri smiled at Victor next to him, then slipped an arm around his metal-clad waist, and Victor did the same. They walked through reception that way, Victor carrying the big leather bag in one hand and Yuuri with his citole. Tears threatened again as they exited onto the path along the dark street.

_I still can’t believe he’s here. _There’d been a slightly stunned look on Victor’s face, too, from the moment Yuuri had seen him, so maybe he was struggling to take it all in as well. It seemed impossible. It should be. His nerves were sparking with the fear, rational or not, that Victor would disappear any moment. Or that it had all been one giant hallucination, and he’d wake up in hospital. Or that somehow he’d been wrong about the swap, and someone was going to die because they were suddenly alone and helpless in 1393.

_Give it time. It’ll be OK._

A buzzing sound approaching from overhead heralded the arrival of their plain white taxi, and the door opened for them as Yuuri stepped forward. “After you,” he said, gesturing Victor inside. He sat down on the white bench padded with blue and green plaid, placing his bag in the wide space in front of him. Then Yuuri joined him. Low ambient light illuminated the interior; Yuuri turned it up a notch. The carboglass windscreen might have given them a good view if it wasn’t night time.

“Is there no driver?” Victor asked, looking around the compartment.

“That’s it.” Yuuri pointed at a white-painted box mounted at the top of the windscreen. “The control. It works over the Cloud, but also a BCI if you don’t have a connection.” He watched Victor give a start as seat belts sprang from the bench, securing their laps. But they allowed a fair bit of movement. “Are you ready?”

After a pause, Victor nodded, and the taxi rose at a gentle, steady pace into the air. Yuuri programmed a slow speed for the journey, thinking at first that Victor might like to look out the window next to him and see the city lights and the other vehicles. But thankfully he had other ideas.

“Can I hold you?” he asked.

In a heartbeat, Yuuri scooted across the small space between them, wrapped his arms around Victor’s breastplate, and buried his face in the crook of his neck. The arms that encircled him in return were the most welcome, reassuring thing he’d felt in days…weeks…months. A flood of emotion surged inside him again, flowing out in tears. He whispered Victor’s name over and over in a cracked voice, instinctively caressing him even though he was encased in metal. Victor’s hands were on his back and cupping his head, stroking, soothing, and Yuuri could hear his broken breaths between more endearments and gentle kisses against his hair. They clung to each other as if hoping to provide the glue for the pieces they had broken into.

_I could stay like this, _Yuuri thought, feeling the damp of his tears between their skin. _Forever. _But maybe even that wouldn’t be enough. He was an open wound, and this was only the beginning of the healing.

Eventually Victor’s quiet voice said against his hair, “What happened after you disappeared, my love? Will you tell me?”

Yuuri looked up at him, and Victor got his handkerchief out again for them both before he answered. “I ended up on the road outside the building where we just were. Justin’s body was there in front of me, bleeding; he’d had a hoverboard accident. I didn’t…I couldn’t…” He swallowed and continued, “Phichit took me to my flat and stayed with me a while; he was worried. I…” A tremble passed through him.

Victor gathered him close again. “All right,” he whispered. It was a moment before either of them spoke again. But Yuuri was determined to make more of the time they had in here than this. There was so much they both had barely begun to share.

“What happened to you after I disappeared?” he asked with a sniff, meeting his gaze once more.

Victor didn’t answer straight away, but eventually he said, “My world shattered. And my heart.” A tear trailed down his face, which Yuuri reached a finger up to clear away. Then he stroked his cheek and whispered his name. “I kept Victor and Friends going. They were all counting on me. I kept performing.” He took a shaky breath. “But oh, it was hard, Yuuri, so hard. That was our project, our life, that we’d dreamed together and brought into being, and without you…” He bit his lip.

Yuuri’s heart ached to hear these things. “I’m sorry.”

“It couldn’t be helped, my love.” Victor wiped a hand across his brimming eyes, then gave him a sad little smile. “You’re not wearing any of that lovely face paint they have here. I thought you liked it.”

“I…I haven’t worn any since I got back. It didn’t feel right. I think it would’ve been too much like…admitting I was fully part of this world again.” He huffed a small laugh. “I tried to keep the illusion in my mind that I was still a knight of Crowood. Stupid of me. Like it helped.”

Victor ran his thumb gently along Yuuri’s jaw. “You’re still a knight, and so am I. We always will be.”

A tingling trail lingered where Victors thumb had been. “I…got the message you left with Phichit over the com. It helped. You gave my own advice back to me – about making the most of your life, especially in honour of people who are gone.” He paused, then added quietly, “But I don’t think I’ve been doing that, Victor. I’ve tried, and there’s all that stuff back in the lab, but – ”

“Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to come here,” Victor said with a little smile. “You see? Always giving yourself too little credit for what you’ve accomplished.”

“I…I don’t know. Maybe.” He took a quick breath, then recited part of the message he’d listened to so many times. “ ‘We both will need to go on, however hard that may be at first. It was you, in your wisdom, who taught me so. Let it not be said that I can’t learn the lessons of the future…or of the extraordinary man who…who…’ ” He bit back a sob, and skipped forward. “ ‘Live in peace and joy, and may your days be blessed.’ You…you said that. And – ”

“My heart’s root. My sweeting. My joy. _Carpe diem_.” More tears fell, and Yuuri felt his own hot on his cheeks. “Oh…you remember.”

“I listened. It was your voice, one of the few things I had left of you. You were talking to me – here, now. Of course I listened.”

Another bittersweet smile, and Victor leaned forward until their foreheads touched. Hands caressed wet faces. They nuzzled each other almost shyly, as if it was their first time; then their lips met, broke apart, met again. Quick soft kisses that still sent an arrow through Yuuri’s heart.

Victor skated a hand across his shoulder and rested it on his arm, over the thickness of the coat. “So many times I thought about you, wondering what you were doing, how you fared…and I had no idea, no clue. I never dreamed I could be with you here like this.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri murmured. “For everything you risked to get here.”

“I’d risk life and limb a thousand times over to be with you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri met his level blue-eyed gaze, then came in for a longer kiss this time, licking into Victor’s mouth. Their tongues pressed together and stroked. He let out a short, quiet moan as the wonderful feel of it sank to his groin, and Victor’s hand on his arm clutched tighter. 

“Did you…I mean, where did you land?” Yuuri broke away to ask. “Appear? In York, earlier. Were you – ”

“I couldn’t say. I walked a little while.”

“How did you know where to go?”

“I asked directions.”

“In Middle English?”

“We made ourselves understood.” He demonstrated some theatrical gestures, and Yuuri chuckled.

“In your armour, with all your gear on your back…?” Yuuri eyed the bag on the floor. “What’s in there, anyway?”

“I’ll show you later.” He paused. “And yes, in my armour. Most people seemed to think I was someone pretending to be a knight.”

“Well, yes, they would.” Yuuri shook his head. “The sheer audacity…you’re amazing.” And he stole another brief kiss.

Victor’s gaze dropped, and he frowned. “I’d have to disagree, my love. I risked pulling a man from his rightful place in this time in order to come. And my courage failed me at times after I arrived.” He glanced out the window. “There’s much I don’t understand here.” Then he looked back at Yuuri. “Some of the people I spoke to wanted my…hologram. They threw a silver coin in the air, and – ”

“An aircam. I have one in my flat. They must’ve thought you were a tour guide or something. I should’ve thought to bring it with me when I went into the past. I was starting to forget…I mean, I could never really forget your face, but…”

“I know,” Victor said softly. “I felt the same.”

“You’re still amazing.”

Victor smiled, and said after a moment, “You and my mother told me about this world, but words never had the power to convey the reality. What I’ve seen is beyond anything I imagined. There’s a beauty to it, even if it’s only lights in the night. To me, _that _is amazing.”

Yuuri thought about the medieval nights aglow with nothing but firelight, and decided there was a beauty to that, too. But it must be odd for Victor to see the bright solar lamps that lit the city streets. Taxis didn’t fly anything like as high as aeroplanes, and it was easy to make out the snaking roadways. Yuuri leaned against Victor, their arms still wrapped loosely around each other, and invited him to look out the window. They were almost at the flat, and he pointed out different buildings; the orange-tipped spires of the minster, illuminated at night as usual, were just visible in the distance beyond the city walls. Then the taxi landed, and they got out on the road outside the quad building.

“My flat’s in there,” Yuuri said, toting the citole once more.

“It’s a bit like a castle,” Victor commented, studying it.

“Maybe. But it’s divided into a lot of flats, and mine’s only one.” He couldn’t help but add, “None of the rooms are as big as the one we had at the castle, or even our tent, but…well, it’s…” It was hard to make himself say _home_. It didn’t seem like it, because part of him still felt as if it had been ripped from his real one. But they were together here, and that was bound to make a difference, he told himself.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Victor said with a warm grin.


	170. Chapter 170

_“Cosy” might be the kindest thing you could call it, _Yuuri thought as he led them into the corridor. When they approached Number Four, the door slid open and they went inside, the living-room lights switching on automatically and the door shutting behind them. He took his coat off and hung it up, then gently put the citole down against the wall, wondering what he ought to say. Welcome Victor to the flat? Ask him if he wanted anything to eat or drink? Give him a tour? _Don’t be silly. It’s Victor. What’s wrong with me?_

But when Yuuri turned around to see such love and longing in his eyes, and the locket glinting on his chest, instinct took over. He stepped forward at the same time as Victor, and they came together in each other’s arms, lips pressing and sliding. These were no exploratory or comforting kisses; they were insistent and hungry, sending electric pulses through Yuuri while his head swam.

“Vitya,” he breathed between kisses. “I love you…I love you so much…” He felt a tear roll down his cheek and ignored it.

For a reply, Victor kissed him more fervently, their tongues curling together, and they both moaned. Yuuri tried to clutch at him through his armour. Victor’s hands lingered on his neck, his collar, touching, caressing; then Yuuri broke away to smear kisses along his jaw and down his throat. Victor tilted his head back and gasped, his eyelids fluttering shut. But he straightened quickly, kissing Yuuri’s wet cheek, his hot breath on his skin; then sought his mouth again, claiming it with lips and tongue, making Yuuri groan. Oh God, how could he ever have forgotten what this was like?

But it was all happening so quickly; they’d only just stepped inside. What kind of hospitality did he call this? “I haven’t…shown you the flat,” he said hoarsely. “Not that there’s much to see…A living room, a kitchen, a bedroom – ”

“You’re all I want to see right now,” Victor broke in quickly, searching his face. “I’ve thought of nothing else for days. Let me be with you.”

Yuuri blew out a trembling breath and nodded.

“Will you take my armour off? I want to feel you properly.”

_God, yes. _Yuuri took a step back as Victor obligingly held an arm out. He grasped Victor’s hand and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his wrist, eliciting another gasp. It was going to be difficult to make this good, with the emotions buffeting him and the desire that had so suddenly raged through his body, but he would do his best. He began untying, stacking the plates in a pile on the floor. Victor was wearing his long-sleeved dark grey tunic trimmed with silver. Yuuri remembered the first time he’d seen him in it – a year ago, on a chilly December day when he’d come across Victor climbing up a tree where red apples still clung, defying the turn of the season. Somehow it made him feel grounded as he carried out his task, amid caresses and kisses. Then he guided Victor to turn around, running his hands over his calves and the insides of his thighs as he removed his poleyns and greaves. Victor braced himself against the wall, and Yuuri could hear his quick breaths. Now he was reminded of that day in the stable, and his cock throbbed. But there was no way he was going to do the same thing now, even though he suspected Victor would let him. He needed to be close, embracing, face to face as they rediscovered each other.

When he was done, he stood and unclasped the locket, placing it on the table next to one of the armchairs. “I wish I’d been wearing the livery collar you gave me the morning I…” He let the words trail away as he returned to Victor, who took him in his arms and kissed him once more. Their bodies moulded together at last without the hindrance of armour, and Yuuri sank into warmth of Victor’s embrace as their hands roamed. He undid the first of the many buttons down Victor’s tunic, then paused, tempted to ask if he was sure about what they were doing, after the shock they’d both had. But in truth, he already knew; it was in Victor’s touch, and in his own. They needed this.

“My bed is rather small for two,” he murmured, the half-apology slipping out before he realised.

“We shall have to get very close, then,” Victor said with a smile, fingering the collar of Yuuri’s shirt in curiosity before moving to the buttons. Then the smile faded. “But if you want to wait, I under – ”

Yuuri silenced him with a hard kiss, then pulled back. “We should shower.” When Victor looked at him blankly, Yuuri grinned, took his hand and led him to the bathroom, savouring the expression of wonder on his face.

“What is this place?” Victor asked, his eyes darting around.

“It’s a bathroom.”

Victor’s gaze strayed to the inbuilt bath, which doubled as a shower when the glass door was shut. The room was a good size for the type of flat, but Yuuri nevertheless felt a stab of embarrassment at the tub, which was nothing like the huge cloth-covered bucket with a bench in their castle room. He explained how everything worked, then invited Victor to take some time inside on his own.

“And take your clothes off,” he added with a sultry smile, though erotic was not really what he felt right now. Overwhelmed and thrilled and uncertain and wanting and _needing _were at the top of a long list. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he added, “and we’ll get into the shower together.”

Victor nodded with a grin, and Yuuri left him inspecting the tap and sniffing at the lemongrass-scented soap next to it in its dish. _Oh my God, _he thought as he drifted into the bedroom next door. _Oh my God. _Suddenly the temptation to collapse onto the bed was very strong. _How can this be happening? I don’t believe…but yes, I do. Holy shit._

He refused to spend the next few minutes feeling like a tsunami had slammed into him. Victor was here. The one thing he’d wanted more than anything else. They were going to shower and make love right on this bed, and hold each other and maybe put the broken pieces of themselves together a bit more. A surge of heat spread through him at the thought. He got a towel from the linen cupboard and the unopened bottle of lube from the bedside table, and put them near the lamp, noticing that his hands were shaking slightly. 

_How would I actually know if I was hallucinating? What about all those stories that end up with someone waking from a coma or a psychotic episode, where everything turned out to be a dream? _

He huffed at this. _I may be anxious, but I’m not psychotic. Besides, my mind wouldn’t imagine all these details at once, would it? Victor keeping that map of the world I scribbled out for him months ago. His scent. Bringing his citole with him. This is the last time I’m going to allow these thoughts at all, because I promised myself I’d have faith in him, and I do. In us, and the new life we’re going to be starting together._

_Wow._

Shaking it all off as best he could so that he could actually be present in the moment, he shed his clothing and wristband, mentally turned the heat up in the flat a few degrees, and was about to sit down on the bed when he heard the bathroom door open and Victor calling his name. He snatched another towel out of the closet, wrapping and tying it around his waist without knowing why exactly, and padded over to find Victor nude, beautifully and gloriously, his eyes continuing to flit about the room in astonishment and perhaps some trepidation. He seemed to be particularly interested in the toiletries on the counter, and Yuuri realised he wouldn’t know what most of them were. His clothes had been folded and placed on the other side of the sink, with his boots paired on the floor underneath.

_This is up to me. I can do this. _“Are you OK?” Yuuri asked gently.

“It’s strange in here…but wonderful,” Victor enthused. “The garderobe of the richest king in the world couldn’t compare.”

Yuuri laughed. “Good thing, too.”

“Running water at your fingertips, Yuuri! And it drains right away. No buckets, no pitchers…”

So much for his fears that Victor would be underwhelmed by the bathroom. “Everyone here has that. It’s normal.”

“Mirrors, and…tech?” Yuuri saw he was looking at the razor. But they could talk about all that later.

“Victor,” he said, lowering his voice and raking him over with his gaze, “you’re beautiful. Just like you always were.” Victor fell silent and watched as Yuuri unfastened his towel, letting it fall to the floor. As Victor stared, his chest hitching, Yuuri walked forward, placed a hand on his cheek, and kissed him. “Let’s get in the shower,” he said, his eyes full of promise. Victor followed him in with that same look of wonder and uncertainty while Yuuri explained that he was telling the room’s control to slide the doors shut, then begin a comfortably warm shower in thirty seconds. More lemongrass soap – he’d have to get the rose-scented kind he knew Victor liked – and bottles of shampoo and conditioner sat on a shelf.

“I feel like I’m in the audience waiting for a performance,” Victor said with a grin that seemed to contain a touch of nervousness.

Yuuri moved his palm over his chest in a slow caress. “You’ll like it, wait and see.”

And Victor did, very much; the delight on his face when the spray emerged was clear. As the water drummed on his back and shoulders and trickled down his body, he laughed and sighed and hummed. Yuuri couldn’t stop smiling.

“What an ingenious invention,” Victor gushed after wetting his hair. “Such a simple idea, but it’s incredible! I could stand here all day.”

Yuuri’s smile gentled into something more wistful as the realisation struck him that he’d never seen Victor like this, not even at the height of doing things he’d loved, like sparring and performing. There was more to it than simple surprise or happiness. This was someone who’d shed a weight he’d been carrying as surely as he’d shed his armour, and Yuuri guessed he was witnessing what had been underneath the entire time. His heart filled with love while the tears threatened to run anew, and he decided he was very much looking forward to seeing more of this side of Victor, as he discovered a world that had only ever been ordinary to himself but was brand-new and waiting for him.

Yuuri introduced him to the shampoo, which foamed to his amazement. He reached his fingers into Yuuri’s hair, rubbing his scalp with a smile, and Yuuri did likewise, both of them laughing. When they were done with that and the conditioner, Victor took the soap and lathered it over Yuuri’s body, beginning after a moment to mingle it with slick kisses in the spray; then Yuuri took the soap and did the same. Once it was back in its dish, they spread the lather over each other with their fingers, which strayed to intimate places amid deep kisses laced with desire. Yuuri didn’t know which of them had started to grind first, but they found a slow sliding rhythm which only made him ache for more.

Breaking their kiss, he breathed, “I want you.”

“Let’s try out this bed of yours, then,” Victor replied huskily.

Yuuri mentally turned off the shower and told the door to open, then got them each a towel. They dried each other and left the towels on a rail, and Yuuri gave Victor another sultry smile before leading him into the bedroom. Victor glanced around inside, but soon fastened his gaze back on him, placing a hand on either side of his neck.

“Yuuri, my love, I’m so glad I’m here,” he said softly.

Threading his arms around Victor’s waist, Yuuri pulled him close, their cocks brushing and then folding against each other. The firm contact without the slickness of the water felt wonderful; permanent. Running his fingers through Victor’s hair, Yuuri guided him down for a kiss, claiming his mouth. Victor’s groan fuelled the flame leaping in him, and he slid his hands down his hard muscular back, over his tapered waist, and further down until he was cupping his buttocks, pulling him in while his own hips jutted forward. Throaty moans escaped into the silent room. Yuuri never wanted to stop kissing Victor. It was so good, his growing desire so heady; the man he loved was back in his arms…He felt dizzy, and a shudder ran through him. So good, maybe, that it was starting to pull him apart while the mends were so fragile.

Victor seemed to sense it, and broke their kiss to look at him, face flushed. “What is it, my sweet?”

Yuuri caught his breath. “I – I’m glad you’re here too, Vitya. It just…so much. I wanted to be with you again, and now that I am, part of me is still convinced it’s impossible.”

“I’m real, I promise,” Victor whispered, brushing a finger under his chin. “It’s a lot to take in, Yuuri; I feel that too. But I can’t tell you how happy I am to have the chance.” Yuuri nodded with a small smile, and Victor reached out to wipe a tear from his cheek that he hadn’t realised he’d shed, then said, “Let me show you how real I am.”

Yuuri wanted nothing more. “Make love to me, Vitya. Please.”

Victor’s eyes sparked, and he lowered Yuuri onto the bed, his fringe hanging down.

Their fervent kisses were all it took for Yuuri to be rock-hard and desperate for what he’d been missing. Victor kissed down his neck and chest, seemingly in an attempt to take it slow, but that wasn’t what Yuuri needed. “Come here and hold me and kiss me,” he said; and Victor quickly obliged. They wrapped their arms around each other and held tight, legs tangling, pressing their bodies together as if their embrace had the power to ensure they would never be pulled apart again. With a sigh, Victor trailed kisses along Yuuri’s cheek and temple, nibbled at his ear, nuzzled his neck. He’d rolled slightly onto his side to do so, and Yuuri suddenly took him in hand and began to stroke, desire pulsing through him when he heard Victor’s gasp of surprise followed by a cracked moan.

“It’s wonderful to touch you like this again,” Yuuri said breathily. “I’m not sure which of us is more turned on by it.”

“I’ll give you your answer then,” Victor replied with a small mischievous grin. He reached down, and when Yuuri felt his hand around his cock, he let out a small cry and bucked his hips, struggling to keep them still as Victor stroked him in turn.

“Fuck,” he gasped, clutching at the sheet with his free hand.

Victor shifted onto all fours over him, and they continued to pleasure each other, their hands gradually moving faster. Victor dipped his head and stole a kiss, then leaned his forehead against Yuuri’s, eyes bright.

“You’re so good at this,” he breathed. “I missed it. I missed _you._” He let out a choked noise as Yuuri gave his cock a squeeze.

“Nothing feels as good as you,” Yuuri whispered. “I need you inside me.” When Victor gave him a heated but blank look, he said, “Get the bottle on the nightstand.”

Victor picked it up and eyed it. “Lube,” he read from the label.

Yuuri grinned. “You use it like oil. Here.” He reached his hand out and Victor gave him the bottle. Popping the top open, Yuuri squeezed a little onto his palm, just enough to give him a good slide against Victor’s hard abdomen with plenty of friction still, and smeared it over his cock. It was thicker than olive oil of course, and clung. He returned the bottle to Victor, wiping his hand on the towel. “Try it,” he said softly. “It’s OK to use plenty.”

With a wrinkled brow, Victor squeezed a generous amount onto his palm, then closed the cap and put the bottle back on the table. Dipping his forefinger into the substance, he held it up to look at it. “It’s like…suspended water,” he mused. But he quickly came back to himself and got into a position at Yuuri’s side where he could kiss him while slipping a finger in. Yuuri moaned at the penetration of both finger and tongue, _wanting. _He reached out and took Victor in hand once more, and heard him hiss in a breath.

“Dear God, my love, you’ll make me come before I finish preparing you.”

Yuuri gentled his hand. “That better?”

Victor hummed, then took more of the lube and added a second finger, crooking them together and stroking deep inside to reach Yuuri’s prostate until he arched his back and cried out loud enough for it to echo out of the room.

“No one to hear us?” Victor asked.

“No,” Yuuri groaned. “The flats…_ahhh_…the flats are all insulated.”

“Oh good,” Victor whispered, kissing him.

Yuuri gave him a few hard, quick strokes, drinking in the surprised gasps. “I’m ready,” he said. “Please…now.”

“How do you want me, my sweet?”

“Here, on top of me. Where I can see you.” 

Victor slid his fingers out, slicked his cock slowly with a look of concentration as he used the rest of the lube in his hand, wiped the excess off with the towel, then positioned himself at Yuuri’s entrance. Blue eyes met Yuuri’s own as he began to push in, and Yuuri breathed his name as he felt the stretch and fullness.

“I love seeing you like this,” Victor murmured. “So hard and open for me. Oh my darling, you feel so good.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri said on a moan, “come here.”

Victor quickly obliged, taking him in his arms once more. His fringe tickled Yuuri’s forehead, but he was used to it; that was just one of the many facets of being with Victor. Yuuri stroked his face and buried his fingers in his hair, revelling in being caught up in his tight embrace.

“This lube is amazing,” Victor breathed near his ear. “I shall never use oil again.”

Yuuri smiled, then felt him bottom out, and wrapped his legs around his waist. “Fuck me, baby,” he whispered.

Victor blew out a breath and began to move, and Yuuri tilted his head up for a kiss. He matched Victor’s rhythm, his cock trapped and sliding between their two bodies and sending jolts of pleasure through him, while the bliss of having Victor in and around him was driving all thought from his mind. His heart filled to the brim and flooded over.

Victor stopped, eyes flashing in concern. “You’re crying,” he said softly, wiping a thumb over Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri blinked and felt more hot liquid seep from the corner of one eye. “I am? I…I didn’t know.”

“Are you all right? Am I hurting you?”

“No – I’m fine. I…” Yuuri considered, and cupped Victor’s cheek. “It’s incredible to be doing this again.” Several more tears trickled out, and his voice wavered as he spoke. “I never even thought I’d _see _you again, and it hurt too much to imagine this, and remember…”

Victor’s eyes were bright now with his own tears. “I felt the same,” he said, his voice shaky as well. “I can’t even describe how I feel. I just…I’m with you, and that’s enough. It always was. It’s the most beautiful experience.”

Yuuri gave him a watery smile. “Can we carry on with wet eyes and faces?”

Victor wiped at a cheek and grinned back. “Let me see.” He pulled most of the way out, then thrust, eliciting a groan from them both. “Oh yes, I think we can.”

“Please,” Yuuri said softly.

As they found a rhythm together again, kissing and holding each other, more tears came and went; but between them were smiles and laughter, caresses and pet names. It was a crazy, hot jumble, but Yuuri loved every moment. He grasped at the nape of Victor’s neck as his breaths came shallow and quick. Victor broke off one last kiss, gasping against his cheek.

“My beauty, my dove,” his words tumbled out. “Yuuri, God in heaven…fuck…”

Victor was pounding into him now, and Yuuri’s legs began to tremble while he worked his hips to chase the friction he craved. Moans and cries escaped his throat as lust glazed his mind. “Vitya, yes, yes,” he called out, digging his fingers into his back. But he held Victor’s gaze, looking past the large dark pupils to the amazing man he loved. “Don’t take your eyes off me,” he gasped.

“Never.”

Yuuri’s jaw went slack as the pleasure built to a head, crested, and crashed through him. After several more erratic thrusts, Victor’s eyes flew open wide as if in surprise, but they never left Yuuri’s as he reached his own climax with a punched-out breath, followed by shuddering gasps. And it was the most wonderful, most precious thing, Yuuri decided through the thick, warm haze that had begun to blanket his mind.

As they both caught their breath, Yuuri could feel his expression softening into fondness, and he caressed Victor’s cheek. “Vitya…” he whispered.

“Yuuri, my love,” Victor sighed with gleaming eyes, dipping down for a long syrupy kiss. Hands that had been kneading and clutching were now trailing slowly across warm skin. Yuuri hummed into Victor’s kiss, the languorous moment stretching out into bliss.

But eventually Victor rolled off, and Yuuri was left with the usual empty feeling afterwards, though he was too flushed and sated to care. Picking up the towel, Victor cleaned him tenderly, then himself, and lay back down to lazily entangle once more, placing soft kisses on Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri turned his head and caught his lips, savouring the slow, loving contact after the urgent passion. For a while they remained silent and entwined, kissing and idly caressing. Then Victor spoke quietly as he ran his hand along the top of Yuuri’s arm. 

“I don’t ever want to leave this bed,” he chuckled softly. “Or let you go.”

Yuuri snuggled closer, basking in his warmth, skin on skin. “Good,” he muttered, kissing his collarbone. “We’ll stay, then.”

“There’s a whole new world out there.” Yuuri looked at him, but Victor quickly added with a smile, “It can wait.”

“Good,” Yuuri mumbled again, his eyelids beginning to droop. “I don’t want to let you go, either.” He sighed, pressing more kisses to Victor’s shoulder. Lying in his arms like this was the most soothing balm on all the raw hurts, and his heart was still and steady and full.

Victor kissed the top of his head. “I’ll be thankful every day that I was given a way to come to you,” he said softly. “I love you so much, Yuuri…so very much. I want to make a life with you here, if you’ll have me.”

Yuuri gazed up at him again. “How can you even ask?” he said, stroking his cheek. “Of course I…” Then he gave up on words and kissed him deeply.

“God, how I’ve missed you,” Victor whispered against his lips.

“I love you with every beat of my heart, every minute of every day,” Yuuri said, repeating Victor’s words to him in the tent the night he’d finally beaten him at sparring. He could see in Victor’s eyes that he remembered, and they filled again with tears, while Yuuri felt his own well up in answer. But let them come as they would. He captured Victor’s lips, and they nuzzled and stroked until their motions slowed, and then they dozed, and time was nothing.


	171. Chapter 171

Gentle kisses on Yuuri’s forehead brought him round, and for a moment he lay stunned, wondering what was happening. But when all the events of the evening filtered back, his heart leapt for joy; and when he recalled what they’d been doing just before he’d fallen asleep, he broke into a smile. Victor was here, and they were wrapped up in each other. And it was so very real. There was nothing to fear, no worries, no anxiety while they were like this.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Victor said softly.

“Did I nod off?”

“Only for a little while. I think I did, too. But mostly I was watching you. I used to like to, sometimes, when you slept. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why should I mind? I do that, too.” He tangled his legs further around Victor’s and ran his palm over his chest; all those magnificent planes and curves, just as he remembered. Muscle and bone. He brushed a nipple, feeling a stir in his groin. Then he met Victor’s gaze again. “I’ve never felt so…light with you,” he said quietly. “No Ailis, no worry about something happening to Justin, no more threat of being called to a duel or battle. I won’t look at someone and know what’s going to happen to them anymore, or how they’re going to die, and whether I should do something to try to prevent it.”

“Apart from me,” Victor said levelly.

After a pause, Yuuri replied, “Maybe they’ll record your death in 1393 because you disappeared and never returned. Because you were here.”

“I hope so, my love.”

_So do I. _But he knew that neither of them would rest easy until the year ended. He kissed Victor as if attempting to ward off the fear, caressing his arm and his hip, pressing himself closer, the touches sending sparks through him. Victor’s hands started to roam, and Yuuri felt their cocks begin to swell against each other. _Yes, _his body said. _More. _They could share their love the rest of the night.

_Don’t be silly, _his brain told him. _You’ve had plenty of time together. It’s up to you to show him how to live here; you’ve got to get out of bed sometime._

_All right. I’m going to ask again what I’ve been wondering about most since the moment I saw him. _“So, this time-travel sphere you uncovered…Ailis must have repaired one after all. How did you find it?”

Victor’s hand trailed to Yuuri’s buttock and began to knead; he grinned as he received a gasp. “I’ll explain later,” he said, brushing his lips against Yuuri’s jaw. “It’s…complicated. Let’s think no more about Ailis right now.”

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot, though,” Yuuri replied with an effort to keep his brain functioning. “It sort of happens whether I want it to or not. She discovered temporal physics and designed all that tech I’ve been working on. I was trying to find a way to get back to you, but it never felt like I was making much progress.”

Victor’s hand stilled. “You discovered how to make a link with me in the great hall, and it was strong enough to ensure I could come here without swapping places with someone.”

“It was an accident.”

“It doesn’t matter, my love. Now I don’t have to worry about being returned to my time. When you were with me, I feared every day that the same thing would happen to you.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. “Every day?”

“Yes. And then it did. But we don’t have that problem now, because of you.” He smiled. “My lovely, clever Yuuri.”

He leaned forward for a kiss, which began softly, but grew deep and insistent. Yuuri raked his fingers through Victor’s hair, deciding to ignore his previous advice to himself as utterly impractical. Soon fingers were clutching, tongues tangling; and Yuuri ground their hips together, moaning loudly as their kisses became sloppy and wet. Victor echoed the noise, pulling him closer still.

“I desire you as much as before,” he breathed. “Christ, Yuuri.”

“Let me have a turn then,” Yuuri said, gazing heatedly at him.

A shaky smile crossed Victor’s face, and he said with a sigh, “Love me, my sweet.”

Yuuri flipped them over so that he was looking down into blue eyes that sparked with excitement. And after another kiss that left them both gasping, he trailed lips and teeth and tongue over Victor’s body, delighting in reacquainting himself with it, if only briefly, before positioning himself above Victor once more and taking them both in hand, plundering his mouth until he was begging. When they were ready, Yuuri began slowly, rocking into Victor, willing his love for this man to flow into his movements. But it was difficult to stay that way, with the spike of pleasure each thrust shot through him, and Victor clinging to him tightly as praises and curses, gasps and moans spilled from his lips.

“Fuck, Victor, you feel amazing,” Yuuri breathed, beads of sweat breaking out along his hairline as he picked up his pace, a wave of pure need threatening to scatter his thoughts.

Victor seemed beyond words, clutching at his shoulders, until he gasped out Yuuri’s name, followed by, “Harder…please…”

As an idea struck him, Yuuri quickly took a firm hold of Victor’s arse and shifted onto his knees while lifting, so that the lower half of Victor’s body was elevated. Understanding what Yuuri was doing, Victor locked his legs around his waist tighter still. It was a position Victor had taken with him that first wonderful night they’d been together, and somehow Yuuri had never got around to trying it this way himself. He was in complete control, and could see every detail of how he filled Victor as he began again to thrust, his cock throbbing and twitching. Victor gasped and threw his head back on the pillow, clutching at the sheets, and Yuuri almost came just from watching him.

“Vitya,” he gasped out, “tell me what you need, baby.”

“Just…just you,” Victor panted. “It’s…so good…Yuuri, God…”

Yuuri thrust faster still, pulling Victor onto him each time. Victor tossed his head, a rhythmic chain of _ahhs _and moans escaping his lips, higher and louder. “Yes, baby, yes,” Yuuri breathed, the coil of tension in his groin tightening, threatening to snap. Victor arched his back, calling out his name, before painting his abdomen in an explosion of white. The sight of his love in such bliss, while clenching around him, sent Yuuri hurtling over the edge with a cry, and he dug his fingers into Victor’s buttocks as he spasmed and shook.

_Holy fuck. Oh God. _His arms quivered and his heart raced. But soon his thoughts began to filter back to consciousness, and he gently lowered Victor to the bed, taking the towel and lying down on his side next to him. Victor’s eyes were happily glazed as he watched Yuuri clean them both; afterward, he tossed the towel on the floor and took Victor in a loose embrace.

“Did that really just happen?” Yuuri chuckled breathily, stroking Victor’s cheek.

“Oh,” Victor moaned, “please tell me it did, and that I wasn’t dreaming. Yuuri, by all the saints…I’m most wonderfully spent.” He ran a finger along Yuuri’s jaw. “I love you,” he whispered.

Yuuri gave him a soft, lingering kiss. “I love you. And look, no tears this time.”

Victor smiled. “No tears. But it’s all right if there are. You’ve been in pain, my darling.”

“So have you,” Yuuri murmured. “But for some strange reason, it started to go away today.”

Victor chuckled, his eyes bright.

They held each other in the quiet of the room, Yuuri resting his hand over Victor’s heart, nestling into the crook of his neck.

_That’s the thing about time – it doesn’t stand still. Pain and fear pass, but so do moments like this. _

_There will be more, though. Many more._

“We should…do things,” he said eventually.

“Mmm.” Victor’s eyes were half shut.

“There’s a whole new world out there waiting for you. Remember?”

“It can’t compare to being with you in here.”

Yuuri laughed and kissed his nose. “Let’s have another shower and get dressed. I’m not going anywhere else, I promise.”

Victor’s eyes opened fully, sparkling. “Oh, I like that idea. It’s so relaxing. If I relax any further, I shall be in danger of sinking through the floor, but it will be worth it.”

“Come on, then,” Yuuri said with a chuckle, lacing their fingers together.

They took turns soaping each other, and Victor positively gloried under the warm spray, particularly when Yuuri showed him what the different settings did, from producing a fine mist to a thin, powerful jet that was practically bruising. There was also a grid in the floor of the tub that could send jets up to waist height, which was helpful for washing the nether regions, though Yuuri usually didn’t bother with changing the setting to that. Victor, however, was in heaven with it all. He would be scrubbed clean and smelling of something fresh and lightly aromatic almost all the time now, Yuuri realised. Which was fine. But he still hoped to catch a trace of Victor’s natural scent occasionally, and knew he would miss it.

Afterward, Victor began putting his medieval clothes back on. “We need to get you some modern things to wear tomorrow,” Yuuri said. “I love seeing you in those, but…”

“I miss you in yours, too. But the ones you were wearing today, they look good on you. I daresay most anything would.”

Yuuri blushed. “I doubt that. But thank you.” He kissed Victor’s cheek and disappeared into the bedroom. Turning the heat back down now that they were getting dressed, he put on something appropriate, then went to the living room to find Victor refastening the locket around his neck. His heart skipped a beat to see it.

Victor looked at him and gasped. Then, to Yuuri’s dismay, his eyes filled with tears. “Oh…” he said. “Oh, Yuuri…”

“Do you not like it? Should I change back – ?”

“No, it’s not that.” Victor sniffed and wiped his eyes. “You’re…you. Just as I remember. The very day you disappeared. Like a dream made real.”

Yuuri smoothed his hose and adjusted his sword belt, then joined him where he stood, next to his leather bag. “I thought you’d like it. I didn’t mean to – ”

“I love it.” Victor took him in his arms and kissed him, and Yuuri fought tears back himself, because it suddenly felt like they ought to be in the tent city or the castle instead of standing incongruously in a flat in 2121. Pulling away, Victor said, “There’s one thing that would make this complete.”

“Oh? What have I forgotten?”

Victor bent over and began to undo the straps of his leather bag. After searching for a moment, he removed a small carved wooden chest, which he offered to Yuuri, who took it, wondering at its heavy weight. He opened the lid to find a nest of rich, shimmering blue silk inside, and pushed the folds apart to reveal the yellow gleam of gold.

“Is that…” He put the chest down on the table and examined the livery collar that Victor had given him, its linked E-shapes glinting brightly in the overhead lights. “I never thought I’d see it again,” he said brokenly. It seemed there would be no end to the tears today, but they were no longer the kind that hurt; it felt instead like they were a release valve for the overflowing emotions inside of him, and each time they left him a little more whole. “Thank you,” he added fervently. “I’ll have to find a safe place to keep it.”

“Will you wear it now?”

With a grin, Yuuri lifted it carefully over his head and arranged it on his shoulders.

“There. You look ready for a meal with the king.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Oh, not again.”

Victor laughed and reached into his bag once more, pulling out a second time-travel sphere. “This is yours,” he said, placing it on the table, followed by the one from his purse. “We’re both time travellers now. You know best what to do with them.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure he did, but he stared at the twin spheres, distracted by the thought that they had indeed both travelled through time. Almost before he realised it, he was being handed a pair of shoes.

“I thought you’d like to have these,” Victor said quietly.

“Henry Jago’s shoes,” Yuuri breathed. “Oh my God, Victor.” He caressed the smooth, soft, dark stained leather that ended in pointy toes. The stitching was fine and secure, and he’d always wondered how Henry had done it without being able to see. “I’ll take good care of them.”

“I would have thought Henry would want you to – ”

“Wear them, I know, you said before.” He huffed a laugh. “Not down the streets of modern York.”

“They’d make a fine addition to the clothes you’re wearing now.”

Yuuri blinked. “Yes, they would.”

“But there’s more here,” Victor continued, reminding him of a magician about to pull something out of a hat. This time it turned out to be a hand warmer. With a gasp, Yuuri took it, tracing his fingers over its curves; a bronze-painted ceramic sphere with a delicate filigree design. “Is this…?”

“Yes, the one I gave you last year…728 years ago.” Victor smiled wistfully. “I imagine you have better things to use now, but perhaps it could be a pretty ornament if nothing else.”

“Of course I’ll use it.” Yuuri’s thoughts returned to the previous winter. “You sent Julia to fetch this after we’d been sparring in the cold without shirts.”

“I remember.”

“I was falling in love with you.”

“I felt the same.” They held each other’s gazes, then exchanged grins. “Speaking of love…” Victor said with a gleam in his eyes. This time his foray into the bag produced Yuuri’s eros clothes. “Neither of us would want you to be without these, would we?”

Yuuri took them with wide eyes. Perhaps out of all the items here, these meant the most to him, and possibly to Victor, too. It was like seeing an old friend for the first time in years, he thought as he fingered the material he knew well. “I’m so glad you brought these,” he said with a tear, biting his lip.

“Will you wear them again for me sometime soon?” Victor asked softly.

“Just try and stop me.”

Victor gave a little laugh. “I assure you I’ll do no such thing.” As Yuuri folded the clothes and placed them on the table, he watched Victor take more out of the bag – the royal-blue houppelande with matching pointy-toed hose, his own livery collar, some tunics, his finest brown woollen cloak, and Yuuri’s short samite shirt and hose. Their chaperons wouldn’t fit, he explained, and Yuuri laughed; Victor probably would have put every boot and hat they owned inside if he could.

“Oh,” Victor said, handing him a leather parcel bag the size of a canteen, “I thought you might like this. If it didn’t get flattened. I had to pack everything rather tightly.”

Yuuri took it, wondering what he meant, and untied the drawstring, peering inside. “You…brought four pies?”

“Bridget’s honey pies, specifically. I know how much you like them.”

Yuuri breathed in the aromas of honey and saffron. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “You brought these all the way from 1393?”

“Yes.”

“You’re amazing,” Yuuri laughed. “I can’t believe you thought of that.”

“Well, there was a note of practicality about it, too. If I couldn’t find you straight away, or ended up in the wrong time, and I got hungry, then hunting and foraging weren’t likely to be options; in which case, I would have eaten them myself.”

The whole collection Victor had brought was absurd, sentimental, and absolutely wonderful. Yuuri laughed even as more tears threatened, and closed the distance between them, giving Victor a long, soft kiss. “Thank you,” he said once again.

“My pleasure,” Victor replied quietly with a small smile.

“I’ll put these in the kitchen. And we ought to have something to eat, if you’re hungry.” Yuuri took the bag with the honey cakes and went inside, Victor following.

“After everything we’ve done today, I daresay I’m in need of some sustenance.” Victor gave him a knowing grin, and Yuuri felt pink stain his cheeks. He put the bag on the table and went to the freezer, wondering what on earth Victor would want to eat; he’d probably be more comfortable having real food than taking a handful of nutri-pills. Something bland, to be on the safe side? But medieval food wasn’t bland, not if you were wealthy.

In the end, he slid two meals of chicken tikka masala and spiced okra with rice into the quick oven, explaining that he hadn’t made any of it himself, but had bought it in, as most people did. Victor’s eyes were hardly still as he took in his surroundings, though the aromas of tomatoes and cardamom, ginger and cumin soon pulled his attention back to what was in the oven.

“Chicken…so you don’t observe the Advent traditions?” he said, examining the boxes the meals had come in.

“Advent traditions?” Yuuri thought for a moment. “Oh – no animal products.” At Victor’s nod, he added, “I don’t think anyone does that anymore, not even fish on a Friday.”

“Then for the first time in my life, I won’t either,” Victor said with a mischievous grin.

When they sat down at the table, Yuuri realised he didn’t have much in the way of drinks, and they made do with water. Victor also eyed the knife and especially the fork curiously, wondering aloud what such a small implement would cut, and what the point of tines was when a spoon would surely be easier to use with the rice.

“I mean, what is it _for_?” he said, holding the fork up to the light and frowning.

“You can spear things with it,” Yuuri replied with a smile.

“You use a knife for that.”

“Not here you don’t, unless you want people to give you strange looks.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, no. But if you’re not brave enough to give it a try, then by all means, get your knife out of your purse and have at it.”

Victor pressed his lips together into something like a smirk, then persevered with the fork. And soon he seemed to have decided the food was so good that it didn’t matter what he ate it with. They followed the meal with a honey pie each, Yuuri picturing Bridget and the kitchen and the castle as he ate, and Julia bringing them to comfort him when he and Victor had fallen out, before he’d shared his secrets with anyone.

“Is it not to your liking?” Victor said with concern, watching him.

“It’s…bittersweet,” Yuuri replied. Victor seemed to understand, and they finished in silence. Yuuri put the dishes and cutlery in the washer, conscious of Victor noting everything he did, and then returned to the living room, marvelling at all the items stacked on the table. They’d find homes for them tomorrow, though the livery collars were probably best stored somewhere secure in the bedroom.

He suggested they cuddle on the sofa, something they’d never been able to do in the past in quite the same way. When Victor readily agreed, they removed their sword belts and reclined, Victor’s back to Yuuri’s chest, with Yuuri’s arms draped around his shoulders and his legs secure on both sides, knees up. He decided he’d be happy if they never left this spot.

When he put some music on, Victor turned his head and looked up at him in surprise. “It’s a piano concerto by Ravel,” Yuuri explained.

“I heard music made by that instrument when Phichit played it. What does it look like?”

Yuuri grinned. The room fell quiet again, and a hologram appeared over the table next to them – a Chinese woman with long flowing black hair sitting at a grand piano on a stage, moving her fingers deftly over the keys as a flurry of rich notes floated through the auditorium. 

“Zounds,” Victor murmured, and Yuuri chuckled softly. “How did you produce the image like that?”

“Magic,” Yuuri whispered near his ear with a smile. Victor made a _hmph _and squeezed his hand, and Yuuri said soberly, “The same way I controlled the shower. There’s a tech control for the flat; you can program the lights, the temperature, entertainment like music and holograms, all sorts of things through its BCI. I looked up a concerto on the Cloud, synced it with the control, and projected it into the living room.”

“With that device on your wrist?”

“It gives me access to the Cloud, yes.”

“Zounds.”

Yuuri smiled and kissed the top of his head. “_Not _magic. You try.”

“Me? How?”

Yuuri turned the hologram off and pointed. “See that black box up there on the wall? Every room has one. Concentrate on it, open the BCI menu, and tell it what you want.”

“You…trust me to do that?”

“Of course.”

“I won’t…” Victor thought for a moment. “Start a fire, or break something, or cause a calamity by accident?”

Yuuri laughed. “No. About the worst you could do is turn the heat up so that we’re both lying here sweating like fury.”

“Hmm, don’t want that. All right, I’ll try.”

He fell silent, and Yuuri waited in curiosity, a hand idly stroking Victor’s chest and arm. Eventually all the lights in the room dimmed until it was quite dark, and then they brightened a bit.

“That’s better,” Victor said.

“Well done. It isn’t firelight, but it’s the closest you’ll get in here, I’m afraid.”

“I thought you liked bright light at night.”

“To work or read by. But it’s not as relaxing as a fire or candle.”

“Oh.”

Yuuri gave a little huff. “A damn sight easier to turn on and off, though.”

Victor laughed. “Will you put the music back on? The Ravel? I couldn’t work out how.”

Yuuri obliged, and kissed his temple. The more he held Victor, the more real he felt, while the years that had divided them continued to dissolve away. Though this was an entirely new way of living that they would both need to adjust to. He was still trying to imagine Victor in modern clothes. Sexy as hell, he didn’t doubt. But it would be strange, too.

“Do you feel up to telling me more about what you did after I disappeared?” Yuuri asked him. “What happened to Victor and Friends? Julia and Emil? And how did you get that sphere? I mean, I understand if you’re tired; it’s been – ”

“Of course I’ll tell you,” Victor replied, snuggling against his shoulder. “Everything here is so relaxing, especially you.” The grin that suddenly crossed his face was catlike. “Apart from when you’re exciting me.”

Yuuri felt his face flush again, though he couldn’t understand how it still came at Victor’s call despite all the things they’d done together.

“And why has no one in my time invented a sofa? How ridiculous of them. I’d get the castle carpenters to make some if…” His words trailed off, and Yuuri watched his face fall. “Well, I’m trying to make light of what was…a difficult time for me. But I’ll start at the beginning. I’d like you to know.”

Yuuri listened attentively, holding him tighter and pressing gentle kisses into his hair when he faltered in places, though Victor’s clear intent was to relate events without digging too deeply into whatever pain underpinned them. He spoke about how he’d kept the troupe going with Henric’s help, and Yuuri ached to have been back with him, managing and performing together. Victor had gone on the wheel with Julia, who was lighter without the armour. It was more gymnastics than sparring, he said, but audiences liked it. The troupe had thought highly of Yuuri, and missed him when he was gone. And he passed on parting words of greeting from Chris on behalf of Victor and Friends, wishing him happiness and blessings. The old feelings of loss stirred within Yuuri again; of the people he’d known and the things he’d done, and the joys and challenges he and Victor had shared, before being landed here in an old life he’d never asked to have back. Tears stained his cheeks, and he watched mixed emotions cross Victor’s face as well.

“We both thought that was our future,” Yuuri said.

“There were always risks involved of various kinds, but yes…oh, I miss it too. The way it was with you. After you were gone, my love, I struggled to find the heart for it, and it would never have been there in the same way again.” He closed his eyes briefly, covering Yuuri’s hands with his own. “But we’d built that troupe, and we believed in it. I was determined to see it through – for you, me, and all the members. I couldn’t abandon it and go back to life at the castle as I knew it; not after what you and I were to each other, everything we did. But it didn’t feel right for my new life, either.” He added with a sigh, “Oh Yuuri, I didn’t know what to do.”

He did return to the castle, he explained, but only to give the troupe a holiday before the height of the Yule. When he mentioned that he’d been fearing he might not live until that time because of his foretold death, the old agonising problem pulled at Yuuri’s heart again; he wished he’d never said anything to Victor about it, then recalled Victor’s words to him about keeping secrets and both of them supporting each other. Yet the result had been that the same worry had haunted them for months afterward, and still lingered now.

“I’d been planning the holiday for a while,” Victor was saying. “I got an interesting letter in November, you see.”

“Oh? From who?”

“It seems Boucicaut had heard of me and was going to be in the middle of England in December. _He _challenged _me_. Word had got to him about our travelling performances. He invited you to fight him, too,” he added quietly. 

“God, Victor, I would’ve loved to be there. Didn’t you want to fight him?”

After a pause, he replied, “It didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. But I agreed to do it, so…”

“So?” Yuuri couldn’t help prompting him, wondering what had happened and wishing Boucicaut had written months earlier, though of course there had been no troupe then.

“Well, I’ll get to that. Before he arrived, the squires and I…we were marking the anniversary of your arrival at the castle in my room with a drink; it was Emil who suggested it.”

Warmth flooded Yuuri’s chest. “He did? And you all had drinks in my memory?”

“I thought it was a good idea myself.” Victor gave his hand a squeeze. “The three of us had left many things unsaid. Emil tried to speak with me about it on more than one occasion, but the grief was very near. This time, though, he succeeded.”

“I…” Yuuri sniffed back a tear. “I’m flattered.”

“We missed you, my love. It was a natural thing to do.” Victor looked up at him with a small grin, but his gaze was sombre. “I think Emil had a second reason for the suggestion as well, because Julia had shared a secret with him.”

Yuuri blinked. “What kind of secret – did you find out?”

“Oh yes,” Victor replied, seeming to deflate; and Yuuri could see that the surprise hadn’t been a pleasant one. He felt his own stomach drop.

“At the end of the evening,” Victor continued, “Emil left the room, and Julia showed me something very interesting…the time-travel sphere.”

“What?” Yuuri gasped. “_She _found it?” Where? His mind raced. There was only one clear possibility. “Ailis’s lab – she was the first of any of us to go inside.” He could see the truth of it in Victor’s face. “She discovered it and brought it out before the place caught fire, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“That must be why Ailis risked her life in the end by running back into the burning lab,” Yuuri said quickly. “She wanted to get the sphere so she could use it to escape back to the future. But it wasn’t there, because Julia had already taken it.”

“I think that’s likely, yes.”

“What was she doing with it all this time? She never told me she had it.”

“She never told me, either.”

“But why?”

“As I said, it’s complicated, which is why I left it until now to explain.”

As the implications of this sank in, Yuuri felt as if a fire had been lit inside of him. “Fucking hell, Victor. What was she playing at…?” His voice trailed off as he paused, reeling. “All those weeks we were apart,” he breathed. “There was no need…no need for any of it.” He swallowed as a tremor raced through him. “Did she explain why?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Victor squeezed his hand again, more tightly this time. “I admit I expressed much the same sentiment. We spoke long about it, more than once, before I left. Her actions weren’t driven by spite or resentment, I’m convinced of that. It appears that this was her way of trying to prevent either of us from leaving. She was happy as things were, and saw that you and I were happy as well, and I believe she was afraid that the appearance of the time-travel sphere would put that under threat somehow.”

“She must have known how upset you were, though, and guessed I was, too.”

“Indeed, but she also feared my wrath. Not that I would have done anything harsh to her. But especially as my loyal squire, she was distraught about having disappointed me to the extent that she knew she had.”

“She stayed quiet because she was afraid of disappointing you?” Yuuri echoed, his mouth hanging open. He shut it, feeling as if a scab had been ripped off and Julia had done it.

“I know, my love. But bear in mind that I wouldn’t have been able to use the sphere anyway, because I wouldn’t have wanted to risk swapping places with someone. At least by the time I received it, I was soon able to alter it, thanks to what you’d done with your tech in the great hall.”

“But still…” Yuuri ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus.”

Victor sighed. “Julia requested that once I’d found you, I would deliver the sincerest apology a squire could give.” He glanced up at Yuuri, who waited silently. “That she’s dishonoured herself by her deeds, which were unworthy of anyone who would desire to call themselves a chivalrous knight, and throws herself on your mercy in the knowledge that it’s more than she deserves. If you can find it in your heart to forgive her for an act born from misguided love, she will be bound to you in thankfulness and grace henceforward.”

Yuuri was touched more by the words “misguided love” than any of the flowery language, though the last part of it hit him like a discordant note. “That was easy for her to say. There _was _no ‘henceforward’.”

“I know,” Victor said quietly. “And far be it from me to defend her. However, if you were still with her in the past, she would be beholden to you.”

“I don’t want anyone to be beholden to me, Victor. I just…” Yuuri shook his head and tried to follow the logic, but decided it was impossible. Maybe only a young teenager could. Perhaps Julia had thought she had good reason for what she’d done, though it was difficult to see past the betrayal of trust. But at least she’d said something eventually. She’d said it to Emil, it seemed, who had advised her to say it to Victor.

“Shit,” he said simply, wondering what he’d tell her if she were standing in front of him now, though he guessed Victor had probably already made a good job of it. He pondered on the issue while Victor stroked his hand. Julia had become so much easier to get on with that it had been tempting to forget how prickly she’d been at first when she’d thought he was Justin. But he knew the depth of feeling she had for Victor, and that it was there to an extent for himself. She would have known that if Victor used the sphere, he’d be as good as dead to her, never to return. And she was his fifteen-year-old charge; he’d been like a father to her in many ways.

_I was only two years younger when my parents died._

“I suppose I can understand,” he finally said, “even if I’m picked. I mean, she didn’t even give us the opportunity to decide what to do with the sphere when we were still together. But…well, what could we have done with one sphere? I couldn’t have examined it; I didn’t even know how to open it. We couldn’t have both used it.”

Victor looked up at him with a small grin. “That’s good of you, my sweet. You have a kind heart.”

His warm words lifted more of the anger away as Yuuri gazed at him. It was going to take some time to get over the fact that he’d lived through those bleak days when the whole situation had been preventable – fuck, that _hurt_ – but Victor had the grace to forgive her, and so could he. “I’m thankful she rescued the sphere from the fire,” he said. “She did do that, even if it was only because she wanted to keep it.”

“She told me she only made that decision later, though she had difficulty in explaining her action to me of placing the sphere in her purse instead of handing it straight over to one of us. But yes, one way or another, she ensured I had a way to get back to you.”

“Yeah. She did a lot for me, too.”

“I shall still remember her fondly,” Victor said just above a whisper, and he closed his eyes for a moment. His gaze was pensive when he opened them again. “And yet I only saw her today. _My _today.” He gave a faint laugh. “I’m making no sense. It’s very strange indeed.”

“It is. I can’t help thinking, too, that all the time we were in Immersion, and during our whole conversation in the sugar building, the repaired sphere was in Ailis’s lab, waiting to be used. And then Julia took it and we never knew about any of it.”

“I didn’t ask if she brought it with her while the troupe was travelling,” Victor said. “I didn’t want to push too far into the paths of her mind at the time. I suppose I feared it might only feed my anger.”

“I can understand that,” Yuuri said with another gentle kiss to the top of Victor’s head. “Before you left, what did you decide to do with the troupe?”

Victor explained that he’d sold it to Henric for next to nothing, which made Yuuri smile; it was a relief to know they’d been able to carry on, and that Victor had been willing to help them in that way. Julia and Emil were planning to stay with the troupe, he said, and Emil had a new knight, though Victor wasn’t sure he’d succeeded in persuading Julia to do the same. They’d ridden with him to York that very morning and watched him leave.

“They asked me to remember them to you,” Victor said.

Yuuri blinked a tear away. “There’s no need for that. I’ll never forget them.”

“I believe Julia would have come here with me if she could.”

Stroking a finger down Victor’s cheek, Yuuri said, “I can imagine why she might think you’d be difficult to replace. No one ever could.”

“That’s what she said.”

“That’s what I’m saying now.”

“I only ever wanted you to be happy,” Victor murmured. “I hope you weren’t…when you returned here…I hope you weren’t suffering too much for my sake.”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Yuuri said softly. “You’ve always been with me in my heart, but…”

Victor lifted Yuuri’s hand to his lips and kissed the backs of his fingers. “You, too, my love. God has blessed me a hundred times over today.”

They lay as they were for a moment, trading light caresses with the piano music lilting through the room. “When I said goodbye to Julia,” Victor spoke eventually, “I left the gun with her for her own protection. I trusted her with it.”

“That’s exactly why I left it with you,” Yuuri said. “I understand.” Despite what Victor had revealed about what she’d done with the sphere, he still credited her with enough sense to look after the weapon, and would probably have given it to her himself.

“Have…Phichit and Mari helped?” Victor asked. “You said Phichit stayed here.”

Yuuri considered for a moment. “Mari did, too, for a while. And yeah, they’ve been wonderful…but that on its own hasn’t been enough.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to do with my life. I still don’t. I don’t have to work for a living now; the university pays me a stipend for fulfilling my mission. So I spent a lot of my time exercising when I got back, then studying temporal physics; I was killing myself with all the hours I was putting into that. And now I’ve got what I wanted, right here.” He smiled. “So what do I do with that tech in my lab now, and…with my life?” His head suddenly swam. “God, that’s a whole new discussion, and I don’t think the answers will be easy.”

Victor nestled his head against Yuuri’s neck. “It seems we have some decisions to make. I’ll need to do something worthwhile here too, will I not?”

“You’ve only just got here. Give it some time.”

“Good,” Victor said, taking Yuuri’s hands in his own once more. “Because I need to stop being afraid you’re going to disappear again.” He asked softly, “Hold me when we go to sleep?”

“Of course I will.” After a pause, Yuuri caught Victor’s gaze and said, “You didn’t tell me what happened with Boucicaut. Did you fight him?”

“I did. With every intention of being able to tell you the outcome.”

“Which was – ?”

Victor’s face broke into a beaming smile.


	172. Chapter 172

_Warm, _was his first thought. Warm like the morning of a summer’s day. His room should not feel like this in December upon waking; the fire would be burned down to the tiniest orange embers hiding under a grey pile of ash. Some days he could see his breath.

_Oh…_

_Oh._

He turned his head. Of course he was still there – his own love who’d been snatched into the future. Victor had searched for him and found him, and they were together once more, in each other’s arms. The way everything was supposed to be.

Tears welled in his eyes as he watched his beautiful Yuuri sleep. There had been so many shed between them yesterday – but Victor would shed a thousand more if he had to, just to stay here.

_I travelled across centuries to be with you, my love. I always thought you were godlike for doing that, you and Ailis. And now I’ve done it, too. There’s nothing in this strange place that will get the better of me as long as I know you’re here by my side and will never leave._

He wondered suddenly whether this was considered an appropriate time to be awake. Or if it was still the middle of the night; the hours of darkness were long in December, no matter what the year. A dim lamp shone on the bedside table, which reminded him of his little ceramic oil-burner. What would become of the things like that which he’d left behind…?

He wondered if the control in the room would tell him the time in the absence of his astrolabe, which he’d assumed he would not need here and had given to Julia. Perhaps he could try accessing it, as long as he didn’t accidentally cause it to make a noise that would wake Yuuri; let his love sleep awhile yet. He clearly needed it, as those shadows under his eyes spoke of broken nights. Overworking himself in the lab? Grieving for his losses? It made Victor’s heart heavy to consider the possibilities. But they were together now, and there would be brighter days ahead.

The BCI for the control in the room flashed white words in front of his eyes, seeming to know which colour would be best in the low light. But many of the options made no sense to him. “Alarm”? He certainly didn’t want one of those. “Brainwave entrainment”, what was that? “Fan”…the only fan Victor knew of was the kind you held in your hand and moved back and forth to create a breeze; but surely that wasn’t what it meant. Finally he found “clock”. It said, most precisely, 6:49. How dull, compared to the marvellous one Yuuri had built. He wondered what would happen to that, too. Alas that he could not bring it with him; he’d left it with his mother, who could appreciate something of its value.

His head was crowded with a perplexing jumble of feelings, thoughts and images from the previous day, and perhaps he could try to make some sense of it all while Yuuri lay peacefully next to him.

Yesterday he’d awakened in his room at the castle in 1393. Now he was here in Yuuri’s flat, as he called his residence, in 2121. It was nothing short of a miracle. He felt a tug at his heart for Julia and Emil, the troupe, his parents. Even his old room, which he and Yuuri had shared. All left behind now, many hundreds of years ago. It felt strange, like grief but not quite the same, because as he’d told Yuuri, he’d been rooted in that life, with those people, only yesterday. Riding to the city, saying goodbye.

“Grief but not quite” was an apt description, though it also seemed to apply to what he’d felt for Yuuri when he’d gone, and Victor had been relieved of the intensity of that now, thank God. He moved time onward in his mind to his arrival in the city of the future, and his quest to find the university. That in itself had been a great deal to take in, but of course it had only been the beginning, and he’d have to travel the streets here many times over.

_But Yuuri will be with me. He’ll explain, and I’ll learn. And I have a translator, thanks to Phichit. _Though as his mother had done, he knew that he, too, must grow to be reliant on it no longer.

His thoughts took him to the moment when he’d hesitated outside the doors of the university building. He could understand better, now, why it had been hard for him to enter. Because if Yuuri was inside, then his search was at an end and his heart was going to shatter, this time with an onslaught of new emotions that were as strong as when he’d disappeared. Everything lay just a few steps ahead.

But he’d taken them. And he was glad he’d met Phichit. Victor would not have known him just from seeing him – black clothing with a beautiful red dragon across his shirt, and green and gold swirls around his eyes that suited his brown skin. What country was he from…? One in Asia that he’d never heard of before Yuuri had mentioned it; he would have to ask again. No one in York in his time would ever have seen his like. But when Victor heard his voice, he knew, and he’d felt reassured that he was in safe hands from that point, though he’d continued to fret about Yuuri until he was told that he was safe. The two of them owed a great deal to Phichit, and Victor was looking forward to getting to know him properly in person.

However, as Phichit had led him through the white corridors of the building, the excitement racing in him had taken precipitous turns, so that by the time he was standing outside Yuuri’s door he’d been trembling, though thankfully he didn’t think Phichit had noticed. Worries and fears had flitted through him, born of a brain overheated from a long, bewildering day and the anticipation of seeing Yuuri again; something he’d never thought possible.

What if this didn’t go the way he’d hoped? Would all those years, and the very different places they were from, form a wall between them? And the concern he’d had for a while now – would there be room in Yuuri’s life for him?

Then the door had opened and there he was, and all Victor knew was that he was gazing upon his beloved. But the joy of looking upon him again was soon tempered when he took in the dark circles under Yuuri’s eyes, the lack of face paint – everyone else here was wearing it – and worst of all, the fact that he believed he was going mad.

_I meant my appearance to be a wonderful surprise for him. Idiot that I was, so keen to come here and be with him that I didn’t think things through. I would have known to be more careful if I’d recalled my own reaction when his identity was revealed to me._

Thank God it hadn’t taken long for his love to believe the evidence of his own senses and listen to his heart. When he’d finally gazed at Victor with such love, and kissed him with such feeling, he knew he’d truly come home. That had been the beginning of the tears for them both, but for once they’d been cleansing, rather than an expression of woe.

When Yuuri revealed that incredible lab with the time-travel tech, and all the work he’d put into trying to return to 1393, Victor could hardly contain himself.

_I would have welcomed him, of course I would. But fate seems to have decreed that we reunite and live our lives here, in his time. _The place didn’t matter, however. Victor would live with Yuuri on the moon, so long as they could be together.

Afterward, that amazing taxi journey in Yuuri’s arms…his incredible flat, the bathroom, the shower…sharing their love and taking each other to the peak of ecstasy once again…if there really was any magic in the world, Victor had experienced it.

He’d also needed to tell his love the truth about where the sphere had come from; even Julia had wanted that, because she hoped to receive his forgiveness, though she’d never get it in person. But while Yuuri was holding him like that, it hadn’t hurt so much to talk about what she’d done. Perhaps it had been the same for him, too. She was no longer with them, but these things mattered in the heart, and could cast a shadow over memories. Victor wanted to treasure the many fond ones he had.

Later, Yuuri had suggested he play his citole, and the very idea had lightened his heart. He sat on the sofa and plucked at the strings as they sang together. Yuuri asked him if he’d like a drink, though since he didn’t have anything alcoholic in the flat, he’d placed an order over the Cloud from the local ale-house, which he called a pub, while Victor continued to strum softly. They’d ended up drinking a couple of pints each of a good bitter brew. That seemed normal enough to Victor. What hadn’t was how the drinks had arrived, contained in a flying device which Yuuri let into the flat through the window as if it were a giant insect. Once their drinks were unloaded, it flew back out into the night – part of a pattern that was already becoming familiar, in which Yuuri would do something that must have seemed mundane to him while Victor gawped and asked questions. It made him wonder, as he had on the streets of York, what surprises awaited next, and that was both exciting and daunting.

They’d gone to bed at a time that would have been normal at the castle, since people there tended to get up at dawn apart from in the middle of the summer, when the sun rose very early. Yuuri said that since he’d returned, he’d got back into his old habit of staying up and sleeping late, though he confessed that had mainly been due to the time he was spending at his lab. However, neither of them had got any sleep for a while; a grin crossed Victor’s face as he remembered. They’d still been hungry for each other. It had more to do with wanting to be together, and comfort, and sharing their love, of course. But it had also been a chance to take things more slowly and explore and even be a little whimsical, after the urgent needs of earlier in the evening. Victor had tasted Yuuri and found him as delectable as always. Though detecting no scent other than soap on his skin all the time would take some getting used to.

Perhaps it would be different after a night’s sleep. Victor was tempted to wake his love with kisses, but he was also very curious about this flat; if he were careful about getting out of bed, it might be possible to sneak a peek and then return. He very gently untangled himself from Yuuri, visited the amazing bathroom, and then entered the living room, the lights turning on for him as he went. Everything was as they’d left it the night before, apart from the livery collars, which Yuuri had stashed in his wardrobe. The kitchen was the most interesting and mysterious room, though, and Victor went there next.

He opened a cabinet and discovered it was full of crockery and mugs. The mug in Yuuri’s lab had been odd, covered in pictures of a dog whose breed Victor had never seen before, all curly fur and floppy ears. This time, as he investigated the contents of the cabinet, he discovered a white mug that had a picture of a helmeted knight on a horse, and above it _Swords and Sorcery _in an elegant script. There was a small chip missing from the bottom, and the letters were slightly worn. Victor wondered how it was possible to imprint such things on a piece of ceramic.

At any rate, it seemed a fitting vessel for him, and he poured some water into it from the tap and drank. The water was curiously bland here; well-water always tasted of something. He examined some of the devices Yuuri had identified for him, and tried to remember their names and what they did. The refrigerator was where most of the food was kept chilled. Victor wondered what Fernand and the other cooks would have made of it as he opened the door. Meat and milk would no longer spoil so quickly. It must be heavenly to eat and drink cold things in the summer.

There weren’t many items inside, but he inspected what was there, pulling each thing out in turn before putting it back. Flavoured yoghurt, that was different. Round red fruit Yuuri called tomatoes; apparently their supper the night before had contained them, though they’d been pulverised into the sauce. Potatoes…those were new, too, and Victor only knew what they were because Yuuri had mentioned them. Tubers that smelled of the earth. Victor wondered what they tasted like. Other things were more peculiar still. A jar of something called miso paste, which had a peculiar but not unpleasant smell. Barbecue sauce, what was that? He popped the lid open and sniffed, then squeezed some onto a finger and licked it off.

“By God, that’s good,” he muttered, his eyes lighting up. Next was a container of orange juice. Its colour certainly was orange, but no one would drink juice from the bitter fruit in his time; perhaps it had been prepared in some way that made it palatable. There were also pots of flavoured porridge, and a box whose label proclaimed “Chicken salad with Indian style mayonnaise”. What was mayonnaise? It sounded French.

But then, there were things he recognised here, too. Carrots, leeks, eggs, cheese – oh, that looked interesting. He knew of Cheddar cheese. There was a soft kind here with a rind, too, called Doux de Montagne – which in the French he knew translated to “smooth of mountain”. How strange. Maybe he’d ask if he could try some later. But maybe Yuuri would say this was his home now, too, so he didn’t have to ask. Of course, Yuuri had easily been accommodated at the castle when he’d arrived as Justin. But he’d been living here in this place on his own, and perhaps his stipend was not very large. They’d have to discuss these things soon; Victor didn’t want to put Yuuri to any hardship.

He went to the coffee machine. That was something else he had yet to taste. Apparently it brewed ground fermented beans of a kind that didn’t grow in England. He ran his fingers lightly over the smooth shiny metal and buttons, careful not to press anything lest he damage it or it damaged him. Though that was silly, he told himself. There was a bag of coffee sitting on the counter next to it, and he unrolled the top and sniffed.

“Sweet Jesus,” he whispered, closing his eyes. What an intoxicating aroma. He rolled it carefully back up and replaced it. 

A chuckle floated from the entrance to the kitchen, and Victor turned to see Yuuri leaning against the door frame in a wraparound blue fuzzy cloak tied at the waist, with a smile that looked both amused and fond. “Yuuri,” Victor said, smiling in return. “How long have you been standing there?”

His answer sent a delicious shiver down Victor’s spine. “Long enough to fall in love with you all over again just from watching what you’ve been doing.” The smile edged into a smirk. “Not to mention the fact that you’re completely nude.”

“You never minded at the castle.”

“I don’t mind now. But it’s very distracting. And you wouldn’t want to spill a hot drink down yourself.”

Victor blinked. “This reminds me of the tea we shared in the trenches. Is it easy to make a hot drink?”

Yuuri’s gaze became distant for a moment, as if he were remembering; his smile faded but he didn’t seem sad. Immersion…that had felt like travelling in time, too. War zones, however, were not what Victor would choose to visit. He and Yuuri had done and shared so much. It would continue to amaze him for the rest of his life, he had no doubt. Given that he lived beyond the year…but was that still a worry?

_I must put it out of my mind as best I can, otherwise I’ll find it difficult to adjust to living here. My assumption has to be that I’ll still be here in two weeks’ time. _

Yuuri came forward, and the love Victor saw in his eyes put his heart at ease. “Hot drinks?” he said. “Sure.” His eyes strayed to the mug Victor had been using, and he picked it up. “Bloody hell, where did you find this? I haven’t used it in years.”

“I was looking through the kitchen, and I came across it,” Victor explained. “I liked it. I didn’t mean to upset you – ”

“No, you didn’t.” Yuuri added softly, as he put the mug back down, “We live here together now, and I hope I can help you to feel at home. It’s just…well, that’s the Immersion program I learned how to use a sword in.”

“I know. And therefore I drink from it in honour. If you’d rather I didn’t use it, however – ”

“Stop being too polite for your own good,” Yuuri chuckled, closing the distance between them and resting his hands lightly on Victor’s hips, then capturing his lips in a long, gentle kiss. Victor caressed his cheek, filling with warmth from tip to toe.

“Good morning, my sweet Yuuri,” he said. “I love you.”

The sunny smile and “I love you” he received in reply warranted another kiss, Victor decided. When he broke away, Yuuri’s cheeks were pink and his eyes bright.

“Would you like me to make you some coffee with this?” Yuuri asked, indicating the bag next to the machine. “And put it in that ridiculous mug for you? I could do with some myself.”

“I’d love to try it,” Victor replied, running a playful finger down the exposed part of Yuuri’s chest. “I’m willing to sample all sorts of things this morning.”

The pink on Yuuri’s cheeks deepened. “You must be hungry – have you tried anything in the refrigerator?”

Victor made a low hum, hooding his eyes and lifting Yuuri’s chin gently. “Maybe I am,” he murmured, seeking his lips once more. And just as he’d hoped, Yuuri returned the kiss; in fact, it was as if a flame had leapt up in him. He cupped the back of Victor’s head and pulled him closer, stroking his tongue with his own. Victor took him in his arms with a moan. He imagined how lovely it would be to tug on the tie at Yuuri’s waist and make his entire cloak fall open; perhaps he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “I want to be with you so much,” he said against his lips. “I could spend all day in bed with you. We have a lot of time to make up for.”

“There’s time for everything,” Yuuri said breathily. “But I want you, too.” After a pause, he said with an inviting half smile, “We could go shower now, before we do anything else. That can be fun for a lot of reasons.”

“I’d love to.”

Yuuri grabbed his hand and led him there without preamble. And after more kisses under the spray, his love gave him a saucy grin, then sank to his knees in front of him, and Victor gasped. His Yuuri would never stop surprising him, it seemed. How glorious that thought was. Then he thought very little else, and simply groaned, threading his fingers through Yuuri’s damp hair.

Once they’d pleasured each other and had a wash, they both wrapped towels around themselves. Victor had brought his toiletries with him from the castle, but he was intrigued by Yuuri’s strange versions. A tube of some white minty stuff he said was toothpaste; he cleaned a little brush and said Victor could borrow it, as it was better at cleaning teeth than a cloth. His comb was little different from Victor’s own, but his shaving accoutrements were extraordinary. Inviting Victor to reach out his hand, he sprayed white perfumed foam from a metal can into his palm and told him to lather it over his face. Then Yuuri did the same to himself, and demonstrated how to use the razor, though Victor wouldn’t have guessed that was what it was, because it was a hovering, humming black oval device that moved up and down Yuuri’s face in precision strokes, as if it could see its target and knew what to do.

“Your turn,” Yuuri said when it was done; he’d taken a towel and was wiping his face. “Or if you’d rather not, I might have a manual razor somewhere in a drawer for emergencies…”

“I…” Victor pressed his lips together. He’d braved the minty paste and little brush. Yuuri had done this. So could he. With a nod, he allowed the flying device to shave him. And really, it wasn’t so bad. A barber surgeon could hardly do better, he decided.

Once they’d finished in the bathroom, Yuuri led Victor into the bedroom, where he started pulling out drawers and looking through clothes. “We’ll get you your own things today,” he said. “Including some modern clothes. For now, if you want to look normal, I’ll see if I can find some of mine that’ll fit you – is that OK?”

Victor smiled. Wear Yuuri’s clothes? Oh yes, please. He was taller, broader in the shoulders and a little narrower at the waist, but by his estimation he could manage.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Yuuri said, his eyes dancing. “You’ll have to wear your boots, though; my shoes won’t fit you. You can pull your trousers over them.” He had some clothes on his arm by now and handed them over, then chose his own. “I need a couple of things in the bathroom,” he said. “Give me a shout if you need me.” And then he was gone.

Victor took his time with the strange garments. There were black joined-up trousers – well, no one seemed to wear hose at all here – with loops around the waist, and a curious black leather belt with no scabbard or purse attached, which he assumed he was supposed to weave through them. Also a black pullover tunic with no buttons, made of some smooth silky material and adorned with cherry-blossom designs. It seemed like rich clothing, and would be considered as such in Victor’s time, but he’d seen enough people in the university building yesterday to realise that it was common here.

What interested him the most, however, were the black pants, just like the ones Yuuri had given him to wear at the castle. It was an arousing idea. Was that what Yuuri had intended? But well, he couldn’t wear his braies under these trousers, as they’d bunch up and show through, so it was most practical as well.

He finished putting it all on, feeling odd but sexy in Yuuri’s clothes. They must have been cleaned recently, because they smelled faintly of something pleasant and slightly flowery, not him. Victor walked to the full-length mirror on the wall and gazed with a start at someone he hardly recognised. They didn’t even wear hats here, and what a shame that was. He felt underdressed, but also…delicate. These were not clothes for working in; they wouldn’t stand up to an afternoon’s labour, or having plate mail strapped over them. But then, maybe no one here needed them for that.

He followed his nose to the kitchen, where something meaty was cooking from the smell of it. Yuuri smiled when he heard him come in, but his mouth fell open when he saw him. Victor’s did the same, because Yuuri was wearing face paint, along with very fetching dark blue trousers and a white buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar undone in a similar style to what he’d been wearing the day before. Electric-blue swirls adorned the corners of his eyes, and there was a little silver starburst on one cheek. He’d liked these types of designs when he’d painted faces for the troupe, Victor recalled fondly.

“Beautiful,” he said, and he received a blush underneath the colour.

“You look better in those clothes than I ever did,” Yuuri replied with a hitched throat. “They’re…supposed to be looser. On me they would be, but…”

He seemed quite flustered about it, and suddenly remembered he was cooking something on the large hot surface he used instead of a fire, which he called a hob. As he spun round to attend to it, Victor grinned. He’d be able to tease Yuuri all day in these clothes. How wonderful. If he maintained his courage, that was, in this place where everyone seemed to know what was happening but him.

_Of course I can. It won’t be like yesterday._

Yuuri showed him a drawer where he said there were nutri-pills if he ever wanted them. Victor didn’t think he would have the desire to replace a meal with a pill, unless it turned out that food was very expensive here, but it was as well to know, he supposed. Then he turned his attention to what Yuuri was cooking on the hob. And perhaps even moreso than the refrigerator, he knew this was an invention that would have revolutionised his own time. No more gathering and chopping of firewood, lighting fires, guessing at times and temperatures. It was all here, as precise as the flat’s clock, to be switched on and off. And Yuuri was frying pieces of salted smoked pork belly that he called bacon. He showed Victor how to control an area of the hob so that he could cook some scrambled eggs, then poured two steaming cups of coffee, and they sat down at the table. Yuuri obligingly let him decide whether or not he wanted to use a fork, but if that was the implement of choice here, then that was what he’d get used to doing.

Victor first took a sip of the coffee, but found it pungently bitter. It must have shown in his expression, because Yuuri invited him to add milk and sugar. They definitely improved it, and Victor decided he could become fond of sweet milky coffee in time, especially with the way it seemed to zing through his body.

He also liked the bacon, and told Yuuri so.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Yuuri jumped up and fetched the container of orange juice and two small clear glasses. “Would you like some?”

“Is it not bitter?” Victor asked, eyeing it.

“No, why should it be?”

“Because oranges are bitter in my time; they’re inedible.”

“Not here they’re not. Try some.” He poured a bit into Victor’s glass. Taking a sip, Victor considered. It _was _sweet. And tangy like a lemon, though the flavour was indescribably different.

“I like it,” he said, sipping more. “You know, I’ve done some cooking before, when I’ve ridden long distances and camped. Sometimes by myself, though I’ve also been with Alex and Julia. We had to use a fire, of course. I would never have guessed you had something as incredible as that hob here.”

Yuuri paused with a bit of egg captured on the tines of his fork. “A lot of people here don’t know how to cook at all,” he said. “They buy food from shops or order by drone. But a meal like this is easy, and I like to cook my own food, when I can be asked.” He added more quietly, “Though I haven’t been doing much of that lately.”

Victor gave him a wistful grin. “I never got the chance to find out. Nothing we did required you to cook.”

“It didn’t matter, honestly. I didn’t forget how.” Yuuri ate the rest of his egg.

“This is a princely meal for the morning.”

Yuuri nodded. “I guess it’d seem like that, yeah. Three meals a day is the norm here. The one around one o’clock, lunch, isn’t as big as the dinner you’re used to.”

Well, that would make a change. Victor savoured the remainder of his orange juice, and Yuuri got up again and brought something back that was long and yellow. 

“I just remembered I had some of these left. Would you like to try a banana? It’s a tropical fruit.” He handed it to him.

“Do I eat it as it is?”

“No, you peel it.” Yuuri reached over and made a start by creating a tear in the top to expose the cream-coloured meat inside. It was…aromatic. Victor peeled it halfway and took a small bite from the top. Interesting…you wouldn’t need teeth to be able to eat this. It was silky, sweet, and very pleasant. He noticed Yuuri watching him, transfixed, as he’d been at times during supper the previous night. But Victor didn’t mind, not at all. In fact, he decided to make it worth his while, wrapping his lips around the top of the fruit and closing his eyes, making a faint moan.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he sighed. “It’s so good.” And when he opened his eyes, pink had spread across Yuuri’s cheeks, while he appeared to be searching for words. Victor chuckled. It was hardly his fault that a banana was so suggestively shaped.

Yuuri ate his last piece of bacon quietly while Victor finished the banana. Then he met his gaze again, more composed this time. “How do you feel about leaving the flat with me to go shopping?” he asked. “It’s best if you try clothes on rather than us guessing your size and getting it wrong.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Victor replied, realising he could look forward to a different experience entirely in the city today.

“Would you like me to paint your face?”

Victor gave a small huff. “That isn’t fair – you’ve already done your own. I could’ve done it for you.”

“You can do it tomorrow,” Yuuri said, his voice gentle and warm.

Their plates were clean and glasses empty when they returned to the bathroom. Yuuri put some water in the sink for rinsing his brush, and Victor stared at his palette, which looked like a series of rainbows had exploded into each other. “My favourite design is – ” he began.

“A butterfly,” Yuuri answered with a smile. Because of course he remembered. “Is that what you want?”

“On one cheek. And some gold around my eyes.”

Yuuri painted with a look of deep concentration, then announced he was finished if Victor liked it. He looked in the mirror and was very pleased with what he saw. “I feel like I’m ready to perform,” he said. “Do you?”

After a long pause, during which Yuuri’s expression took on a sombre cast, he answered, “Yes. The last time I painted my face was just before the last show I was in.”

Victor said gently, “Then I’m glad you’ve started again. It suits you so well.” But Yuuri looked a little lost still, so he leaned forward and kissed his cheek where it was clear of paint. “Show me this future city of yours.”

And there was that grin, just ghosting his lips. He took Victor’s hand and led him out of the room. 


	173. Chapter 173

Yuuri asked Victor if he wanted to take a taxi to the middle of York or walk there, and he said he preferred to walk; he wanted to take in more of his surroundings now that Yuuri was with him and all was well. As they made their way along the side of the road, Yuuri explained to him about the solar lights, which absorbed energy during the day and stored it to use at night, as many kinds of tech did, while others were powered by wind and wave, magnetism, and something mysterious that Victor couldn’t grasp which involved quantums. Yuuri pointed out buildings as well – shops, restaurants, offices, schools, residences. The oldest in this area dated back to the 1800s, he said.

“Where are the buildings from my time that you said were here?” Victor asked as a vehicle buzzed past overhead.

“Most are inside the city walls. It’s not far.”

Victor half expected to be stopped and asked for his picture, but of course everyone thought he looked normal now, even though he might have sworn a few people were still catching his eye. He was wearing a puffy grey coat of Yuuri’s not unlike the one the lilac-haired woman had on yesterday, because that stretched to fit in the places it needed to, while Yuuri had a long black coat. Victor was missing his own cloak that he’d brought, but Yuuri had told him it would look rather out of place here.

Soon they were approaching the grey walls of the city, and Victor realised they were outside Walmgate Bar. But now there were no guards, no one collecting taxes; no horses, carts, or merchants going to or from the market. Few people, in fact, were with them on the street. A wide archway with no portcullis stretched over the road next to the barbican, whose gates on either side were also open. This was clearly no longer part of the city’s defences, but a relic from times past that had been allowed to remain standing while life had continued around it.

Yuuri was looking at him as if guessing what was in his mind. “Different, isn’t it?” he said with a small grin. “That struck me, too, when I came back.”

“It has a handsome appearance without the severed heads and limbs,” Victor agreed.

They travelled for some time on the other side before they began to pass buildings that Victor remembered, though they were few, and some had changed beyond all recognition. They had obviously been well preserved, though the passage of so much time could never be kind, and they had a tendency to bulge and sag. He spoke to Yuuri about it as they went, and observed how strange it was that some buildings which had not been of great importance had survived, while others belonging to the wealthy and powerful had vanished. And there was such a bewildering mix of periods and styles around them. The street layout, however, was much as Victor remembered, even if the bridges across the rivers were completely different, with no buildings or markets on them. No boats, either. Victor told Yuuri he’d never seen the Ouse in daylight without merchants travelling back and forth on it.

“It’s funny,” Yuuri said, “but it feels good to be with someone who understands. It was weird for me to see all this the way it was in the past, and it was weird again coming back to the present. I’ve never been able to look at anything here the same way again.”

Victor gave him a small smile. “I wish this had been my first trip into the York of the future. I’m enjoying it, though that’s only to be expected while I’m here with you.”

“Flatterer,” Yuuri laughed, his cheeks lightly pinking. Then he slowed to almost a stop. “The main shopping area’s just up ahead.” He reached for Victor’s hand, and they walked with them clasped together as the number of people on the street around them grew, until they turned left and arrived at a large open space surrounded on all four sides by tall buildings which appeared to contain many shops. They were adorned with huge images of snowflakes, holly wreaths, candles, and stranger things such as deer and a fat man in a red and white suit, while strings of multicoloured lights threaded amongst them overhead, glimmering although it was a bright day. A pine tree several times the height of a person stood in the middle of the space, decorated with sparkling baubles and draped with silver and gold…rope? It wasn’t rope. It –

Yuuri took him by the shoulders, pulled him around to face him, and stood on tiptoe to plant a firm kiss on his chilly lips. Surprised and delighted, Victor struggled to suppress a smile, embracing him in return. And it was a most satisfyingly long kiss, which Victor was relishing along with the heat it was stirring within him, before Yuuri pulled away. It was only then, when Victor started to come back to himself, that he became conscious of the people nearby, and the fact that none were so much as looking at them. And the memory of a conversation returned to him. Yuuri in earnest speech, not long after they’d begun their romance.

_You know what? In my time, you and I could hold hands and walk right down the streets of York, and no one would bat an eyelid. We could even kiss each other. We wouldn’t get in trouble with anyone._

Victor gasped and Yuuri looked at him in concern. “Oh my love, you’re so good to me. Thank you. I never dreamed I could be standing with you now, like this.” As Yuuri’s face brightened, he leaned down for another kiss, then laced their fingers together.

“There’s mistletoe above us,” Yuuri said with a smile, glancing up at the decoration. “I think it’s the modern equivalent of the kissing bush.” He added softly, “The first kiss you gave me. I could swear I felt my cheek tingling from it all evening.”

Victor gave him a dopy smile. “Funny you should say so, because that’s rather how I felt about it myself.”

They beamed at each other like the lovesick couple they were, and Victor cared not a jot that there was an audience of hundreds around them. Let them see that this wonderful man was his.

The loud introductory notes of a song finally broke their reverie, and Victor gazed over Yuuri’s shoulder to see a group of musicians whose instruments were unfamiliar to him; some were large, brassy, and looked as if they’d been made more with the purpose of snuffing out a giant candle than playing a tune. But they had a rich, round sound, and…

“I know that song,” Victor said with a smile of recognition.

“You do? It’s ‘Good King Wenceslas’. I didn’t know it was that old.”

“No it isn’t. It’s ‘The Time Is Near for Flowering’, which is an Easter hymn.”

“I guess someone must have changed the words at some point.”

Victor glanced around. “Is this all because of the Yule? Does everyone celebrate it here to such an extent?”

“Christmas is the biggest holiday of the year for most people. There are a lot of traditions around it that I can try to explain. I never made much of it myself, but…with the right people, maybe it can be fun.”

He smiled again, and Victor wanted to kiss him again, but thought that was perhaps best saved now for when they returned to the flat, at which time they could share as many as they liked.

“Will you explain while we walk?” he asked. “Who is Good King Wenceslas? I thought there were no more kings in this time. And who is that man in the red and white suit? He reminds me of the Lord of Misrule.”

Yuuri laughed. “That’s not someone you’d want coming down your chimney.” At Victor’s perplexed look, he said, “One thing at a time. And we need to find you some clothes.”

Victor was in no hurry, however, as taken as he was with their surroundings, and Yuuri didn’t seem to mind. They entered one of the buildings, and it made him think of an ancient Roman arcade, only on a vaster scale. There was a shop for everything, it seemed, as well as a dizzying variety of services on offer. Haircuts. Tattoos. Massages. Immersion experiences. Little restaurants from which trailed the enticing aromas of coffee and bread. And face painting – as well as fingernail and toe painting. Victor lingered outside of that shop, peering inside.

“I’m not sure anyone has painted their nails since the ancient Egyptians,” he mused. “Or their faces like you do.”

“Your face is already painted,” Yuuri said.

“My nails aren’t.”

Yuuri grinned. “I’ve never imagined you with painted nails.”

“Neither did I. I wonder what it would look like. Hm.” After a pause, he said, “Would you mind if we went in? Would you get your nails painted with me?”

Edging closer to him, Yuuri gave him a heated look. “I’ll paint my nails for you and do whatever else you like, Vitya.”

Victor blew out a breath. That decided him; but for his first time, perhaps it was best to avoid lacquering his fingers just in case he wasn’t fond of the effect. “Let’s get our toes painted,” he suggested. “It will be our secret, and we can admire them together later.”

Yuuri said he’d never actually been inside one of these shops before, but he seemed happy to oblige. A woman in a long light green dress and shiny matching shoes with tall heels attended to Victor, seemingly delighted to clean and buff and paint his toes, enthusing all the while about his clear complexion and elegant digits, and what a treat it was to beautify someone who so clearly lended themselves to a treatment like this. Yuuri’s own artist wasn’t as full of chatter, and he shot Victor glances and half smiles from his chair as his toes were painted blood red, then made to sparkle with scatterings of tiny crystals. Victor imagined those pretty feet wrapping around him in the most intimate way, but quickly chased the picture from his mind before he embarrassed himself. His own toes were painted salmon pink and stamped with white flowers, while each of his big toes received flowers and leaves in green, red and yellow as well. It seemed a fitting complement to his face, and it really was a shame to have to hide it all inside his boots when they were done. 

Yuuri was grinning as they put their coats back on, then linked Victor’s arm with his as they walked out. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“It was fun. And thank you. We’ll have to admire each other’s toes later. I can think of many ways to do so.”

Yuuri shook his head incredulously and huffed a laugh. “That nail technician fancied you.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “She did? I didn’t notice.”

“Haven’t you seen the looks you’ve been getting while we’ve been walking this morning? People know a gorgeous man when they see one.”

Victor gazed at him pointedly. “There’s only one gorgeous man I have eyes for. And I’m very glad I’m with him, here and now.”

Yuuri gave his arm a squeeze as they went along. “It’s OK. They can all be jealous.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking the same thing about you. Yuuri Katsuki is mine, and anyone who wishes to debate the fact can do it at the point of my sword.”

A bright smile and another laugh. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to do, and all we’ve accomplished so far is getting our nails painted.”

There were sparkly decorations everywhere, and music playing from unseen sources, with signs proclaiming Christmas sales. Victor quickly gathered that the tradition of gift-giving at this time of year was very much alive, as well as feasting. Or perhaps the prosperity he was witnessing was a permanent feature here. He shared his observations with Yuuri when they stopped at a machine that made milky coffee called lattes for them, again at his instigation. He hoped he wasn’t asking for too many indulgences, but Yuuri seemed glad to oblige.

“All of York isn’t like this,” Yuuri explained, sipping his drink at a little nearby table where they sat facing each other. “There was a time before the Water Wars when shops like these were everywhere, and countries made a lot of money from manufacturing and selling so many things. But it got to the point where people were trashing the planet just to be able to keep doing it; then fewer and fewer of them had enough money for day-to-day living, let alone buying things they didn’t need, and the whole system kind of crashed.”

“It’s difficult to imagine, especially on the scale of the entire planet,” Victor murmured. “It sounds like many people must have gone back to living the way the villeins did on the estate.”

Yuuri took this in and nodded. “Well, yes.”

“And then the Water Wars occurred?”

Another nod. “Things have got better since then, as you can see. I mean, people still need to buy things, like we’re doing today, and they’re able to do that. Most of it’s done over the Cloud, but sometimes it’s handy to visit a shop. So this is the main place to go. It’s…” Yuuri glanced around and made a slightly sour face. “Tacky, especially at this time of year.” But then he gave Victor a warm grin. “Somehow it doesn’t feel that way with you, though.”

“It’s truly astounding,” Victor said, sipping his coffee. It wasn’t as rich and flavoursome as Yuuri’s, but it still felt like a treat. “Do they always serenade you while you shop?”

Yuuri laughed. “Oh, the Christmas songs. They bring the same ones out every year, with a few new ones. Just like we sang them at the castle.”

“I’d like to learn some. Perhaps I could play them on my citole.”

“Only the ones I haven’t heard a million times,” Yuuri said with a smile and a raised eyebrow. “Or I might have to take drastic action before I went mad.”

“Drastic action, hm? I like the sound of that,” Victor said suggestively, which was met with a snicker.

As they drank, Yuuri explained more about Christmas in this time. That what they’d seen in the square outside was a Christmas tree, which some people also had in their houses. That the colourful lights were a gesture to the imminent passing of the darkest night of the year, a tradition far older than Christmas itself. And that the fat man in the red and white suit was believed by children to somehow travel down a chimney chute, which most dwellings no longer possessed, in order to leave them presents; a feat that was accomplished across the world in a night. It sounded to Victor a little like taking advantage of the natural gullibility of a child, which Yuuri conceded might be the case, but somehow the tradition carried on. His own parents had never taken part, he said, though they’d still given gifts.

“Religion doesn’t seem to be much involved – and yet Christmas is meant to be a celebration of the birth of Christ,” Victor observed.

“How much did Christ have to do with the Lord of Misrule and the feasts at the castle?”

“Hm, good point. But even so – ”

“You’re right, though. And actually, these days it’s starting to be seen as more of a midwinter festival, I think. Less Santa and presents and food, more lights. I have to say I prefer it that way. Though Mari and Sharon still like a big slap-up Christmas meal. I’ll have to find out what they’re doing this year.”

“I’m keen to meet your sister,” Victor said with a smile. “I could tell from what she said over the com how much she loves you.”

“Funny, but she said the same thing about you,” Yuuri replied, his gaze soft and warm.

Now it was Victor’s turn to blush and smile as he finished his coffee.

Despite everything Yuuri had said about Christmas, Victor couldn’t help but be transfixed by it all as they sought a clothes shop. This day was already like a dream. Between waking up next to his love, what they’d done together in the shower, having the best excuse to wear Yuuri’s clothes, and beginning to discover this amazing world, Victor’s enthusiasm was bubbling over. At times he felt as if he were ten years old again. But no, that wasn’t right. He’d been more solemn than this, even at that age. With good reason.

He took Yuuri’s advice regarding the best clothes shops to try, though it was up to him once inside to find things he liked which fitted him well. It was difficult to concentrate on that, however, because of the sheer novelty of being inside a whole shop that sold nothing but clothes. Racks and racks of them, ready-made, which customers could try on; he wondered what Percy would make of it. In each area, there were holograms to call up of people modelling them as they jogged or socialised or did other things. An assistant offered to measure his shoulders, waist and hips, which Victor allowed; but when the man also wanted to escort him around the shop and suggest styles, he told him that wouldn’t be necessary.

From that shop and two others, he mainly chose trousers that hung neatly and were somewhat clingy, rather than the looser kind that seemed to be the fashion. Tunics _were _popular, and he liked those too. Yuuri commented that he was opting for things he was more used to wearing, but that was all right, wasn’t it? In addition, Victor got some shirts and a scarlet waistcoat, which must surely be for decoration because it seemed to serve no other purpose. A set of athletic clothes like the ones Yuuri had worn when he’d travelled to the past. A brown trench coat very like the one he’d had in Immersion, which he’d liked, despite the dire circumstances they’d been in. Several pairs of black socks. And he chose bikini bottoms for underthings; the look on Yuuri’s face as he picked up a pack was enough to convince him it was most definitely the right decision. 

They visited shoe shops next, and again Victor marvelled at the selection that was readily available. He chose black leather shoes and a pair of trainers with a pink stripe so bright it must surely glow in the dark. Then he asked about boots.

“I wear those more often than anything else,” he said to Yuuri. “I was never one for strutting about the castle in velvet slippers and impractically long-toed shoes just to display my wealth. They’re sensible footwear for anything you’d want to do.”

“The only people who wear them, though,” Yuuri answered, “are farmers, ranchers…people who work on the land. Not that I have anything against wearing them, but you’d get strange looks.”

“I’ll take your advice on everything here, but I must say I feel naked without them.” Yuuri was momentarily lost for words, and Victor smiled.

In the end, he went with just the two pairs of shoes. He could always wear his own boots from the past, he supposed, as he was now, even if they were mostly hidden by the bottoms of Yuuri’s trousers.

Yuuri, of course, paid for it all, though not with physical money; apparently purchases were made via tech, which struck Victor as very ephemeral. He only bought a pack of two shirts for himself, insisting he didn’t need anything else. Victor wondered how much money he could comfortably spend, and didn’t want to drain his pocket; if he had a budget, he hadn’t mentioned it. They were intimate enough that he knew he ought to be able to ask, especially if they were going to be living together here; but there’d been so little time to discuss things, and he’d have to choose a better moment than this. For now he’d trust that Yuuri was all right with it, though he wished he could use his own coins; he’d brought a purse full, which seemed to be essentially useless now. 

Having finished with the main shopping area, Yuuri took them to something called a supermarket, which sold a bewildering variety of foods as well as other items needed for day-to-day living. Victor didn’t know what many things were, and didn’t want to take up the rest of their day with asking, but he could easily spend that much time investigating everything that was here; one whole aisle was full of nothing but colourful Christmas decorations. He chose a fennel-flavoured toothpaste, a razor and various other accoutrements, and Yuuri picked up some food supplies, though Victor wasn’t familiar with many of those either, while others would be exotic, expensive items in his time – rice, pasta, wine, tropical fruits, spices.

When they were finished, Yuuri led them back outside to a place where a veritable fleet of drones was stationed, and loaded their purchases into one, which he said could be programmed to fly to his flat via the front door and drop them off. The devices were constantly coming and going from their port like a swarm of bats as other people did the same. Yuuri smiled and led Victor away down the street, and it wasn’t long before he saw a sign he recognised.

“The Shambles,” he said. “But…this is – was – a butcher’s row.”

“Not anymore. It’s full of artisanal shops – um, homemade kinds of things, does that make sense? Very popular with tourists. But not tacky this time. Mostly.”

Victor had to ask for clarification as they wandered up the narrow street, hemmed in on both sides by throngs of people, though his mother had explained to him what a tourist was. How strange to imagine her leading groups through this very area, which she must have done. Somehow the leaning old buildings had acquired a certain charm that would not have existed among the stinking piles of offal hundreds of years ago. Instead of descending into ramshackle decay, they looked as well-preserved as other old places that he’d seen here.

Yuuri asked him if he was hungry, and he said he’d enjoy a bite to eat, though he was still getting used to having had a more substantial breakfast than a sop without training most of the morning afterwards. They entered a building he called a café, where the foods were already cooked, assembled and laid out to buy, much like the clothes and shoes in the other shops. Taking a tray, Victor placed on it something that the little sign said was a baked cheese turnover, plus a salad, a lemon and ginger drink, and a small bar of milk chocolate. He looked forward to sampling all of it as they found a table, draped their coats over their chairs, and sat down. Yuuri had a salad for his entire meal, with salmon, egg, nuts, and various other ingredients.

“This isn’t so different from eating at the castle,” Victor commented as he picked up his fork, which still felt strange to use. “The variety of foods to choose from is incredible. Every meal is an adventure.”

Yuuri chuckled, watching him. “You’ll get used to it. I’m sure you’ll find things you don’t like, too.”

“Well, this all looks good to me.” He cut a piece of the cheese turnover and put it in his mouth, his eyes widening as he chewed. “Melted cheese inside warm bread, Yuuri! Why has no one thought of this before? It’s incredible.”

“They didn’t have that at the castle…? Come to think of it, I don’t remember ever eating it.”

“Because cheese is served cold as it is, or melted into sauces. What’s this?” he asked, eyeing a small container with some dark liquid in it.

“Balsamic dressing for your salad. You pour it over everything.”

Victor did, relishing the panoply of flavours as he ate and looked around the café. It was a busy place, full of people. He was certain he’d never seen numbers like this in the city apart from on feast days. Yuuri had said it wasn’t as populous as it had been before the Water Wars, but there were still many more people here than there had been in his own day. And just as his mother had told him, there were no beggars or cripples or other unfortunates in sight; they simply didn’t exist here. He was certain he’d never stop marvelling at the blessings of this place and time.

Yuuri leaned forward and whispered with an amused grin, “You’re staring.”

Victor turned to look at him. “It’s hard not to. This is the first chance I’ve had to see a crowd of people with their coats off.” Yuuri eyed him strangely, and he said, “They look so well clothed, fed and healthy.”

Sitting back in his chair, Yuuri gazed at him quietly for a moment, then replied, “Yes, they are.”

Victor shared what had been on his mind, adding, “It’s so different from the city of my time. And you went from this to that. It must have been such a shock. To see the poverty, the suffering…”

“It was.”

He was still just as firm about it. Victor expected nothing less. “I think I understand a little better, now, your impassioned words to me about these things. It gladdens my heart, Yuuri, to know that people are so well looked after here.” 

“It’s not perfect.” He pushed his salad around in its bowl with his fork. “But every life has a value. Wealth, social status, none of it changes that.”

“Of course.”

They ate in silence for a while, until all that Victor had left was his drink, which was very refreshing, and the small bar of chocolate. Yuuri watched him unwrap the packaging and sniff it curiously. Good heavens, what a lovely aroma. He took a bite and let it melt in his mouth, staring delightedly at Yuuri. “This is a gift from the heavens. Oh Yuuri, it’s divine.”

Yuuri laughed and finished his salad, then watched Victor with a smile. When he was down to the last square, he held it between finger and thumb. “This is too good not to share…you’re certain no one will want to burn us at the stake for being snapdragons?”

“Well, if they were going to do that, they would’ve done it when they saw us kissing in the square. So, no.”

“In that case, enjoy it, my love.” Victor lifted the chocolate to Yuuri’s lips, and he opened his mouth obligingly. His eyelids flickered shut and a grin crossed his face before brown eyes gazed back once more. He was beautiful, and so was the chocolate; surely the two could be combined. Chocolate kisses…? Not here, though. While no one appeared to react to public displays of affection, Victor hadn’t noticed many, either, which seemed to indicate that they were not generally encouraged. Back at the flat, then, in private. Chocolate and wine and Yuuri – yes, that most assuredly had to happen sometime soon.

When they were done at the café, Yuuri led them over the Ouse, through the walls via Micklegate Bar to the west, and on to an impressively sprawling building with a sign that said “Furniture Village”. When Victor enquired what Yuuri was in search of here, he answered that a bigger bed seemed to be in order.

“But Yuuri,” Victor replied uncertainly, stopping and pulling him gently to the side, “are you sure?”

“We need one, so…”

Oh, this wasn’t easy. Victor didn’t want to offend him, but at the same time, it needed to be said. “Are you certain you can afford it, Yuuri my love, after all the clothes you’ve bought for me? As long as I’m next to you, I’m happy; I don’t require a bigger bed for that.”

Yuuri’s expression softened. “That’s sweet of you to say, but we’re both going to be uncomfortable sleeping like that night after night. And yes, I can afford it, don’t worry. Besides, what sort of…partner would I be if I didn’t make sure you had clothes and a decent place to sleep?” He kissed Victor’s cheek. “Let’s go in – if we’re in the market for a bed, we should make sure we choose something we like.”

Mollified for now, Victor accompanied him inside, and gasped when he was met with the largest room he’d ever seen, full of inviting sofas and chairs, all covered with leather or cloth or some other soft-looking material. In their midst were tables, chairs, cabinets, sideboards, and many other items, mostly made of wood. The polish on them shone.

“The wealthiest king in the world would not own a palace room such as this,” Victor breathed. “And you say it’s all for sale? Where are the carpenters who built these incredible things?”

“They’re robots, mostly,” Yuuri replied.

“Mechanical servants made of metal. That was how my mother described them.”

“Exactly – tech that moves, sort of like a person. They do a lot; you just don’t tend to see them out on the streets. Manufacturing things, doing the kind of work that servants would have done in the past…they’ll be delivering the bed once we’ve bought it, and they come to clean the flat a few times a week when no one’s there.”

“They clean your flat?”

“Well, sure.” Yuuri shrugged. “I have supplies of my own if I want to use them, but part of the lease agreement is that robots clean and do the laundry. Some of them cook, but they’re not really advanced enough to make a decent job of it; I think that tech’s a while off yet.” He nodded toward a set of stairs with a sign that said the bedroom furniture was on the next floor. “Ready to go up?”

Robots…they sounded as mysterious now as when Natalia had mentioned them. What did they look like? But Victor supposed he’d find out soon enough. He accompanied Yuuri up the stairs, and was met with a whole new vast room which looked like it could serve as a bedroom for hundreds of people. Apart from the beds themselves, there were chests with drawers, and wardrobes and tables in endless numbers. Victor pulled open the door of the nearest wardrobe, breathing in the scent of freshly sawn wood, and pushed a series of triangular structures back and forth on a pole inside.

“What are these?” he asked.

“Hangers. You put your clothes on them and they don’t get wrinkled.”

“What an infernally simple and useful device.”

“I have some of my very own in the flat,” Yuuri said with a chuckle. “Anyway, let’s look at the beds. You can lie down on them and give them a try; that’s why we’re here instead of ordering over the Cloud.”

“What’s inside the mattresses?”

“It, um, varies? No eiderdown or hay. Foam, mostly. Some have water, but – ”

“A bed full of water?” Victor echoed. “Where?”

“You’ll find them here, but I don’t think they’d be as comfortable as other kinds.”

_I’ll be the judge of that. I’m going to try everything in this room._

Well, perhaps not everything, Victor soon decided. It was a vast place, and not every bed was suited to their needs. Some mattresses were capable of raising and lowering different parts. He made a suggestive comment about how much fun that might be, and Yuuri blushed and looked around in case anyone had heard, though Victor had already done so first; he wasn’t seeking to embarrass his love, only fluster him. But these types of mattresses were also among the most expensive, and he noticed Yuuri steering him away from them and toward others in the middle of the price range. The mattresses that didn’t tilt, he discovered, were more comfortable anyway.

There was an information panel on each headboard which explained what the bed and mattress were made of, but Victor favoured a more physical approach, and eventually Yuuri was joining him in flopping down on the displays, both of them giggling. Yuuri brushed Victor’s disarrayed fringe out of his eyes, and Victor snatched a few quick kisses. Finally he found a bed that made him feel quite catlike; he arranged himself in a decorative pose on his side, his head resting in his hand, and gazed at Yuuri with hooded eyes.

“Can you imagine me like this in our room, on this bed?” he purred. “I think it’s my favourite.”

Yuuri was quick to agree. But they weren’t done yet, because they chose pillows and bedcovers next, and then a chest with drawers that Yuuri called a dresser. Victor needed something of his own to keep his clothes in, he said, because there wasn’t much room in the small one he already had. There was an apologetic air about him again, and Victor couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been comparing his own accommodation to the castle. Surely not. He must also be aware that Victor would live with him anywhere, so long as they were together.

Once Yuuri had arranged for the furniture to be delivered the following day, he ordered them a taxi, and they waited for it on a bridge over a curious set of parallel metal lines that gleamed in the sun; Yuuri said they were train tracks. If they wanted to travel further afield, apparently that was the best way to go. And it wasn’t long before one of them came hurtling toward them from the southeast with a loud, smooth shushing sound. If Victor’s head had been turned away, he would have missed the streak of silver which passed in a blur. It looked like it had been hovering over the tracks rather than touching them.

“God’s bones,” he murmured with wide eyes. “You say that people ride inside of those? I couldn’t even tell, it went by so quickly.”

Yuuri nodded. “We’ll do it ourselves sometime. You’ll like it.”

“Can we return to your flat that way?”

“No,” Yuuri replied with a smile. “Those trains are made for travelling long distances at speed; they don’t do local drop-offs. Anyway, here’s our taxi,” he added, looking up. Then he caught Victor’s gaze again. “And it’s _our _flat now.”

Victor hardly had the chance to take this in, because this taxi was nothing like the one they’d been inside the previous evening, or even the ones he’d seen regularly flying through the air. This looked as if it were made almost entirely of glass, with only a few discreet metal attachments. The interior, the seats…all of it transparent.

“This is a taxi?” he breathed, his mouth hanging open.

“A special one made of carboglass that I found out was free just now. Since you didn’t get to see much last night, I thought you might like to have a proper look at the city from the air.”

Victor’s eyes lit up, and he gave Yuuri a tight hug as the door opened for them. “Oh,” he gushed, “I’m the luckiest man in the world. You’re so good to me, Yuuri my love.”

A mixture of surprise and pleasure crossed Yuuri’s face, and he gave Victor a small smile. “Let’s get in before it takes off without us.”


	174. Chapter 174

The swooping feeling in Victor’s stomach when they left the ground, as if they were flying without assistance from any machine, was enough to make him feel drunk. The street dropped away below them, and the trees and the people, and he laughed like a child at Christmas, hugging Yuuri again and pressing kisses to his cheek. The minster towered above the surrounding buildings, dominating the landscape for miles, and the Ouse and the Foss glittered in the sunlight, their paths snaking through the city. Victor could make out the defensive walls, mostly still intact, a grey ring. Other vehicles passed above and below, but none were see-through like this one; it seemed they alone had the privilege of being able to view everything around them.

Victor laced their fingers together, looking down at Yuuri with such fondness and love that his heart ached with it. “It’s incredible…so beautiful,” he whispered. “And so are you. Thank you.” Those lovely brown eyes sparkled as he held Victor’s gaze.

“Welcome home,” Yuuri said softly, taking him in his arms and kissing him. A thrill shot through Victor; he cupped the back of Yuuri’s head and stroked his face. Their tongues caressed, and Yuuri gave a quiet moan. Victor briefly wondered if anyone could see them, then quickly decided he didn’t care. He felt a firm hand on his thigh.

“I should give you these clothes and ask you to keep wearing them,” Yuuri said in a strangled voice. “They’re so much better on you.”

_Oh. _Yuuri obviously liked that – a lot. Maybe he’d been thinking about it all day. “I like them too,” Victor said in a low voice. “They make me feel like you’re wrapped around me. Everywhere.” He quirked a little smile and captured Yuuri’s lips again, receiving a wonderfully eager response.

“The taxi,” Yuuri said eventually, his face flushed as he pulled away. “We’ll be landing soon.” Taking a deep breath and combing his hair back, he added, “I know there’s not as much to see just here, but…”

“It’s home,” Victor finished for him. _Home. _

Yuuri smiled like he couldn’t believe Victor was real, then looked down. The buildings were a little further apart here, the streets wider, and there was less traffic in the air. Seeing it all from this angle was like looking at a living map. Victor remembered flying over London in Immersion, but this was their own city, and he had known it in a way all his life.

The taxi landed outside the building of flats, and Yuuri got out first, oddly silent while he gave Victor the ghost of a smile and a look that burned into him. Was he feeling all right? There were still so many emotions for them both to deal with, after all. He himself had been riding to York with Julia and Emil this time yesterday, and that fact on its own was astonishing.

Yuuri led the way to Number Four, which opened as they approached. As soon as they were inside, the door shut behind them – and Yuuri’s lips were pressing firmly against Victor’s as he was pushed back against the wall. Victor’s eyes flew open, though the shock quickly wore off as he began to drown in the heat of the kiss. Yuuri unbuttoned his long black coat and let it fall to the floor, kicking it aside, hardly breaking their contact. Then he pulled the zipper contraption down on Victor’s and tugged at the top until it was rucked around his elbows. Victor breathed Yuuri’s name but got no further than that, because Yuuri was licking hot kisses down his neck, and all he could do was moan, gripping at his arms with their rolled-up sleeves. Soon Yuuri had guided him in removing the coat and black tunic with urgent fingers, and was nipping and sucking at a nipple while his hands roamed. Victor couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his love like this; but then the part of him that was still capable of rational thought shut down as his body responded to Yuuri’s touch.

“Fuck…Yuuri,” he breathed as his cock twitched and swelled.

“Take your boots and trousers off, but leave the pants,” Yuuri told him in that quiet but firm voice he usually reserved for their scenes, which seemed to reach Victor on an instinctual level, melting him inside. _I’m yours, I’m yours _echoed through his mind as he followed the instruction. Yuuri watched with fire in his eyes, but claimed Victor’s lips again before he was able to do anything about the trousers.

“Let me help,” Yuuri broke their kiss to murmur, undoing the belt buckle with a clank and pulling the material down. Victor stepped out of it and began unbuttoning Yuuri’s shirt but gasped, his fingers faltering, as Yuuri palmed him through the pants. He bucked into it, small cries spilling from his lips; Yuuri showed no mercy, kneading and pushing and squeezing while he trailed kisses over his neck and collarbones.

“Yuuri,” he gasped out, “oh God…”

He was silenced by a blistering kiss as Yuuri removed his hand and began to grind against him. Victor clutched at the back of his shirt, legs beginning to tremble, and groaned into their kiss, bent now on seeking release. Thrusting against Yuuri’s hips, he heard an answering throaty noise as Yuuri pulled back, his breaths quick. He yanked the pants down, and Victor’s cock sprang free. Yuuri gave it a few strokes, and Victor cried out, willing himself not to come.

“You’ve been driving me crazy today,” Yuuri said. “_And _wearing my clothes. I could hardly wait to get you to myself.”

“Fuck me. Now. Please,” Victor breathed, not sure what Yuuri had in mind, but willing to accommodate anything as long as his love was inside him, filling him, as soon as possible.

Eyes flashing, Yuuri unbuttoned his shirt, allowing it to gap open; then he briefly knelt and retrieved something from his coat pocket which looked like a small bottle of lube.

“Where did you get that?” Victor asked. “Do you carry it with you?”

Yuuri quirked him a smile. “Since today at the supermarket, yeah. I thought we could keep a few around the flat.” He squeezed some of the clear gel onto his fingers, leaning in closer. “Open up for me, baby. Let me prepare you.”

“Quick…I won’t need much.” Victor braced a foot against the wall, jutting his hips forward. And Yuuri’s lips were on his again, licking into him as he reached around and slipped one, then two fingers into his entrance. Victor arched into the penetration. “Yuuri, please,” he moaned.

The fingers pulled out of him and Yuuri undid his belt buckle, then tugged his trousers and pants down together. He slicked himself, tossed the bottle of lube to the floor, and gripped Victor’s arse. “Wrap your legs around me.”

Victor jumped and was easily caught and pinned against the wall. Immediately he felt the fulness of Yuuri’s cock pushing into him and tilted his head back with a loud sigh, urging him forward with his heels. His love was so eager; it was already sending Victor close to the edge in a haze of lust.

“I’m not hurting you?” Yuuri said near his ear in a husky voice.

Victor shook his head, angling for Yuuri’s mouth, which met his hungrily. Their gasps and moans filled the room as Yuuri bottomed out and began to thrust hard, while their tongues tangled, Victor raking his fingers through his love’s hair and clutching at his back through his shirt. He was going to come soon, untouched, with Yuuri fucking him like this and plundering his mouth and making those primal noises, weaving together with his own. But even this didn’t feel close enough. He wished he could pull Yuuri right into him, with every barrier between them gone.

They gasped through their kiss, and Yuuri smeared more down the side of his neck, panting out a litany of praises and swears. Dizzy with it all, the only words Victor could manage were _Yuuri _and _yes_. Yuuri stepped up his pace to the sounds of slapping and grunts, while Victor gazed blearily into smouldering chocolate-brown eyes filled with love and need. And that was all it took. He strung Yuuri’s name through breaths and gasps that grew to a crescendo, crying out, fingers digging into Yuuri’s back as tremors rocked through him. After a few more quick, hard thrusts, Yuuri’s answering cry was muffled against his neck, open-mouthed, clutching at the muscles of his arse. They remained as they were for some time, breaths stilling, fingers easing their grips, and then Victor felt Yuuri kissing and nuzzling at his neck. He was helped gently to the floor, and a flushed and sweaty face gazed up at him in concern.

“Are you OK?” Yuuri asked him between breaths.

“I’m very OK,” Victor answered, accompanying it with a hum. He was glowing inside, well and thoroughly fucked by the man he loved, his seed slipping down his legs. The entire world was very OK.

Yuuri placed a hand on his chest. “I…I didn’t mean…I’m so glad you’re here, Vitya. I love you.”

It was a struggle for a moment, through lapping waves of contentment, to work out what he meant. “You’re not apologising for getting carried away, are you?” Victor asked when he suspected he’d got it. Yuuri blinked but remained silent, so he added, “Do you think I mind? God in heaven, my love, I’m very happy for you to get carried away any time the fancy takes you. It’s wonderfully sexy.” And that was met with a relieved grin. Lowering his voice, he continued, “Would you like it if I got carried away too, here in your flat? Because I’m certain I could. With your…_permission _of course.”

He grinned as recognition flashed in Yuuri’s eyes. “Sometimes?” Victor said, running a finger down his cheek. “Just as we used to. I never stopped enjoying it…or missing it.”

“Me too,” Yuuri said softly with a small grin. “And this isn’t just my flat; it’s yours. We’re together now, Vitya.” The touch of his lips as he tilted his head up for a kiss was soft this time, gentle and full of warmth. Victor hummed again; he couldn’t help it.

“Stay there,” Yuuri said, quickly pulling his pants and trousers back up and trotting to the kitchen; he returned with a stripy green and white towel and lifted it, but then seemed to think better of it and gazed at Victor in open appreciation. “What you look like…” he murmured.

Victor could imagine. Happily wrecked and covered in his own seed. He slid a finger lazily down his abdomen, slanting Yuuri a knowing glance, and was rewarded with a shuddering breath. Then Yuuri stepped forward and cleaned him with the towel. Always so tender, no matter what they’d been doing beforehand. When he finished, Victor picked up the pants he’d been wearing. 

“We could shower,” Yuuri suggested. He added with a laugh, “It’s going to get a lot of use from now on, I think.”

Victor put the pants on, eyeing him. “My new clothes are all in bags,” he said. “I’ll have to examine them and make sure I know how to wear them correctly.” He hooded his eyes and murmured near Yuuri’s cheek, “I’d like to wear these things a little longer. As I am. With you all over me, inside and out.”

Yuuri blew out a breath. “God, Vitya, you’re going to make me hard again.”

Victor chuckled. “I hope that’s a promise.”

They finished getting dressed, then Victor followed Yuuri to the kitchen, where they washed their hands and Yuuri dropped the towel into a basket under the sink before pouring hot water from the tap into mugs for tea, Victor using the _Swords and Sorcery _one again. While the little sachets steeped, Yuuri announced that he was going to call Mari.

“Hey, bro,” came her voice into the kitchen.

“Are you free to talk?” he asked, getting milk and sugar and putting them on the counter along with two small spoons.

“Yeah, for a minute. Why, what’s up? You OK?”

He leaned on the counter, beaming at Victor. “Very OK. There’s someone special here in my flat with me. It’s Victor.”

There was a long pause while he removed the sachets from the mugs with a grin, dropping them into a chute that he pulled out from amongst the cabinets, before adding milk and sugar to his own. “Mari?” he eventually said.

“Yuuri, I…um. Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” he laughed. “I promise you I haven’t cracked. He’s really here. He came and found me at the university yesterday.”

Another pause. “OK…”

“Can I say something?” Victor asked, eager to demonstrate the fact of his presence. “Will she hear me?”

“Yeah, she’ll hear you. I put the call on speaker.”

Victor didn’t understand what that meant, but he leaned on the counter himself and said brightly into the room, “Mari, hello! It’s Victor. I got here yesterday, just as Yuuri said. It turned out that Ailis left a time-travel sphere behind, and I used it. Yuuri’s been ever so good to me, though I daresay it was a shock at first – ”

“Holy shit,” she breathed, and Victor fell silent while Yuuri smiled, fetching the last two honey pies and putting them on a plate. “I don’t…” A pause. “No fucking way. I mean, it’s your voice – I recognise it.”

“It’s me,” he said, spooning a little sugar into his mug – you had to be careful with this substance; it was sweeter than honey – and adding a generous splash of milk. “It’s good to speak to you again.”

“You just…happened to find a time-travel sphere? After ten weeks, or whatever it is? How…well, never mind how. Talk some of that Middle English at me, if you really are Victor.”

“Peis, Ee prei theh, gentil ladi,” he said, and Yuuri snorted into his tea. “Dought theh noght that Ee am whoh Ee cleim to beh. Sir Victor Nikiforov, bi mi feith. Yuuri has mad us som tea, and weh er eting honi-pyes that Ee broght with mei, and Ee asuur theh weh er ful contentid.” Yuuri continued to laugh quietly, eyes shining.

Silence stretched as Victor turned his translator back on and took a sip of his tea. Then Mari huffed, “Bloody hell, it really is you. You’re actually in Yuuri’s flat?”

“He’s here, Mari,” Yuuri said. “There’s a lot to explain. But it’s OK…it’s really good, in fact.”

“Look, I haven’t got proper time for this just now, but I’ll come down straight away.”

“No, really,” Yuuri was quick to say. “You took a lot of time out not that long ago to stay with me here, even though Sharon needs you. And Victor hasn’t been here a full day. There’s no emergency.”

“I’m telling you, bro, there’s no one I’ve ever wanted to meet more.”

“What are you two doing for Christmas?”

Another pause, and then she answered, “Bring him up here. Seriously. You can both stay with us at the spa; we were going to invite you anyway.”

“I’d love to,” Victor enthused; then he looked at Yuuri, hoping he hadn’t spoken too soon. But the delighted smile he received was an obvious answer.

“That makes two of us,” Yuuri said.

“Great. I’ve got to go, but I’m really pleased for you, Yuuri. For both of you. Send me a hologram of what he looks like, will you?”

“Sure.”

“Bloody hell,” she mumbled, seemingly to herself. “I still don’t fucking believe it. Anyway, talk later – bye, Yuuri. Victor.” Silence fell, and Victor assumed she’d ended the call.

Yuuri laughed and sipped his tea. “That’s our Christmas sorted, then.”

“What’s her spa like?” Victor asked. “Do people bathe there?”

“That’s the main purpose of it, yeah. You’ll love it.” Yuuri picked up a honey pie, took a bite, and sighed as his eyelids briefly fluttered closed. “1393 never tasted so good.”

Victor bit into his own, his heart as high and light as a cloud.

When they were done, Yuuri got his aircam out and showed Victor how it worked. As with much of the tech he’d encountered, it was easy to use with the aid of its BCI. Yuuri tossed it in the air and took a variety of holograms of them from different angles, including some of them embracing and kissing, which they would keep just for themselves. Victor had never seen the two of them together like that, and thought it was beautiful.

They’d hardly finished before Yuuri received another call, this time from Phichit, which he also put into the room. He said that someone at the university called Dr. Fay was keen to meet with Yuuri; she wasn’t aware yet that Victor was there as well. Yuuri took a moment to explain to Victor that Dr. Fay had helped him prepare for his mission and knew the basic facts about what had happened, though not that he’d taken up Ailis’s studies in temporal physics; there’d been no need to tell her that.

“What does she want?” Yuuri asked Phichit as he replaced the aircam in its drawer inside the table. “Did she say?”

“I think she was hoping that you’d be willing to put some of your expertise about the past to good use.”

“I don’t know how much expertise I’ve got exactly, but there’s someone else here who has plenty.” He looked at Victor. “That is, if you’d like to meet her and you don’t mind her knowing who you are. You don’t have to – ”

“I’d like to,” Victor replied. “If you trust her, then so will I.”

“Oh, hi, Victor,” Phichit said, which brought a smile to his face. They were so casual and friendly here. “Surviving your first day in the future OK?”

“Thanks to Yuuri. We’ve been shopping, and I’ve had coffee and tea and chocolate, plus an incredible ride in a…” He searched for the word. “…carboglass taxi.”

“Sounds like a great way to spend a day. Hey, Yuuri, Celestino’s in his office this afternoon too. I haven’t told him Victor’s here, but if you want to let him know, I’m sure he’d really like to meet him. Not that I’m saying I think you should be parading him around like a circus act or something – sorry, Victor – I mean they can wait a while, or forever if that’s what – ”

“It’s all right,” Victor interrupted, sensing he was beginning to tie himself in knots. “I’d be delighted to meet both of these people, and I shall enjoy returning to the university in more relaxed circumstances.”

“OK, if you’re sure. I’d love to come over and see you both, but I’m caught up in an all-afternoon project with these two undergrads. Save a drink for me sometime soon, yeah?”

Yuuri said he would, then they all exchanged goodbyes. Looking at Victor, he said, “Are you sure you want to this? It’s totally up to you.”

Victor nodded. “Of course, my love. I’ll learn more quickly about this world if I venture out into it and meet the people here.”

Yuuri smiled and gave him a brief, fond kiss. “You’re wonderful.”

* * *

They took a taxi to the university and met with Celestino first. The fact that Victor was there courtesy of a time-travel sphere piqued his interest intensely, and he was full of questions. Victor hedged around Julia’s involvement in its discovery, and he said little about how he’d passed the time while Yuuri had been gone, preferring that grief to continue to heal on its own. He also got the impression that Yuuri was not inclined to be as forthcoming as he was with Phichit, giving Celestino information about the time-travel tech and how Victor had avoided a swap with little elaboration and none of the easy warmth he expressed when he and his friend communicated. Which all served to solidify Victor’s original assumption about Celestino – that he’d been a necessary organiser of Yuuri’s mission, a knowledgeable official who was not in his close confidence. They spoke pleasantly, Victor shared some observations he’d made about this future time, and then they were on their way to a different building to visit Dr. Fay.

Her office lacked the extraordinary and distracting thick tangle of plants that had been growing on the other side of Celestino’s, but the items within more than made up for it. On the walls were part of the Bayeux Tapestry, framed pages from manuscripts and books of hours in a style Victor was familiar with, and a chant manuscript whose vintage he guessed was about a hundred years before his own time – and while the other things looked bright and new, which presumably meant they were reproductions, the chant manuscript was quite possibly genuine. A tall wooden glass-fronted cabinet contained shelves full of books, some of them old and leather-bound, while others stood in stacks in the corners of the room, interspersed with papers. The only indication that they were still in 2121 was the piece of tech on the desk with a screen attached.

Dr. Fay was an older woman with shoulder-length grey hair and clothes to match, and she trained lively blue eyes highlighted with touches of silver paint on him and Yuuri. As the two of them approached her desk, Yuuri explained who Victor was, and she gasped and rose slowly from her chair, circling round to stand in front of him.

“You’re the knight Yuuri met in the past?” she said in awe.

Unsure of what to say, Victor simply nodded.

“Um, forgive me.” She made a little bow. “My lord Nikiforov, isn’t it?”

Victor smiled gently and shook his head. “Just Victor, madam. I believe it would be quite ludicrous to expect anyone here to call me a lord.”

“That’s only because they don’t know who you are. And please call me Morgan. I thought we were done with all our visitors from the past, and then the most extraordinary one of all walks straight into my office.” She added, “Justin preferred to be called ‘my lord’; it was what he was used to. I was the only one willing to do that, because despite all the bluster, I could tell he was frightened. At first, anyway. Then he started to like it here. We had a rapport of a kind…I do miss him.”

Victor glanced at Yuuri, whose face mirrored the surprise he himself felt. It seemed Justin had made a friend, someone who had been sorry when he’d died. His heart was gladdened to learn of it.

“I came here of my own volition,” he told her, “and intend to make my life in this world, so I’d prefer not to receive special treatment. The fact that I’m a baron’s son makes no difference now, and it will be interesting to discover what that’s like.”

“The two of you are so different,” she mused. “Well then, have you had a chance to visit modern York yet? Ride in a hovercar? Try the foods here? And the things you’ll be able to teach us…”

Before Victor could answer, Yuuri said to her, “When did you learn Middle English?”

“Here as a grad student,” she replied, returning his gaze.

“You mean you’ve been able to speak it the whole time? You never told me.”

“You never asked,” she said in puzzlement.

“Wait,” Victor interjected. “I heard no Middle English. We’ve been speaking your modern language, have we not?”

She knitted her brow. “But you were speaking Middle English right along with me.”

“He’s got one of Ailis’s translators in,” Yuuri told her. “Why don’t we all speak in ordinary 2121 English for now, to make things less confusing. Phichit said you wanted to see me?”

“Well…oh please, gentlemen, have a seat.” She indicated the two chairs against her desk, then circled back round to sit in her own. “It looks like we’ve got more to talk about than I intended. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am about that.”

Since she didn’t know about Yuuri’s studies in time travel, Victor repeated to her what Ailis had said in Immersion about how she could repair a sphere so that the swap was no longer necessary, and Morgan seemed to accept the explanation. She invited him to tell her more about himself and the life he’d led, and he politely obliged as he’d done with Celestino, though her questions were more informed; she was clearly a scholar of the time.

“I hope you’ll forgive a little personal indulgence,” she said, “but studying the age you lived in has been my life’s work. In fact, I wrote my dissertation – that’s a long treatise – on Katherine Swynford, John of Gaunt’s third wife and longtime mistress. She was a fascinating woman. But I understand she wasn’t present when the royal entourage visited your castle in 1393. Is it possible that you might have met her at any other time?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t mingle in such distinguished company,” Victor replied to her obvious disappointment. “The pursuit of royal contacts and intrigues is a dangerous one, and not something I cared to be involved with. I am sorry.”

“Well, it was worth a try,” she said with a small smile. “But I hear you also have a reputation with a sword, and taught Yuuri a great deal. More than I could ever show him; we worked a little together before he left. I hope it’s not too selfish to ask for a demonstration from you – both of you – sometime?”

With everything that had occurred since he’d arrived, the thought of sparring hadn’t even crossed Victor’s mind yet, and how had _that _been the case? But just as he’d promised Chris, he knew he must draw swords again with Yuuri. It was part of who they were to each other. Surely he would still be keen? But his heart gave an uncertain flutter and he looked to his love, who raised his eyebrows as if to signify that he was intrigued by Morgan’s request.

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Victor answered her.

This obviously pleased her, and she said there would be opportunities here for him just as there had been for Arthur, Ethelfrith and Justin, if he was interested. “I’d be happy to do what I did for Justin, if you’d like – spread word through the university and my contacts that we have one of the world’s premier medievalists in residence here. You could do as much with that as you wanted. Liaise with language scholars, do translations, work with weapons specialists and re-enactment societies, share information with historians and archaeologists, volunteer at the living history museum…” She looked at Yuuri. “I was going to suggest some of the same things to you, depending on your interests. Phichit and I were eating lunch together in the canteen a few days ago and he happened to ask if I knew about anything you might enjoy doing.”

“He did?”

“Yes, either as a hobby or as paid work. Some of what I mentioned just now could pay quite well, in fact, where rare expertise is required. So for example,” she added, turning back to Victor, “any medieval languages you speak. Or training people in the use of a longsword. You look like you’re in excellent form to do something like that.”

“I was a knight,” Victor answered with some pride, looking to Yuuri and smiling. “I _am _a knight. We both are.” And Yuuri grinned in return, eyes glinting.

“Well I’m certainly going to look forward to that demonstration, then,” Morgan said with a smile of her own. “But I’m sure I’ve kept you both long enough for today. Please, do get back to me.” With a little laugh, she added, “To give me some practice speaking Middle English with a native, in a sense, if nothing else. You’re most welcome here, both of you.”

Once they’d left and were walking down the corridor, Yuuri asked Victor what he thought of Morgan’s ideas. “You don’t have to do any of that if you don’t want to,” he said. “It’s your decision.”

“Won’t I have to work for a living?”

Yuuri was silent for a moment. “It’s not something that’s ever been necessary for you.”

They were passing an empty room full of rows of small desks, and Victor took Yuuri’s hand and pulled him inside. “Do you not think me capable of that?” he asked with some heat. “Because – ”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Yuuri replied, seemingly shocked by his reaction.

“I want to help. Contribute. Feel like I have a place here, with you.”

“I just wish you didn’t have to,” Yuuri blurted. “That’s what I was trying to say. Not that I think you can’t, but – ”

“So why would you take that opportunity away from me?”

“That’s not what I meant, either.” Yuuri’s face had drained of colour, and Victor felt wretched for upsetting him, but this was something he felt strongly about. “The position and the wealth you had all your life…” Yuuri raised a hand when Victor began to protest. “I know we’ve talked about it before, and I know you’re willing to give that up for something better, just like when we started Victor and Friends.” He took a breath and continued, “It just seems like so much to ask. These people here, they don’t know who you really are. They won’t treat you any differently from anyone else. And we…we won’t have a lot of the things you’re used to. I would’ve wanted to be able to offer you more than that.” His voice quietened on his last words, and he swallowed.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor sighed, taking it all in. He should have expected it, really. The way the anxiety fed in him sometimes, growing from a seed into something larger. But his words contained a certain kind of logic, too; and hadn’t he himself been concerned about what Yuuri might have thought was lacking in their castle accommodation, once he’d learned about the wonders available in the future? He felt the fire drain from him as he reached out to cup Yuuri’s cheek. “You never did ask, my love. This was my choice. I wanted it with all my heart. And I knew what I was doing. An ordinary life, with you – that’s all I want. Did you not hear me tell Morgan something similar? Though truly, I could never call living with Yuuri Katsuki ordinary. When you look upon me, do you see a wealthy nobleman, or do you see Victor?”

After a moment, Yuuri answered softly, “You’re my Vitya. Of course that’s who I see.”

“Then that’s how you must think of me. Put the past behind and allow me to make a life here with you.” He smiled and stroked Yuuri’s cheek with his thumb. “Is that so different from what we did with the troupe?”

Yuuri considered, and didn’t argue the point. “I want the best for you.”

“I have it here in front of me.” Victor tilted his head down and gave his love a gentle kiss, and Yuuri sighed into it, wrapping his arms around him. When Victor pulled back, he said, “I’m going to think about what Morgan told us. I expect I’ll want to see her again soon and speak further. Would that suit you?”

Yuuri held his gaze and nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just want you to be happy here.”

Victor’s smile was bright. “Can you not see that I am already? For one thing, we’re together again, and nothing is more important than that. But Yuuri, this world is extraordinary. A bathroom, a razor, a cup of coffee, a taxi…all these things that must seem ordinary to you are marvels that the wealthiest people in my time could never dream of.” He stroked a finger along Yuuri’s jaw. “And do you have any notion what a relief it is not to have to enforce penalties for anyone’s lack of appropriate deference toward me? All these people who have walked past without acknowledging me with a bow, a tip of the hat, a ‘good morning, my lord’ – if they did that on the estate in my time, I would have to have sharp words. None of that is necessary here, and truth be told, it’s refreshing.”

Yuuri smiled back at him and huffed a little laugh. “That’s good. But I suppose I’m not surprised.”

“Well, then. Now that’s settled, where shall we go next?”

After a pause, Yuuri gave his cheek a soft, affectionate kiss. “Come to the market with me?”

“The supermarket where we were this morning?”

“No, this is a real outdoor market local to my ward – um, that’s the area I live in. I’ve thought of a few more things I’d like to pick up. Mangos and pineapples and maybe some coconut to go with the bananas in a fruit salad. There’s so much you haven’t tried yet. And you could have Japanese food. Mexican. Indian – ”

Victor laughed. “Not all at once, I hope. I’ll be bursting the seams of those lovely new clothes.”

“Fair enough,” Yuuri said with a smile. “There’s plenty of time for all that.” He took Victor’s hand and led him back into the corridor.

“Do you not want to visit your lab while we’re here?”

“Why?”

“You were so excited about what you learned there yesterday.”

After a long pause, Yuuri replied, “I was. But things are different now. I – I need to think.” Then he added with a sudden sparkle in his eyes, “Anyway, I’m excited about what I’ve got here.”

They took a taxi to the market and arrived as the sun was setting. Strings of white lights were strewn about the awnings over the stalls like a glimmering web, and Victor was a man entranced as he wandered about, gazing at rainbow-coloured piles of fruit and vegetables. Other things were on sale as well here, mainly household items such as soap, wicker baskets and wooden chests, handmade decorations for shelves and walls, Christmas baubles and candles, much of which would not have been out of place in York’s or Crowood’s markets in his time. The merchants then did not possess the cleverness to scent their wares so enticingly, however, and Victor sniffed at the candles, taking a fancy to one labelled “Christmas Forest” which smelled of fresh pine needles; Yuuri bought it, saying they could burn it on the table next to their bed. Although he’d purchased all the foods he’d sought, he remained patiently by Victor’s side, answering questions and watching him with the same mixture of interest and gentle amusement that he’d displayed much of the time when they’d been shopping in York. Victor was thankful he was so welcoming of his curiosity, because every place they went seemed to contain something new and intriguing.

Upon returning to the flat, he helped Yuuri put away the things they’d bought, asking about other items he discovered in the cupboards as he did so – tamari, fish sauce, bonito flakes, kombu, molasses, macadamias, vanilla, garam masala…the list was endless, and he sniffed and tasted. Though there were other things he was glad to recognise too, such as honey, jam, vinegar, and salt – a whole bag of it, which would have been used in Victor’s time to fill a nef, in pride of place at the high table. He briefly considered his father’s likely jealousy if he could see all of these things in Yuuri’s own flat, and chuckled quietly to himself.

He was soon busy helping to peel and chop food for their supper, though he had to take instructions from Yuuri as to what he should do. They put together the fruit salad, and Victor couldn’t resist the temptation to try chunks of the sweet, succulent pineapple and mango as he went along. Then he moved on to a variety of vegetables. He was certain the cooks in the castle’s kitchen never spent so much time dicing things up, but he was interested to discover what the finished product would be like.

“I haven’t worked this hard to make a meal since…I can’t remember,” Yuuri said as he peeled and chopped some gingerroot and garlic. “When you live on your own, most of the time it’s easy not to be bothered. Just before you came here, I was practically living off nutri-pills.” He smiled. “This is going to be a real treat. Careful what you’re doing there.”

Victor looked down and realised he was chopping rather close to his finger. “What _is _this?” he asked, looking at the green florets he’d been removing from their stem.

“Broccoli. It soaks up the cooking sauce.”

“And bamboo shoots?” Victor read from a round container. “These things are edible, are they?”

Yuuri laughed. “Trust me.” Then he kissed Victor’s cheek and showed him how to pull the container open. From the cabinet next to the hob he produced a large round pot which he called a wok, and they took turns stirring while the ingredients fried in oil; he also put some rice on to steam. The pièce de résistance, however, was the several spoonfuls of highly fragrant sauces Yuuri added toward the end to what he described as a Chinese-style stir fry. Victor’s mouth was watering by the time they sat down to eat. Yuuri fetched a bottle of wine and some glasses, and the candle, which he placed in the middle of the table.

“Seems like a good decoration there for now, doesn’t it?” he said, fetching a metal stick from the drawer, which he handed to Victor. “Click the switch on the side and see what happens.”

Victor eyed it. “This reminds me of a subtlety. There’s some trick involved, I can see it in your eyes.”

“No tricks. Go on, just try it.”

Raising an eyebrow, Victor did as he was bidden, and started as a full flame popped out of the end and remained there. The stick didn’t burn, but the flame didn’t die either. He might as well have caught a sunbeam and watched it dance. “By God’s holy bones,” he murmured, “this is unlike any firesteel I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s got a store of energy inside that it uses to keep the flame going. You can light the candle with it, then flick the switch again when you’re done.”

Victor did, and was greeted with the scent of pine. He stared at the metal stick. “Do you know how much fruitless effort on soggy days this invention would save people desperate to get warm or to cook their food? I can hardly comprehend…” He shook his head and switched the stick off – and back on again, still half convinced it was a piece of magic. But then he caught himself. “You must think me such a primitive,” he said, huffing a laugh as he switched the flame off and handed the stick to Yuuri, who put it down on the table.

“Of course not,” Yuuri said softly. “It’s been wonderful seeing you with things like that. I’ve taken them for granted all these years. Though having lived in your time, I can definitely see the appeal of ready-made fire; I had to try to light a fair few myself.” He smiled. “Anyway, help yourself to some rice, and spoon some stir-fry on top.”

Victor copied what Yuuri put on his own plate, then placed some fruit salad in a bowl. And his mouth was subsequently met with an explosion of flavours the like of which he’d never known. The Chinese sauce was peppery, rich and delectable, and the fruit was like a sinfully luxurious balm. Yuuri filled their glasses with something he called mulled wine, which was reminiscent of hypocras. But there was yet one more treat in store once they’d eaten and drunk their fill.

“Ice cream,” Yuuri said, removing things from the freezer and busying himself at the counter.

“Iced cream?” Victor echoed, intrigued.

“Something like that.” He brought two small silver bowls with spoons to the table, each containing a green ball and a dark grey one, and Victor stared at his. It was cold, of course. But surely it wasn’t cream; that would simply freeze.

“It’s a frozen custard that’s churned so that it comes out soft,” Yuuri explained, dipping his spoon into the green substance. “One’s matcha flavor and one’s toasted black sesame and honey. I, um, prefer Asian flavours, but there are more common kinds like strawberry and chocolate. See what you think?”

Victor scooped some of the green matcha cream onto his spoon. The texture was so smooth and silky that it would have given him lewd alternative ideas for what to do with it if it hadn’t been so cold. As it was, it melted on his tongue and slid in his mouth, and he was in heaven. While the matcha had a bite to it, the toasted sesame and honey was nutty and sweet.

“We may have to limit our meals to just a few new foods at a time,” he sighed, “or I shall expire from sheer bliss.”

But Yuuri’s happy smile and laughter were better still.

While they were digesting afterward, Victor wandered over to a tall cabinet lined with shelves full of books like Morgan had in her office, though these weren’t leather-bound or old-looking. Victor pulled a thick one off its shelf and opened it. _The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien_, it said. And it was full of very regular and precise text that no human hand could surely have written, similar to the tech menus and signs he’d seen. Though there were some characters inside that resembled Viking runes. And the style of the illustrations was unlike anything he was familiar with.

Yuuri came to stand beside him, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing his shoulder. “A lot of people still have physical books,” he said, “even though most of the material is available on the Cloud to read. Sometimes nothing beats curling up on the sofa with one in your lap.”

“There’s such a variety here,” Victor said in awe.

“Well, in the fourteenth century, books were still written by hand, so I suppose there weren’t many around. A machine called the printing press was invented in the 1400s, and people never looked back.”

“What’s Mandarin?”

“Huh?” Yuuri looked at the bottom shelf. “Oh. That…would’ve been my mum’s; she taught Mandarin Chinese at the university here. Some of these books belonged to her and my dad. I just never got around to doing anything else with them, I guess.”

“It’s a fascinating collection.”

“Look through it all you want.”

“Can I?”

“Of course you can. In fact, some of these books might teach you some things. I’ll just be on the sofa catching up with stuff on the Cloud.” He squeezed Victor’s arm and then went there to lounge. Victor gazed at him for a moment, then put the book he was holding back in its place and examined the spines of the other tomes before him, picking several out for further investigation. Yuuri owned books about King Arthur and other myths and legends from around the world. Ghost stories. Many other tales that had been dreamed up and written down. And an amazing assortment of informative texts, from tech to natural history to something called astronomy. Victor had been amassing a growing pile, and he chose the astronomy book to look at first, sinking to sit down on the floor-wide carpet – yet another wonderful invention that both cushioned his backside and kept his feet warm, though he’d shed his boots and was only wearing a pair of socks.

This book, as the spine and cover had indicated, was about the heavens. And what people had learned about them was extraordinary. There were several more planets circling the sun than anyone in his time had been aware of, along with other objects, some of them very small by cosmic standards – and there were _pictures _of them that were real, not artists’ renderings. Tech had been sent away from the planet to study them…to study planets circling other stars, with pictures of those too…and people were living on the moon and Mars, and exploring worlds even further away. So the comment Yuuri had made once about wishing he could take him to the moon had been quite literal. Dear God above, what would it look like there? And the earth itself – ?

He found a page with a picture of it and placed a hand against his mouth. Clouds, seas, land masses, all in a gorgeous swirl. For a while he simply stared at it, one of the most magnificent sights he’d ever seen. And knowledge like this was the birthright of Yuuri, and Phichit, and everyone else who lived in this time, as natural to them as breathing.

“By all the saints,” he muttered. Yuuri glanced over and gave him a warm grin before returning his concentration to whatever he was looking at on the Cloud.

It wasn’t the last time Victor uttered a low exclamation as he scanned through this and other books that were brimming with new information; he’d have to read them more carefully at his leisure. He occasionally blurted out questions across the room to Yuuri, who clearly didn’t mind answering them. Had he ever left the planet himself? No, he hadn’t. Had he been to this place called Australia where so many strange creatures lived? No. Had he seen a dinosaur skeleton? Yes, there were plenty in museums.

Dinosaurs. If one of these books had claimed that real fire-breathing dragons had once roamed the earth, it would hardly have been more surprising.

“Wait til we get you on the Cloud tomorrow,” Yuuri eventually said with a smile. “Then you can look up any information you want.”

The very idea of that would almost ensure he was too excited to sleep, Victor decided. He also hoped he didn’t encounter any man-eating dinosaurs in his dreams. Somehow he thought it would require more than a sword to take down one of those.

Victor didn’t know how long he pored over the books. Yuuri moved from time to time, taking the things Victor had unpacked from his leather bag the night before into the bedroom, making a trip to the bathroom, brewing coffee in the kitchen and asking Victor if he wanted some, to which he replied in the affirmative. He approached with two mugs, giving Victor one with a swirly blue and green pattern on it this time, then sat down on the floor next to him.

“I’m glad there are so many books here you like,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I’m astounded at how much there is to learn about everything, Yuuri,” Victor replied earnestly. “In my time, people don’t even know what the rest of the world looks like, or what it’s made of inside. They certainly don’t know how old it is. This book – ” He indicated the one in his lap. “ – says over four _billion _years. That’s an incomprehensible number. And it’s quite at odds with the Church in regards to how it was formed.”

“Yeah, it would be. They didn’t stop trying to argue about it for centuries, but eventually no one listened anymore.”

“You came to my time knowing all these things.”

He shrugged. “I did. But they didn’t help me blend into life at the castle, or fight Tyler, or learn how to perform on the wheel. Or…fall in love with you.” He grinned.

“Well…” Victor said, momentarily flustered as he met Yuuri’s gaze. “I can’t help but feel I have much to learn.”

“You’ll get there. But you won’t be able to do it all in one night.”

“No.” Victor put his coffee down and replaced the books on their shelves with Yuuri’s help, then stood cradling his mug in his hands. “There’s something on the wall there that I’ve been curious about.” He nodded to the corner of the room, where a shelf was mounted at chest height. “I was looking at it while I was sitting here.”

Yuuri followed his gaze. “Shit, I forgot to light the candle today,” he said as he walked over. “Never mind.”

Victor joined him. In front of them on the shelf was a wooden cabinet with open doors and a small white candle inside. The only other item it contained was a flat framed picture of a family of four. “Is it a shrine?” he asked. “These…are your parents? And you and Mari?”

Yuuri nodded. “I’m nine there, and Mari’s fourteen. This is a butsudan. It helps me feel like my parents are still with me in a way.”

Nine-year-old Yuuri was the most precious thing, Victor thought, with his tousled hair, pink cheeks and big brown eyes. “They look like kindly people.”

Yuuri glanced at him, then took a breath. “_Okasan_,_ Otousan_,” he said quietly, “this is Victor. He’s come to live with me. I’m so happy he’s here. I wish you could meet him.” And for a moment, Victor would have sworn Yuuri was that boy in the photo again, small and looking somewhat lost. He wondered what to say, recalling how their situations had been reversed that day of their brotherhood-in-arms ceremony, when he’d set foot in the chapel for the first time since Alex had died.

“Hiroko and Toshiya,” Victor said, recalling the names Yuuri had once mentioned, “it’s an honour and a privilege to be here. I promise to love and defend Yuuri for the rest of my days. Please watch over us and give us your blessing.”

He heard an intake of breath next to him and turned to Yuuri; a tear was trailing down his cheek as he stood with his mug in his hands. “D-Do you really mean that?” he whispered.

“Every word, my sweet. If I can’t promise myself to you in front of your parents, what sort of a faithless lover would that make me?”

Yuuri gazed at him with wide eyes and a sniff, then leaned forward and gave him a long, tender kiss, careful not to jostle their coffee. Eventually when he pulled away, leaving Victor warmer than any amount of hot coffee ever could, he turned back to the butsudan. “This doesn’t just have to be for my parents,” he said. “It can be for others who have been lost. I’d like to think of something to put on it for Emil and Julia – maybe you could help? If you wanted, you could put something there for Alex, too.”

“Lost,” Victor echoed, contemplating the choice of words.

“Because, well, none of them are really gone, are they? Even my parents and your brother. They’re in our hearts – but they’re alive somewhere too, just at different points in time.” He looked at Victor. “That’s how I was thinking of you.”

“Oh.” And it made sense, because that was how he’d thought of Yuuri himself while they’d been separated, and even Alex in a way, who still had the power to send him a dream that would change his life. “Yes,” he added more definitely. “We should decide what to leave for them.” And he kissed Yuuri’s temple, careful again not to spill his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor to Mari:
> 
> “Peis, Ee prei theh, gentil ladi,” he said, and Yuuri snorted into his tea. “Dought theh noght that Ee am whoh Ee cleim to beh. Sir Victor Nikiforov, bi mi feith. Yuuri has mad us som tea, and weh er eting honi-pyes that Ee broght with mei, and Ee asuur theh weh er ful contentid.” Yuuri continued to laugh quietly, his eyes shining in mirth.
> 
> _“Calm yourself, I pray you, gentle lady,” he said, and Yuuri snorted into his tea. “Have no doubt that I am who I claim to be. Sir Victor Nikiforov, by my faith. Yuuri has made us some tea, and we’re eating honey pies I brought with me, and I assure you we’re quite content.” Yuuri continued to laugh quietly, his eyes shining._
> 
> Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html)


	175. Chapter 175

There were two of them in medieval clothes and armour out on the streets this time, and fewer people around to gape. Many of those they passed still did, but Victor didn’t mind. He and Yuuri were training. Well, exercising; running, to be precise. But actual training would soon come, he was certain.

They’d treated themselves to good food over the past two days, and between spending hours on Alyona and then doing nothing more challenging than light walking, Victor had started to feel restless. He’d met no resistance from Yuuri that morning when he’d suggested they go for a run; in fact, he was quite eager.

“By your standards,” Yuuri had said sheepishly while they’d shared a small breakfast of yoghurt and a pleasant mixture called muesli, “I’m out of training. Too much time in the lab.”

“I’d prefer to wear my armour, but well, perhaps Boucicaut’s exercises aren’t so essential here.”

Yuuri gave him a gentle smile. “You’re concerned about being stared at, like when you got here.”

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. Not everyone is approving.”

“There are some paths that aren’t used so much here. Old railway lines, for example; some of them lead into the countryside, where there are good trails over hills. I’ve even got distances calculated.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Victor said with a grin as he finished his muesli.

Yuuri’s eyes danced. “Go get your armour on.”

They’d both done so; and when Victor had seen his love in his plate mail once more, with no face paint – they’d agreed it would seem rather anomalous to wear it while so attired – it had felt as right as their first night together here, when Yuuri had put on his tunic and hose.

_Only, it’s wrong in this place for us both, in a sense. I may call it my home, but it will need time to wear in like a new pair of boots, I expect._

They’d taken a taxi from their building to a road with a flight of stone stairs at its verge, which led down to a relatively straight wide path dissected by rusting silver rails; mossy red brick walls lined both sides of the chasm. The ground was soft but not muddy, covered in patches of greenery. It had rained overnight – Yuuri had explained that the climate control authorities usually managed to keep precipitation to the hours when most people slept, which seemed miraculous indeed – and so Victor had been inhaling the invigorating scent of damp earth on a crisp, clear morning as they ran.

Yuuri eventually led them up another flight of stairs to an earthen path that took them over hills, most of which verged on fields containing either crops or sheep and cows, and they practised their gymnastics by vaulting over gates and fences. It reminded Victor of the runs they’d done together while they were managing the troupe, always scouting out new paths wherever they went. He wasn’t used to a countryside that was so cultivated or enclosed, however – there were stands of trees, but not as many as he would have expected, and it seemed that every field had its own boundary; he’d seen the quiltwork patterns the grey stone walls made from the air. But when they entered a place Yuuri called a country park, they were suddenly surrounded by moorlands and streams, thick gnarled trees and bracken, and Victor felt at home. He glanced at his love, running at a good pace next to him, while his thoughts drifted back to the previous day. It had only been his first full one here, but there was already so much to reflect on, to try to understand and remember.

When he got to their conversation by the butsudan, he recalled Yuuri’s reaction to his promise that he’d love and defend him for the rest of his days, and it gave him a warm glow inside. But surely his beloved had expected nothing less? Victor had thought he’d been stating the obvious. Well, it was obvious now. And what items could he leave in the shrine? If only he’d asked for something of Julia’s to keep. Perhaps Yuuri could help him with ideas.

The rest of the night had been enjoyable indeed. Victor took a turn draping himself on the sofa, holding Yuuri, who lay with his back to his chest. They tended to lie side by side when they were in bed, but sofas really were the cleverest inventions, forcing you to find novel ways of getting tangled up with someone. He’d pressed soft kisses into Yuuri’s hair, wrapping his arms and legs around him, fingers entwining, loving the weight and warmth of him.

Victor would happily have remained so for the rest of the night, in the quiet of the living room, but Yuuri asked him if he’d like to listen to some music, and his curiosity was piqued. What had followed was a more detailed and astounding introduction than he’d received when Phichit had played songs for them over the com. Yuuri found samples on the Cloud of everything from melodies Victor was familiar with from his own time to music created by tech, which was so strange and ethereal that it might have been from a dream. Had his mother listened to such things? He’d never thought to ask. There was classical music, still a favourite of his, and so many other genres that he was certain he’d never remember them all – jazz, big band, blues, rock and roll, folk, reggae, pop, rap, shack, fractal, fourth world, wave…How was it that such a limited oeuvre had been available in his own time? And when Yuuri began to choose pieces from far-flung places across the world, Victor felt dizzy with it all.

“I think I’ve overwhelmed you,” Yuuri laughed. “All the new foods, and books, and now this. Information overload. I have to remember you’re going to stay here, and there’s time for you to take it all in.”

“I _am _staying,” Victor said against his temple as he kissed it, forcing the residual worries about his death date to the side. “And today has been incredible. Rapturous. I can’t wait to learn more. Everything this future time has to offer – I want to sample as much as I can.”

Yuuri turned his head to look at him as if considering an idea. Then he gently extracted himself and stood, smoothing his shirt and moving the table aside so that there was space in the middle of the room. “I’d like to show you something, then. I haven’t done this for a while, but…” His grin was almost shy, Victor thought, intrigued. “No one’s ever seen it before now, because I’ve only ever done it in Immersion. I’m not going to sing, though.”

“You’re being mysterious,” Victor said with a smile.

A fiddle began to play, slow and rich. Mournful. “This is from a musical about a man called Reg who dreams of being a dancer. He’s talented, but when he auditions for parts, he has to conform to everyone’s expectations, and so he tries to dance the way he thinks they want him to. But he’s no good like that, so he doesn’t get anywhere, and eventually he gets disillusioned and is almost broke. Then he has a chance meeting with a choreographer who’s willing to listen to his ideas and work with him, and they end up being a famous partnership.” He paused. “They fall in love, too. It’s not the most original premise for a musical, but…it always had an appeal.”

Victor’s heart fluttered. “And you’re going to do a dance from it?”

He nodded. “It would’ve been hard to show you things like this when we were in the past, without the music. And I was too embarrassed to tell Phichit that I’d done this stuff in Immersion, so he couldn’t play it over the com. But I can play it now. This is my favourite dance, where Reg has failed another audition and is really down on himself. But as it goes along, he decides that it’s the uninspired people in power who have the problem, and he’s going to carry on believing in the abilities he knows he has.” He looked around. “You’ll have to imagine this is a deserted city street at night.”

Victor nodded, sitting up and preparing himself for a treat. And that was exactly what he received as Yuuri began subdued movements, hands in his pockets, to a lovely male voice which accompanied the fiddle. More fiddles eventually joined the lone one, and other instruments; an orchestra. True to his word, Yuuri didn’t sing – he didn’t have to, because he’d become the embodiment of Reg, the downhearted dancer fighting to believe in himself. Yes, Victor could understand why Yuuri would like it, and felt moved as he watched the beauty of the dance. It was quite like ballet, from what he had learned of it, but uniquely expressive in its own way…quite, in fact, like the choreography Yuuri had written for himself and others in Victor and Friends.

When the music finished on a hopeful, defiant crescendo, Yuuri dropped his arms, his face pink as he caught his breath. But he was smiling. “I still haven’t forgotten how to do that, all this time. Your body remembers things when your brain forgets them.”

“Indeed,” Victor said, standing and joining him. “That was wonderful…thank you. I’ve always loved watching you perform.” He kissed Yuuri’s forehead.

“Would you like to dance with me?” 

Victor smiled wistfully. “You never got a chance to write the dance for the two of us that was going to be part of the show.”

“No. But I mean, just for fun. Like we used to in our room in the castle.”

And so they did, to lively songs that were both new and familiar to Victor, including “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”, which still made him laugh, especially when Yuuri joined in with the speaking parts. Then they moved on to slow dances, and finally to the bathroom for a shower, where Yuuri was appreciative of the fact that Victor was still wearing his clothes, before removing them forthwith. And afterward, just as he’d dreamed of earlier in the day, Victor found himself indulging in the delicious experience of having those crystal-studded crimson-nailed feet wrapped around him.

He looked now at the hale, muscular man running alongside of him in his armour, loving how he could be so feminine, too, and intimate. Showing him that beautiful dance, unbidden, that no one else had seen. Getting his nails painted just to humour his whim, and tantalising him with them later. Yuuri had even mentioned something about stockings and high heeled-shoes that either of them might like to wear for the other, though Victor wasn’t entirely sure what those would look like on them. All he’d needed to see was the smouldering brown of Yuuri’s eyes, however, to know it would be exciting.

A vehicle buzzed past overhead, and coming to himself, Victor realised they were at the old railway again; he’d known it in the back of his mind, but had hardly paid attention to the last stretch of their run. It was peaceful here, under the old brick bridges and along waterways. There was a sense of history about this place, whose time was clearly far into the future from Victor’s own but had been woven into the tapestry of the city’s past. He asked Yuuri about it, and they slowed down so that they could talk. Apparently trains had run here until thirty years ago, when they’d been diverted to a new route, though their beginnings lay three hundred years in the past. He spoke of freight trains that had travelled through here, and barges on the waterways which were actually canals, all in the service of businesses that manufactured things and shipped them off to be sold. Inside the large brick buildings, some of which Victor noticed were still standing, conditions were often unhealthy and dangerous for the people working there, Yuuri said, while the planet was being polluted on a massive scale. The fact that the whole area had been cleaned up years ago, and there were fish living in the canal again, hardly assuaged the sense of horror Victor felt when he imagined what it might have been like in its prime. He wondered if the workers had been any better off than the villeins on the castle’s estate, and eventually decided there might be little difference, and that he was glad no one seemed obligated to live in either way now.

They were nearing the stairs at the start of their run when Yuuri came to a halt and looked at him. “I’ve just had an alert that the service robots will be delivering the furniture in twenty minutes,” he said. “We don’t have to be there, since I’ve programmed the flat control to let them in, but maybe you’d like to see?”

Robots. Victor agreed, wondering what would greet them in the flat upon their return. He didn’t have long to wait, however; Yuuri had already called them a taxi, and it was a short journey to the flat. A vehicle was sitting on the path outside the building, larger and bulkier than many Victor had seen. The back of it was open, and two…_things _were carrying Yuuri’s denuded bed between them, presumably to place it inside. Victor stared and swallowed, feeling his skin creep at the strange vision. These were the robots Yuuri had mentioned, they must be. Although they were as tall as a man, there was little about them that was human; they resembled black wasps more than anything, he thought. Wasps with claws for hands.

“Good, they’ve made a start,” Yuuri said, glancing at them without breaking his stride.

“How are they able to carry the bed so easily?” Victor asked, continuing to watch them with his head craned back. The piece of furniture was held poised between their claws as if it were nothing more than a blanket as they entered the vehicle.

“They’re slimlined, but strong,” Yuuri replied as they approached Number Four and the door opened. “I had to fix a lot of them at the university. They’re not made to look much like real humans because it can make people frazzed.” He glanced at Victor. “Feel weird or uncomfortable.”

Victor blinked. So their creators had given them the appearance of giant insects instead? He remained silent as the robots entered the flat with the new chest of drawers.

“Actually, it’s handy that we’re here,” Yuuri said, hurrying to the bedroom before the robots entered. Once there, he spoke instructions for how to shift the existing furniture and where to put the new piece, while Victor lingered outside the room.

“Is this OK?” Yuuri called to him, and he peered in. “Where they’ve put your dresser – is it OK?”

“It, ah, looks fine,” he answered, moving out of the way as the robots left the room. They soon returned with the new bed, and again Yuuri guided them in placing it, correcting them a few times when it seemed they’d got it wrong. “These shops are so predictable,” he muttered as they worked. “They don’t want to invest money in new tech until the old stuff is on its last legs. These models are eight years old, and their voice recognition software’s clapped out.”

He spoke in front of the robots as if they had no feelings. But then, they were tech, and tech wasn’t sentient, was it? No more so than a hammer or a measuring stick. They finished with the bed and walked past him with their disconcertingly smooth stride, and Yuuri followed. “Won’t be a moment,” he said as he headed out the door.

“Where are you going?”

But the door had already shut. Victor entered the bedroom, examining the mattress and pulling out an empty drawer. His clothes, both the ones he’d brought with him from the past and the new ones Yuuri had bought for him, had been folded and placed on top of Yuuri’s dresser, and Victor shifted them to his own. Then Yuuri entered with armfuls of bedding and pillows, which he dropped on the bed.

“I could’ve helped with that.”

Yuuri stood and looked at him. “You were frazzed,” he said gently.

“I…” Victor considered the definition he’d been given of the word. “Well. It takes more than that to frighten me. I was impressed, too – you’re the lord of the manor today,” he laughed.

“You thought the robots were disturbing. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you more about them first.”

“You worked with them at the university?”

“A lot of different kinds, yeah.”

“Do they…are they…can you have conversations with them?”

“Not the kind that were just here. There are some very specialised robots – AI, they call it, or artificial intelligence – which give the impression of being able to think and feel. No one’s really sure how far that goes. But that kind of tech is cutting-edge – expensive, and rare. Remember what I told you about the holograms in Immersion programs getting too real? Same principle; there are concerns that people might get so attached to the tech that they’re not interested in human contact anymore.”

“Have they considered that robots which look so…_un_human might also be rather disconcerting?”

“I guess I’m just used to them. Most people are. But – ”

“I’m certain I will be as well,” Victor declared, trusting he could make it true.

“It’s OK,” Yuuri said softy, coming closer and kissing his cheek. “Remember when we were at that lake together months ago, and I didn’t even know how to sharpen a knife?”

Victor grinned, recalling it fondly. “A new time takes some getting used to.”

“Exactly.” Yuuri scanned the room with a frown. “You can just about stand in front of the dressers and the wardrobe, and move around the bed. I’m sorry it’s going to be cramped – ”

“No more apologies,” Victor murmured, stroking his love’s cheek. “Besides, I was living in a tent for five months. Did you hear me complain?”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Just when the rain leaked in.”

“Well, then. I’d live in a cave with you, my beautiful love, if that was what it took to be with you. A _cave_,” he repeated with a smile. “And I’d like it.” Yuuri laughed, and he added mischievously, “Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

“Live in a cave?”

“Well?”

“Too draughty,” Yuuri replied with a smirk.

“Oh, I’m wounded.”

Snickering, Yuuri tilted his head up for a kiss. “I love you,” he said when he pulled back. “I can’t wait to try out our new bed.”

“Me either.” Victor laid a finger over Yuuri’s lips and raised an eyebrow. “As tempting as that sounds just now, however…I have an idea, since we’re still wearing our armour.” 

* * *

“Taste my blade, foul cur.”

“You’re a villain and a knave,” Yuuri called out loudly, though Victor was right in front of him; everyone would want to hear, after all. “I’ll soon teach you some respect.”

“For the likes of you, there’s none. Have at you.”

Victor took the woman’s guard, holding his sword over his shoulder, while Yuuri took the iron door, sword to the side. It was Victor who struck first, with a mezzano cut downward; Yuuri countered it and attempted to thrust forward, but Victor’s speed and strength were as devastating as ever, and he parried the thrust while knocking Yuuri off balance, getting the easy touch as he landed on his arse. But he was up straight away, ready for more.

They’d come out to the courtyard to spar. When Victor suggested it, Yuuri had readily agreed, though once here, his head had suddenly been awhirl with the incongruities. It felt as though they ought to be in the training field, but this was the quad. They should be practising to perform in a show, but they were sparring for the first time in months, and the rapport they’d once built, and the ease and instinctiveness of the movements, were slow to revive; the drills Yuuri had been doing occasionally were no replacement for proper training. His heart sank at the thought – even while he felt as excited as a schoolboy to be fighting Victor once more. And yet they’d gone to this from dealing with the robots. Yuuri had noted the trepidation on Victor’s face at the sight of them and could have kicked himself for having assumed he’d accept them with the ease of a new food or song. Robots, and longswords in armour…an ordinary day with Victor, he thought with a silent laugh.

“Shameless vagabond, your false pride will be your undoing,” Victor taunted him with a gleam in his eye, half addressing the crowd as well. Because if there’d been interest when Yuuri had come out here to practise his drills, that was nothing to the audience that had gathered during the half hour or so that they’d been revisiting pieces of performances, training, and sparring. It was a Saturday, and all the residents in the quad seemed to be present to watch, either standing around them here in the courtyard or on their balconies. Far from being fazed by it as he would have been in the past, however, there was an excited flutter in Yuuri’s chest; and even though he knew his nerves would always make themselves felt during a performance, he was as at ease with this as he would ever be. He was rather more annoyed at himself, however, for having let his training slip, and he was in no position to hope to beat Victor today. A small voice kept whispering to him, _You’ll never be as good as you were. Those days are behind you now. You can’t be a knight in 2121. _But he told himself to ignore it and have fun in the moment.

“Speak for yourself, blustering buffoon!” he rejoined as they began to circle each other. “I’ll have vengeance upon you yet.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time for it.”

Yuuri thrust upward quickly, hoping for an element of surprise, but Victor wasn’t fooled, and they were caught in a bind. “You’re getting rusty,” he said in a quieter voice to Yuuri alone, with a small smile. “We need to get you running up hills with sacks of grain again.”

With the long hours of training on his own at the castle echoing back to him, and Abelard’s rather more florid curses in his ears, Yuuri grimaced and grabbed the top of Victor’s blade, giving him a hard shove in the process as he swung his own sword over and around. If his opponent had been anyone other than Victor, he would have fallen to the ground at his mercy.

“That’s better,” Victor said appreciatively, after impossibly regaining his footing and dodging the blade that ought to have scored a touch. Maintaining his momentum, he came at Yuuri, and they were caught in another bind, scuffling to get the advantage, muscles straining, as the crowd cheered them on. But it was Victor who feinted a pommel blow to Yuuri’s shoulder, then angled his sword down in a cut, metal ringing against metal. For good measure, he shoved Yuuri to the ground and held his sword theatrically over him. It would have been a usual part of one of their acts, and Victor took no prisoners. But admittedly, it smarted.

“Yield, villain,” Victor demanded.

Yuuri dropped his sword. “I’m at your mercy, dread knight,” he conceded.

To the sound of applause, Victor extended a hand and helped him up. “That felt good and awful at the same time,” Yuuri breathed. “I can’t believe how rubbish I’ve got in ten weeks. I’m better than this – ”

“Of course you are,” Victor answered quietly. “You’re not as out of practice as I made out, though; the moves are still there in your bones. They always will be, my love.” Victor turned and waved to the onlookers, and Yuuri felt he ought to say something to them.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, “Sir Victor Nikiforov, knight of Crowood.” He gestured to Victor, and the applause swelled.

Copying him with a smile, Victor said, “Sir Yuuri la Rose, knight of…this building.” Laughter floated through the air. “Your champion will yet vanquish me, I deem. Look to see us another day.” He waved. They liked him. He had access to several more dials on the charm scale than Yuuri could ever hope to possess; but then, he was the winner as well.

_It never mattered to me before in performances. This has got nothing to do with him and everything to do with me being bothered by how badly I’ve just done. _Yet there was no denying the exhilaration racing through Yuuri’s veins as well. They could continue to train, even if it was in a private room at the gym where they’d be able to work minus the curious onlookers. But without a real threat to counter, or nightly performances, would they ever be driven by the same degree of motivation again?

“Yuuri, look.”

He followed Victor’s gaze and spotted Phichit standing near the entrance to the corridor next to Mrs. Wells, both of them waving. It was understandable that his neighbour would notice what was happening in the courtyard, since she lived right next to it. But Phichit – ? He and Victor wandered over, sheathing their swords as the crowd disbursed.

“Hi,” Yuuri said to Mrs. Wells. Then, “Phichit, what…?”

But Mrs. Wells began first. “Yuuri, my dear, who’s this handsome knight you’ve brought along today?”

He felt his cheeks pink, though Victor beamed at her. “Victor’s living with me now. He’s…the person I said I’d lost.”

A smile creased her face. “You found each other? I’m so glad.” She took Victor’s hand in both of hers and patted it. “You couldn’t have picked a nicer man,” she said, gazing up at him. “Look after him, mind, or you’ll be hearing from me.”

Yuuri’s face was glowing now, as Phichit looked on in amusement. “This is my next-door neighbour, Mrs. Wells,” he explained to Victor. “She, um…she’s a friend.”

“I’m delighted to meet you, madam,” Victor said, giving her his charming grin. “It’s good that Yuuri has a friend living next to him. And I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to ensure his wellbeing.”

“Apart from when you’re waving a sword at him and knocking him to the ground?” Phichit observed wryly. But then he quickly added, “Just kidding. You two were incredible. Watching you was like…I dunno, watching pros fight in a holo-show or something. No wonder so many people came out to see.” He glanced at Mrs. Wells. “She actually called me and told me what you were up to, and I got a taxi over, hoping I wasn’t too late to catch you.”

Yuuri turned to her. “You called Phichit and told him Victor and I were sparring?”

“I remembered his name,” she said. “Most unusual. When I looked on the Cloud, I discovered there was only one Phichit in all of York, though it took some time to work out how to spell it so I could be sure I’d looked up the right number…is this real metal?” She touched the vambrace on Victor’s forearm. “I must say, you fellows like dressing up.”

Yuuri answered, “Yes, it’s real. Thanks for calling Phichit; that was kind of you.”

“Well, I’d be most happy to have you four in my flat for tea, but perhaps another time. I’ve a roast in the oven, and I need to tend to that and my vegetables; I’m trying a robot today, and it’s supposed to baste the chicken every twenty minutes, but between you and me, I don’t trust these metal men. I don’t think I’ll have one again after today. Can’t even have a decent conversation with them.” She patted Victor’s arm. “So lovely to meet you, dear. And what a nice surprise you both put on today for everyone. Be seeing you.” Another pat, and then she said goodbye to Yuuri and Phichit, and turned and ambled toward the door to her flat.

“Extraordinary,” Victor mused. “I’m certain I’ve never met anyone close to that age before. She’s the lady you said you helped on occasion?”

Yuuri nodded. “We visit sometimes. We’ll be in her flat having tea before you know it.”

“Yuuri, you never told me you were so juke with a sword,” Phichit enthused. “I mean, I’ve seen you out here doing your thing before. But both of you…I’m serious – you’re really good.”

“I had to be, to face Tyler. But I’m out of practice.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have guessed. You don’t mind me being here, I hope?”

“Why should I? I’m glad you came.”

“I thought you might like some time to yourselves, or I would’ve offered to buy you drinks or something.”

Yuuri considered his words. A couple more casual kindnesses. Phichit was full of them. And courage. _I ought to be offering to buy the drinks myself,_ he decided, _and a lot more besides._ Standing next to Victor now, with his heart beginning to mend, he wondered if he could start to put that right.

“Thanks for looking after Victor the other day,” he said with a warm grin. “In fact…thanks for everything. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, in the past or here.” He came forward and gave his startled friend a hug. “You’ve been amazing.”

When he drew away, Phichit looked at him with a bemused smile and raised eyebrows. “Um…sure? No problem. I was just doing my job, you know, over the com…”

Now Victor embraced him and said, “You’ve looked out for us both all this time, and yours was the first friendly face I saw here. Thank you for taking care of Yuuri when he came back.”

“Hey,” Phichit said with a little laugh, “what are friends for, right? I wouldn’t have missed any of it for the world. Including that ting swordfighting you two just did in front of everyone. I wish I’d thought to record it; I could’ve put it on the Cloud.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “It’s just as well you didn’t. I’m not at my best.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I thought you might have noticed when I fell on my arse.”

“But you did it so gracefully.” When Yuuri glared at him, he added, “I’m serious!”

“All right. Look, I was going to take Victor back into York and find him a decent Cloud wristband; we didn’t have time yesterday with everything else going on. Would you like to come with us? Lunch is on me.”

“Really?” Phichit looked at Victor. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” he replied. “You’d be an honoured guest at our table.”

“Wow, that’s such a medieval thing to say.”

Yuuri snorted. “Just give us a minute to change, then. I don’t think either of us need more people mistaking us for re-enactors today.”

* * *

The three of them walked into York, chatting all the while. Phichit, learning that Victor was happy to answer questions about the differences he’d noticed between living in the Middle Ages and modern times, plied him practically nonstop, albeit in his habitual good-natured way. Then Yuuri and Victor explained more about what they’d been doing with the longswords, while Phichit’s eyes began to glaze over, and Yuuri sensed he was listening out of politeness; he supposed guard positions and fendente cuts and mezzano blows would only really be of interest to other swordfighters.

As they neared the city walls, Phichit tentatively brought up the topic of Victor swapping places in time with someone, and Yuuri explained how he hadn’t, though he left out the part about Victor’s dream, since it wasn’t his place to decide to relate something so personal. Victor readily added it himself, however, and Phichit wore a permanently stunned look all the way to the first tech shop they visited.

Once there, it was Victor’s turn to look stunned as he watched a huge variety of drones circling around the high-ceilinged room, as well as moving robots – from small smart-hoovers to the type Mrs. Wells had probably rented today which were more human-shaped and did chores around the house – and aircams, holo-projectors, hoverboards, zero-G food and drink trays. Yuuri had never liked this type of shop himself, as it usually put style over substance, with slick new models that tended to be full of bugs, and display rooms with flashing lights and noise and movement that were sometimes a cover-up for inferior tech at the heart of it all. But it was just as well to stop and have a look at their Cloud wristbands in case there was a hidden treasure here. He didn’t find one, however, and he smiled at a blinking Victor as they emerged into the sunlight outside.

“By all the saints, I felt like I’d stepped into another world,” he murmured.

“Hey, Victor,” Phichit said, “if you think that’s ting, you should come back and visit the university sometime. I’ll show you around the particle accelerator.”

Victor didn’t know what that was, of course, and Phichit began to give him an introduction to particle physics as they walked up Fossgate and Colliergate, heading for a shop Yuuri knew of that specialised in small-sized tech. But having an idea of what an atom was, as Victor did because Phichit had explained it to him over the com at the castle, didn’t necessarily mean he was ready to grasp the Heisenberg uncertainty principle or particle-wave duality. However, Phichit seemed to have worked out how basic he needed to be just as they arrived at Excellicom, where the prices were a little steeper but who Yuuri knew sold good products. He bought Victor a wristband, stashing it in his coat pocket until he could initialise it back at the flat; and since they were in the vicinity of the minster, they wandered inside afterward.

Victor recognised the clock Yuuri had made, gasping when he saw it and wondering what its journey had been from his mother’s stewardship to here, though the plaque accompanying it gave some brief indications. Then, as they examined the manuscripts in their glass cases, Yuuri told him what had occurred with Thomas of Cowthorpe and the pen and paper, while Phichit jokingly swore he was still convinced he was making it up. The worry lingered in the back of Yuuri’s mind that he would suddenly come across something else one day that had got changed by accident due to his or Ailis’s influence in the past, though the fact he hadn’t yet was reassuring.

Phichit went in search of someone to show them the Arundel Psalter and returned with none other than Dr. Cartwright again, who recognised Yuuri.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked him, with a furrow in her brow that seemed to indicate a fear that he’d repeat the episode from the last time he’d been here.

“I’m much better, thanks,” he replied. “My partner Victor is here with me today, and I thought he’d be interested in seeing the psalter.”

Victor, in his new tan-coloured duster coat and gold and pink swirled face paint, smiled at her. “Good day, madam, and thank you kindly for your assistance,” he said.

She eyed him. “Um, sure…”

Yuuri jumped in to ask, “Could you show him the illustration I asked for last time? If you don’t mind?”

After a pause, she replied, “Can I just ask if there’s something special you know about that one? As a medieval textual scholar, I’d be fascinated to hear about it.”

“No, not really. It’s just believed to be the work of two pranksters who added their own design to the margin when the monk who illustrated the book was away.” He heard Victor’s intake of breath next to him, then felt his hand grip his arm through his coat, and grinned.

“Two?” Dr. Cartwright repeated.

“If you look closely, you can see the distinctive styles, even though the same paints were used.”

“Oh. I never…well.” She carefully leafed gloved fingers through the pages until she found the one Yuuri had requested, with the blue “Y” and red “V” inside the heart, and Victor leaned forward, staring.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he whispered. “Oh…” His hand fluttered to his mouth. “After all this time. It’s right here, where we…” He glanced at Dr. Cartwright. “Where it was painted.” Then a smile crossed his face, and he laughed. It turned into something round, full and hearty that Yuuri had rarely heard from him, full of surprise and mirth, and Yuuri joined in as they slid their arms around each other’s waists. He barely noticed Phichit and the doctor exchanging perplexed looks to the side.

They were still chuckling as the three of them left the minster. “Do you remember the monk?” Yuuri said, wiping away his happy tears. “Who the fuck even was he? He had this long brown robe and looked like he was afraid he was going to be executed.”

“He was saying, ‘I’m late, I’m late,’ ” Victor reminded him, wiping at his own eyes.

“Down the rabbit hole, both of you,” Phichit commented.

“What’s that?” Victor asked.

“Just…oh, it’d take too long to explain.”

“But why did that woman ask Yuuri if he was feeling better?”

“I fainted the last time I was here,” Yuuri said. “I…wasn’t in a good place. She must still think I’m cracked.”

“Fainted?” Victor looked at him in concern.

“I really am better now,” Yuuri replied with a smile, and he could see the understanding in Victor’s eyes. They were holding hands, and he felt Victor give his a squeeze. He savoured it, then turned to Phichit. “Would you like to pick someplace to eat?”

They ended up at a nearby pub called The Donkey, where they drank locally brewed beer, and Yuuri watched Victor try steak and kidney pie with chips and peas and ketchup. It was the first time he’d had potato, and declared it “interesting”, and perhaps a little starchy for his taste. He didn’t seem to be fond of the ketchup, either.

“Don’t tell me we’ve actually found something you don’t like,” Yuuri said with a grin, grabbing sachets of brown sauce and mustard from the basket on the table for him to sample in place of the ketchup.

“What,” Phichit said, “he’s liked everything he’s eaten here so far? Have you given him Marmite?”

“No, I definitely haven’t,” Yuuri declared, “and I don’t intend to.”

“And rob him of the opportunity of being a Marmite man? He might love it.”

“What’s Marmite?” Victor asked.

“Yeast extract,” Yuuri replied, knowing he’d be no further enlightened. “Anyway, you can try one of these sauces on your chips. Or you can share my onion rings, if you’d rather.”

Victor debated a moment, then reached for an onion ring, and Yuuri laughed.

They said goodbye to Phichit outside the pub; he explained that he had research to do on a paper he needed to finish that week, and would have to put some hours in at the plasma lab.

“I’m really glad you jacks let me come along with you today,” he said. “Nothing’s going to be boring with you two around.” He looked at Victor. “I still can’t believe you’re really here. After everything the three of us talked about over the com.”

“I’m still trying to believe it myself,” Yuuri said with the ghost of a smile. “I didn’t think he _could _be real at first. I thought I’d cracked when I saw him.”

Phichit took this in, then addressed Victor again. “He missed you so much. I’m really glad you made it here. But you know, if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d eventually found a way to get back to you instead. All that tech he’s got in his lab, he poured his heart into that.” Then he gave a small sigh and grinned. “I’m really happy for you both.”

“Thanks, Phichit,” Yuuri replied, smiling as he squeezed Victor’s hand.

“Thank you,” Victor said sombrely, though his eyes were shining.

* * *

“Yuuri! Can you hear me?”

Yuuri practically jumped off the sofa at the sound. “I really can, believe me. You don’t need to talk so loud.”

“But how else will you hear me? How does this even work? There’s no com to talk into.”

“Because you’re on the Cloud. Just trust me. And pretend I’m sitting right next to you.”

“Is this better?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said with a smile, getting settled back into place. “So you understand how to take a call now?”

“I do! Can I call you?”

“Go on, then.” Yuuri cut the call, and a few moments later his BCI informed him that Victor Nikiforov wanted to talk to him. He shook his head and raked a hand through his hair, wondering if it was possible to dream or hallucinate for forty-eight hours or however long it had been since Victor had appeared in his office doorway.

“Yuuri, it’s me, Victor.”

“I know. Any problems trying to call me?”

“No,” he replied excitedly. “This is so easy to use! Would you like to hear what it’s like out here?”

_Out here _being all of several meters away, on the path outside the quad. It was too endearing to be true. “Go on, then.”

“It’s clouding over – do you think it will snow? Or maybe it’s not cold enough. Oh – a taxi just landed. I _think_ it’s a taxi? And two elderly ladies are getting out. Their face paint is amazing – one of them looks a bit like a tiger. A _tiger_, can you believe? And the other reminds me more of dandelion fluff, the white patterns on her cheeks. Don’t worry, I’m not being rude, they can’t hear me. And a dog’s getting out of the taxi now, or at least I think it’s a dog. I’ve never seen one like it before, covered in spots – is that healthy?”

Yuuri was still smiling. This was Victor, the mighty son of Baron Nikiforov, who’d sat in judgement at the manorial court and fought duels, now gushing over old ladies and face paint and a dog. “Come back inside,” he said. “I’ll show you how to browse the Cloud. You can watch as many holo-shows of interesting people as you want.”

A minute later, the door opened and Victor appeared. He hung his coat on a peg and joined Yuuri on the sofa, in slim black trousers that flattered his long legs and a black high-collared button-down tunic with a patch of gold flowery embroidery over one shoulder. It still felt strange to see him in anything other than his medieval clothes or armour, though that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, as he looked just as beautiful in modern attire. And his eyes were dancing. He lifted his arm, staring at his Cloud wristband.

“This tech is kilomax flaming,” he declared.

Yuuri burst out laughing. “What?”

“Did I say that right? I overheard some people using the expression when we were in the first tech shop, and I thought it must mean ‘amazing’. Don’t tell me it means the opposite…?”

“No, um, that’s right. It’s just something teenagers tend to say. For people our age, it sounds a little bizarre.” Victor looked somewhat deflated, and he added, “It’s ting that you’re trying to learn, though. Just be careful with any new expressions you might find on the Cloud – maybe you shouldn’t use any without trying them out on me first.”

“All right then, teacher,” Victor said with a smile. “Teach me something else.”

Yuuri could get lost in that smile, and those sparkling eyes. _God, you’re so bloody distracting, _he thought, leaning forward and kissing Victor’s cheek. “OK then, give me a minute and I’ll sync our wristbands together so that we’re both networked on the same channel.”

Soon they were browsing the Cloud together, and Yuuri’s heart melted as he experienced Victor’s joy in discovering the huge world of information and entertainment that was now open to him. He taught Victor how to send text messages, how to access local news and information, how to find a map of wherever he was so he wouldn’t get lost, and how to define his terms for a search. The first thing he wanted to learn about was dinosaurs, and they read articles together, then Yuuri showed him how to find a 2D video as well as a hologram, and put it through the projector. He rarely needed anything to be repeated, and was an astute student.

What had his education been like? Yuuri found himself wondering. Had he and Alex spent hours receiving lessons from a schoolmaster in some quiet room of the castle? He’d have to ask sometime. For the moment, the flat was full of the growls and jaw-snapping of a tyrannosaurus rex, which Victor watched with wide-eyed wonder. Though as the afternoon went on, he also discovered 2D videos, a particular favourite being cute animals doing silly things, and eventually Yuuri unsynced them and let Victor browse to his heart’s content.

He looked up a site about field theory he’d been studying before Victor’s arrival, still finding it interesting but wondering if he needed it anymore, and whether he was ready yet to grapple with the issue of what to do about his lab and the things in it. Eventually it was impossible to concentrate anyway, with Victor asking questions and making comments. Not that Yuuri minded, especially when their hologram-viewing was accompanied by laughter and cuddles and kisses.

He’d begun to wonder what he could cook for dinner when a hologram of two men in reasonably accurate medieval clothing holding longswords appeared over the table, and he sat up, quickly alert. “What have you found?”

“I was watching this in my…visual field?” Victor answered. “And thought I’d show you. Look.”

The men began to spar. “They’re using Fiore’s methods,” Yuuri commented, then began to track their movements aloud. “Window guard, fendente while stepping and passing offline, finishing in the short guard – ”

“But they’re doing it wrong,” Victor insisted. “Don’t you see?”

“Well…the man in the chaperon is too wide when he swings his sword – the other jack ought to be getting in underneath it every time. And neither of them is paying much attention to their footwork – it should be easy to unbalance them, but they’re not taking advantage.”

“Yes, and I’ve spotted thirteen other things so far,” Victor said with a frown.

Yuuri snuggled closer to him. “It’s probably just meant to be a bit of entertainment. I can promise you it’s more accurate than a lot of what you see in holo-films. Um, those are long dramas, basically. Most people wouldn’t know the difference between an act and the real thing.”

“But I do.”

“I’m sure there are professional groups that try to be true to the old schools. There’s a group for everything, and you can usually find it on the Cloud.”

“Have you looked into any of them since you returned?”

“Well, no,” Yuuri said quietly. “I had other things on my mind. You were…a hard act to follow.”

“Oh, Yuuri.” Victor kissed his forehead. After a moment, he said, “I’m going to find some other holograms and see what these people in 2121 believe to be accurate.”

They watched several together, including some produced by what appeared to be the biggest association in this area of the world, the Guild of the Medieval Longsword. But apart from being impressed that women were allowed to participate, Victor’s comments were much the same. The fighters weren’t bad by any standards, but Yuuri himself was beginning to notice nuances that pricked at him; things that he and Victor took for granted which perhaps none of these people were even aware of, because the tactics had been lost in the passage of time.

“Disappointing for people who call themselves experts, wouldn’t you say?” Victor sighed as they finished watching another hologram. Yuuri had lost count of how many they’d viewed.

“I’d say that was a little harsh,” he answered, “but – ”

“Not when the errors they were making would result in a blade through their throat.”

Yuuri looked at him, wondering once more how many people he’d dispatched that way. He’d never asked…and maybe never would. “Well, they don’t have to worry about that, not in 2121.”

Victor lounged back on the sofa, eyeing him steadily. “Someone ought to put them right.”

“Someone like you, you mean?”

“We both could,” Victor answered, his expression softening. “Could we not? The crowd loved us today.”

“We couldn’t just walk into every gym in Europe where these people meet and announce they’re getting it wrong.” Yuuri sat back himself and nestled against Victor. “The first thing they’d ask is what the hell makes us think so, and we can’t exactly tell them the truth.”

“Why don’t we put a hologram on the Cloud? Many people seem to do it.”

“Um.” Yuuri considered this. It wasn’t something he’d ever have been interested in doing on his own – but with Victor? “Well…”

“It’d be fun,” Victor said, kissing into his hair. “Hmm?”

Yuuri felt himself warming to the idea. This could be the extra motivation they needed. But if he were going to be audacious enough to put himself on the Cloud like that, it would have to be as near perfect as he could manage. “We’d need to get some serious training in first,” he said. “We’d also have to find a way to make it stand out from the other millions of holograms out there, if we wanted anyone to pay attention to it. Maybe…” He thought for a moment, or tried to, while Victor placed another lingering kiss on top of his head. “Maybe we could make a series of tutorials.”

Victor’s eyes lit up. “We could wear our medieval clothes and armour. And once we’d covered Fiore’s methods, and perhaps Liechtenauer’s and Boucicaut’s, we could even build another wheel.”

Yuuri could see from the excitement on his face that he was serious. “Where? Not here,” he laughed.

“There must be a place. This is the future. Anything can happen.”

“I don’t know about that. But one step at a time. Like I said, we’d have to train first, ideally in a private room at the gym. Well, _I_ would…if you’ll be my trainer again.”

“Always,” Victor said softly. “Whenever you need me, my love.”

“I’ve got something to look forward to now,” Yuuri almost whispered. “Something concrete and real. That doesn’t involve sitting in a lab for hours,” he added, huffing a laugh. “And I get to do it with you.”

Victor gave him a fond grin, holding his gaze and placing a gentle finger on his cheek. Then he leaned down for a kiss; long, soft and warm, as they drew closer together on the sofa. With an arm around Victor’s back and fingers ghosting over his cheek, Yuuri felt himself drowning in this man; and when Victor licked into his mouth and circled and pressed gently at his tongue, he gave a quiet moan as heat radiated through him. _I love you_ drifted through his head, but also, _I can’t believe we’re going to make a hologram together. _

“English,” he murmured against Victor’s lips.

“Hmm?” Bright blue eyes opened halfway.

“You’ll have to be able to speak English – the modern version.” Thinking through the haze of desire that always clouded him when he was in Victor’s arms, Yuuri added, “I’m not sure learning a script for tutorials, like I did for our dramas in the troupe, would be…spontaneous enough for something like that.” As Victor took this in, he continued, “The hypnotic effect of the translator wouldn’t work over a hologram, either.”

“The…” Victor knitted his brow. “You mean the method it uses to make you think I’m speaking your language?”

Yuuri nodded. “You’d have to be able to manage without it.”

“I can do that. I was going to, soon, but I was enjoying being able to understand everything you were saying. I missed you so much, I wanted to treat myself to that once I’d found you again.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said on a breath, beginning to wonder why he’d stopped kissing Victor.

“But my mother managed to learn. And I’m not bad at languages myself.” His eyes began to sparkle. “I can access the Cloud now, too. Do you think there are things on it that will teach me?”

“Loads of them. Sites to read, holograms and videos to watch. You’ll be spoiled for choice.”

“I’ll start now,” he said eagerly, kissing Yuuri’s nose and then siting back on the sofa to browse the Cloud. Then he looked at Yuuri again. “If that’s…OK with you?”

“Of course. I’ll just see what I can put together for dinner. There’s plenty of time to cook something.”

He went to the kitchen, the pale top of Victor’s head just visible against the back of the sofa, which abutted a counter that formed the bottom of a large window in the dividing wall. The days of living off nutri-pills already felt long past, for now at least. Though Yuuri suspected that when the novelty of introducing Victor to new foods began to wear off for them both, his inclination to act as chef would fade to something more normal; they couldn’t keep eating as they had been, anyway, and hope to fit into their armour. However, maybe as one last treat, he’d make them his favourite Japanese dish. He had all the ingredients – pork cutlets and panko crumbs for tonkatsu, frozen dashi, mirin, peas, onions, eggs…Come to think of it, this was going to be a lot of work. But well, neither of them was in any hurry.

As he breaded and fried the tonkatsu, he realised Victor had found a Cloud language site he liked when he began speaking in obvious response to whatever was in his visual field. “My name is Victor.” Which was the same in Middle English, though it was pronounced differently. “I live in York…Pleased to meet you…What time is it?”

Yuuri smiled while he tipped the onions into the dashi and heated the saucepan. He wished he’d had Cloud programs to help him with Middle English; he’d never got as far with that as he’d been hoping, though he hadn’t had long to try.

“Yuuri, what er thoh mahking?” Victor called. “It smelles savorii.”

“A Japanese fod cleppid katsudon. And it behoves theh spek the neu Englisch.”

“Ee knau noght hoh to sey that. Ee con anli swilk thingis as ‘My name is Victor.’ ”

“I know, I heard.”

“What time is it?”

“About half past five.”

“That es wel-ner al Ee yet knau hoh to say.”

The tonkatsu was keeping warm in the oven, the rice was steaming, and the dashi broth was simmering, which meant Yuuri had a few minutes to spare. He went to the living room and perched on the arm of the sofa next to Victor. “I know you can say other things. Ee lohv theh – I love you.”

A smile crossed Victor’s face. “I love you,” he repeated. Although he was deliberating in forming the words, Yuuri couldn’t detect much of an accent.

“Ee long to kiss theh – I want to kiss you.”

“That leekis mei ek.” He tilted his head up, while Yuuri leaned over and met his lips.

“That savoris wel – that feels good,” Yuuri sighed when they parted.

“Ee mot nedeli remember that,” Victor said in a purr.

Yuuri hooded his eyes. “Ee long for theh – I want you.”

“I want you. Oh, Yuuri,” Victor whispered, caressing his cheek.

“My love…my own heart’s root,” Yuuri spoke against his lips, before angling down for another kiss, which quickly grew deep, sending shivers of desire down his spine. Then an alert flashed in his visual field, and he leapt up.

“Shit, I forgot about the rice,” he muttered, dashing back to the kitchen just before it started to stick to the bottom of the pan and burn. He really ought to buy a proper rice cooker, but he didn’t make it that often.

“Er thoh wel?” Victor asked, joining him.

“I’m fine. The rice is fine. It’s all good. Do you want to help me serve up? I’ve got a couple of soft-boiled eggs ready to pour over the top.”

He knew Victor wouldn’t understand everything he’d just said, but he seemed to catch the gist of it and copied what Yuuri did. Soon they were sitting at the table with a bowl of katsudon and a glass of mulled wine each.

“_Bon appétit__,” Yuuri said with a smile. “We don’t seem to have a phrase for that in English.”_

_“Ah, franceis!_ _Bon apetit, mon bel chevaler.__”_ Victor picked up his knife and fork, somewhat slow in using the two implements to cut with, and tried a piece of pork. His eyes opened wide as he chewed, and he declared with his mouth still full, “_Mon Deu, _es this what God eitis?”

Yuuri laughed and tried some himself. Not as good as Mari’s, though he wasn’t going to say so. But not half bad, either.

When they were finished, Victor suggested they do some dancing to burn off their meal, and Yuuri shifted the sofa out of the way so they could use the counter as a makeshift barre, calling up an Immersion program to make it look like the living room had turned into a ballet studio. Victor was more taken with this than with the ballet itself, which was perhaps just as well because they were both somewhat out of practice, even though they’d adapted some moves for their performances. Naturally curious, Victor wanted to carry on learning, and Yuuri decided he’d have to book them into a proper Immersion dance studio sometime soon.

Afterward, Victor asked Yuuri if he wanted to choose a hologram to watch together, and he replied that he’d love to later, after he popped out to the local shop. In reality, they were unlikely to run out of anything for a few more days, but the little flat didn’t offer much privacy; it reminded Yuuri of their life together in the tent. While it was a dream come true that Victor was here, he was reeling from the past few days and needed some space to collect his thoughts and…centre himself. That was harder to do here than it had been in the troupe; there were no horses to ride, no woods to disappear into for a while, no training field nearby.

Victor would already know that Yuuri could have supplies delivered by drone if he wanted. But he said nothing about this, and didn’t ask to come along, seemingly very content to remain in the flat and browse the Cloud. He understood, and Yuuri was thankful. Having invited Victor to do as he pleased while he was gone, because it felt like a good idea to drop the odd reminder that this was now his flat too, Yuuri put his coat on, rolled up a canvas bag and tucked it into his pocket, and headed for the shop.

Once he’d bought what he needed, he cut through a park on the way back. This one was lit by a fountain with rainbow lights at night, as he knew it would be; families often liked to bring their children to look, but it was quiet tonight. He sat down on a wooden bench, gazing at the water sparkling in the shifting hues, his hands glowing in pale reflection.

_I ought to be used to this by now, _he thought to himself wryly. The way his life could be upended, transformed, in such a short space of time. The fact of Victor’s presence was still making him dizzy. All of it – the sight of him in his office and feeling certain at first that he’d gone mad, taking him to his flat, making love…doing what he could to help Victor feel like he was welcome, remembering how awkward it had been when he’d first arrived at the castle himself.

What had moved Yuuri the most about these days, though, wasn’t how much he’d enjoyed being together and reconnecting, the sex, the sparring, even if the intensity of it was overwhelming at times. It was Victor’s reaction to being here. Yuuri hadn’t had the opportunity beforehand to build up a pile of worries and reservations about what he might not like, about the flat or even him, though they’d come to the fore quickly enough. Did he seem…different to Victor, now that he was back in his original time? Would the fact that Victor had given up positions of power, and was dependent, at least for now, make him uncomfortable? Would he regret having come here at all? But although the anxiety still lurked in the back of Yuuri’s mind, it hadn’t taken long for him to feel more at ease. It was obvious that Victor was glad to be here with him and was keen to learn about his new home. It gave Yuuri a warm glow inside to think about it.

How could he honestly have been so concerned that whatever he could offer Victor wouldn’t be enough? To regret that Victor would have to work? It had been an insult to him to say so, and Yuuri was glad Victor had been quick to tell him how he felt. He didn’t want to be a pampered nobleman, or he would never have left the castle. He wanted to be an equal. Yuuri was suddenly struck by the irony of having been the one to decry the disparities between rich and poor in the past, while now it was Victor who was insisting that he wanted the opportunity to discover what it was like to live an ordinary life, and Yuuri fighting against it because he thought Victor deserved better…or even because he was frightened that Victor would decide, after having had a taste of what he thought he desired, that he’d change his mind and decide it wasn’t what he wanted after all.

_And that’s the anxiety again, _he told himself as the colours of the fountain in front of him flickered from blue to pink. A man with a little girl in pigtails had stopped to watch; the girl poked a finger into a jet of water, quickly pulling it back out with a giggle. _I knew him well enough before he came here to realise that all those trappings of luxury he was used to wouldn’t hold him back. When he thought Ailis was going to repair a time-travel sphere that he could use, he said straight away that he wanted to come here with me, knowing what he’d be giving up. The initial idea of a travelling troupe was his. As if he hadn’t told me enough times already that he wanted something better than the life he had._

_He’s extraordinary…and his love for me is part of that. God, how did I ever get so lucky? _He smiled to himself.

_So is this the better life he was hoping for? Is that what I’m giving him?_

There seemed to be plenty of proof that Victor was happy so far, though it was the little moments of wonder and delight on his face that said so much.

_I’m living, really living, for the first time since I came back. It doesn’t feel so bad to be here anymore._

Their decision today to work toward making the longsword tutorials had helped. Instead of being angry with himself for falling out of training, Yuuri was keen to start on a new project. Trust Victor to find just the medicine for his poisonous thoughts – something they could both benefit from, which they both loved.

Training with Victor again, fighting him, maybe even beating him. Had he really said they should build another wheel? Yuuri laughed quietly to himself as the man and girl went on their way down the path and the fountain changed from red to white. They wouldn’t spend every hour of every day training, however, and the rest of their lives still needed working out. Victor didn’t understand much about this place yet, or how it operated, and Yuuri knew it was up to him to make sure he was secure here. There were practical things that needed attending to. His bank account had been hit hard by his recent purchases, and it was going to continue to take a strain; but if anything had ever been worth spending for, it was this. Maybe both of them could find some paid work through Dr. Fay. He hoped Victor ended up enjoying whatever he chose, though if he didn’t, he would probably have learned enough modern English by that time to take some educational courses on the Cloud or even at the university. Yuuri wondered what kind of career Victor might have chosen if he’d been born in this time. Maybe he had interests and talents he hadn’t even discovered yet.

_Dinosaurs. And dancing. Not necessarily together. _Yuuri smiled. _Who knows, he might even have become a neurologist or something. _

It was time, he thought, to get in touch with Zubair Haq; there was nothing else for it. They’d done a project together as undergrads, during which Yuuri had learned what a fitting surname Zubair had, because he was the best hacker he’d ever met. And Victor needed to officially be a person here, in order to have access to medical benefits and so on. He’d need to be able to pay taxes on any income he earned. Passport. No end of things. Marriage licence…

Yuuri sat up straighter and blinked. They hadn’t even talked about that; Victor had only arrived a few days ago. But it sent a thrill through him when he thought about it. They’d be able to make their relationship official in a way they couldn’t in 1393, even though the brotherhood-in-arms ceremony had been special. And if Victor had a ring on his finger, it might help address the problem of the attention he kept receiving when he went out. Not that Yuuri believed he’d be tempted away, or that it would be the primary reason for marrying him. But it was annoying. There’d been a few times already that he’d wished he’d been wearing his armour and sword, and could legally have threatened the other party as effectively as if it had been 1393.

He’d try getting hold of Zubair tomorrow, then, and pay him whatever price he named for a birth certificate, citizenship, an identity. He still had savings left to him from his parents if it came to that. Zubair could make a fortune on the black market doing these things for people, Yuuri knew, though he had more principles…mostly. They hadn’t spoken in a few years, but he had his number.

With that issue resolved in his mind, he stood, picked up his bag, took one last glance at the fountain – it was gold now – and started on his way back. And there was the ever-present illogical voice of doom in the back of his mind, whispering to him that when he returned to the flat, it would be empty, because Victor was either gone or had never been there in the first place. He wondered how long it would take for it to fade to silence.

Because Victor _was _here, and he was real. Training with him wasn’t the only thing Yuuri was looking forward to. He’d never been so keen simply to go home, he realised. _Their _home now, where Victor was waiting.

He quickened his pace with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homemade katsudon with proper dashi made from kombu and bonito flakes is just the best – no wonder it’s Yuuri’s eros! Check out [shysweetthing’s blog](https://shysweetthing.tumblr.com/post/157362865595/onsen-katsudon) for a wonderfully detailed recipe, which even includes an onsen egg to go on top.
> 
> _A translation of Yuuri and Victor’s speech here:_
> 
> “Yuuri, what are you making?” Victor called. “It smells lovely.”
> 
> “A Japanese food called katsudon. And you’re supposed to be speaking modern English.”
> 
> “I don’t know how to say that. I’m on things like ‘My name is Victor.’ ”
> 
> “I know, I heard.”
> 
> “What time is it?”
> 
> “About half past five.”
> 
> “That’s about as much as I can say so far.”
> 
> The tonkatsu was keeping warm in the oven, the rice was steaming, and the dashi broth was simmering, which meant Yuuri had a few minutes to spare. He went to the living room and perched on the arm of the sofa next to Victor. “I know you can say other things. Ee lohv theh – I love you.”
> 
> A smile crossed Victor’s face. “I love you,” he repeated. Although he was deliberating in forming the words, Yuuri couldn’t detect much of an accent.
> 
> “Ee long to kiss theh – I want to kiss you.”
> 
> “I like that, too. I want to kiss you.” He tilted his head up, while Yuuri leaned over and met his lips.
> 
> “That savoris wel – that feels good,” Yuuri sighed when they parted.
> 
> “I’ll definitely need to remember that one,” Victor said in a purr.
> 
> Yuuri hooded his eyes. “Ee long for theh – I want you.”
> 
> “I want you. Oh, Yuuri,” Victor whispered, caressing his cheek.
> 
> “My love…my own heart’s root,” Yuuri spoke against his lips, before angling down for another kiss, which quickly grew deep, sending shivers of desire down his spine. Then an alert flashed in his visual field, and he leapt up.
> 
> “Shit, I forgot about the rice,” he muttered, dashing back to the kitchen just before it started to stick to the bottom of the pan and burn. He really ought to buy a proper rice cooker, but he didn’t make it that often.
> 
> “Are you all right?” Victor asked, joining him.
> 
> “I’m fine. The rice is fine. It’s all good. Do you want to help me serve up? I’ve got a couple of soft-boiled eggs ready to pour over the top.”
> 
> He knew Victor wouldn’t understand everything he’d just said, but he seemed to catch the gist of it and copied what Yuuri did. Soon they were sitting at the table with a bowl of katsudon and a glass of mulled wine each.
> 
> “_Bon appétit_,” Yuuri said with a smile. “We don’t seem to have a phrase for that in English.”
> 
> “Ah, French!_ Bon appétit_, my beautiful knight.” Victor picked up his knife and fork, somewhat slow in using the two implements to cut with, and tried a piece of pork. His eyes opened wide as he chewed, and he declared with his mouth still full, “Good lord, is this what God eats?”
> 
> And a final link to the magnificent Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html)


	176. Chapter 176

Over the next few days, Victor occasionally removed his translator, though he always had it with him. Yuuri helped as much as he could, reminding himself to avoid speaking too much Middle English, which he wasn’t fluent in anyway. He also taught Victor how money worked here, and helped him set up a bank account into which he’d transfer some until Victor had an income of his own. He was able to buy things now, and he quickly became adept at ordering them via drone.

Yuuri was still embarrassed by how meagre his funds were compared to what Victor had been used to, and hadn’t been keen to discuss the issue; but Victor had been asking tactful questions, and he needed and deserved answers. He seemed to understand what their spending limits were now, though Yuuri insisted that if there was anything extra he required like clothes, he should feel free to say so. And Victor was careful with what he did spend, seeming to derive joy from the simplest things – an iced glass of yerba mate, a tube of pink lipstick, a chocolate chip cookie from a café. Yuuri bought him an aircam, and once Victor understood how to use it, there was no stopping him.

They went to visit Dr. Fay again, and Victor said he was interested in some of the jobs she’d suggested. He mentioned that he and Yuuri were in training to create longsword tutorials, so eventually they would perhaps want to meet with weapons specialists and re-enactors, but for now he was interested in helping language scholars and historians. However, he realised that he needed to get better at speaking modern English so that he no longer needed the translator; it would be awkward trying to use it while having to switch between speaking different languages and attempting to understand them as well. Yuuri thought he was coming along quickly, even though it was early days, and he told Victor to take whatever time he needed.

They exercised frequently, going on runs and visiting the gym, where they also sparred, and the easy rhythm that Yuuri had achieved in 1393 was slowly beginning to return. He didn’t care how long it took; it was simply a relief to know it had been there the whole time, waiting to be revived. And God, he’d missed having Victor as his trainer: he understood his strengths and weaknesses, how to encourage him, and what his limits were. Yuuri realised there was still a great deal left to learn from him, and he was loving it – even in moments of frustration when he was knocked to his arse on the floor.

One afternoon, however, he put it all aside and spent a few hours visiting his lab at the university, compelled by a desire to examine the insides of an open time-travel sphere again at his leisure. Digging out Ailis’s notes, he found the ones that pertained to the temporal stabiliser and compared them to the physical component in front of him, with the faint glimmerings of a better understanding. It didn’t mean anything, of course; there was no reason to keep studying, but…all that intensive work he’d put in, all those things he’d discovered. Despite the long frantic hours and the despair, it had been _interesting_.

_No one can blame me for being curious. Even if I’m not working here in the lab anymore. Not officially._

And even if he kept putting aside the decision he’d have to make about that work he’d done, and everything that was here.

He knew Victor needed time to himself on occasion too, and wondered during the taxi journey back what he’d been up to. He was still discovering things in the flat that were fascinating to him, whether it was a book or a gadget he’d found in a drawer, and was passionately interested in what the Cloud had to offer. In fact, with the thirst for knowledge he possessed, Yuuri wouldn’t have been surprised if he really did have the makings of a scientist in him. Though he imagined that if he got the chance to journey hundreds of years into the future himself, and had a huge bank of information about it at his disposal, he’d make the most he could of it as well.

When he entered the flat, he saw Victor sitting on the sofa with the typical zoned look people had when they were on the Cloud. But he could tell straight away from his sombre expression that something was worrying him.

“Vitya, are you all right?” he said, hanging his coat up and going over to join him on the sofa.

Victor gave a small sigh. “I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What?” Yuuri glanced around the flat, half expecting to see a burned-out hob or a busted projector.

“I’ve been looking up details about the past on the Cloud,” Victor answered, turning to him.

“Oh.” Well, of course he would. He must have been wondering. “What did you find out?” Yuuri asked gently.

After a pause, Victor answered, “My father dies…died…” He shook his head. “I don’t even know what verb tense to use. He died in 1405, and my mother in 1410, just as Ailis said. I suppose she must have looked it up as I did, or had Ian do it for her.”

Yuuri nodded and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“It…” Victor looked down, as if struggling to put his words together. Then he continued, meeting Yuuri’s gaze again, “It made me think about my own death date. I should have known it would.”

“Vitya – ”

“Do you really think I’ll live through the year?” he said, blue eyes anxiously searching Yuuri’s face.

“I do,” Yuuri said firmly. “They recorded your death in 1393 because that was when you disappeared. You said you even told Natalia how you wanted her to announce it.”

He spoke with such conviction that he almost convinced himself. While it was plausible, the fortune-teller had been the one who’d made the prophecy about Crazy Man Michael, and from the little Yuuri knew about ESP, time and place were no barriers. Could he himself still be the cause of Victor’s death? The thought stabbed at him, and he suddenly felt sick. An accident in the air, maybe, like his parents…He hadn’t taken Victor out on a hoverboard, especially not after what had happened to Justin, but they rode in taxis all the time, everybody did…Then he told himself it was all ridiculous, more worries born of anxiety. Would he ever stop being haunted by his own fears?

“I haven’t been able to find anything about Julia or Emil,” Victor said quietly. “Or Chris. They’re all dead, I know. They died hundreds of years ago.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier. We both saw them recently; we were living alongside them.” Yuuri moved his thumb slowly back and forth across the top of Victor’s hand. “It feels weird to me, too.”

Another pause, and Victor said, “Do you remember how I reacted during the king’s visit, when I heard Phichit telling you over the com how Harry Percy was destined to die? With the king having his body exhumed and…dismembered…” His voice trailed off.

Yuuri nodded. It was difficult to forget. Victor’s longtime friend – his head, trunk, and limbs on display in different places to convince his allies that he was dead.

“So it was foolish of me to look anything else up, but…”

“The information was there and you wanted to know,” Yuuri supplied for him.

“Yes.” Victor said, his features drawn. “Boucicaut was captured by the English at the Battle of Agincourt and died six years later in Yorkshire. Right here. What an ignominious fate. He freely toured this country, teaching swordsmanship, and was no enemy.” He gave a small huff. “Well…”

Yuuri knew Boucicaut had fought on the French side, which meant he _had_ been, though Victor was clearly aware of it as well.

“Sir Richard Vernon,” Victor carried on. “Our patron the night you beat me during the show – he was the one who suggested to Boucicaut that he seek us out. He joined Harry Percy’s rebellion against the king and was hung, drawn and quartered.”

“Shit,” Yuuri muttered.

“Sir Gregory Fortinbras – you never met him, but I knew him when I was younger. Some called him Ginger because of his red hair.”

Yuuri gave a start, but thankfully Victor didn’t seem to notice.

“He was…kindly for a man of his status, and could be entertainingly witty.” The ghost of a smile crossed Victor’s lips. Before he revealed what gruesome fate had befallen him, Yuuri wondered if this had been the same Ginger who’d come to their collective tent at Stamford Bridge and asked to see Victor. Instead, Yuuri had taken his wine off him and sent him packing…which might have been the last chance Victor would ever have had to see his friend, or whatever he’d been to him. Yuuri’s cheeks burned in shame. _Jesus, what a stupid jealous idiot I was._

“Greg was killed in a jousting match by a fall from his horse when he was twenty-nine,” Victor told him. “So young…” He bit his lip, and Yuuri’s insides churned. “Well. Most of the information I found was just a date of recorded death. Not many survived into old age. That was normal for the time, but…I knew these people, Yuuri.”

Nodding again, Yuuri said, “The book from the minster that has your, um, death date in it is stored at the bottom of the wardrobe. Phichit gave it to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at it.”

“I think I can understand. Perhaps we should allow those ghosts to remain at rest.”

Yuuri slipped an arm around his shoulders, and Victor sighed and nestled into him. They held each other quietly for a while.

“It wasn’t just deaths I learned of,” Victor said eventually. “I looked up the history of the castle. As the plaque on your clock in the minster indicated, in the early fifteenth century – I couldn’t find a more specific date – it passed into the hands of the – ”

“Everards.”

“Yes. Who owned it into the following century.” He looked up at Yuuri. “But what happened, and why? Did Julia not become the heir? If not, then who? A person of noble birth would surely be chosen before Matthew. While he was the chief household servant, it would have been unheard of for someone of his status to inherit from a baron.”

“Unless your mother was more enlightened from her trip here than we’re giving her credit for,” Yuuri suggested. “She did outlive your father by five years.”

Victor’s brow wrinkled. “But what of Julia?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri answered, shaking his head. “Maybe the chroniclers didn’t think she was important enough to mention. Apart from a historian or two, we’re probably the only people in this time who would care.”

“I _do _care. I want to know.” Then Victor sighed again, sinking further against Yuuri. “But you’re right – what does it matter now?”

Yuuri stroked the fine hairs of his fringe. “We still outlasted the Duke of York,” he said with a little smile. “Do you know what’s left of his castle? One tower.” A small snicker greeted the news. “And the castle across the river that belonged to the archbishop? A hill covered with trees.”

Another snicker, louder this time. “Oh, it’s petty of me, but…good.”

Yuuri laughed, then sobered after a moment. “Imagine how worried about you I was while I was stuck here, with you still in the past. It was all I could think about as the end of the year got closer.” He kissed into Victor’s hair.

Victor sighed, nuzzling against his chest.

“You know, though…I have an idea for something we could do tomorrow that might help.”

* * *

Victor regarded the butsudan before him silently, its little candle alight with a steady unwavering flame; Yuuri lit it every morning. Other items had joined the framed picture of his family: Yuuri had placed the knife on the shelf that Emil had searched out for him on his first day at the castle, and next to it was a beautifully fletched arrow that Victor had chosen from the Cloud with Yuuri’s help; that was for Julia. But Alex had taken more thought.

He’d come to the conclusion this morning that there was only one suitable thing he had. Raising his left hand, Victor stared at his pinky for a moment, then slid the signet ring off and placed it on the shelf.

_Thank you, brother, for everything you’ve done for me. This ring will be in honourable company here. _His eyes flitted to the knife, the arrow, the picture. _God bless you all, wherever you are_.

Yuuri joined him from the kitchen and spied the ring on the shelf, and Victor saw the surprise in his eyes. But his love spoke not a word, simply regarding the shrine for a time before turning to him, gently taking his hand.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Victor took in a breath. He’d been preparing himself for this since Yuuri had proposed it yesterday, and he nodded. “Let’s go.”

Crowood Castle looked so…insignificant from the air. Victor gasped to see it from their carboglass taxi as they flew over its dark ramparts, surrounded by a flat winter-grey sky. He wasn’t just looking down on it, however, but straight _into _it, since the eastern and southern wings, and parts of the northern, had been reduced to nothing more than crumbling shells. A strange mixture of feelings roiled within him as they landed and disembarked at the bottom of the hill, wandering to where the training field and stables had once been, before climbing the incongruous-seeming stairs flanked by a moving device Yuuri called an escalator. Little was said between them as they walked through the remains of the gatehouse and into the area that was once the garrison, stopping to stand underneath the place where their room had been, the floor and ceiling having fallen through at some dim moment during the passage of the centuries. Victor wondered if there had been anyone here to mark its demise, other than the birds nesting in the chimneys. A tear crept to the corner of his eye.

“This is like looking up deaths on the Cloud,” he said. “A way of touching the timestream, almost…All those years have left their mark, and everything we knew and loved here is gone.” The tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. “We lived up there, Yuuri. Loved each other, and danced. Wept, shared our fears and our comforts. With the squires and knights and my family.”

Yuuri took his hand, and Victor felt his reassuring presence at his side. “I know,” he said quietly. Then he looked at him. “Do you regret coming?”

“No,” Victor replied quickly, surprised at his own resolve. “It’s a good way to say farewell. Better than looking at dates on the Cloud or in a book. And perhaps we’ll find some answers here.”

Yuuri dropped his hand and moved to the wall, running his fingers across the archway over a hearth. The mortar had partially crumbled from between the bricks, the shadowed cracks housing small patches of moss and filaments of ancient cobwebs. “It feels different from when I came here with Mari and Phichit. I was…” He paused before continuing. “…missing you a lot. I thought I’d never see you again. I know it sounds mad, but I wanted to pull the souls of the people who’d lived here out of the stones and bring them back to life. Somehow it felt like they ought to be here. Like…how could you live someplace, and not leave part of yourself behind?”

Victor gazed at him, realising now the extent to which Yuuri must have despaired when he’d returned to this time. Phichit had hinted at it, and so had Yuuri himself, but those dark moments seemed so near to him here. Closing the distance between them, Victor gently turned Yuuri toward him, tipped his chin up with a finger, and gave him a long, loving kiss, holding him tight. Yuuri sighed into it, clasping him back, and Victor felt him shudder once.

“I’m glad you’re here with me now,” Yuuri said, pulling back.

“I’m glad, too. And I think you must be right about people leaving something of themselves behind.” Victor glanced around. “I was born here, and this is where I lived most of my life, for better or for worse. As long as these stones still stand, however ruinous, nothing will change that. And when even they’re gone, the hill itself will endure.” He gave Yuuri a little smile. “You were here with me for the best part.”

The sparkle had returned to Yuuri’s eyes, and he cupped Victor’s cheek. “You always make everything better. How do you do that?”

Victor grinned and kissed his forehead gently. “I could say the same thing about you. I wouldn’t have wanted to come here on my own.”

Hand in hand once more, they crossed the courtyard to the great hall. The years had been kinder to this room, Victor observed, and it still possessed a quiet dignity; though when he thought about the feasts and music he’d witnessed here on so many occasions, the empty silence seemed to press upon him.

Yuuri had wandered to the corner where Victor had taken the time-travel sphere, and was moving a hand around as if attempting to catch something of the energy there. “I don’t actually feel anything. Maybe you have to be holding a sphere; maybe the temporal stabiliser has to be functioning. I didn’t think to bring one.”

Victor was about to reply when a man entered holding a heavy set of keys on an iron ring. He looked at the two of them and smiled. “Yuuri, hey, I was wondering where you went. Haven’t seen you for a while. I thought maybe you’d finished your research.”

“I have for now, yeah,” he answered. “Um, this is my partner, Victor. He came to see the castle with me today.” To Victor, he said, “This is Frank. He volunteers to help look after things here.”

Frank came forward and gave Victor’s hand a vigorous shake. “Ah, the namesake of Andrei Nikiforov’s son! Pleased to meet you. In case you didn’t know, Andrei was – ”

“The baron who had the castle built,” Victor finished for him with a grin. “He had another son, Alexander, who died in 1391. His wife’s name was Natalia. Andrei liked to hunt; he went with his sons on horseback and shot with a bow and arrows. Did you know that King Richard came here in 1393?”

The smile on Frank’s face was like a beam of sunshine; he obviously had an interest in the castle’s history, as Victor had surmised if he offered his time free of charge to work here. Yuuri seemed happy for him to continue, so he went on to tell Frank about the other pastimes of his family, various important people who had visited over the years, and what meals in the great hall had been like, while Frank occasionally interrupted with questions and enthusiastic comments. Victor thought it as well, however, to leave out the duels his father had arranged in order to seize land from the surrounding noble families. If this fellow wasn’t already aware of that, he saw no need to enlighten him.

“Where are you from?” Frank asked eventually. “I mean, I can see you’re an expert. Are you with the university?”

Yuuri answered, “We’re both doing research for them, yes.”

“Well they’ve got an impressive history department, with you two in it. I’d better finish doing my check on the grounds, but it’s been great meeting you, Victor, and thanks for everything you’ve told me. Come back anytime.” They said goodbye to him, and he disappeared through an archway.

“I daresay my father would have approved of him as a caretaker,” Victor mused. “His words sounded strange, though; he had an accent. I’ve heard something similar a few times on the Cloud as well, but I’m not good at placing these things yet.”

“He’s American,” Yuuri told him.

Victor tried to remember where America was. The location of places in the world was something else he obviously needed to study on the Cloud, though the rough map Yuuri had drawn for him when he’d only just revealed his true identity was a treasure he’d always keep.

“You liked that, I could tell,” Yuuri added with a little laugh. “Show-off.”

Victor chuckled. “I could amuse him with many a tale another time, though if he asked me how I knew of such things, I’m not sure what I could say.” He glanced around the room and noticed a glass cabinet near the dais, where the sideboard once stood. “I wonder what happened to my family’s plate. What’s in the cabinet?”

“Come see.” Yuuri led the way, and when Victor looked inside, his breath caught.

“Yuuri, this is…hard to take in. Ruins in a ruined castle. Tiles from this very room – and ours. And my lamp! How did that get here? Where did my other things go?”

Yuuri slipped an arm around his waist, and he did the same. “There are museums in York and other places. We might come across more things from the castle if we look. I don’t know if I’d want to, though.” He gave Victor’s waist a squeeze. “Thanks to you, I’ve got my own things that are so well preserved, you’d never think they were 728 years old.”

They stood and gazed at the objects, Victor reading the card next to each one. It was strange to see other items in this collection that were ahead of his time, yet still considered old in this day. Pieces of intricately moulded ceramics and silver cups. A leather-bound book open to machine-printed text. Coins bearing the faces of monarchs he was unfamiliar with. A green pipe stem; he had to ask Yuuri what that was, and received the incredible response that people sometimes deliberately inhaled smoke into their lungs – he certainly hadn’t noticed it while they’d been walking the streets of the city. According to the holographic information they called up, much of this exhibit had been dug out of the ground, having been lost or discarded, or perhaps fallen through a rotted floor. Victor could feel the vast expanse of time separating himself and Yuuri from when these items had been in everyday use – and yet the two of them had been here as well, lying in bed by the light of the lamp, and walking over the tiled floors. In fact, he could practically see it…

“Do you…get a sense of the timelines that were here?” he asked. “Like when you look at a bright candle and then blow it out – the fading afterglow.”

Yuuri gazed at him with a wrinkled brow, then back at the case. “I don’t know…maybe.” He closed his eyes and stood silently for a while. “You know, I think you’re right.” Meeting Victor’s eyes again, he said, “It feels like the lamp is still…attached to you somehow, in a small way. Did you have it a long time?”

“Since I was old enough not to spill it or set the castle on fire. But how can we know these things?”

Yuuri rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s been my theory for a while that travelling through time gives someone an affinity, if you can call it that, with the timestream. Like you become sensitive to it. I had a dream that helped me understand more about how time travel – well, how time itself works. Now you’ve travelled in time, too. So maybe it’s an ability we both have.”

“By God’s bones,” Victor murmured, staring at his lamp. He wanted to take it and keep it; after all, it was his. But somehow he didn’t think Frank or anyone else here would believe him. And a sensitivity to time – what did that mean? Was it something he’d be able to understand one day, or just a fading impulse that he’d perhaps never experience again?

After another silence, Yuuri said, “Should we move on?”

Coming back to himself, Victor replied, “Yes, of course. The chapel is still standing, with its roof intact. Have you looked inside?”

After a pause, he answered, “I, um, was afraid your sarcophagus would be in there. It didn’t feel like something I could deal with at the time.”

_Oh my love, how often I thought the same thing until the day I finally found the courage to enter that room, with you. _“Let’s go together and see.”

They left the great hall and walked along the west wing until they arrived at the entrance to the chapel. Passing inside, Victor inhaled the scent of damp and mildew that hung in the air of the silent whitewashed room. Wooden benches were set into the floor in rows to the side – people sat through mass? Along the other wall were several stone sarcophagi, and he and Yuuri went there to look.

Richard and Catherine Everard, who died in the middle of the fifteenth century. Sir Hugh de Bourgogne; Victor had never heard of him. Further toward the corner, however, he came across his mother and father, in a shared sarcophagus topped with carved marble praying figures that looked nothing like them. Trailing a finger over his mother’s worn and scuffed stone wimple, Victor thought about the woman he’d said farewell to, hale and whole, only days ago. And nearby, in its original position, was Alex’s resting place, now surrounded by three other sarcophagi. Victor went to stand beside it, taking comfort from knowing that his brother was elsewhere now, and watching over him.

“Victor,” Yuuri said; he was gazing down at the inscription on the next carving along, this one also of a knight, as were the other two nearby, all of them with pointy toes and a sword running the length of their body.

“Sir Julius de Montfort,” Victor read. “1415.” He looked at Yuuri. “Not ‘Julia’, then.”

“And only thirty-seven.”

Victor blew out a breath, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. There was no further information here, no indication of cause of death, or what she’d done in her life. Only that she seemed to have become a knight…and died as one.

“What happened to you, my girl?” he whispered.

Yuuri called him over to the next and last two sarcophagi, their respective knights in repose with their gauntleted hands folded over the hilts of their swords, blank eyes staring eternally at the ceiling. And Yuuri read, “Sir Victor Nikiforov, 1393. A valiant son, pure of heart. Left this shore to seek another.” He glanced curiously at Victor, then read the inscription on the final sarcophagus with a wavering voice. “Sir Justin la Rose Courtenay, 1393. Beloved knight and companion. Steadfast and true, noble and wise. Taken swiftly and much missed.” Yuuri kissed his cheek. “Did you by any chance have something to do with these two? I notice neither one says ‘died’.”

A bittersweet grin crossed Victor’s face as he went to touch a holographic information screen nearby. _Who are the four knights?_ flashed the title, with views of the sarcophagi from different angles, and including, disturbingly, renderings of what was inside of them; there were remains in Julia’s and Alex’s, while his and Justin’s were empty. He soon discovered that the title had been phrased as a question because hardly anything was known about the knights, other than that he and Alex had been Andrei and Natalia’s sons.

“I asked my mother to have sarcophagi made for you and me,” he said to Yuuri. “I wrote the epitaphs. I’d been thinking about commissioning one for you anyway, to be placed next to Alex’s, after…after you’d gone. But you weren’t dead, not to me. I thought I would soon be myself, though.” He shook his head. “I never would have imagined I’d be standing here in 2121, looking at my own grave.”

Yuuri took his hand. “I’m just glad I didn’t come in here before now, after all. Too many mysteries that I would’ve needed you to explain. But thank you for the beautiful epitaph.”

“It’s nothing but the truth,” Victor said, kissing him softly.

They got into an ordinary taxi shortly afterward, both of them quiet and pensive for some time.

“I can’t stop thinking about Julia,” Victor said eventually. “It disturbs me that I said goodbye to her so recently, young and full of promise, and now…” His words trailed off.

“There must be a reason why she was in the castle chapel,” Yuuri replied. “Emil wasn’t there. But the year bothers me. 1415.”

“I told both of the squires about the Battle of Agincourt on the day I left. I didn’t want them to go any more than you did.”

“Do you think Julia would’ve gone anyway?”

Victor pushed his fringe away from his face. “A thirty-seven-year-old master archer? Mind you, her temperament should have mellowed over the years, and perhaps she had less of a thirst to prove herself by then, but…”

“Yeah, she would’ve gone, wouldn’t she?”

“I fear so.” Victor looked down, playing with his fingers, as he was no longer wearing his signet ring to twist.

“There’s no information about it on the Cloud or in the book from the minster; I looked.” Yuuri paused. “She seems to have lived her entire life as a man. So she couldn’t have married, then, unless she did it in secret. Same with having children.”

“I’ve been telling myself that if she has a sarcophagus in the chapel, she probably died at or near the castle rather than on a distant battlefield. But that’s not necessarily so, because someone might have paid to have her body brought back.”

Yuuri pressed his lips together. “It’s gruesome, thinking about her like this. She had a gun to defend herself, for fuck’s sake, and was brilliant with a sword. She had nanobots in her system. What the hell happened?”

With no answer available, they fell silent once more. _Thirty-seven isn’t a bad age to live to, _Victor thought. _Most knights could never hope to reach such an age if they went to battle. Was that what she did? What of Victor and Friends? _

_Oh, Julia…if only I knew._

When they’d returned to the flat and hung their coats up, Yuuri turned to face Victor. “I wish we could go back,” he said, brown eyes flashing.

Victor took this in as he slowly sat down on the sofa, silence trailing out. What did that mean, exactly? Yuuri had said it in passion. However, he’d been attempting to find a way to go back in time, and might yet have the means to do it if he continued his studies. Was that what he wanted? And could Victor want that for himself, after everything he’d done here, and learned; the new life he’d begun – _they’d _begun?

“Is it possible?” he asked quietly. “Would you know how to repair the time-travel spheres?”

Yuuri sat down next to him. “No. I mean, I don’t know how to repair them. Whether it’s possible…I’m not sure. It was for Ailis, but – ”

“Search your heart, Yuuri. Is it what you honestly want?”

“I…” There was uncertainty in his eyes now. “We just left them all, Victor, and we’re not there to protect them – Julia, Emil, and all the others. And we were good together – you and me, us and the troupe…”

Victor swallowed and looked down, then met his gaze once more. “I know it’s hard to learn about their deaths. I want to be able to help Julia, too.” After a pause, he continued, “But remember all the times we talked about the lives we were leading there. Tyler’s challenge to a duel – you think it uncommon? If either of us received another challenge, the rules of honour and chivalry would demand we accepted. We’d stand a good chance of defeating anyone who tried, but there’s never any certainty.” As he spoke, he watched the fire die down in Yuuri’s eyes. “I don’t want to see you go through that again,” he continued. “Any more, I’m sure, than you’d wish to watch me fight for my life. You must also recall our worries about John of Gaunt and his request that we ride out to help him quell the rebellion. That was a minor incident. The king could call us at any time. Victor and Friends wasn’t complete proof against it.”

“Victor…” Yuuri began, but he wasn’t finished.

“By the time you were forced to run a sword through your first victim’s heart or gut or throat, do you think it might be a bit late for regrets?” Yuuri blenched, and it pained Victor to have to say these things. “You’re the one who helped me realise the extent of that world’s brutality. I already felt it before you arrived, but you truly opened my eyes. I don’t want to see more people I love die young. Is that what you want to go back to?”

With a shuddering sigh, Yuuri replied, “I…of course you’re right.” He swallowed and raked a hand back through his hair. “I just miss things, I miss _them_, I missed you so much when I thought I’d lost you. Those trips I made to the castle ruins, they made me want to be back there. And I had to remember why we left with Victor and Friends in the first place. The social inequalities, the prejudice, the violence outside the castle walls and sometimes inside of them…when you’re away from that, it’s so easy just to see the romance of it. People idealise the Middle Ages here, Victor, with all the Arthurian legends, lords and ladies, knights and damsels in distress. What do you think kept pulling me into that Immersion game?”

Victor could imagine it now – with all the comforts of this future time, reflecting on the romantic aspects of the past, as Yuuri had put it. When you weren’t under immediate threat, it could be easy to forget what it was like when it hung over your every waking moment.

“But despite all that,” Yuuri added, “I lived there, and I wanted to stay there with you. I would never have returned to the future without you if I’d had a choice. I was lonely here. It’s…” He glanced around the flat. “It’s sterile. A lot about it is better, of course it is, but that didn’t guarantee I’d be happy. I had no purpose. I had no friends, apart from Phichit. Just here, by myself, cut off from everybody.” A tear chased down his cheek. “I was never happier than when I was in the troupe with you. And, fuck it – I’m thoroughly picked that Julia dies when she’s only thirty-seven.”

_Oh._ This explained a few things, then. “Would you be willing to go back to all of that,” Victor said more gently, “and pick up a sword and slaughter on her behalf?”

Yuuri wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “That’s a pair of hard choices,” he muttered.

“Perhaps the main reason you liked it there was because you were with me?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said with a nod, obviously in no doubt. “I wouldn’t want to go back to 1393 if you weren’t with me.”

_I daresay you might find life there a great deal more difficult in those circumstances as well. _But Victor didn’t say so. Instead, he added, “I was lonely, too, once you’d gone. There wasn’t much left for me, Yuuri. Victor and Friends wasn’t the same without you. This future world is strange – and, I admit, intimidating sometimes. But there’s no longer a threat to life and limb here. We can do what we love with our swords without harming anyone, and there’s no need to finance and manage a troupe, or to live in tents most of the year. Do you know how cold it got in December?” He huffed a laugh.

Yuuri smiled as well. “I can imagine.”

“Anyway,” Victor continued, though he could see now that his words were having the desired effect, “how long could we have sustained that way of life, I wonder? And the opportunities here are tremendous, with all the tech, the instant information and communication…and there’s Mari and Phichit, too. We’ll both make friends. And we’re free to be who we want and to do what we want.”

“You make it sound so wonderful here,” Yuuri said with a wistful little smile. “But it’s not half bad, for all that. You’re right, and I feel like a complete pillock. I’m sorry I upset you, Vitya.” He rested a hand on Victor’s thigh.

“You have a noble purpose, my love,” Victor answered with the ghost of a grin. “You always have. The flower of chivalry. But I’m bothered by Julia’s death just as you are, and how little we know of her adult life. And I often wonder what’s happening at the castle and in the troupe in my absence, though the truth is that everyone is carrying on without us – and that it’s all in the past. But it’s important to talk about these things. We’ve both had unusual experiences, have we not? Speaking of my own, before I came here…” He paused. There was no reason not to be completely honest. “Those months after you disappeared were…well. My worst fears had become real. One way I dealt with them was to write a journal – to you.”

Yuuri quirked an eyebrow. “To me?”

“Oh yes. I brought it with me in my bag and was waiting for the right time to show it to you. It should dispel any lingering romantic feelings, I think – hopefully not about me, but about 1393. I never dared hope that one day you’d read what I’d written.”

Yuuri brightened. “You’d like me to?”

“Of course. I had you in mind, and in my heart, with every word.”

With a shaky grin, Yuuri said softly, “Please.” 

* * *

Climbing onto the bed, Yuuri placed Victor’s stack of papers, bound together with string, next to him and found a comfortable position with his back propped against the headboard. There wasn’t an office in his flat, just a living room and a bedroom, and he’d left Victor working on his language studies. Not that he necessarily needed any privacy to read. But he could imagine Victor noting his reactions and trying to interpret them, and figured they’d both be more relaxed if he came in here. His thoughts and feelings were still in a jumble, too, from the trip to the castle and the conversation they’d just had.

_Thirty-seven years old…_

He’d been tempted, when he and Victor had arrived back at the flat, to declare he was going to find a way to return to the past to help her; pick up his studies again in his lab. Today wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed his mind, either. The work he’d left behind, the tech, and now the time-travel spheres he had access to…was there any reason why he couldn’t carry on?

_Yes, and you know it._

He shook his head. That_ couldn’t_ be his goal anymore. Besides, he and Victor had training to do, and holograms to make, and a life to live together. And on the bed next to him was this wonderful surprise in the form of Victor’s journal. It wasn’t long; he could probably take it all in during one sitting. It wouldn’t be easy reading, if it had been a way for Victor to express his grief, but he was here to listen now.

He picked it up, gazing at Victor’s elegant script on the first page. Then he opened the bedside table drawer, took out his translator and stuck it in his ear, and the writing arranged itself into modern English.

The beginning was straightforward, but that soon changed.

_…my heart is troubled, because my partner, my lover, my best friend is lost to me… are the nights long and full of tears for you as well?_

Yuuri read in silence, pulled back into that world and the man who’d been hurting enough to resort to writing these things for someone he believed he’d never see again. The pages crackled softly as he turned them, sniffing his tears back, though occasionally a few escaped, blurring the black ink where they fell.

_Oh, Vitya. What you went through. And you called across the years to me but I couldn’t answer._

Minutes passed while he continued to read. An occasional small, quick smile flashed across his face even as he sniffed and wiped at his eyes; Victor had recorded more of his life than his grief.

_Dearest Yuuri, _he wrote one day, _most of the troupe members here have chosen not to while away the holiday in lassitude, and have been training as hard as ever, so I spent the morning with them in the field. __Julia was practising with her bow and arrow and boasted that she’d shot 150 apples, tossed into the air by Philip. I congratulated her and told her it was a kind deed to assist the cooks in making the apple crumble to go with supper, and tasked her and Philip with collecting them all in baskets, though I helped too…_

A chuckle escaped Yuuri as he imagined it.

_You may be pleased to know that Ethelfrith rode Lady into Crowood today, as she had the afternoon free. I thought you might like your faithful palfrey to remain in our stables for the servants’ use, as the castle knights all have horses, but there are precious few for the others here which aren’t trained only to work…_

_Why in heaven’s name does Andrei still consult yearly with an astrologer? I attempted to talk some sense into him today, but he wouldn’t hear of it. The charlatan must laugh himself all the way to the bank…_

This evoked a snicker.

_They served Bridget’s honey pies with dinner today, and I wished I could share them with you. I miss you, my love._

And so he’d decided to actually bring some all the way through the timestream. It was crazy, and kind, and thoroughly Victor. 

_You taught me so much, and helped me become a better person._

Yuuri traced his finger slowly across the letters, swallowing and allowing the tears to fall freely now. “Vitya,” he whispered into the quiet of the room.

But his heart sank while Victor painted a picture of grey days at the castle, where he was no longer swept up in his busy job as manager of the troupe, and had to face the unenviable task of organising the room and putting things into storage.

_Why did you have to leave me? _

_The rooms here are empty, full of ghosts. I feel like one myself sometimes._

The words had been crossed out, though their voice was as strong and real as everything else he’d written. For a moment, Yuuri was filled with the desire to hold their author and comfort him. But he was no longer sitting alone in 1393, bleeding his feelings onto the paper. There had been no comfort for him then, and barring the use of time machines, that would never change.

Yuuri paused, holding the paper tight and taking a shuddering breath. The weight of the years that had divided them had never seemed so heavy since Victor’s return.

The words themselves were like ghosts in a way. Echoes of what once was. Like the yearning ache that had almost paralysed him when he’d returned here from the past. The memory of it had faded now, its sharp edges blunted in the light of what had happened since.

Perhaps it was the same with Victor; maybe that was why he’d waited until now to share the evidence of his experiences. Despite what they revealed about the turmoil inside of him, he’d managed to keep going with the troupe. He’d continued to perform, and even developed a new act with Julia. And he hadn’t had access to anything like kleptol.

_I therefore turn my thoughts to the great journey that lies ahead, which my heart longs for in this moment. I dream of looking upon your face again, and holding you in my arms once more, my beloved Yuuri._

More tears dropped to the paper, and Yuuri wiped them away with a trembling hand. How was it possible to feel so wrung out and _whole _at the same time?

After visiting the bathroom to fix his smeared face paint, among other things, he picked up the journal and returned to the living room. Victor was still sitting on the sofa, his cheeks dusted lightly with pink and yellow and a sprinkling of glitter as he stared ahead in concentration. “What time does the train leave?” he said into the ether, seemingly carrying out his part of a conversation through whatever language learning site he was on. “Does this one go to Sheffield? I need to be there by ten o’clock.”

Yuuri listened for a moment with a small grin, then walked over. Victor smiled when he saw him. Without a word, Yuuri dropped the journal on the table, holding his gaze.

“Did…you read it?” Victor asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Yuuri wondered if he could see the fire in his eyes as he sat down next to him. If not, he’d soon feel it. He gripped the lapels of Victor’s shirt firmly and pulled him forward, meeting his lips and kissing him hard. Victor briefly stiffened in surprise before he relaxed and returned the kiss, his hands fluttering to rest on Yuuri’s arms. But Yuuri was giving no quarter, sliding his tongue into Victor’s willing mouth and placing his palms on his shoulders, guiding him to lie down. Barely breaking their contact, Yuuri straddled him, one knee against the sofa cushions and his other foot braced against the floor, as he kissed him long and deep.

Pulling back just enough to meet Victor’s astounded gaze, both of them gasping, Yuuri cupped his cheek and breathed, “Victor Nikiforov, I love you. So much it feels like I’m drowning in it.” His eyes flicked across blue.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered softly. 

“Kiss me, Vitya,” Yuuri said, his parted lips just above Victor’s own.

And Victor did, burying his fingers in his hair as he licked into his mouth, leaving Yuuri throbbing with heat. Victor helped him remove his T-shirt, and Yuuri surged forward, trailing hungry kisses down his neck and unfastening buttons. A glint of gold revealed the locket, lying warm against his chest; the thought of it concealed under his shirt all day only added to Yuuri’s determination to show this man how much he loved him. Unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, he took his time adoring Victor’s chest and abdomen with lips, tongue, teeth and hands and was rewarded with a wonderful variety of gasps and moans. When he’d worked his way low enough, he unfastened Victor’s belt, unzipped his trousers, and with his help, slid them and his pants off in one go, then lifted Victor’s leg and began to kiss his way up.

“Yuuri, my love, let me touch you too,” he said on a sigh.

“Be patient, baby,” Yuuri murmured with a smile, reaching the inside of Victor’s knee and placing kisses there.

But Victor was not to be put off so easily, and suddenly Yuuri felt a foot press at his cock through his jeans; with a groan, he thrust into it – once, twice, again, as they built a rhythm. However, making love to Victor’s foot had not been his plan, and he parted his legs wider, then sank down and kissed and licked along his thigh, slowing as he got to the top, nuzzling into the thatch of fair hairs and revelling in the faint natural scent he detected there. He took his time pleasuring Victor, taking his cues from the gasps and cries that accompanied his attentions as he kneaded and mouthed at his balls, swirled his tongue around the head of his straining cock, took it in deep and pumped the shaft, pressed a wet finger just inside his entrance. Soon Victor was writhing beneath him, his name and a string of endearments spilling brokenly from his lips.

Scrambling off the sofa, Yuuri quickly rid himself of the rest of his clothing and climbed on top of Victor, who lifted his head to chase a desperate, messy kiss, his cock twitching between them.

“Please, my rose,” he panted, his eyes bright.

“Can I ride you?”

“Anything.”

Straddling Victor again and bracing himself against the arm of the sofa, Yuuri searched out the position of Victor’s cock and sank down onto it in one go, having prepared himself beforehand. Victor threw his head back with an arm across his forehead, and Yuuri let out a cracked moan as shocks of pleasure raced through him. Beginning to rock back and forth, his own stiff cock jutting and swaying, he leaned down and nuzzled Victor’s flushed face.

“Yuuri,” Victor gasped, eyes wide, “oh my sweeting…oh lord. I shan’t last long.”

“Me, either. Enjoy me, Vitya. I love you.”

Victor angled up for an open-mouthed kiss, and Yuuri felt his cock twitch once more, this time inside of him. He quickened his pace, breaking their kiss and panting against Victor’s cheek, undulating his hips and shifting the angle of penetration until he was taking him deep, groaning with the pleasure of it.

“Oh God, Yuuri,” Victor bit out, grasping at his waist.

Collapsing against him, Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s shoulders and pressed his face to his neck. “Finish me,” he moaned, unable to move very well like this but needing to hold Victor against him.

A pair of hands grabbed his buttocks, pulling him down as Victor thrust into him, hard and fast. Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, crying out against Victor’s skin. He could barely pant “Fuck, yes, Vitya, _yes_,” before his climax overtook him, while the _ahhs _from Victor and the straining tendons in his neck, followed by one final thrust, told Yuuri that they were coming together, clutching and holding tight. The sounds they were making, wrapped up in each other, kept him high on a crest and slow to come down, his mind hazed with it all.

Fingers stroked across his back. He tenderly kissed Victor’s cheek, then pulled away just enough to be able to see his face. His fringe was tangled across a damp forehead, cheeks and lips flushed, and his gaze was so full of love that Yuuri wanted to melt right into it. 

“Yuuri…” Victor sighed, pulling his thumb gently over his bottom lip. Then a small grin crossed his face, and his eyes sparkled. “What inspired this?”

Yuuri pushed Victor’s fringe back and stroked his cheek. “Reading your journal. That you’d share something like that with me, and were thinking about me while you were writing. I wanted so much to help, to be with you, and I couldn’t, because I was stuck here.” After a pause, he added, “I’ve never read anything so beautiful.”

Victor blinked. “But it was sad…full of grief.”

“There can be a kind of beauty to those feelings, too,” Yuuri whispered, stilling his fingers against Victor’s skin. “Because they were yours, as much as any others. And you were so strong through it all.” As Victor’s gaze filled with wonder, he said softly, caressing his cheek again, “Just when I think it must be impossible, you find ways of making me fall in love with you even more.”

Victor took this in, and then a smile crept across his face, and he gave Yuuri a warm, lingering kiss. “I like the way you told me so just now,” he said. “You made me feel so good, my sweet…have we ever come at the same time like that before?”

After considering for a moment, Yuuri replied, “I don’t think so.”

“It was incredible.” Victor skated a finger along his jaw. “_You’re _incredible. I love you so much.”

Suffused with a warm glow, Yuuri wanted to stay as he was and never move. But Victor’s softening cock had slipped out of him, and he imagined he might like to be able to expand his lungs without being pinned down for too long, though first Yuuri stole another kiss with a whispered, “I love you too, Vitya.” He smiled again, then got up and grabbed his shirt, cleaning them both off with it before tossing it back to the floor.

“Come here and lie with me a while?” Victor invited him, making more room so that Yuuri could nestle between him and the back of the sofa, though it still required a very pleasant entwining of limbs.

“You’re not cold?” Yuuri asked, the only clothing between them being Victor’s unbuttoned shirt.

“Not like this.”

“Me, either.” Yuuri ran a finger over the smooth surface of the locket. “We didn’t take this off you.”

“It seems to have survived our passionate embrace,” Victor said with a little laugh. “Anyway, I like wearing it. In the past, it reminded me of the man I loved who was so far away. Now it reminds me that you’re here, even when we’re in different places.”

Yuuri forgot to breathe for a moment. “You sound just like your journal entries. They’re…from the heart.”

“It’s kind of you to say so,” Victor murmured. “And to say I was strong. But the words in that journal just seemed to me at the time like the silly ramblings of a desperate man.”

“No,” Yuuri said quickly, laying a finger against his lips. “It was amazing to learn about what you were doing. You held yourself together enough to carry on running the troupe. I wasn’t in a state to do anything like that when I got back here.”

“When other people need you, it’s surprising how motivating it can be.” Victor closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t say I was holding myself together, either; not really.”

Yuuri kissed his cheek. “Enough to do what you had to. That’s still courage.” 

One eye opened and regarded him, then the other.

“That painting of Justin – I’m glad you didn’t buy it. Something tells me the artist didn’t capture my best side.” That got a grin. “And gongfermour duties for a year,” he added with a little laugh.

“Now that’s not fair,” Victor protested. “I crossed that out. You weren’t supposed to read the crossed-out words.” But the corners of his mouth quirked up.

In a more serious tone, Yuuri continued, “You said there’s a bright, sparkling star at my core.”

Victor blinked. “I was waxing poetic…but yes, my love, there is. The heart that beats in you. The passion. That’s how I think of it.” He searched Yuuri’s face. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply. “I thank God with every day that passes that I’m able to be here with you.”

Yuuri’s lips were quickly captured in a kiss, and they exchanged more, fond and playful, and stroked and nuzzled each other. Lying like this in the nude, with the heat of Victor against him and his heart full, Yuuri began to feel the stirrings of desire again. But there was no urgency; they had plenty of time to be together now. There were also things that remained to be said…and decided. He’d put them off long enough.

“Vitya.” Those blue eyes regarded him steadily once more. “About what we were discussing earlier, when we got back from the castle…” He paused, and Victor waited for him to continue, looking both curious and concerned. “It’s OK,” he added with a small grin, “I’m not going to insist that I want to live in 1393. In fact, I don’t want to put either of us through a conversation like that again. There are, um, some things I need to sort out, and – will you go to the lab at the university with me later? I think that’s the best place.”

“Oh? Is something wrong?”

“No.” Yuuri pressed a kiss to Victor’s forehead. “It never could be, while we’re like this.”

When Yuuri didn’t elaborate, Victor gathered him more tightly in his arms. “Your lab, hm?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there.”

“Man of mystery,” Victor murmured, seeking Yuuri’s bottom lip for a languorous kiss. 


	177. Chapter 177

Yuuri led the way inside, hanging his coat up and placing his steaming takeaway cup of Jo’s coffee on a table, then amassing Ailis’s tech and notes all in one place nearby. Victor watched, sipping from his own cup. Even dressed in casual modern clothes, he looked extraordinary, the gold of his shirt and face paint a beautiful complement to his complexion and hair. But Yuuri only allowed himself to be distracted for a moment. He should have come here with Victor before now; before their trip to the castle had made it more difficult.

“This is it,” he said when he was finished. “This is all her kit.” Victor knew about the time-travel spheres, and he’d seen some of the other tech that day of his return, but now Yuuri went into more detail about it, and what he’d done here in the lab. The hours he’d spent trying to fathom the encrypted hardware before he and Phichit had torn the secrets out of Ailis’s old lab brick by brick. Discovering the fingerprint device and how it brought up lifelines. Attempting to understand Ailis’s theory and design well enough to copy what she’d done. And all the while, telling himself that he could achieve the impossible by December, assuming Victor was still alive in the past.

“There’s so much I don’t understand yet,” he said. “To me, these aren’t just objects or tech. They’re incredible inventions that the world’s never seen before.” A small grin flitted across his face. “Now they’ve been joined by two broken temporal stabilisers. I would’ve given anything to be able to study and try to copy them.”

Victor had moved closer, quietly listening as he finished his coffee. He never pressed for an answer as to why they’d come here, but he must be curious, and there was no longer any putting it off.

Draining the last of his own coffee, Yuuri leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “We talked about why it’s not a good idea for us to go back to 1393 and actually live there. But that leaves the issue of all this – ” He gestured to the tech. “ – and what I was doing with it, and what it could still be capable of.”

Victor nodded silently, and Yuuri turned to look at him. “After I listened to the message you recorded over your com…well, Mari was staying with me in my flat at the time, and I went straight to her and swore I was going to dedicate my life to learning temporal physics.”

Victor gave him a warm grin. “That’s so very like you, my sweet.”

“Oh, there’s more – I had ambitions,” Yuuri said with a quick smirk. “Not just to return to you in the past, but to detangle the timestreams so that this time and that one weren’t always linked, moving forward together. That way I’d be able to arrive whenever I wanted, ideally just after I’d vanished. I’d have to ensure I didn’t swap places with anyone to get there, and who knows, maybe I could bring a few more spheres with me, and none of them would break in the timestream because I would’ve improved the design of the temporal stabiliser.”

With a chuckle, Victor leaned on the table now too, eyes sparkling, though there was still a question in them.

“I ought to say that at the time, my thoughts never went that far,” Yuuri continued. “Getting back to you was the only thing on my mind. And now…” He took a breath. “Well, learning today that Julia died so young…I was picked that I’d done all this research, had all this tech, and was still helpless to prevent her death. And then I wondered, what if I wasn’t? Helpless, I mean. What if I really could go back?” Swallowing, he added, “It reminded me of how I felt when I first decided to study Ailis’s tech so I could be with you again. Which made me realise, when I’d calmed down and started to put things in perspective, that I had to make some firm decisions once and for all.” He glanced around the room. “This seemed the best place to do it.”

After a pause, Victor said, “Do you really think you could understand Ailis’s tech one day?”

“I don’t know.” Yuuri’s gaze dropped to the table. “Now that I can think about it with a clear head, no more of that frantic anxiety, I’d honestly have to say it’d be a lot harder than I wanted to believe. All I really accomplished was replicating Ailis’s tech, and not very well at that. After a decade or three, though, who knows? The problem is, my brainpower’s never going to match hers; that’s a biological limitation I can’t help.” He met Victor’s eyes again. “But we got what we wanted. We’re both here.”

Victor gave Yuuri’s sleeve an affectionate stroke. “We are. And it’s interesting, what you said about time travel giving you an affinity with the timestream. I had an idea while you were telling me more about the…” He glanced at the tech on the table. “…temporal window, I believe you called it. I don’t understand the workings of these things like you do, but it seems that there needs to be balance at both ends, future and past, which is why Ailis designed the swap into the spheres. But perhaps something non-human could be swapped; an animal, maybe.”

Yuuri took this in, feeling the spark of inspiration that had always kindled when he’d come close to meeting Ailis’s mind in his studies and experiments, or discovered something new. “Energy,” he mused. “That’d be even better. That’s what matter is – frozen energy. When you travelled in time, you could make it so that the equivalent amount of energy was taken from your destination and sent to your point of origin, where it dispersed.” He shook his head and huffed a laugh, Victor grinning in return. “It’s so bloody simple. Maybe Ailis really was telling the truth in Immersion when she said there might be ways to establish temporal synchrony between point of origin and destination without the exchange of two physical bodies. So why didn’t she try at first? Or was she so keen on making the swap happen with another person that she didn’t consider other possibilities, or just rejected them?” He felt an excited swoop in his chest. Then thought again why he’d brought them both here, and gradually deflated.

“You won’t do it,” Victor observed quietly, and Yuuri gazed into those placid blue eyes. 

“No.” He paused, tasting the bitterness in the simple word. “And…that’s really hard to say. Aside from all the personal reasons, what scientist, or techie, or just any human being with a bit of curiosity wouldn’t want to dive into studying a whole new area of physics like this? It’s one of the greatest discoveries of all time.” Fighting off a momentary urge to cry, he added, “But it doesn’t matter. I can’t.”

Victor’s warm hand covered his own. “We’re both upset about Julia’s death,” he said softly. “I’ve been thinking about that. And people we miss. How you never got a chance to say goodbye. What it would be like to travel further into the past, and see Alex and Irene again.” His eyes were bright. “To have adventures in different times. It’s easy to dream about these things.”

Yuuri gave a small sigh. “I’ve had dreams, too, ever since you came back. Living and performing with the troupe again – we could buy Victor and Friends back from Henric if we had to, but I don’t know if I can explain all the feelings that brings up, after what we talked about before. Or I could see my own parents again.” Their image arose for a moment in his mind, both of them smiling as they were in the picture on the butsudan, and it was a wrench to tell himself that he was not going to use the tech on the table again, even for that. “And the idea of adventures in time certainly has an appeal, but think about how dangerous that could be. There’s the potential for so many paradoxes. Would it be possible to visit a time where you were already in existence without something catastrophic happening? Though there’s more to it than that.”

Victor squeezed his hand. “I remember from the talk we had with Ailis in Immersion. The risk of doing things that alter the course of history, whether or not it’s intended.”

“It’s why I was given my mission, Victor,” Yuuri said fervently. “The mission I was willing to die for. The whole time I was in the past, I talked about how important it was not to change anything. And you know what? It was hypocritical.”

Victor’s eyes widened, but he remained silent while Yuuri carried on. “Even Ailis pointed it out to me, and – and I _knew _it, deep down. Just my presence there altered things. Justin was supposed to be there, not me. Emil would’ve been his squire, or someone else’s. Who knows how important those things could turn out to be? People’s lives I saved. People I might have killed; those soldiers at the bridge, for a start.”

“You did what you had to do. You were defending yourself and your colleagues.”

“I know, but that’s beside the point. And when I learned about your death date, nothing in the world would’ve stopped me from trying to change that.” He paused. Since they’d arrived at the lab, he’d had moments of doubt, because he knew this was the one thing that would override whatever ethical principles he’d promised himself to follow where time travel was involved – being separated from Victor. Wanting to ensure the safety of someone he loved.

“I can’t honestly say I feel anything other than gratitude,” Victor murmured, stroking a finger down Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri’s eyes fluttered shut briefly as a warm tingle passed through him. “And I can’t honestly say I’d ever regret it,” he said quietly, gazing back at him. “But I was too willing to do what Ailis went there to do, just not as dramatically. Or, well, maybe I did get dramatic at times. In Immersion, I ended up going on about all the positive changes she could make there in the past, educating people about bacteria, clean energy, hygiene, whatever. But Victor, I don’t think anyone should ever have that kind of power. There’s no knowing what the consequences of changes like those would be. You could do something with the best of intentions, and…”

“Of course,” Victor said with a solemn nod. “It’s difficult. And someone like Ailis wouldn’t be as concerned about the moral implications.”

“I took the nanobot injector with me when I travelled with Victor and Friends,” Yuuri spoke more rapidly. “I would’ve used it. Could you just stand by and watch someone get sick and die when you knew you could help them?”

“No,” was the instant response.

“But you can’t know what that person, or their descendants, might go on to do. I could never predict what’d happen with Thomas of Cowthorpe and the bloody ballpoint pen and paper, either – that was a complete accident. My clock survived, too. I had a nerve making it.” Yuuri felt his face flushing and paused, then said more calmly, “I try to do the right thing, but I make mistakes. And just the fact of travelling in time means you’re altering something, even if it’s only on a small scale.” His voice wavered as he added, “I’d like to find out why Julia dies so young, and prevent it; that should be on a small scale too, you’d think. But…” He sniffed. “Fuck, it’s just so bloody frustrating.” 

Then Victor’s arms were around him, and they were holding each other tight; Yuuri felt him tremble. They stood quietly, their breaths the only sound in the room. 

Eventually Victor pulled back a little. “I want the same thing, my love. But they’re gone now. We both accepted that before we visited the chapel today…and sometimes goodbye really is goodbye.” A tear escaped his eye, and Yuuri felt his own trail down his cheeks as Victor continued, “But at least it’s not that way for us.”

Yuuri nodded and wiped his face with the cuff of his shirt.

“Everything you did here for me, it’s still incredible.” Victor glanced at the table. “These are marvels before us, Yuuri. I feel blessed to have seen my own lifeline. And you used the temporal window to bring me here. The spheres brought us together, too, at different times.”

“That’s not so bad, then,” Yuuri said with a shaky smile.

“No, it isn’t.” Victor placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

After a moment, Yuuri turned to the tech and ran his finger slowly over the shiny rectangle that was the temporal window. “This was the one thing I was able to use to make it possible for you to get here, even if I didn’t realise it at the time. It’s tempting to take it away with me with the intention of just watching it, trying to catch a glimpse into time. But that’s the operative word – _tempting_. I think…this needs to be put behind us now. My studies, time travel, all of it.”

“It seems a terrible shame,” Victor said, “but I think you’re right. After all your hard work…I’m sorry.”

Yuuri squeezed his arm briefly. “It’s not safe for anyone to use this kit. We need to make sure no one else gets hold of it. Maybe I should even destroy it.” His stomach churned at the thought.

“All that knowledge,” Victor breathed. “It would feel like the sack of ancient Rome.”

Yuuri shot a glance at him, then bit his lip and gave his head a shake. “Well, I don’t think I could do it anyway, even if I should. Wipe these discoveries off the face of the earth? Just…no. I hope I don’t ever come to regret it, but…” After a pause, he continued more firmly, “I’m going to have the tech put into secure storage, and Ailis’s notes and decryption pen put someplace even safer, like a bank vault. That wouldn’t stop MI8, but they don’t know about what Phichit and I found in Ailis’s lab, anyway.”

“Perhaps one day people will have the knowledge and wisdom to be able to use this tech without all these troubles,” Victor said pensively.

“That day’s going to be a long time in coming.” A thought suddenly entered Yuuri’s mind, and he said, “I promised Ailis I’d make sure she was as well-known as Albert Einstein – a very famous scientist. I didn’t mean it at the time, but it doesn’t feel right not to share anything at all of hers with the world. She was brilliant, Victor.”

They both considered for a moment, then Victor said, “What about the translator? That’s not directly involved in time travel, is it? Or do you already have others like it here?”

Yuuri brightened. “No, we don’t. Ailis based her design on the existing one and made it more advanced. That’s actually a great idea.”

Victor gave a small smile. “I have them sometimes. Even here, it would seem.”

“You do. And it means Ailis will have ended up doing something to help people. We could make sure the money from the sale of the translators goes to a good cause. I’ll talk to Celestino and Phichit about it.” He leaned over and kissed Victor’s cheek, still wet from his tears.

“I like the sound of that.”

Yuuri nodded, idly tracing his finger along the rim of his empty coffee cup. “I knew all along, really, once you came here, that I’d have to stop my temporal studies for good. It was always there in the back of my mind.” He held Victor’s gaze for a moment. “I think I just needed you to help me do that, and say goodbye. It must sound daft – ”

“No, not at all.”

“Well,” Yuuri said with the ghost of a grin, “there was something else I wanted to mention. Now that I’m not filling my time up with that anymore.” He pulled up a stool and sat.

Victor mirrored his action. “Oh?”

“I had an idea myself while we were at the castle, before we went into the chapel. I’d never thought of it before, but maybe it was because you were there with me, and it didn’t feel so…gloomy.” He paused, and Victor gave him an encouraging smile. “What I was doing here in the lab reminded me that I used to enjoy this kind of thing – working with tech – before my job started to drain it out of me. I won’t be studying Ailis’s inventions, but maybe I could do something else.”

“Oh?” Victor said again. “What would that be?”

“Learning how to program Immersion games.”

“_Oh_. Victor sat up straighter on his stool and looked at him keenly. “That’s very interesting.” He paused, then said with a wrinkled brow, “But _Swords and Sorcery _was…troubling for you, was it not? And when Ailis put us in Immersion…”

“I don’t have nightmares about that anymore. Well, not very often. In fact, I can even appreciate the detail and artistry in it now.” Victor gave him a surprised smile, and he carried on. “As far as _Swords & Sorcery _goes, I can’t change the past, but you taught me to appreciate it more. My own sword commemorates what I learned when I played that.”

Victor blinked. “I’m glad.”

“I wouldn’t want to design gory fighting games, though. Well, designing a whole game isn’t something anyone does at first, anyway, until you have more experience. If I did train, I’d probably be hired to do settings, maybe help with characters.”

“So what was it about being at the castle that gave you the idea?”

Yuuri shrugged and grinned. “Maybe I wouldn’t be too bad at medieval ones. Fancy Crowood Castle in Immersion one day?”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor breathed, eyes shining.

“A historical adventure, maybe a mystery? Maybe even something to do with time travel. And knights.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, my love. You should do it.”

“It’d mean taking some courses to learn, but I could do that here at the university or over the Cloud.”

Victor said excitedly, “In the meantime, I don’t suppose you could show me some Immersion yourself…?”

“I’d love to, Vitya.”

“Ah, but as your trainer, I believe I should say that we ought to exercise and practise as well, since we have holograms to make together.”

“That’s fair enough. I could do with it.” Yuuri looked at the tech in front of him once again. He’d perhaps see it one last time, when it went into storage. The talk about bringing Crowood Castle back to life in Immersion that had briefly lifted him was tempered with the realisation that this really was the end of any hopes that had been lingering for his research on temporal physics to continue. His focus would be elsewhere now. As it should be.

_Julia, Emil…whatever you do with the time you have left to you, use it well and enjoy it. I’ll never forget you._

“Yuuri?” Victor asked softly.

Coming back to himself, he said, “I’m OK. Just…saying goodbye.” He stood and took Victor’s hand. “Let’s go be a couple of knights.”

* * *

They went to the gym to train that evening and the following three days, bringing their medieval clothes and armour with them in large sports bags. Yuuri was glad it was now only Victor witnessing how out of practice he was, though that was bad enough. But there was no longer a duel or performances to prepare for; they could make their holograms whenever they felt ready. And in the absence of those pressures, Yuuri quickly rediscovered the joy of working with Victor as his trainer and sparring partner once more. Their room at the gym even had a basic Immersion program which offered dramatic settings such as a cliff edge, the exterior of a Tudor manor house, and a castle on a hill in the distance. They spent most of their time in view of the castle.

At the end of their session on the first day, Victor asked if there were other Immersion facilities at the gym that they could try. Up to now, he’d only experienced a few static environments, and Yuuri wanted to make sure that he felt comfortable – that they both did, in fact – with playing an actual game, after the experience they’d had with Ailis and the war zones on hyper-real. But that setting wasn’t available here, and they’d be selecting a program for its entertainment value, rather than something that would require them to fight for their lives.

Maybe it would be good, Yuuri suggested, to try a dance game first, and Victor agreed. There were several that he remembered well, and he chose an informal setting to begin with; a nightclub that played many different kinds of music, though the player could also select the songs. It was fun for a while, especially when the two of them danced together and made up their own moves; but then Victor said he’d like to sample a more structured program that provided lessons, so Yuuri switched to ballet, with a teacher in a studio. To his surprise, he enjoyed this one more, perhaps because he knew he was getting proper instruction in something he was much rustier at than the longsword. And Victor’s eyes were like a child’s in a sweet shop. He would be returning for many more sessions, Yuuri suspected, and smiled at the thought. Maybe it would put him on the path to discovering and honing a newly found talent in a way Yuuri was never able to foster during their makeshift lessons in their room in the castle.

Obviously keen for more Immersion experiences, over the next couple of days Victor wheedled at Yuuri to show him _Swords and Sorcery. _He was so endearing about it once he realised there might be a chance Yuuri would say yes that it hadn’t taken him long to give in. There was probably no one else on earth he’d be willing to do it for, but he wanted to show Victor what had taken up so much of his life when he’d been younger, even though he cringed at how naff he knew it was now. And he was curious to find out what Victor would make of a game like this set in medieval times, in the loosest sense, with magic and monsters.

What ensued was doubtlessly the most _fun _Yuuri had ever had while playing it. Victor didn’t do very well, because he either stopped to question things that were ridiculously inaccurate – because of course they were, but by the time you’d said so, the monster attacking you had taken away all of your hit points – or because he was laughing so hard that he got killed anyway. Though all that happened was that the game paused and gave them the option to go back to the last place where it had been saved.

“Yuuri, why is that monk following us everywhere we go?” Victor asked at one point.

“Because we agreed to try to get his magic staff back from the gold dragon in the castle.”

“Can’t he wait here while we do that?”

“I guess not? There’s no option in the program to tell him to go get frazzed.”

“But he can’t fight the dragon when he has no weapon and is just wearing a robe.”

“Um, no. I think he expects us to do that for him.”

“This is most implausible, Yuuri.”

Yuuri laughed. Mind you, it turned out to be fun fighting the dragon, which was supposed to be a fearsome opponent, though they both made short work of it. He soon fell back into the old rhythm of play, and Victor didn’t hesitate, either; he could easily have taken the dragon down by himself. Brother Fred gave them a bag of coins and a treasure map for their trouble when they returned his staff, which could be saved for another day, if they ever decided to return.

Having finally been able to concentrate enough to achieve a worthwhile victory, they began to make their way to the pub. Victor looked curiously around at the well-fed peasants with clean, bright clothes working nonstop in fields rich with ripening grain.

“If the villeins on my family’s estate appeared so, I’d have no further worries about them,” he said with a smile. “Is this what people in 2121 believe life was like in my time?”

“I think most of them know better,” Yuuri replied with a wry grin. “This game’s quite a few years old now anyway, and I’m sure there are better things to play that are more realistic.” After a pause, he added, “Like what Ailis gave us a taste of.”

More sombrely, Victor asked, “What drew you to this, then? This particular game, when you were aware of its flaws.”

Yuuri had never thought about it like that before. “At the time it came out,” he explained, “there was a popular holographic show that was very dark, literally and figuratively. The characters did horrible things to each other, and most of their clothes and the villages were black and brown and white; earth and winter colours. Those were the sorts of games people wanted to play, but that wasn’t for me. I wanted something that was more King Arthur. But it was out of fashion, so there wasn’t much to choose from.” He huffed a laugh. “It’s got a certain kind of charm, for all its faults. A bit of whimsy. But parts of it can be atmospheric and even scary, if you’re in the right mood.” He smirked at Victor. “And when you’re concentrating on twatting the monster instead of commenting on how it’s holding its sword wrong, then laughing at what’s supposed to be its fearsome roar. I’m telling you, a fourteen-year-old boy can overlook a lot of things like that.”

“I’m sure he can,” Victor said with a gentle smile.

“But if you see shit that’s total nonsense, by all means say so,” Yuuri continued. “I took this too seriously all the time I played it, and it was never meant for that.” He reached for Victor’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ve loved coming here with you.”

“Thank you for showing it to me, my sweet. It’s felt like a mysterious part of you since the first time you mentioned it, and now I’ve had the opportunity to see it for myself. And I still honour it for having been your first instruction in the use of a sword.”

Yuuri grinned and stroked his arm. “I’ll buy you a beer from the buxom barmaid. And if we’re lucky, then Anwyl, the rightful King of Ethnaria, will turn up. But I doubt it, since we didn’t get his blue gem for him. That’s probably for the best, though. He doesn’t half carry on.”

While the gym had the largest variety of more sophisticated games, however, there were other things the projector in Yuuri’s flat could do. He bought an Immersion package for couples, which could produce environments in the living room such as sunsets on beaches or luxurious hotels in tropical countries. Most didn’t include holograms of people, though some could generate them if the user wanted. And there was no specialised kit required for sex if that was on the menu, because you would be doing it with your human partner. It felt strange to look forward to trying something like this out, which before Victor had arrived, Yuuri had been starting to believe he’d never have any use for in his life.

He invited Victor to browse the available environments and pick one, and he took some time over this before declaring he had just the thing; then Yuuri called it up on the projector that evening, curious as to what awaited them. It turned out to be a street in what he guessed was Rome, judging from the sun-drenched orange-roofed buildings, colourful balconies with tall shuttered windows, and piazza and fountain nearby. And there were just as many people passing back and forth on the pavement as there probably would be in real life in the middle of a summer’s day. This certainly wasn’t what Yuuri had expected.

He also hadn’t expected, as he walked along next to Victor, that he would be stopped and guided to face him, then kissed with growing passion, as everyone else around them continued on their way. Soon he was walked backward, unresisting, until he felt the terracotta-painted wall of the nearest building warm against his back, while Victor’s eyes sparked and his hands roamed everywhere. Some faces turned toward them in mild curiosity, some seemingly in jealously, though that was all the interaction that occurred as people went about their business. It was an oddly homogenous crowd, Yuuri noticed vaguely as Victor licked kisses down his neck; all of them young, attractive adults. And to his surprise, he felt himself relaxing into it and getting turned on, though Victor’s avid attentions and clear enjoyment of the scenario were doing that anyway.

They only shed the clothes that were necessary for access before Victor was fucking him against the wall, both of them digging fingers into firm flesh, moaning and gasping, crying out encouragements and each other’s names. Victor came hard, then helped Yuuri to stand on legs that felt spindly, and quickly dropped to his knees to go down on him. Yuuri gave a loud gasp, and watched the passing crowd with lust-glazed eyes as he threaded his fingers through Victor’s hair. It was strange…but yes, he could definitely get into this, he decided as he felt his orgasm approaching. _Wouldn’t you like to be me, right now? _he thought as they received more stares. _This is so good, you wouldn’t even believe…_and then Victor reached into his open jeans to squeeze his balls while his clever mouth continued to work, and Yuuri keened his name as he came.

Coming back to his senses moments later, he turned the program off and slumped down to the floor, his back against the wall of his own living room, and Victor was quick to join him. They sat in a half-clothed tangle, faces glowing.

“Wow,” Yuuri breathed.

Victor kissed his temple. “I was hoping you’d like that.”

“Yeah, I did. It was really different, too.”

“They could all see you were mine.”

Yuuri noticed that he was blushing, his eyes flitting downward. Had Victor been nervous about how he’d react to the program?

“I’d never want to do that in real life,” he added. “It looked interesting…fun…” Almost shyly, he added, “Sexy.”

“I did like it.” Yuuri caressed his cheek. “And I got those feelings from it too. Immersion can let you explore fantasies like that in private. In fact, you made better use of it that way just now than I ever did.” In a low, encouraging voice, he added, “We should do this again sometime.”

Smiling in obvious relief, Victor said, “You choose next, my sweeting.”

“Oh, I will,” Yuuri purred, stealing a kiss.

The next “adventure” they had, however, was a dom/sub scene in their own bedroom without Immersion, though it took some planning. Yuuri brought up a Cloud site that sold sex toys and light BDSM gear, and they chose a few items, including handcuffs and a vibrating dildo, though Yuuri was amused to discover that Victor had brought the wooden one as well. “How could I leave that behind?” he asked in mock outrage. “What would people think?” Yuuri laughed. Well, they could keep it for posterity, he reckoned, but a modern one would be more comfortable and versatile.

He found himself feeling somewhat anxious just before their scene, however. What if Victor no longer needed an outlet for the stress of the responsibilities he’d held, since those were behind him now? Maybe it would all fizzle out when they tried it, and Yuuri would end up feeling ridiculous instead of sexy.

_Victor wouldn’t let that happen, _he told himself. _He’d be honest, and gentle, and we’d talk about it and maybe move on to something else. Wouldn’t he? _Of course he would. On the few occasions when one or both of them had suddenly lost the mood, because of an interruption or because something just wasn’t right, they’d always been supportive of each other, and able to talk. Or so Yuuri thought. What if –

_No what-ifs. We do this and see where it takes us. He said he wants to._

So they had, and to his relief, Yuuri discovered there had been no need to worry. When they had moved away from the castle with the troupe, Victor’s enthusiasm had remained undiminished, and that was clearly still the case now. He called Yuuri “master”, which thrilled him to the bone, and was as beautifully compliant and alluring as ever. It didn’t matter how many times they did this; in the end, Yuuri always felt like Victor had given him a precious gift.

After he released the handcuffs, Victor curled up next to him in their bed like a cat, eyelids drooping in lassitude. “You look after me so well, my love,” he sighed.

“You make it easy,” Yuuri said, gently pushing his fringe aside and kissing his forehead.

After they’d held each other for a while, Victor looked at him again. “You seemed a little…tense at first. Was something bothering you?”

Had he? Yuuri had used whatever acting skills he possessed to appear calm and in control until he’d felt reassured that they were both comfortable with the scene, but Victor had still known, it seemed. “I…well, I was just concerned that you might decide you didn’t want to do this anymore.”

This had Victor’s undivided attention. “Why wouldn’t I?”

After a pause, Yuuri answered, “Things have changed; no one here sees you as a baron’s son or a knight. So I thought maybe…”

“I wouldn’t feel I needed to be submissive anymore, is that it?”

“Something like that, I suppose. Yeah.”

Victor grinned. “I must admit I wondered about that myself, but not for long. Because I love having this different sort of relationship with you once in a while.” The grin widened. “You’re so very good at it. How could I possibly want to give it up? I honestly don’t think it matters how our daily lives change; this is just another way of sharing our trust. Wouldn’t you say?”

Something else inside of Yuuri eased at his words. “When you put it that way, then yeah, I would say.” He snuggled closer. “There was another thing I was wondering.” Victor blinked languid blue eyes, waiting for him to continue. “What it feels like to be on the other side. With you in control. I’d, um…I’d like to find out sometime, if you’re still OK with that idea.”

Victor considered this for so long that Yuuri began to wonder if he was looking for a way of letting him down gently, but then he spoke. “If you’d asked earlier in our relationship, I would have said I wanted to wait, and possibly even then I wouldn’t be keen. Taking charge of people in a very real sense was part of my life at the castle for so long. The manorial court, the fighting men, the staff…But then I came to see that what you and I were doing wasn’t like that. These are just roles to explore, that we can use to find out more about each other, are they not? I have a feeling I’d be quite good at it, too.”

A tingle shivered through Yuuri at the thought, and he replied, “I agree. And right now I can’t tell you how exciting that is,” he gushed, while Victor raised his eyebrows. “I mean, I feel the same, when I think about it. There’s no nobleman sitting on his throne who I’d ever want to submit to…apart from you.”

Victor hooded his eyes. “A throne, hm? You’re giving me ideas.”

“Fuck,” Yuuri breathed, wondering why this was turning him on when these were the very things he’d objected to in the Middle Ages. Maybe it was for that very reason – and because Victor was involved. Like that day in the main garrison room, seemingly so long ago, when he’d knelt as Justin in front of the fighting men and kissed Victor’s signet ring as a token of apology and devotion.

“I shall have to think on the matter,” Victor said with a chuckle. Then he rested his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. “But I believe my natural inclination will always be to want my darling Yuuri to take care of me. As long as you’re willing.”

“Always,” Yuuri whispered, stroking his hair.

_In every way, _he added silently. Because the most important thing was that they were expressing their love for each other. Coming on the heels of those weeks and months of grief, it was mind-blowing, making Yuuri want to laugh or cry, occasionally at the same time; flooding him with a joy he’d never known without something bittersweet mixed in.

He knew it would continue to take some getting used to. But God…bring it on.


	178. Chapter 178

Victor was amazed at how quickly the days had passed between his arrival in Yuuri’s time – _their_ time – and Christmas. Each one had been filled with so much, all of it so different from the way he’d lived up to now – apart from the one golden thread holding them together, and that was his dear, sweet Yuuri. Who never seemed to tire of his endless questions, of helping him learn the modern language, of spending more money than he must ever have expected to before he’d arrived. It must surely be to him like looking after a child at times. But Victor had never felt demeaned by it; Yuuri’s clear delight in his presence was all the reassurance he’d needed, until he could find his confidence in this place.

They laughed, and loved, and no more shadows hung over them, and every day was brand new and full of opportunities. Victor blessed each one, as well as his brother for bringing him here. He knew it was inevitable that challenges would await them, because that was the way of things. Yet these first days would number as among the most memorable in a life that was already replete with them, thanks to this wonderful man he loved with all his heart.

They planned to travel on the 23rd by train to Mari and Sharon’s spa, which was in the west of the county in a village called Hebden Bridge; they’d been invited to remain to see in the new year. Victor still thought about his death date at times, but as the end of the year approached, he continued to tell himself it must only mean that his death had been recorded in 1393. One could never be too cautious, however, and he took extra care with swords and knives and getting in and out of flying vehicles.

The day before they left, Yuuri asked Mrs. Wells over for tea and sultana scones that he and Victor had made together. It was deliciously real this time too, as opposed to the imaginary taste they’d had in the Immersion trenches, complete with clotted cream and strawberry jam. Mrs. Wells was friendly and full of stories about the past, particularly the Water Wars, though to Victor she was simply painting a different picture of this future world. Then she praised the sparring she’d seen them perform in the courtyard and wanted to know when they’d be doing it again, and they ended up promising they’d go back out together in the new year. When she asked where Victor was from, he replied Russia, which had continued to be a suitable enough response for anyone here who asked, since that culture and this one appeared to have little to do with each other. Mrs. Wells was quite taken with him, it seemed, and referred to him several times as “Yuuri’s handsome young man”. He wasn’t going to complain.

That evening, after they’d packed most of their things, they met Phichit for a Christmas drink at The Eagle, where they served a strange version of wassail light on spices and devoid of sops, though it had a pleasant fruity tang from what Victor guessed were apples and oranges. A quintet of musicians was playing and singing Christmas songs; their clothing resembled that of the holograms in _Swords and Sorcery_, and Yuuri explained that they were meant to look like people from Shakespeare’s time.

“I recognise some of the instruments,” Victor observed. “The lute and the harp.”

“They ought to have a shawm,” Yuuri said, resting his head in his hand as he watched them.

“It would suit this type of music very well.”

“What’s a shawm?” Phichit asked, taking a sip of his wassail.

“It’s like an oboe,” Yuuri told him. “They could do with a hurdy-gurdy too, actually.”

“I’ve never heard of that, either. Hey, Victor, your citole would fit right in tonight.”

“I daresay, but they already have a lute player.”

“In fact, we should jam sometime, if I could get my uncle to bring his krachappi with him next time he comes to visit – they’re instruments from different countries, but I think they’d sound great together.” He looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Having said that, it’d probably need a whole aeroplane seat all to itself.”

Victor’s eyes danced. “I’d love that. Yuuri, you should learn an instrument, too – then we could be a trio.”

Yuuri laughed and swirled his drink in his mug. “I remember talking about this before, and I said I could probably manage to bang a drum. Still sounds like a good answer.”

“I’m sure you could do more than that. But a drum would be good. Maybe they’d even let us perform here.”

“You two,” Phichit said with a smile, leaning in, “have got showbiz in your blood. It’s so funny listening to you talk. I bet you’ll be famous one day.”

Yuuri snorted. “Doing what? Speaking Middle English to each other?”

“Wait and see,” he said wisely.

Victor had no desire for renown. But he was looking forward to making their Cloud tutorials in the new year. Perhaps the people in this world would like them. He smiled and drained his mug as the notes of the harp wove a spell through the air, turning his thoughts to Julia for a time, and how she was faring.

The next day, Victor woke early, his excitement about the upcoming train journey precluding more sleep; he remembered the silver streak he’d seen from the bridge when they’d visited the furniture shop, and couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to sit inside. The station was an adventure in itself, he discovered, with so many people milling about, and destinations and arrivals and departures flashing on screens. He commented that the closest he’d ever come to anything like this was a ride in a large open wagon in the middle of York on May Day, when the streets were thronged with people who’d come to celebrate and attend the biggest market of the year. Yuuri looked at him placidly and nodded with a grin as he bought them both lattes from a vending machine. Victor supposed this must be routine to him, though his eyes sparkled.

When they were seated with a table between them, and the train started, his stomach swooped as it did every time he entered a taxi and it rose into the air. Not that he actually felt any movement, but the sight of the station and then the city accelerating at an impossible speed outside the window was incredible to behold. In minutes, they were shooting through countryside blanketed in dazzling snow underneath a bright winter sun. Yuuri seemed more interested in watching him than the landscape, but then he enjoyed it when Victor tried new things.

“Climate control usually manages to give us a white Christmas,” Yuuri said as he sipped his latte.

“Oh? Why would anyone want that? It must be inconvenient.”

“It’s traditional. Snow doesn’t stop people travelling anymore. The roads can heat up enough to melt it, and it’s not a problem for public transport. Mostly, people think it’s pretty.”

Victor gazed out at the bright hills, fringed by drystone walls and the bare branches of trees, a ribbon of river glinting in the distance. “They’re right,” he said.

They switched trains in Leeds, sitting side by side in this one, and as they neared Hebden Bridge, Victor asked Yuuri about Mari and Sharon’s relationship; whether they were just business partners or something more.

“They’ve known each other for five years and have been running the spa together for three,” he answered. “She’s never given me a straight answer when I’ve asked her. She’s bi –that means attracted to both women and men. And I think Sharon might be, too, but I’m not sure. I’ve kind of got the impression it’s been an on-off thing with them, though they seem to keep personal issues separate from their business relationship.”

“You don’t know?”

Yuuri shrugged. “I’m not sure Mari knows herself. Getting her to talk about her own stuff isn’t easy.” His voice quietened. “She took our parents’ deaths hard, in her own way, and then she had to look after me. I don’t think there was anyone else she felt she could confide in until she met Sharon.” After a pause, he continued, “But whatever they are to each other, they get on well. They run the spa a lot like a Japanese onsen – a resort around a hot spring. After this, you’ll think the shower in our flat is really dull.”

“Never. It’s one of the greatest inventions of all time.”

Yuuri laughed.

But he’d been right in predicting that Victor would be amazed once he saw the spa. Its creators seemed to have taken the ancient Roman custom of public baths and added modern twists to it. There were hot rooms filled with steam, and some that were dry like ovens, as well as cold rooms, some with ice and snow. An amazing variety of showers. Large bathtubs with shooting bubbles that pummelled the back and limbs. Victor decided to prioritise exercise over leisure during their stay, and Yuuri with him, but choosing to relax in one of the many different areas afterward was heavenly.

The best part of being there, however, was meeting Mari and Sharon. Mari’s brown hair was swept up behind a band, and she had rings in her ears, and seemed to like wearing a robe over loose trousers and open-toed shoes, even now in winter. She was every bit the person Victor had spoken to over the com – bold and brash, and kind and generous; he could well imagine her being in charge of her little brother. The blond-haired Sharon was quieter, smiled more, and clearly had a good head for business; she seemed to be in touch with every detail of what was happening at the spa, which in a sense reminded Victor of Matthew Everard. He could be at his ease with both of them, and felt like an honoured guest, without all the bothersome aristocratic customs he was used to when visiting another household. It wasn’t long, in fact, before he gave Mari his permission to tell Sharon about who he was and where he’d come from, having been surprised and touched that she’d waited for him to do so.

To his unending delight, they also had a dog, Aki – a golden retriever, he was told, though no such breed existed in his time. Aki liked to follow Mari and Sharon around the spa, but also himself and Yuuri. However, unlike the hunting and working dogs Victor was used to, this one seemed to exist to do nothing but play and be affectionate. In fact, he was present to keep him and Mari company in the spa’s large kitchen on Christmas Eve while they prepared parts of the seasonal meal for the four of them, since Mari and Sharon would be busy hosting clients on Christmas Day. Victor suspected Mari had arranged the current situation so that they could have a face-to-face private talk for the first time and she could decide what to make of him. He had no objections.

“At any sign of dragon breath, call me over the Cloud and I’ll come and volunteer to peel vegetables or something,” Yuuri had said. “But I doubt that’s going to happen. She already sort of knew you from when you talked over the com, and she likes you.”

While she stuffed and seasoned the carcase of a large plump fowl called a turkey, Victor chopped and peeled potatoes as she’d asked; perhaps he’d enjoy them more once they’d been roasted in goose fat rather than fried as chips at the pub. She asked how Yuuri had been lately, and he told her about their training, and that Yuuri had been teaching him modern English and how to cook; he’d been so lovely and kind about it all, he said. When she asked how he’d been himself, he answered that it was frequently bewildering to be here in this time, but also wonderful, and that the best part of it was Yuuri, of course. He also mentioned that he would be seeking an income of his own soon.

“Good,” she answered as she began pulling bottles and jars out of a cupboard and adding a little of each to a bowl. There was wine, Victor saw, and spices, as well as honey and jam. “Any idea what you want to do? You’ve got some unique skills.” She huffed a laugh.

He explained the options Dr. Fay had given him, and she nodded as she worked. Then she said pointedly, looking at him, “Yuuri was a wreck when he got back. Phichit and I were really worried. Then he got it into his head that he could somehow reinvent all of Ailis’s tech before the year was over.”

Victor paused in the middle of peeling his potato. “He can be enthusiastic like that.”

“You don’t say. Hand me the tamari, will you?” When Victor looked around in confusion, she clarified, “That bottle near you just there.” He passed it over, and she shook some of the dark brown liquid into the bowl and stirred, then began dicing shallots.

“I never wanted Yuuri to be unhappy,” Victor said. “If there was anything I could have done to help, I would have. I missed him terribly.”

Her expression gentled. “You did help. You got a time-travel sphere and came here.” She sighed and turned her full attention to him. “I reckon if you’re going to love someone that hard, the least you can do is risk your life and travel across a few hundred years to find them and carry on with it.”

Victor met her gaze, wondering about this. Then she smiled with warm brown eyes like Yuuri’s, and tipped the shallots into the bowl, whose contents she poured over the large ceramic roasting pot that contained the turkey. “You’re going to make everyone’s lives interesting, that’s for goddamn sure.”

Victor was considering how to reply when Aki came over and nuzzled his leg. He patted the dog’s golden head and ruffled his floppy ears, which he clearly liked.

“He’s taken a shine to you,” Mari said.

“I like him, too. He’s so affectionate.”

“Have you ever had a pet?”

Victor thought about this as he gently scratched Aki’s head, while the dog’s eyelids drooped and his pink tongue lolled. “People don’t keep animals for pets in my time,” he answered. “Not just to roam about the household. They help their masters to hunt, or they guard the property. That’s not to say they can’t be affectionate, but they’re working animals. We often rode horses, too, but the same goes for that. Though it’s easy to get attached to your horse,” he added. “Your steed could save your life in battle.” After a pause, he gave a small laugh. “This must all sound strange to you.”

Mari had been tying fresh herbs in a bundle and stuffing them inside a thin cloth pouch, whose drawstrings she fastened before dropping it into the liquid in the roasting pot. “You just sound like a character from a historical hologram. It’s pretty juke, to be honest. I can’t imagine Yuuri charging around on a horse.”

_Oh, but I can. You should have seen him. _“He had two, Lady and Blaze. We both miss our horses – mine were called Alyona and Perun.”

“There’ll be stables outside of town. They’d let you ride. You could even buy horses, but they’re expensive.”

“That doesn’t seem to have changed, then; it was always so. Perhaps one day. I doubt it would be the same, but maybe I’ll visit a stable in the new year and see, and Yuuri could come too.” Aki nuzzled him again, poking a nose insistently at his thigh; he’d left off petting and scratching too long, it appeared. Victor smiled and stroked him between the ears. It was wonderfully relaxing.

“At least you understand this medieval stuff. I think Yuuri needed someone who does, after everything he went through. Well,” she added with a smirk, “he needed you.”

Victor gazed at her solemnly. “I’m still learning about this new world – but I’m going to look after him, Mari, I promise you.”

She blinked. “Knight’s honour?”

“On everything I hold dear. As God is my witness.”

After a moment, she sighed again, looking him up and down. “I guess that’ll do. I’m officially releasing you from prep duty now, though I might want you and Yuuri back later to help serve up.” She nodded toward a plate on the counter. “Help yourself to a mince pie; Sharon baked them earlier. She makes her own mincemeat and feeds it brandy for six months. Just smelling the fumes from that lot would crash you, but it tastes good.”

“Thank you, I’ll try one.” Victor took one of the small pies from the plate, biting into it as he left the kitchen. Very buttery and delicate pastry, more like a biscuit than a pie. A strong flavouring of sweet alcohol. Dried fruit, as you’d expect. It wasn’t as spicy as he was used to, but then he’d come to the conclusion that few things here were, unless he was eating Asian food.

But where was the meat? he wondered as he lifted the pie and stared at its ruby-red contents. Surely a mince pie should contain mince? He wrinkled his brow, shrugged, took another bite, and carried on down the hall.

Hours later, after having inhaled the enticing aroma of roasting turkey for much of the afternoon, Victor sat down with Yuuri, Mari and Sharon for a Christmas dinner of turkey, roast potatoes, brussels sprouts, carrots, and a host of other things, along with several kinds of sauces. It was quite reminiscent of a feast in the great hall, apart from the fact that the savoury courses were all served at once. Victor just about managed to find room for a fruity steamed pudding covered in custard afterward.

While they ate, they pulled apart popping favours called crackers, each of which contained a paper crown that everyone put on their head. Victor had brought his aircam and took plenty of pictures; he would definitely have to put one of himself and Yuuri arm in arm, with their wonky pink and yellow crowns, someplace prominent in the flat. But the best thing about the whole meal, he decided, was the fact that he was no longer confined to sitting according to social rank at the high table, and could associate with Yuuri and his family as freely as he pleased.

They all helped clean up afterwards and retired to the living quarters of the spa, where there was a luxuriously cushioned sofa and chairs that one could simply melt into – and yet more food on hand in bowls: candied nuts, chocolate-covered mints, savoury bread snacks, and aniseed digestives. Resolving to do an extra-long run across the moors tomorrow, and getting Yuuri to promise to come with him, Victor threw caution to the winds for now and grazed, sipping wine and basking in front of the open fire. He doubted he’d ever felt quite so replete or relaxed after a feast at the castle, and with Yuuri at his side on the sofa, there was nothing more he could possibly want.

And yet there was still gift-giving as well. Yuuri had said there was a longstanding agreement not to exchange anything too fancy or expensive, so Mari and Sharon received shortbread and a bottle of wine from them, while he and Yuuri were given a box of exotically flavoured chocolates and something very special indeed: a downloadable file of holograms taken when Yuuri was six or seven years old, Mari said; she’d been having a clear-out and had discovered them on an old aircam in a drawer. Yuuri said he was keen to see them then and there, and Mari put them over her projector.

What followed was a showing of several dozen still holograms of the family in different places, having fun. Mari said she was fairly sure they had been taken while they were on holiday in western Wales, due to the rocky beach and sunsets over the ocean, and also in the Lake District. The former featured the most adorable holograms of a young floppy-haired Yuuri in red bathing shorts, digging in the sand, running along the shore with Mari, catching waves with a woman who must have been his mother, and helping his father unload the contents of a basket of food onto a blanket. In the Lake District, they hiked up hills and took boat rides, and were all mounted on horses at one point.

“Yuuri, you _had _been on a horse before you came to the castle!” Victor exclaimed. After ascertaining that Yuuri was not only all right with viewing these holograms of his parents that he’d never seen before, but was smiling wistfully and even laughing as he vaguely recalled memories that they evoked, Victor had decided that he could enjoy the show right alongside of him. Which turned into being slumped against him after a third glass of wine, and finally lying with his head in Yuuri’s lap while his fringe was stroked. Aki joined them, wanting attention as well, and Victor saw to that, wondering if he might simply evaporate into a cloud of sheer bliss before the night was over.

“Obviously, but I don’t remember,” Yuuri replied with a voice warm and thick from his own drink. “Mari, you should’ve said. I _had _been on a horse.”

“I wasn’t sure you had a desperate need to know,” she answered with an amused grin. “But now you do. See that butterfly pin _Okasan_’s wearing?”

“I’ve seen you with it a few times. You never told me it was from her.”

“I think it got lost at the back of her jewellery box for a long time; she stopped wearing it when you were little. I always liked it, though.” She added more quietly, “It’s good to see them again.” Sharon, in the chair next to her, reached out and gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

“This is the best present,” Yuuri said to her. He wiped at an eye, but he was smiling.

“For me, too,” Victor murmured as he basked in Yuuri’s warmth. “I get to see your family, and you, when you were the cutest little thing on the planet. In fact, it’s so adorable, I just can’t bear it.” He buried his face against Yuuri’s stomach, hugging his waist.

“Hey, I’m full of food,” Yuuri protested with a laugh, and Victor pulled away with an exaggerated pout. Mari rolled her eyes, though she was smirking.

There was one final present, however: Yuuri had bought a nine men’s morris board that looked quite similar to the one Victor had left behind in the castle, and he gasped in delight to see it. A present for themselves, he said, but they could all share it tonight. So they taught Mari and Sharon how to play, and they turned out to be very good at it, though Victor suspected that if he and Yuuri hadn’t drunk so much wine, they might have put up a better fight – it was an old tactic in the main garrison room for overcoming an opponent, plying them with drink. Not that Mari and Sharon needed to do any plying. But, well, the wine wouldn’t drink itself any more than those chocolate-covered mints would disappear on their own. Yuuri sneaked him a kiss after he’d eaten one, and Victor instantly decided he was an admirer of that particular delicacy.

Later, as he lay falling into slumber in the warm bed, loosely tangled with Yuuri, his stomach full and his mind pleasantly spinning, he decided that all the gold and jewels in the king’s castles could never equal the riches he’d been blessed with in this single festive night. And if that was a concept Richard found difficult to understand – or his uncle John of Gaunt, or the other nobles – then they were all the poorer for it. 

* * *

Yuuri got up before Victor the next morning so that he could steal to the kitchen, where he and Mari met to make sambocade from a recipe he’d found on the Cloud as a special birthday treat. As they worked, Mari told him how glad she was that the two of them were so happy together, and wanted to know when the wedding would be. That, however, was something Yuuri knew he still needed to address.

An opportunity finally arose later that day, after a surprised and delighted Victor had eaten a generous piece of sambocade to finish off a lunch of leftovers, and the two of them had gone for a long run over the streets and paths of Hebden Bridge and beyond that were snow-free; the sun glittered in a blue sky again, as it always did on holidays as long as climate control could manage it. Afterward, they returned to the spa, changed into long white robes, and headed for the solarium in the middle of the main building. Mari and Sharon had given them a two-hour exclusive slot as their present for Victor, and it was a generous one, because that was the most expensive room and was often in demand.

“What’s a solarium?” Victor asked as they walked barefoot down the hall, towels over their arms.

“You’ll see,” Yuuri answered mysteriously. “I think you’ll like it.”

As they approached a set of large glass double doors with a sign to the side that labelled them as the entrance to the solarium, Victor gasped and stared. “That looks like what’s on the other side of the wall in Celestino’s office. I never did ask. All those strange and wonderful plants.”

“You know, you’re right,” Yuuri mused. “It’s like a jungle – something you’d find in tropical places. But there are paths inside, so we won’t exactly have to blaze a trail.”

“And we have it all to ourselves?”

Yuuri hooded his eyes and hummed in the affirmative, and Victor’s expression was all curiosity. The doors opened for them and they stepped inside onto a spongy brown path which was solid but gentle on the feet. They were surrounded by thick luxuriant foliage, with a glass dome above that sealed in the warm, misty air and allowed the sunshine through.

“By all the saints,” Victor muttered, glancing around, wide-eyed, “I’ve never seen such a place. And…music?”

It was ambient sound with a Japanese influence, soothing but not soporific. “You can turn it off if you want to,” Yuuri said.

“No…it’s lovely. What’s here?”

Yuuri smiled and took his hand. “Let’s explore, shall we?”

They wandered down the winding path, their shoulders brushed by the long, wide leaves of plants whose identities Yuuri couldn’t guess at; he knew Mari and Sharon had a part-time gardener who tended to the room, but he’d never met her. A dark stream flowed next to them, wide and deep enough to submerge a person up to the waist, but there were more interesting things ahead.

“Was that a bird?” Victor asked, jerking his head up and scanning their surroundings.

“Probably. The dome isn’t completely sealed off from the outside, so you get small birds like tits and wrens in here, and honeybees sometimes. Have you seen the butterflies?”

“No, where?”

They soon found a disc mounted on a stake which served as a feeding station, where five vividly hued butterflies were resting on a cabbage leaf covered with chunks of fruit. “All those colours,” Victor breathed. “I didn’t know butterflies could look like this. They surely don’t come from outside, too?”

Yuuri slipped an arm around his waist and smiled. “They keep butterflies from around the world in here.”

“I wish I’d thought to put my aircam in my pocket.”

“I think you’d discover that butterflies are notoriously hard to take pictures of. The second you want them to stay still, they fly away.” Yuuri nodded toward the path. “We haven’t got to the best bit yet.”

“It’s all the best bit,” Victor murmured as they resumed their walk.

He seemed to change his mind, however, when they emerged in a clearing at the heart of the solarium and were greeted by a small piece of tropical paradise: a waterfall flowing over a rocky cliff and into a deep pool from which the stream sprang. Pink and yellow water lilies grew in the middle, and orange fish darted about, while the whole of the area was fringed by soft green ferns.

“Care for a swim?” Yuuri asked Victor coquettishly, untying his robe.

Victor eyed the pond. “In there, with the fish?”

“They don’t bite,” Yuuri laughed.

“Do they nibble?”

“Have we finally found something the great Sir Victor Nikiforov is afraid of?”

“Me? Of a fish?”

“Let’s see, then.” Yuuri let his robe and towel fall to the cushion of the ferns, allowing Victor to have a brief view of him in the nude before he said, “Catch me if you can.” And with that, he dived into the pond.

When he surfaced and turned to look behind him, his pulse raced as he saw that Victor had dived in too and was fast approaching, and with a squeak he swam away…though he didn’t try too hard not to get caught. They splashed and played like a pair of seals before Yuuri pulled himself out of the pond and challenged Victor to catch him again, and this time led him in a frenzied chase over the paths, their laughter spilling out behind them to be swallowed by the foliage. Victor was quick, sprinting on his long legs, and Yuuri knew he didn’t stand much chance, which was fine by him.

Upon approaching the pond once more, he dashed through the waterfall, getting thoroughly doused before being grabbed, giggling, by a panting and crowing Victor. Yuuri made a show of trying to wrestle out of his slick arms, but the hold around him was secure. Before he knew it, he was swept up in a bridal carry, laughing as he draped his arms around Victor’s neck and was transported around the side of the waterfall, avoiding the spray.

He nuzzled at Victor’s forehead. “Good sir knight,” he said in a low, soft voice, “I’m at your mercy. Name your forfeit.”

“A taste of those tempting lips is my desire,” Victor replied, so close that Yuuri could feel his breath on his cheek.

“You may take it, then, and more besides.” Yuuri smiled into a teasingly gentle kiss, sucking lightly at Victor’s bottom lip and then his top, and pulling away briefly before another soft touch. Victor, however, was more insistent, and before long, Yuuri was moaning and raking his fingers through his wet hair as their tongues tangled. He was carried, mid-kiss, to the bank of ferns where they’d left their robes and gently deposited there, Victor quickly getting on all fours above him and stealing more kisses. Soon he was working his way downward and guiding Yuuri to move this way and that while he explored and pleasured his most sensitive and intimate areas; he was quivering with desire by the time Victor swallowed him deep. Yuuri cradled his head, thoughts shattering to fragments at the feel of the hot, urgent mouth on his cock while he watched Victor stroke himself. “Yes, Vitya,” he choked out, rocketing toward a precipice. But then Victor pulled away, cheeks glowing, half-dry hair mussed.

“Will you sit up?” he panted. “I’d like to take my pleasure on you, my sweet.”

Yuuri immediately did so, wondering what Victor had in mind, following his movements as he took a bottle of lube from the pocket of his robe. Then he returned, straddling just above his lap, and Yuuri was suddenly aching to thrust up into him.

“Prepare me?” Victor whispered, blue eyes meeting his own as he skated his hands over Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri nodded, working in one finger and then two as Victor’s lips descended on his. And when they joined, they clutched each other tight, rocking together, tongues entwining, as it if were possible to get so close that they blended, the boundaries between them dissolving at the touch of the flame they fed. Yuuri felt Victor breathe into him and moaned in response, giving over to the need to thrust fast and deep. Victor bucked against him hard, his mouth falling open as he dug his fingers into Yuuri’s back. Their cries as they came were echoed in the abrupt fluttering of the wings of birds nearby.

Afterward, Victor smiled against Yuuri’s cheek as they sat afloat on waves of pleasure, still locked in each other’s arms. “Oh, Yuuri,” came his quiet voice. “I love you so much.” He sought Yuuri’s lips and kissed him tenderly, both of them breaking at intervals for more breaths before softly meeting once more.

“Vitya, I love you too,” Yuuri whispered, underlining it with every caress. But that bittersweet moment arrived, as it always did, where his mind inevitably drifted back down to earth, even while his body still thrummed with contentment. His softening cock slipped out, and he was conscious of his back straining while he remained upright in this position, with Victor wrapped around him. It seemed a curse and a tease of being human that two people could only be so close for a few fleeting moments, though it never slaked the desire to reach out and grasp for a few more. And suddenly Yuuri decided he was going to do that now, in a rather different and more permanent way.

“I can’t imagine being without you again,” he said, looking into those placid blue eyes. “Please, Vitya…will you marry me?”

Victor gasped and stared at Yuuri, open-mouthed, eyes shining as he took this in. “That’s not something I could ever imagine one man asking another,” he finally said in a shaky voice. “We…really can?”

“We really can,” Yuuri said with a grin, infused with warmth at Victor’s reaction; he glimpsed a tear slip silently down his cheek.

“Oh, my love…my beautiful, beautiful Yuuri. I – I’m quite overcome.” He sniffed, but his smile was radiant. “I would love nothing more in the world.”

“Happy birthday, Vitya,” Yuuri whispered, his own eyes brimming as he clasped him tight.

* * *

Yuuri had bought the rings before their trip to the spa as a present to go along with a proposal on Victor’s birthday, though his original plan had been to be a bit more formal about it, keeping them with him and perhaps choosing a moment in front of a breathtaking landscape outside, or when they’d shared a kiss in some entrancing part of the spa. Not when they were both messy and tangled from making love in a bed of ferns, and Yuuri had left the rings back in their room because he hadn’t thought to put them in the pocket of his robe. 

He got them out when they returned there – plain gleaming gold, though each had been inscribed inside with one tiny whole snowflake, and another larger half of one, so that when they were sitting one on top of the other the design was complete. They’d take a while to pay off, but this was one instance where Yuuri had refused to compromise: Victor deserved nothing less than a real gold ring, being his fiancé, but also someone who had an appreciation for such fine things. And if Yuuri had no desire to buy anything else made of gold in his life, he’d know that yellow band would forever be circling the finger of the man he loved.

They slipped them onto each other with kisses and promises, Victor wondering aloud what a wedding of two men would be like. Yuuri answered that the brotherhood-in-arms ceremony had been everything he could have asked for, though the knives and the blood-letting would not be part of a modern ceremony, and they would have plenty of time to plan. And when they met Mari and Sharon for a late dinner, after they’d finished with their clients for the day, his sister nodded in satisfaction when she saw the rings on their fingers.

“You didn’t lose any time, then,” she said with a raised eyebrow and a smile. “How juke – my little brother’s getting married.”

Yuuri and Victor spent their days up to New Year’s Eve exercising outside and in the spa’s gym, assiduously eating light meals before they really did struggle to fit back into their armour, relaxing in the comforts which the spa offered, and visiting with Mari and Sharon when they could spare the time. Victor continued to search the Cloud and share his new discoveries with Yuuri, which included everything from what DNA and genes were to how the middle of the earth was heated by the process of atoms losing pieces of themselves. They watched comedy and drama holograms over the projector in the living area, and documentaries, and Shakespeare plays. Victor practised his modern English, with the slight touch of an accent that Yuuri found endearing. And they lost no opportunities to share their love, fingers entwining as they chased those brief precious moments where it seemed they could disappear one into the other.

And at the year’s end, Victor was very much alive as he and Yuuri, Mari and Sharon counted down the minutes to the stroke of midnight in the living quarters, with wine and snacks and a live hologram of celebrations while January the First crept across the world. When it arrived in England, the holo-feed from Birmingham chimed out, accompanied by blossoming fireworks that rained through the sky like confetti. The four of them exchanged warm hugs, Yuuri grabbing Victor at the last and dampening his shirt with tears as he murmured, “Happy 2122.”

“I made it,” Victor said, his voice cracking. “All that worry is gone now.”

“Well, maybe I really am Crazy Man Michael,” Yuuri said with the ghost of a grin as he wiped at his eyes.

Victor blinked. “I remember that odd name. It’s what the fortune-teller called you at the Stamford Bridge tournament.”

“It is.”

“I don’t understand.”

Yuuri explained how he’d first heard the song when he’d visited The Eagle with Phichit, and quietly sang the relevant verse while Mari and Sharon crossed the room to open another bottle and top up their drinks.

“You died in 1393,” he said, “and it was my fault, because you left your own time to be with me. In fact…you could even say it was by my own right hand, just like the fortune-teller said, and in the song.”

Victor wrinkled his brow. “How?”

“It was the temporal window I took to the castle which opened the rift between our times and made it so that you could come here without swapping with anyone, wasn’t it? Well, that day I sat there using it and saw you, I got so desperate that I stuck my hand through the sphere to try to touch you. Even though I knew it wouldn’t work, I…um, just did it anyway.”

“I certainly didn’t see anything like that.”

“Good thing, too,” Yuuri said, huffing a laugh. “Can you imagine what it might have looked like to you? It’s not a pleasant feeling, thinking you’re going mad. But anyway, the hand I put through was my right one.”

Victor took this in, then laughed.

Mari and Sharon rejoined them, drinks in hand. “What the bloody hell are you on about?” Mari asked, though her eyes danced.


	179. Chapter 179

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've almost made it to the end of this epic tale - and so have you! But each end signals a beginning, and there are so many things I can imagine these two getting up to in their lives. 
> 
> If you haven't visited Adrianners’ [language guide](https://adrianners.dreamwidth.org/22612.html), please take a moment to do so - she is a medieval scholar and the info there is amazing. 
> 
> As this has been my third and final Victuuri fic, I've also written a [thank-you to readers](https://kitsunebi-uk.tumblr.com/post/189849321768/a-thank-you-to-readers-as-many-of-you-know-this) on Tumblr. Please stop by, because it's for you and the others who have supported me in making this story what it is :)
> 
> * * *

One morning shortly after they returned home, Victor and Yuuri were on a run in their armour along the old railway line, their breaths steaming in front of them, when they were passed by a man and a woman on horseback. This time Victor stared as much as he was stared at, exchanging smiles and waves. They were magnificent animals, one white and one a dun, sleek and muscular and obviously well-groomed and exercised. He glanced at Yuuri as they carried on, and discovered he’d been looking at him curiously. With a smile, his love turned his attention back to their run, and nothing further was said on the matter until they’d returned to the flat, having removed their armour and brewed mugs of coffee that they sipped as they leaned against the counter.

“Mari told me you miss your horses,” Yuuri said.

Victor took a long sip of his coffee before he replied. “You know I do. I’ve heard you say the same.” After another pause, he added, “I shall never have any regrets about coming here.”

“I know,” was Yuuri’s soft reply.

“Well. There may be stables to visit – perhaps that’s something we could consider? But it’s not the same as stabling your own, and one that you ride almost every day. I had Alyona for years, and Perun was a strong, reliable mount; you can’t win jousting tournaments without a good horse under you.”

“Maybe one day we’ll each be able to buy one, and do some of the things we used to do.”

Victor smiled. “That sounds like a worthy aim, if it’s possible. I’ve been a horseman almost since I could walk. Learning how to ride was like learning to use a bow; all men did it. But is that truly something you’d like as well?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said straightaway. “It’s funny to say so, because a year ago I was still only learning how to ride.”

“Those early days when I knew so little about you,” Victor sighed, resting his mug on the counter and giving him a wistful look. “Just when you needed someone to help. I hope you’re aware that you found as much courage then as you did later, in the duel and with Ailis. And after you were forcibly returned here. You’re still the flower of chivalry, and a knight more worthy of the name than many.”

Yuuri blinked, his cheeks pinking adorably. “Thank you.” After a sip of his coffee, he continued, “I was going to suggest that while we don’t have horses just now, we…could maybe get a pet. A dog.”

Victor gazed at him in surprise. “Oh?”

“You seemed to get on really well with Aki, so I thought…”

“I did! He was the friendliest animal I’ve ever met.”

Seemingly heartened by this, Yuuri continued, “My family had a poodle when I was little; that’s the type of dog on my mug in the lab. He died when I was twelve. He was just as sweet as Aki.” He smiled. “His name was Vicchan. It’s a diminutive of…well, Victor. Mari said she just liked the name, and she was the one who got to choose, because I was only two at the time.”

A shiver passed through Victor. “Really?”

“Yeah. She gets…ideas like that once in a while, though you never know that there’s anything unusual about them until things happen later, like me meeting you.” He sipped more coffee. “Anyway, I didn’t get a dog as an adult because I was at the uni all day, and they don’t allow them there. But you and I don’t have that problem so much now – we’re back and forth to and from the flat, we could take turns – ”

But Victor needed no further persuasion. “What a wonderful idea,” he exclaimed, grabbing him for a hug, since their mugs were resting on the counter and there was little danger of spillage. Yuuri laughed and hugged him back.

After taking some time in the following days to explore the options, they decided to adopt a rescue dog from a shelter, where there were good-natured animals who needed a new home, though Victor had read up on the subject enough to be aware that many of them would present challenges in one way or another because of past experiences. Upon visiting the nearest shelter, he spotted a young poodle which ran up to him with a lolling tongue, and he knew his heart had been captured as he stroked her tight curly hair while she licked his face. She was friendly with Yuuri, too, though the volunteer with them said she was quite fearful on the whole; she had some behavioural quirks due to her previous owners neglecting her, and they’d eventually given up on taking care of her and left her at the shelter. But she was only three years old, and he reckoned they had a good chance with her, if that was what they wanted. After a few more visits, during which Victor and Yuuri played with her and took her on walks, they decided it very much was, and brought her in a taxi with them to her new home.

Victor had conscientiously arranged sheets of paper all over the flat in case of accidents, with a dog bed in the one corner of the bedroom where it would fit, and there was a bag full of toys and treats and other accoutrements that they’d bought on Yuuri’s recommendations. Their new pet was cautious but curious as she entered the flat and proceeded to investigate, sniffing her way around while Victor hovered in concern, Yuuri at his side.

“She’s going to be OK,” his love said with a warm grin, giving his waist a squeeze and leaning his head on his shoulder.

“Do you think so? You think she’ll like it here?”

“With an owner like you?” Yuuri laughed. “She’ll be positively spoiled.”

The most pressing issue initially, however, was that up to now her name had been Duchess. “No, no,” Victor said when they discussed it that evening while she lay curled up in a corner of the living room, her snout tucked between her paws as her big brown eyes went back and forth from one of them to the other. “That’s definitely wrong. I like Makkachin much better.”

“Oh? Why that name?” Yuuri, on the sofa next to him, asked.

“Well, ‘makka’ is ‘large’ in the Russian I speak, which is known here as Old East Slavic. And ‘-chin’ is a diminutive, like the ‘-chan’ in Vicchan. I looked it up.”

Yuuri smiled. “So, large but also small and cute.”

“It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it is,” Yuuri agreed as he watched their new family member with a fond grin. 

And she was a welcome companion for them both, accompanying them on runs, jumping and barking in excitement when they danced in the flat, sleeping on their bed, curling up for cuddles in their laps. She often startled at loud noises and when a stranger came to the door, and growled sometimes if anyone tried to approach her while she had food. But they’d been apprised of these things by the shelter, and were advised that they were old habits which she would most likely grow out of as she learned she was loved and that there was nothing to be afraid of.

Victor was unashamedly silly with her, and Yuuri soon followed his example. They took still and moving holograms of each other speaking to her in baby talk, carrying her around, and being savagely licked. In fact, Victor declared, the people of his time had no idea what they were missing by not keeping pets simply for the sake of it.

“It’s superior in every way,” he told Yuuri, “to keeping a falcon on your windowsill and sending it out to kill small animals.”

“I think Makkachin would agree with you,” Yuuri replied with a smile.

* * *

Victor smoothed down the pages of _The Forme of Cury_, scanning the recipe to see what he should add next. He’d bought the battered book from a secondhand Cloud site, having decided to treat Yuuri to the types of foods they had enjoyed at the castle, though he made no pretence of being able to replicate Fernand’s skill. However, he reckoned he knew his way around the kitchen well enough now to manage a basic dish or two. Yuuri was registering for a course in Immersion programming at the university, though he’d messaged on his way out while he was getting into his taxi to say he’d be home soon. Makkachin’s claws clacked over the kitchen tiles, and she nudged Victor from time to time, jealous of his concentration over the hob. But this business of cooking wasn’t easy; he was lacking experience in medieval methods, let alone modern ones.

This cookbook felt a little like cheating on his language lessons, since Middle English appeared along with modern. However, if these were the only instructions people in the castle’s kitchen had followed, they were so vague that it was a wonder they managed to accomplish anything.

He’d chosen to cook chicken in milk and honey, having already prepared pears in red wine and sandalwood powder. “Take gode cowe mylke and do it in a pot,” the original author – writing for King Richard’s cooks – had instructed. “Take parsel, sawge, ysope, savray and oother gode herbs. Hewe hem, and do hem in the mylke and seeth hem. Take capons half yrosted and smyte hem on pecys and do thereto pynes and hony clarified. Salt it and colour it with saffron and serve it forth.”

He understood it better than the modern English on the facing page, but it was the latter that he focused on, since the full list of ingredients and quantities was there. He tasted the broth, added a pinch more salt and grains of paradise, and was stirring in the pine nuts when he heard Yuuri come through the front door. Soon a pair of strong arms slid around his waist from behind, and a frisson rippled through him as Yuuri kissed the sensitive spot just below his ear. 

“Something smells amazing,” he said in a low voice. “I had no idea you were cooking us a meal.”

Victor gave a little laugh as he stirred. “I hope that’s what it is, and not a disaster.”

“Smells too good for that.” Then the arms around him dropped as Yuuri let out an “Ahh!”, while a large furry intruder nosed between them. “Bloody hell, Makkachin,” Yuuri said, though his voice was gentle, and Victor turned to find him stroking her from head to tail.

“She’s not been best pleased that I’ve spent so much time cooking instead of with her,” Victor explained. “Makka, sit.” She obeyed, staring up at him while her tail swept back and forth across the floor. “Good girl.” He checked the rice; it was just about ready. “How were things at the university today?” he asked Yuuri, who was pouring two glasses of ginger and lemon sparkling water, dropping in some ice cubes.

“I registered for my course and spoke with the professor about what it’d include. I can learn the programming language over the Cloud at home, and at the university we’ll be looking at the more artistic elements – settings, characters, plot, dialogue, realistic details, interactive features, and so on.” He scratched Makkachin behind her ears. “Sounds interesting. But I’ll still have plenty of time to train.”

“Good. All good,” Victor said, fluffing the rice and putting it in on the table, then sticking a ladle into the cooking pot and placing it on an iron trivet next to it. They didn’t stand on ceremony, the two of them, especially when it just made more dishes to wash.

“Yeah. So what have you been doing, apart from cooking this incredible meal?”

“Well, I’ve been learning the language, as always. I went to the gym for a while and lifted weights – the machines there, they’re all so precise with the muscles you want to target and how long and hard you want to work. Soon, I think, I’ll be returning to Dr. Fay and offering my services as a medieval language and weapons master, and historian.”

“Weapons master?” Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “Is that something we could do together?”

Victor smiled. “I’d been hoping so.”

“Brilliant.” Yuuri tried a forkful of the chicken and rice and raised his eyebrows as he chewed. “Vitya, this is wonderful. Thank you.”

He was just as pleased with the pears in wine and sandalwood, which he said were as good as Fernand’s. Well, Victor wasn’t averse to a bit of flattery. Makkachin lay at their feet during the meal, gazing up at them with sorrowful eyes, but Victor knew better than to feed her what they were eating and fetched her a chewbone afterward.

Once they’d finished and cleared up, Victor retired to the sofa with Makkachin at his heels, and Yuuri brought out several bottles of ale made by small brewers, including Baz’s Bonce Blower, placing them on the table. They poured their drinks into glass pint mugs, shared a toast, and drank.

“Why don’t we pretend we’re in the main garrison room?” Yuuri suggested. “I feel nostalgic tonight. You could even play your citole if you wanted, and we could sing.”

“Oh, I like that idea.” Victor took a healthy swig of his ale, then put his mug down and fetched his instrument, tuning it while Makkachin thumped her tail and barked. “It’s a citole,” he said to her as if she could understand. “It’s not going to hurt you, and it’s not for eating.” She answered with a woof.

Yuuri laughed and called her over to sit next to him, and stroked her while Victor played and they both sang, Yuuri suggesting songs he’d learned in the past that had been forgotten in the passage of time down the centuries. While Victor continued to pluck and strum thoughtfully, they each imagined aloud what they might be seeing on a night like this in the garrison next to the fire.

“Chris is coming in, stomping the snow off his boots and wanting to play his ocarina with us,” Yuuri said with a smile. “And Charles has got into another fight with Abelard.”

“Oh no,” Victor chuckled, rolling his eyes, “anything but that.” He took a drink of his ale and added, “Emil is sitting on a bench, sharpening his knife. And Julia’s boasting about her archery skills and hoping to find someone to have a contest with.” He sighed. “Oh…I miss them, Yuuri.”

“Me too.”

“But we left all that behind for Victor and Friends. Do you remember how Oswin used to seek us out sometimes to discuss finances or ask for a signature, when it was so late and we were so in our cups that we could barely see straight?”

Yuuri laughed. “Speak for yourself. I never got that smashed.”

“_Yuuri_,” Victor breathed after a theatrical gasp. “I do believe I’ve caught you out in a lie. How unknightly of you.” He lifted a sanctimonious eyebrow. “Whereas I, of course, was always as virtuous as newly fallen snow.”

Yuuri snorted into his drink. “Yeah, right. And it was never you who challenged Chris to a sparring competition in the complete dark that night after we performed at Pickering Castle and you could barely stand up straight.”

“You malign my reputation, my love,” Victor chided him, finishing his pint. “I may have to draw swords with you for that.”

“And God will give me the strength to whip your arse, because we both know I’m right.”

Victor had a good laugh at this as he set his citole aside. They carried on reminiscing for some time about their life both in the troupe and at the castle, brushing occasional tears aside. Yuuri leaned into him, while Makkachin jumped to his other side and curled up against him on the sofa. Victor forgot how much he’d had to drink, but it surely couldn’t have been more than a couple of bottles. Though it was remarkably strong ale.

“It’s good, what we have here,” he eventually mumbled against Yuuri’s hair. “However much we miss people. Starting something new always involves leaving something old behind.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Yuuri agreed a little blearily. “It’s just…what’s the word…insulated. Like we’re apart from people most of the time. You can’t just go see someone in their tent or their room at the castle.”

“There’s Mrs. Wells next door.”

“True.”

“Do you know your other neighbours?”

“They work. Keep themselves to themselves.” After a silence, Yuuri said, “Vitya, I know I promised I wouldn’t do anything with Ailis’s kit. I’m saying that right now so that you don’t think – ”

“Think what?”

“Well, that I changed my mind. It’s just that we’re the only two people here who’ve ever travelled in time, and I like talking about it with you. That OK? I mean, remembering is like travelling in time, in a way.”

“It’s always OK, my love,” Victor replied, squeezing his shoulder.

Yuuri gave him a lopsided smile. “So let’s say we went back.”

“Which we won’t.”

“No. But imagining we did.”

“I can do that.”

“Boucicaut.”

“What?” Victor laughed. “I already met him.”

“But _I _didn’t.”

“Hm, true. In fact…” He touched his finger to the tip of Yuuri’s nose. “…it’s your turn to challenge him. He said he _wants _to fight you. And he’ll be wanting a rematch with me.”

“I’ll fight him first. Tire him out for you a bit.”

“Perhaps you could, at that. And Julia and Emil will be there, too. And Chris, and…and Alex. Why not, if we’re imagining.”

“Of course.” Yuuri sighed. “Listen to us, talking about this stuff like it’s happening now.”

“It’s always going to feel that way to me. That must be what time-travelling does to you.”

“It helps, when you’ve lost people. Makes them seem closer.”

Victor kissed his temple.

“I wonder where else we could’ve travelled. Gone to the distant past and got eaten by a dinosaur. Or even further back. There used to be giant insects. Dragonflies got…” Yuuri held his hands out with about two feet between them. “…this big. A time called the carbon…aceous…isherous. Shit, my lips aren’t working properly,” he laughed.

“Maybe I can help with that later,” Victor said with a smile. “But surely you’re jesting.”

“No, I swear. Giant insects, honest to God.” Yuuri closed his eyes and nestled closer. “Then again, I wouldn’t want to meet one.”

Victor wasn’t certain which response in him was stronger, fascination or disgust. “Or we could’ve visited the future,” he said. “Wouldn’t you be curious?”

One eye opened, peering at him. “As long as they don’t try to shoot us or something.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Who knows. Or maybe there’ll be giant crabs in charge of everything.”

Victor snorted. “Giant crabs?”

“Or something. Morlocks.”

“What?”

“Just…they’re from a book. Never mind.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

Yuuri smirked and gave him a gentle elbow.

Victor stroked the top of Makkachin’s head until her eyes closed. Then he took a sip of his ale and looked at Yuuri again. Eventually he said, “Did you ever notice anything strange about Ailis’s tech?”

“Plenty. What _isn’t _strange about it.” He huffed a laugh.

“No, I mean…” Victor wasn’t sure how to put it, especially with his thoughts pleasantly spinning. “Couldn’t you see the temp…temp…the time energy surrounding the window, when you looked close?”

Yuuri turned his head and gazed at him with wide, bright eyes. “Are you talking about the temporal window? The gadget that made the connection between us at the castle?” When Victor nodded, he said, “I never tried.”

“It’s got the timestream in and all around it.” The words tumbled out before Victor thought about them.

“How would you know?” Yuuri wrinkled his brow.

“I just do,” Victor replied simply. “I felt it, I think, more than I actually saw it. Like an idea that felt true.” He downed the last of his pint.

Yuuri watched him for a moment, then did the same. “You really do have an intuition about time. We both seem to. Maybe even a kind of ESP.”

“What’s that?”

It took a while for Yuuri to explain, and Victor thought at first that he’d been introduced to another marvel, until he remembered that people had been claiming to have visions and “the sight” for many a long year – including the fortune-teller at Stamford Bridge, it appeared. And hadn’t he experienced something similar with Alex in his dream? Perhaps it wasn’t so uncommon.

“It’s nothing special,” he said. “It would be easy to believe you were imagining it.” 

“The fading afterglow of a candle,” Yuuri muttered.

“That’s what I said at the castle, isn’t it? Yes, it’s a good description.”

After a long pause, Yuuri said, “Does your time-ESP tell you how Julia dies? Or what happens to Emil?”

Victor had begun to consider an appropriately whimsical response when he saw in his love’s eyes that he was serious. “No,” he said. “It’s nothing like that. Just an ability to sense a kind of energy, perhaps.”

“You know, you may not be far wrong.” Yuuri thought about this, then sighed and snuggled against him once more. “What do we do with it, then?”

“Do? I can’t imagine.”

“It’s not exactly a talent we could use for performances, is it? Breathing fire, swallowing swords, walking on stilts – now _those _things would be handy.” He paused, then said with a little smile, “Hey, maybe I’ll discover I’ve got master clock-building skills now. You never know.”

Victor laughed and kissed into his hair. 

* * *

The cursor hovered over the “Post” button in their networked visual field, and Yuuri ran a hand over his chin, then back through his hair. “Um.”

“It’s fine, my love. Something we can be proud of.”

“I don’t know.” They were sitting together in their habitual workspace, the sofa in the living room, having completed the editing of their first Cloud tutorial. It looked professional, Yuuri thought, without being pretentious; their experience in performing for audiences with Victor and Friends had helped them appear natural and at ease. In the end they’d chosen to film at Crowood Castle, in the middle of the courtyard, while Frank kindly kept a lookout and directed visitors out of their way. Yuuri doubted they could have produced anything better as an introduction to Fiore’s school of the longsword, though that didn’t stop him from experiencing last-minute jitters. Would people like what they saw? Would they think it was naff? Well, no one could ever think that about Victor, but he wasn’t so sure about himself. Were the two of them clear enough with their explanations? Would the hologram receive more than a handful of views? Yuuri had optimised it for search engines and even paid for a bit of advertising around the Cloud, while Dr. Fay said she’d send a link to the weapons experts she knew. But…but. He bit his lip.

“Is there a particular concern you have,” Victor said gently, “or do you think it’s the anxiety?”

“I’m never going to feel completely ready for this, I don’t think. But we put all that time into training, and this is what we did, and…” Yuuri gave a small huff. “Well, let’s go for it.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, holding his jaw firm. “Do it.”

Victor clicked “Post”, and they were on the Cloud.

Yuuri kept a nervous eye on the status of their hologram after that, and by the end of the week it had received a creditable number of views for a first-time posting from two people who were completely new to it. Dr. Fay, who they hadn’t yet got around to giving a demonstration to in person, called them with gushing praise, saying she’d never seen anything like what they’d done; and even Mari and Sharon admitted they were impressed.

“Fucking hell, Yuuri,” Mari said, having called him once she’d viewed the hologram, “I’d run a mile if I saw either of you coming at me like that. You’re flaming, bro – you and Victor both. I’m going to put the hologram on as part of the ambient programming in parts of the spa, to run with the other programs, unless you have any objections.”

“What?” Yuuri said, his eyes widening. “Swordfighting as an ambient hologram?”

“It’s my brother and his fiancé being ting. That’s a good enough reason for me.”

In the end, Yuuri said he didn’t mind. People were entertained by films with swordfighting in them, so he supposed this wasn’t that different.

They had a loose outline for what to put into more tutorials if they wanted to make them, and decided that they did, filming the second in the great hall of the castle and the third on top of the northwest tower, the wind whipping at them as they clashed, making it look at times as if one were going to force the other over the battlements, though of course the main purpose of the holograms was simply to instruct. If they couldn’t resist the temptation to make it a little more dramatic at the same time, Yuuri supposed no one would complain.

He padded into the kitchen one morning, bleary-eyed as he brewed the coffee while Victor slept, Makkachin clicking across the floor next to him and going to her water bowl. He and Victor had played nine men’s morris the night before, until they’d had a few drinks between them, at which point one of them – Yuuri couldn’t remember who – thought it would be brilliant if it became _strip _nine men’s morris; neither of them had got much sleep after that. Well, if he had to be shattered the next day, Yuuri decided, that was the best possible reason. He smiled to himself, sitting down at the table with his coffee – and practically spitting it out as he discovered hundreds of alerts waiting for him on the Cloud.

“What the fuck?” he mumbled, heart racing. He clicked on the first in his visual field, and was sent to the initial comment at the beginning of a list, reading with his jaw dropping further as he went along.

_When your punkybug friend says europeans didnt know how to fight with swords.. show them this_

_Movie directors, feel free to steal this idea_

_You have just put every sword fight scene I have ever seen to shame!_

There were more comments in other languages that Yuuri couldn’t read without his translator handy, and the Cloud didn’t offer an English version of these, because they were random things visitors had typed on the main viewing platform, SteamStream. Hardly able to believe what he was seeing, he scrolled up until he saw a frozen still image of himself and Victor in the courtyard in their armour. This was the first hologram they’d made, and it had received…

_Fuck. _It had received over nine hundred thousand hits. The last time he’d checked, a few days ago, it had been a little over seven thousand.

His insides felt as if he’d chugged a pitcher of ice water. This couldn’t be happening. Surely it was impossible, a mistake…

All those notifications, they were for comments on their three holograms in the different places where they now appeared on the Cloud, having been reposted all over from the look of it. How had this happened? Yuuri read more comments until his brain couldn’t take them in anymore.

_Proof that historically accurate swordplay can look ting as hell too_

_NO NO NO……. this is ALL WRONG. Don’t you know your supposed to spin and twirl the sword around like a FKING TURBOFAN_

_Impressive swordfight gu-OH MY GOD LOOK AT THOSE PANTS THEY WEARING THEM ON THE OUTSIDE_

_Blond 5 star meal u know what im sayin_

_I’d do the Japanese jack he’s fking fit _

Yuuri felt a flush surge to his face, and his hands began to shake; he clasped them around his coffee mug until they burned from that, and then he stuffed them between his thighs, until he thought about the lewder comments he’d seen, then shoved them under his armpits instead.

“Fuck,” he whispered. It was all he could think to say. “Fuck.”

They’d been trying to teach people how to use a longsword as Fiore had instructed, but he was struggling to find comments left by anyone obviously from the Guild of the Medieval Longsword, or any other serious organisation; perhaps they were there somewhere buried amongst the voices of those who had expressed admiration for not only the way he and Victor had fought each other, but other things besides. He couldn’t read any more of that, he just couldn’t.

Finding their third hologram on SteamStream, the one they’d filmed the previous week at the top of the tower, he discovered it had received over four million hits. Four…million. Here, and on other sites where it had been reposted, the headings screamed out at him. He and Victor had named themselves the Knights of Crowood, but that wasn’t what any of them said.

_Knights talk & fight in MIDDLE ENGLISH so sleek_

_Tasty!!Medieval jack does swordfight_

Most of the still holograms were of Victor, caught in poses that could be considered butch or sexy, though some were of Yuuri too, as well as of them both. He read a few more headings before he felt saturated with the surrealness of it all.

_Armored Samurai Teaches Longsword_

_Juke jacks in kilo-duel_

_WATCH THIS!! Knights fighting to the Death FOR REAL!!!_

Yuuri propped his elbows on the table and sank his head into his hands. “Fuck.”

“Yuuri, good morning!” Victor greeted him with a smile, getting himself a mug of coffee. “And Makka, there you are, keeping Yuuri company. Who’s a lovely girl, then? Yes, you are.” He petted and scratched her as she wagged her tail, and when he sat down across from Yuuri, she rested her head on his lap.

“Have you checked the Cloud yet?” Yuuri asked him, certain he couldn’t have.

Victor nodded. “Our holograms seem to be doing well. They’ve had quite a few more views than last time I looked. Is 4,385,754 good? Oh wait, now it’s 4,385,762 – ”

“Well…yeah, it is,” Yuuri answered, swallowing as he cupped his mug. “When something gets that popular that fast, you say it’s gone viral. I don’t know how the hell it happened – maybe one of the holograms got shared by someone famous, or was featured on a really popular platform, or…”

“But that’s wonderful!” Victor said brightly, sipping his coffee and stroking Makkachin. “Think of all the people who will be learning longsword techniques from us.”

“It’s not just that. Have you seen the comments?”

“I’ve read a few. People seem to like what they call our historical accuracy. And they like us, too, though I can’t say I understand it all, even with the translator. It’s not very good with future slang.”

_I doubt you’d want to know, anyway. _Yuuri drank half his mug of cooling coffee in one go, and Victor looked at him with a clouded brow.

“There’s something about this that’s bothering you,” he stated in a tone that invited him to explain.

“Um.” Yuuri thought for a moment, wondering how to put it into words, then met his gaze. “Yeah, I suppose so. I’m not used to the idea that so many people out there have been looking at us so closely, and not just as longsword instructors. It’s kind of creepy. If I’d thought about it before, it would’ve struck me as something that was inevitable when you post a hologram of yourself on the Cloud, but I didn’t think we’d get that popular.”

“I’ve only seen flattering comments,” Victor said with a grin, keeping his eyes on him as he sipped his coffee. “People around the world are praising my fiancé, and rightly so.”

“Most of them are praising you, actually. And, well, that’s good, I suppose. But…” Yuuri gave a small sigh, drawing invisible lines with his finger on the table. “It’s not so much that. This could change everything, Victor.” He looked back up, meeting his gaze sombrely. “Whatever we do next, whatever opportunities this may bring…we’ve only just started our new life here, and it’s going to be in upheaval, and I have no idea what to expect.”

Victor reached across the table for his hand. “It will be our decision what to do, will it not?” he said softly.

“Yes…”

“No one can force us to do anything we don’t wish to.”

Yuuri bit his lip. “No, they can’t.”

“Then we’ll make good decisions. Together.” His smile was gentle, and something in Yuuri’s heart eased. “I still understand little of this world, and will need your help and advice. But surely this is a good thing, my sweet, don’t you think?”

Yuuri considered. He was right, of course. The shock of it all obviously hadn’t paralysed Victor’s insides and muddled his brain the way it had done to his own. His shoulders slumped, and he gave Victor a sheepish grin. “When you put it like that, then…yeah. Yeah, it is.” He squeezed his hand. “We’ll make the most of this. Somehow.”

That very day, they received a private message from a group of amateur weapons experts in Vancouver, inviting them to come demonstrate and teach their skills. Victor was excited until Yuuri pointed out that it would cost thousands to visit western Canada, no matter how much fun it might be to go. But that wasn’t the last offer they got; some of them were from groups closer to home, and they finally heard from the Guild of the Medieval Longsword as well, which seemed particularly interested in how they knew so much about Fiore, and asked if they were willing to give a series of all-expenses-paid seminars in London.

They accepted, though before they travelled they marked St. Bosa’s Day, the ninth of March, with a trip to the chapel at the castle. This time when Victor’s face paled and his eyes reddened with tears, Yuuri understood the reason, and held him through it as he’d done a year ago.

“I wonder what you’d make of my life now,” Victor murmured as he gazed down at the white knight, almost glowing as the rays of the sun spilled over the marble through the altar window. “Well, you’ve seen it, haven’t you? Because I know you’re there, watching out for me.”

He sniffed, and Yuuri gave his wet cheek a gentle kiss. Victor replaced his signet ring on his pinky for a few days afterward, before returning it to the butsudan, and said no more about it. 

In London, Yuuri discovered that teaching longsword wasn’t so different from instructing over the Cloud, or working with the troupe or their own squires. Victor was his usual charming self, but most of his own nerves quickly evaporated as well, as he discovered that there was something thrilling about sharing the love they both had for this discipline with other people who had taken it up themselves and were keen to learn more.

Paid requests for training holograms from other organisations followed; and as their initial trio of holograms racked up hits in the millions, they completed them as a series of ten, using the formula of instruction and entertainment that their viewers seemed to like, while including answers to questions they’d been sent. Victor was quickly picking up how it all worked, and of the two of them he spent more time planning their seminars, since Yuuri wanted to keep his hand in his programming studies as well. And he could tell Victor loved it. He was a good trainer – knowledgeable, enthusiastic, understanding; and now he had the opportunity to share that skill with many more people.

And so they did, visiting other longsword schools on the mainland, though eventually they were able to travel further afield as they accepted invitations for paid trips – thanks to Zubair Haq, who had come through with Victor’s official documents, insisting he didn’t want to take any money from an old friend he was glad to do a favour for. Yuuri and Victor were cautious about how many trips they took, however, as they could be time-consuming; but they were also opportunities for both of them to see more of the world, and Yuuri made sure he kept up with his studies. He’d always been content to experience distant places in Immersion, getting a taste of them without having to leave his flat or the gym. But going there physically was like visiting Mari and Sharon’s spa – that little bit more _real_; and the body remembered it afterward, when Immersion would otherwise be switched off and everything would suddenly be back to normal. And it was worth going when he could be there with Victor.

The furthest they went was La Paz, Bolivia, in the heart of the Andes Mountains in South America, where they were surrounded by some of the most spectacular landscapes either of them had ever seen. When they weren’t conducting seminars, they hiked in the Cordillera Real mountains to the east, dizzy with the altitude and also the incredible experience they were sharing.

Victor paused one afternoon atop the bald brown scree and scrub, taking in a sweeping vista of deep turquoise lakes and chunky stacks of towering rock that looked as if a giant’s hand had gouged and slapped them together, with higher snow-covered peaks baring their teeth at the sky in the distance. Makkachin had kept pace with them, proving herself surprisingly sure-footed on the paths while she sniffed her way along. Victor ran an affectionate hand over her head while he adjusted his backpack, and the wind lifted his fringe as he turned a happy sun-kissed face to Yuuri; though there were also tears in his eyes.

“I know that places like this existed in my time,” he said. “This was here, just without the cities. But, Yuuri…” He heaved a breath. “The things I’ve been able to do and see since I’ve come to this time…sometimes I honestly can’t believe it’s truly happening. That it’s real. That _you_ are.”

Yuuri stepped forward and stroked a finger down his cheek. “It’s all real, Vitya. I promise.” Though as soon as he said it, he was taken months back to that December day in his office at the university, when Victor had impossibly walked through the door and said the same thing. Yuuri wondered if Victor could believe it any more than he himself had at the time, and decided to prove it the best way he knew how: by taking the man he loved in his arms and kissing him soundly under the scintillating azure sky.

Back at their flat, with the summer ripening as the solstice approached, they continued to train, and set up seminars via live holo-feeds so that they could reach more audiences without as much travelling. Not that they didn’t enjoy going places together. Victor understood the basics of using public transport and went out by himself more often, though he still preferred to have Yuuri with him. His favourite vehicle had always been a transparent carboglass taxi, and he would often gaze all about him in wide-eyed wonder when it lifted off the ground; they were expensive, but the two of them were better able to afford things like that now. Yuuri could see the appeal, and liked them too, apart from the fact that you couldn’t make out in one without wondering how many people a kilometer away or more could cop a glimpse.

A less anticipated consequence of their newfound popularity, which they’d been dealing with for a few months now, had been the flood of interest in Victor. Not that Yuuri was surprised people found him talented, charming and attractive; but it was strange to think that so many of them seemed to want a piece of his fiancé. He couldn’t help worrying at first that the attention might go to his head – after all, who _wouldn’t _be flattered by it? But as time went by, Victor remained very much himself, and remarkably calm. Was it due to having grown up as the son of a baron? Or because he was a man out of time, seemingly unaffected by the pull of popular culture? Whatever the reason, Yuuri was thankful that through it all, he still had his loving Vitya; and he supported him in everything he did.

It started when a Birmingham film studio asked Victor to come down and be scanned so that they could use his hologram as an extra in a number of productions, and he and Yuuri went together. While they were there, Victor was asked if he’d be willing to do close-up stunt work that it was difficult to program holograms for – and what should they say to _that_? After considering it overnight, however, Victor decided that it was a similar principle to risking his life in a joust or a duel, and it would also require specialised training that he wasn’t interested in undertaking. So to Yuuri’s relief, he turned the job down. 

Soon afterward, Victor was paid to appear on the front of two emags, _Modern Re-enactor _and _Historical Weapons_, the latter running a feature article about him and Yuuri. Yuuri could take it gracefully that Victor was their poster boy, but there was still a two-page spread of them both, in the middle of sparring. They trotted out the story they’d made up together about how they’d met when Yuuri had travelled to Russia, where Victor was already a weapons master, and they’d fallen in love, and so he’d decided to move to England where they could train together. Privately, however, Victor expressed the desire again to recreate the wheel, which he felt would impress people more than any sparring or duels they could stage, and Yuuri agreed. But their schedule of activities was quickly filling up, including the welcome option of soon being able to buy a bigger flat or house; and while the longsword would always be something Yuuri was passionate about, it didn’t need to be his sole focus, and he wanted to be sure that he and Victor could enjoy the time they shared.

He was on the verge of suggesting they hire an agent to help with bookings, admin and liaising with the public and employers, when Victor sat down with him on the sofa one evening and explained that while the film and magazine work had been interesting, and fun in its own way, he intended to turn any more offers down in favour of the training and demonstrations the two of them could do together, which were closer to his heart; and Yuuri confessed that he was glad. But they came to a different kind of agreement as well – that they’d pursue their desire to perform the way they had in Victor and Friends, which they stood a chance of success with if they capitalised soon on the relative fame they’d achieved. It would no longer require travelling with a troupe for much of the year, Yuuri explained, because there were ready audiences nowadays, both in person and on the Cloud; and they would also have their pick of people to perform with from around the world.

“A modern Victor and Friends?” Victor said, his eyes glimmering. “It would be quite a commitment for us both.”

“That was our _life _last year,” Yuuri replied. “It won’t actually be as big a commitment as that was. We can still do training via holo-feed, too, and I’ll carry on with the programming courses.”

“Hmm, and will we still have time for each other?”

Yuuri draped his arms around Victor’s shoulders. “I’ll always have time for you, Vitya. I’ll _make _time for you, no matter what. At the end of the day, I still have my income from the university, and there won’t be any obligation to carry on with anything else if we decide we don’t want to. But you’re the most important thing in my life, and you always will be. I love you,” he whispered, stroking Victor’s cheek. And when Victor met his lips, and a warm glow spread through him, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had a stronger sense that everything was right with the world.

With their long-term plans for new performances in development, their training commitments to themselves and others, the bit of historical work Victor had taken on for Dr. Fay, and Yuuri’s studies, it could therefore never be said that day-to-day life was dull. It never could be anyway, as long as Victor was around. He obviously loved it here, even though they still occasionally spoke about what they’d left behind. It helped, when the shadows of the past grew long.

One beautiful sunny afternoon, they were running through a meadow full of wildflowers in their armour – the local news reporters enjoyed seeking them out sometimes and putting their holograms on the Cloud with headlines like “Good Knight!”, though they seemed to have eluded them today – when Victor suddenly slowed to a standstill. Yuuri slowed next to him, while Makkachin bounded around them both, snapping at insects.

“You OK?” Yuuri asked, catching his breath.

Victor hummed in the affirmative, scanning the knee-high greenery on either side of the path. Then he bent over and plucked a flower with lavender-coloured petals and a white and yellow heart, and tucked it behind Yuuri’s ear with a smile. “It’s too lovely a day to just run through a place like this without stopping to look. There, that suits you.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Flax.”

Yuuri found a pale yellow flower whose hue complemented Victor’s hair, and mirrored his actions. “That suits you, too. But I still have no idea what it is.”

“It’s a primrose.” Victor kissed his nose, then his lips, softly. “We have a Cloud here, Yuuri. I can’t believe you still don’t know your wildflowers,” he chuckled.

“Is that information ever going to save my life?” Yuuri protested in mock indignation. “I could say ‘pretty spiky pink flower’ and you’d still know what I was talking about.”

“Aren’t you curious about the world around you?”

“Sure. I’ve just never known much about plants. They’re kind of a mystery to me.”

Victor smiled and glanced around. “I had the most wonderful feeling while we were running through here. Like I was…truly free.” His voice quietened. “I never thought I’d know what it felt like to live without the fear of being called to battle. Or the obligation to fight in another duel. In a world where everyone is armed and ready to attack or defend, such a thing is unheard of.”

“I’m glad,” Yuuri said, laying a hand on his arm. “If anyone deserves to feel like that, it’s you.”

Victor’s eyes were steady as he gazed at him. “Everyone in that time deserves to feel this way. But they won’t get it. I’m lucky; I train and fight only for pleasure now. And pay,” he added with a grin.

“That’s how it should be. Every time I start getting nostalgic for 1393, I remind myself of these things. Then it goes away a little.” Yuuri huffed a laugh, then spied Makkachin a distance further down the path, chasing a flapping white butterfly. “She’s outpacing us.”

“Oh, we can’t have that.” Victor’s eyes glinted mischievously. “I’m not losing a race to my own pet.” And with that, he spun on his heel and bounded after her, Yuuri sprinting in his wake with a wide smile.

If Victor loved it here, Yuuri loved being with him here. The comments he’d make about how much lighter he felt touched his heart, though sometimes the sentiment was simply there to be seen on his face, clear if unspoken. And true to their promises to each other, they never filled their schedules so full that they didn’t have time to enjoy their life together. Victor was learning dances in Immersion, sometimes with Yuuri and sometimes on his own. His favourite kinds of food were Indian and Thai, to Phichit’s delight; he said he recognised many of the spices, and liked the fact that they were used liberally. Though he ate more traditional foods, too – beef stew with bread for a sop, meat pies, fruit and custard tarts. He didn’t care for nutri-pills, and it was rare that he or Yuuri had them now, unless they were especially busy. Victor’s fashion preferences still favoured tunics and well-fitting trousers – Yuuri would never complain about that – though he looked just as sexy in a white cotton shirt with an embroidered waistcoat. He loved face paint, and would sometimes spend an hour or more in the morning doing both his face and Yuuri’s, even if they ended up looking like they were ready for a night on the town rather than a visit to the university. Though they left their faces bare if they intended to wear their armour and exercise hard.

While Yuuri remained undecided as to whether he should learn to play an instrument, as that really was something he doubted he had time for at the moment, Victor regularly relaxed with his citole in the evening. He eventually decided to make a short series of Cloud tutorials on how to play it by ear, and the number of views soon eclipsed those of professional medievalists because of how popular he already was. He’d written a script for himself as a guide, which he’d asked Yuuri to check over for him, though he liked to wander off it; and while his modern English was fast improving, Yuuri wondered just how convinced everyone was that his speech and accent could be explained away by his being Russian. Maybe they thought at times that he was simply trying to be more “in character” as a medieval knight. It didn’t matter, anyway, and Yuuri was pleased that he seemed to be going from success to success.

Victor was quickly becoming more self-sufficient as well; although much of the tech here must still be strange to him, once he learned how it worked, he could confidently find his way around it. It was impressive, Yuuri thought, and also reassuring when he knew Victor was out on his own somewhere. But then, he’d got the impression that Natalia had been the same. He wondered who she’d relied on for help when she’d needed it, though, because while Victor tried to look up answers on the Cloud, sometimes he was still befuddled by the simplest things.

Yuuri was sitting in the flat one afternoon, sipping at a coffee while programming an outdoor landscape as homework for his course, when he received a call from him.

“Yuuri, hi…I appear to be lost.”

“Lost?” He wrinkled his brow. “I thought you’d taken Makkachin out for a run.”

“I did! I just thought I could leave the path and be all right. Because the Cloud always knows where I am and tellis me how to get back.”

“Isn’t it doing that now?”

“Well…I, ah, ches a bad place to leave the path. The fieldis here all look alike. And when I feel certain I’m gawing in the right direction, I find a fence with a locked gate, and wire on top like the kind we came across in no man’s land – remember that?”

“Barbed wire, yes. Can’t you get the voice software to guide you?”

“I tried, but I don’t understand everything it sayis.”

“Why don’t you put your translator in?”

“Because I have it not with me! If I carry it around all the time, I’m…what is the word? Tempted to use it. And then how will I learn how to speak modern English?”

Yuuri felt for him, though he couldn’t help but smile as continued to mix some of his native speech into a strange pastiche which thankfully he could still follow.

“And it’s raining, too. I shold usually care not. But Makka is…how do you say…getting soaked. That cannot be good for her. I’m standing under a tree.”

“Can’t you just call a taxi to come get you?”

“That is the cowardis way out.”

Yuuri shook his head and smiled again. “What do you want me to do, then? Come get you myself?”

“No! Be a better guide than the Cloud voice. Tell me where to ga to get back to the path.”

“All right. Let me just sync my wristband with yours, and I’ll help.” And soon he had Victor back on the path he’d come along, where he was able to recognise landmarks he’d passed.

“It’s stopped raining, Yuuri, and I think I’ll be OK from here. I think it should be about three quarters of an hour before I get to where the taxi left Makka and me.” Yuuri heard a breathy laugh. “You saved us, my sweet.”

“Hm, OK. What’s my reward, then?”

After a pause, the answer came, “A chivalrous knight requires none. A good deed is its own reward.”

“Bollocks,” Yuuri said with a smirk. “You owe me, Nikiforov.”

“Oh?”

“When I get you to myself later, I’m going to show you exactly what I want from you in payment. And I’ll expect you to…submit with no complaints.” His smirk turned into a smile as he heard a loud breath at the other end.

“Do you promise?”

“You’d better believe it,” Yuuri replied, sticking his tongue between his teeth cheekily as his heart leapt at the prospect of a very interesting evening ahead.

* * *

Victor wondered how many times his own father had stood in this room and stared in a mirror, as he was doing now. Whether his last years were good ones. Whether he’d died in here, and who had followed in claiming the solar as their own.

But fie – such thoughts on a special day. Victor fastened his locket at the back of his neck and positioned it in the middle of his breastplate. Would that Julia could have been here to polish his armour for him. She’d always done such a good job. And even though he knew that his and Yuuri’s affections for each other weighed on her nerves at times, she would have wanted to attend today. Perhaps even his parents would have made an appearance, Natalia persuading Andrei to come. In their absence, however, maybe something of them really did linger in the ancient stones of this place. And of himself, and Yuuri, from a former time when they shared a room here together, facing dangers and worries and loving through it all. Always loving.

“We have everything yet to look forward to,” he reminded himself, staring into the mirror and adjusting his sword belt. “The past is behind us.”

He smiled. All the people waiting downstairs in the great hall – family, friends, colleagues. Mari and Sharon. Phichit. Mrs. Wells. Celestino. Dr. Fay. Guests from weapons societies and people from local organisations they’d worked with, who wanted to wish them well. Even Frank, the kind caretaker who had assisted with their filming and helped them arrange the ceremony today. A larger gathering than this old fortress had surely seen for many a year.

_Whatever you do in this future time, _Chris had said that last night, _if you make it there through the timestream as you call it, you should find a way to carry on doing what you’re so good at and what always meant so much to you…they’ll still see the magic in what you do, and will love you both. _

And that was exactly what he and Yuuri were planning – today, and onward into the future. But Victor couldn’t help the tears that kept coming at odd times today. He’d seen them in Yuuri’s eyes, too. Tears of love and joy, but also sadness for what had been and gone, and those they’d left behind. Dear Julia and Emil. Chris, Henric, Oswin, and the others in the troupe. His parents. Alex and Irene.

_I’ve had a rich life; richer than I ever realised. _And in many ways, from where he was now, he could finally look back on it with thanks.

A knock sounded on the doorpost, and he turned to see Mari standing there in her long shimmering red robe with blue dragons embroidered across it. “You OK up here, Victor?” she asked.

He nodded. “And I’m not meant to see Yuuri beforehand?”

“Tradition. It’s bad luck.”

“But we’ve been living together for – ”

“It’s still tradition. But it doesn’t matter now, anyway. We’re ready. Come on, sir knight, you’ve got a wedding to attend.”

Victor smiled and drew his sword, and with his free hand took her own, walking at her side down the hall. Toward the future that began here, today, in the place he was born…with the man he would spend the rest of his life with.

* * *

The kitchen was a strange place to get ready for a wedding in, Yuuri thought. He’d rolled out pastry with Bridget just over there. The fireplace nearby had been where he’d interviewed Big Jake about Ethelfrith’s actions the day she’d returned from the future. And the alcove over there was where the two young kitchen servants slept; he’d come here asking them for bread in the hope that he’d discover some with mould, in a desperate attempt to find something he could use to fight the plague that had run rampant through the castle. Here…it had all happened here.

_Julia, what would you tell me if you could see me now? Emil, did you ever set foot in the castle again, or did you and your knight leave Victor and Friends to pursue a new life somewhere else? Did you ever become a knight yourself?_

He wished he could see them today. And that _Okasan _and _Otousan _could be here, too. He had a feeling they’d be proud of him, and that they would care for Victor as their own. That morning, he’d spoken to them silently in front of the butsudan, telling them how much he loved them and asking them to watch over him and Victor…though he suspected they already were, just like Alex was looking after his brother.

It seemed wrong, though, that these fireplaces had fallen cold, and this echoing high-ceilinged room was so empty. All those people were gone now. They’d lived out whatever extent of their lives had been granted to them, and many others had come and gone afterward, and the wheel had kept turning.

The wheel. They really were going to rebuild a large wooden one according to all the specifications Victor could remember, apart from some modern touches that would make it more lightweight and able to turn itself at the desired speed, though Yuuri suspected he would always look down and half-hope to see one of the squires putting their back into pulling the spokes along. The physical creation was a little while off yet; but having wanted to train in that style of performance again, they’d been using a motorised merry-go-round, which gave enough of a challenge at the moment to two rusty knights who hadn’t battled centrifugal force or done any appreciable degree of gymnastics training for months.

That particular merry-go-round was currently waiting in the middle of the courtyard for after the ceremony in the great hall, where he and Victor would do what they were dressed to do. What they both had been born to do, regardless of the time. In front of the audience that was here today to witness them promise themselves to each other.

They’d worked hard over the past week to revamp one of their routines from Victor and Friends for that reason, though they were also hoping to use it, complete with more demanding moves, as part of the new show they’d begun to devise. They’d already held a few casual auditions over the Cloud, with a longsword expert in Italy and a master archer in Mongolia, both of whom were willing to relocate and travel if they were hired. With such talent available from around the world, it was exciting to imagine what they might be able to achieve together.

Yuuri stood in front of the full-length mirror that had been incongruously put in here for him, and slicked his hair back, though a few strands insisted on falling out of place. The livery collar Victor had given him glimmered gold against silver; he’d be sure to remove it for their performance, though, to ensure it didn’t get damaged.

_Look at me – I’m supposed to be prepping for the most important day of my life, and my thoughts are all over the place. _He took a deep breath.

They were going to be honeymooning for a few days in the Lake District, climbing mountains with a whole different character from the dramatically sculpted ones in South America. Victor had said he wanted to go hunting, too, because he missed the challenge of shooting something that moved, and Yuuri had given in; they’d got a licence for it, bought bows and arrows, and located a stable where they could rent some horses. There was a primal part of him that had awakened during that time he’d been living in the past; he knew that. He’d channelled it in order to live an existence that was…more raw; closer to the bone. To be able to win a duel against one of the best swordsmen in the land. He could try to bury it, force it back into its latent existence before his travels in time. But he knew it was within Victor, too, who seemed to have come to easier terms with it as a part of him, having grown up in that environment. Yuuri sensed it surging within them both when they sparred, and sometimes when they had sex. He was no longer frightened or ashamed of it, and the thrill of it in his blood was something he would otherwise miss – _had _missed, when he and Victor had been forced apart. So if Victor wanted to hunt, they’d hunt.

And Yuuri made sure he continued with his studies even when they were away; he could watch his classes on the Cloud if he had to, and carry on learning how to program at his own pace. There had been no regrets about his new choice of career, even if it had to take a back seat to his and Victor’s other activities at times. In fact, he wondered why he’d never considered it before – but that question was easy to answer. A young man who’d found himself after being lost in Immersion had no desire to drown in those waters again.

Now he was learning to swim in them. Although he wasn’t due to complete his studies for some time yet, his work had impressed a production company enough that they’d offered him some work helping to design the appearance of the knights in a game called _The Sword in the Stone_. It was a typical Arthurian adventure story, and Yuuri was doing his bit to make sure the characters were historically accurate for the fourteenth century as his brief required, never mind the fact that the real King Arthur lived in Saxon times and wouldn’t even have owned a suit of plate. And Victor enjoyed helping him, eagerly advising him on a whole range of different types of armour from the time. 

Yuuri smiled and shook his head. _I can’t believe he’s really here. _After nine months, it still felt sometimes like he was going to wake up one morning and discover that the bed was empty, his small old bed, because Victor never really came, and he’d completely and utterly fallen to pieces, until he didn’t even know what was real anymore.

He blinked at himself in the mirror. _The anxiety’s desperate to get my attention these days if it’s resorting to that. _A small smile. _He’s here, and we’re together, and I am the luckiest man on earth._

“Hey, Yuuri,” Phichit said, peering around the archway that led through the buttery to the great hall, where Yuuri had once chased Ailis with a laser gun.

_Memories. I’m a man out of time myself._

“Hey,” he said quietly, still staring into the mirror.

“You all right? A bit nervous?”

“Me?” Yuuri turned to smile at him. His eyes were surrounded by intricate gold, green, black and white swirls; it looked like he’d been to a salon to get it done.

“Yeah, you,” Phichit said, approaching. “You’ve got a wedding and a performance coming up. Not that I’m trying to make it any worse by saying that – ”

“It’s OK,” Yuuri laughed. “No, I’m not nervous. I’ve performed lots of times. And I’ve been wanting to marry Victor for a long time, too, so I’m glad we’re finally getting the chance.”

“You both are more in need of marrying than any other couple on the planet, is what I’m thinking. You know, when I was helping you over the com, I was waiting for the day you’d have to come back to this time by yourself, and believe me, I was dreading it. Not that I didn’t want to see you. But, you know, I could imagine how upset you’d be without Victor. I couldn’t see a way that you two could stay together.”

“Happy to have proved you wrong,” Yuuri said with a smile.

“Me too. Really, though…I’m glad. I’d like to say good luck to both of you, but I don’t think you’ll need it.”

“Thanks, Phichit.”

“Oh – and Mari sent me. I was supposed to be bringing you back to the great hall, where your groom will be meeting you.”

Yuuri grinned at the thought of Victor, resplendent in his gleaming armour, standing in the very place where they’d eaten so many meals in stiff feudal tradition.

_No shy kisses stolen under a kissing bush this time, either. I made you mine, Vitya._

He started toward the archway with Phichit, his heart and mind filled with the wonderful man who was waiting for him.

* * *

Victor was as merciless as ever, Yuuri thought with a wince as he crashed to the ground, rolling away at the last moment and somehow managing to prevent him from getting a touch. He was instantly back on his feet to the cries and cheers of the audience, while several aircams circled around. Makkachin was straining at the lead Mari held, bouncing and barking, wanting to join in.

“Well played,” Victor called out to him. “Let’s see if you can last another round.” It was sheer politeness, as usually at this point they would be flyting. Bad form on their wedding day, Yuuri supposed. He bit his lip before the instinct to shout a taunt took over.

They’d begun with a performance on the merry-go-round, and had eventually leapt off to wage a fierce duel in the courtyard, surrounded by their guests. Yuuri had beaten Victor twice so far in hard-fought rounds of sparring at the gym, but it felt like the balance was slightly tipped in Victor’s favour today. Far from taking the spirit out of Yuuri’s attack, however, that had redoubled it. They were tied at five rounds all, and this would be the deciding one.

Victor took the woman’s guard, and Yuuri the boar’s tooth. They circled, both looking hungrily for an opening. Yuuri thrust up at the same time as Victor cut down; their swords clanged in a bind. Victor pulled a hand off his weapon to reach for Yuuri’s blade, but anticipating him, Yuuri ducked and spun back, then immediately launched into an attack, taking Victor off guard and almost scoring a touch against his shoulder.

But Victor was fast; perhaps the fastest there had ever been. This time he grabbed Yuuri’s sword firmly, giving it such a strong yank that Yuuri pinwheeled headlong, his sword dropping to the ground, followed by his body in a series of clanks. When he twisted over onto his back, a plated foot came to rest lightly on his breastplate, and Victor’s sword pointed down at him.

“Do you yield?” Victor cried out. Then he added softly, “Beautiful, amazing husband mine?”

Yuuri stared up at him and smiled, then laughed, his heart soaring to the heavens.

“Oh, the insolence.” Victor got on his knees, straddling Yuuri’s thighs and holding his sword aloft. “I repeat,” he cried again, “do you yield?”

The ring on Yuuri’s finger glittered in the summer sun as he cupped Victor’s pink cheek. “You won my heart the moment I first saw you,” he murmured. “I’m yours forever…my shining angel.”

And he angled up for a kiss while a smiling Victor leaned down to meet him, eyes as blue as the sky, as his fringe tickled his husband’s forehead.


End file.
